“Come,” I said to Hope. “We will be busy.”
We wound our way out of the Meeting House, through the crowd that had gathered around Mary Warren, and made our way back home.
Hope’s hands were balled into fists at her sides. “’Tis obvious what’s happening,” she said with a burst of anger. “If you confess and agree with the afflicted, you are safe. But if you deny their charges and accuse them of falsehoods, you will be punished. Those girls hold all the power, and the magistrates are allowing it out of fear.”
“You must keep your thoughts to yourself,” I said, leaning close to her.
“I cannot.” She shook her head. “I can’t stand back and watch this happen.”
“You must. We cannot stop this, Hope. You know that. Not only because we have knowledge of the future—but because no one would listen to us. We’ll only make matters worse.”
“I hate this place,” she spat out, kicking a clod of dirt on the road. “Every last bit of it. I want nothing more than to be free to fly away from here and never look back.”
Noise from behind us made me pause—my heart in my throat. Who had come up behind us, and what had they heard?
I turned and found Isaac standing not four feet away. He stared at Hope, a strange look on his face. Hope also turned, her red skirts swirling about her legs, her brown eyes bright with passion as the wind ruffled tendrils of her hair.
Hope and Isaac stared at each other for several long moments until I finally said, “Did you come from the Meeting House?”
Isaac nodded but kept his gaze locked on Hope. She stared back at him.
“You do not mean what you say,” he said to her.
“What?” she asked. “That I hate this place? I do.”
“Do not speak of flying, Hope. It will get you nothing but the end of a noose.”
“I don’t care,” she said, defiantly. “It would hasten my departure from here.”
Horror and confusion passed over Isaac’s face. He shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”
I stepped forward, giving Hope a glare before turning to Isaac. “Hope is dramatic and passionate. You know that about her. She’s only upset about the questioning.”
“She’s also foolish to speak such things.” He looked over my shoulder at my sister, his gaze penetrating. “You don’t mean them.”
Hope let out a frustrated breath. “Of course not. I’m sorry, Isaac.”
I turned, surprised that she would apologize. Hope rarely apologized.
Isaac nodded, though he didn’t look relieved.
“Come,” I said to them. “The whole village will soon be at the ordinary, and we will need to feed them.” Thankfully, Leah had stayed behind to mind the food I prepared earlier in the day for this very reason.
We would be busy, but that was the least of my worries.
Father and Susannah were not far behind Isaac—and I couldn’t help but wonder if they had heard Hope’s talk of flying or her conversation with Isaac, as well.
12
HOPE
MAY 12, 1912
NEW YORK CITY
The applause was deafening as I stood in front of an audience at the Globe Theatre in New York. The last time I was on this stage, I had been playing a minor role in the musicalThe Slim Princess. This time, I was the main attraction. After hearing about my success over the English Channel, the manager of the Globe asked me to return and speak about my flight.
The theater had sold out.
