I had learned to guard my words, knowing that anything could be taken out of context or used against me, especially with Susannah’s accusations about my mother hanging over my head. “I wish that none of this had happened.”
“Bridget Bishop hath been a plague on this community for years.” Susannah took one of the sweet biscuits I had made earlier that morning and began to nibble on it. “She should have been convicted and hanged years ago when she was first accused, and mayhap none of this would have happened, as you said.”
I was preparing pottage for supper and had a small mound of root vegetables on the cutting board. I continued to cut the carrots, using my chore as an excuse not to engage with Susannah.
The testimonies and evidence against Bridget Bishop were ludicrous—no matter how long she had been a quarrelsome woman in the community.
A new form of physical evidence had been brought into the proceedings called the touch test. When one of the afflicted was in a state of agitation, the court would order the accused—in this case, Bridget—to touch them. If the touch calmed the afflicted person, it meant that Bridget had power over them—thus proving she was a witch.
Worse, the afflicted were now showing physical signs of torture. Bite marks, bruises, and pins stuck into their skin started to miraculously appear in court. Even John Indian cried out with bite marks on his body during questionings.
I recalled the words of the magistrates in the ordinary months ago.
“It will be hard to convince a jury without physical evidence,”Magistrate Corwin had said to John Hathorne and Father. But Hathorne had replied, “Do not fear. We willuncover the devil in each of them and have an abundance of evidence for the jury when the time comes.”
They were so convinced that the devil was at work in the village that they were willing to see what they wanted to see. They wanted to rid witchcraft from New England and truly believed they had found the center of activity. In their minds, if they could purify the village, no matter how long it took, they might eradicate witchcraft once and for all.
“Goodman Abbott hath not been here for several days,” Susannah said as she continued to nibble the biscuit, changing the subject.
What could I say? Isaachadn’tbeen here, which made me wonder if he was in Sandwich. His spring planting would be done by now, and at any moment I anticipated his return. Would he have news of our mother?
“I haven’t discerned whether his interest lies in you or in Hope.”
I finally looked up at Susannah, meeting her calculating gaze. Was she trying to befriend me? Gossiping like she would with one of her friends or cousins? Or was she trying to use me to get information?
“And I haven’t figured out whether you’re in love with him or not,” she continued.
“Isaac is an old friend,” I said with a shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “He’s very dear to both Hope and me.”
“Men and women cannot be friends,” she retorted. “One or the other is usually in love.”
I wanted to deny her comment—but it was true. At least in this case.
Susannah leaned forward and said, “I thinkyouare in love with Isaac.” A half smile tilted her lips. “I know how you can win him over. The same way I won your father’s hand.”
Her words jarred me, so I moved away to retrieve the largepot I would need to make the stew. “I don’t want to win Isaac,” I said, trying to make it obvious that I didn’t want her advice.
Where was Hope? She’d gone upstairs at least an hour ago. If she were here, Susannah wouldn’t be bothering me. The two rarely stayed in the same room together.
“You lie.” Susannah chuckled as she brushed the crumbs from her hands onto my worktable. “Get Isaac alone andshowhim you love him. Do whatever it takes to secure his offer of marriage. No man can refuse physical attention—especially if he believes it will continue once the marriage vows are spoken.” That smile of hers returned as she laid her hand on her womb in a motherly gesture.
I briefly closed my eyes as I grasped the handle of the pot and let out a breath.
“There will be a babe come December,” she continued. “I pray a male heir to carry on Uriah’s name and business.”
Susannah was going to have a baby—my sibling. At the age of twenty-four, I hadn’t expected to have another brother or sister. But I wouldn’t be here when the child was born, so it mattered little to me.
“If Isaac is not to your liking,” she said, “I know of other men who would be interested in your hand. I can arrange things if you’d like. You’re old but not beyond child-bearing years.”
“What would you do if we married and left the ordinary?” Hope asked from the stairs leading up to our rooms. She paused, ice in her gaze as she stared at Susannah. “Who would cook and clean for you?”
Susannah’s shoulders stiffened at Hope’s arrival, and she lifted her chin. “Leah doth a fine job, and there are others your father can hire, girls and boys who need a home and work.”
“Leah.” Hope practically snorted. “She’s a hard worker, but I scarcely think she could manage this ordinary. One must be able to speak to customers.”
Susannah moved closer to Hope, her eyes narrowing. “Leahand I have grown much closer than you realize. She confides in me—talks to me all the time.”
“You lie,” Hope said, though I could tell she was trying to gauge whether Susannah was bluffing. “Leah speaks to no one.”
