“I fell asleep last night on the train from Boston to Washington,” Grace said. “When I wake up tomorrow, Daddy and Mama will pick me up at the train station. Hope—they’re destroyed. But at least they can still communicate with you through me, and I’ll tell them whatever you need me to.”
I stopped pacing and tried to take a deep breath to still my racing heart. I would never see Mama and Daddy again—would never fly an aeroplane again—would never have the freedoms I had enjoyed.
And I would never see Luc again.
The grief was overwhelming and all-consuming.
I crumpled over, my face in my hands, and wept. Great sobs wracked my body as denial washed over me in wave after crushing wave.
Grace stumbled out of our bed and wrapped me in her arms. She held me tight, crooning reassuring words.
I didn’t know how long I wept or how long she held me. When I finally felt like I had no tears left, I lifted my head and realized we had moved back to our bed and were sitting on the edge. The sun was resting on the horizon, sending pink and purple light into our room.
We were late to start breakfast, and if we didn’t get downstairs soon, Father would come looking for us. What would he think when he saw my tears? How would I explain?
For the first time in my life, I was truly frightened. When I’d had 1912, there was always an escape available. No matter how Father treated me or how others judged me, I had the hope that one day I would be done with this place once and for all. It had given me foolish confidence.
But now? Tears threatened again, but I swallowed them back and lifted my chin.
I would not let Salem win. I would not give in to the fear and intimidation. I would make my life what I wanted—regardless of what they said or did to me.
Even as I made the resolutions, I knew it was all nonsense. The truth was, Ididhave to play by their rules if I wanted to survive. Because now I didn’t have 1912 as a backup. Now, if I was accused of being a witch and sentenced to die, I would truly die.
“Hope,” Grace said, quietly, “talk to me.”
I pulled back from my sister and wiped my cheeks with the edge of my nightgown.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Shaking my head, I shrugged. “I don’t know. There are so many thoughts going through my head.”
“God has a plan,” she said. “He doesn’t make mistakes—even if His decisions don’t make sense to us. One day, they will.”
I pressed my lips together as fresh tears started. “I don’t know, Grace. I don’t know if I believe that.”
She drew me into her arms again and hugged me. She didn’t try to make me understand or believe or accept that this was okay—and I loved her even more for it.
I might have lost 1912 and all the people and things I cherished there, but God had allowed me to keep Grace. She had always been my one constant in life.
Everything felt dark and unimaginable. The loss too raw to comprehend. I couldn’t even think about Luc right now. It hurt too much.
So I didn’t allow myself to think of him or anything else I had lost.
Instead, I focused on Grace. She was all I had left.
As the day unfolded, I felt numb. I went through the motions, served the meals, cleaned the rooms, weeded the garden, and even listened to the horrifying gossip about the witch trials.
Rebecca Nurse, Sarah Good, and three other women had been sentenced to hang and were awaiting the gallows. My heart was traumatized from my own grief, so I took the news without emotion. I wished I had researched the witch trials while in 1912, but I had not thought it would affect me. Now I wasn’t so sure. What if I was accused? What then? Would I hang on Gallows Hill, too?
The fear I had felt earlier continued to mount with stunning intensity. I began to think of every misspoken word, every person I had angered, and each time I had defied the elders. Would they come back to haunt me?
Just before supper, I entered the kitchen, where Grace was rolling out muffin dough. She studied me, her face filled with grief and worry.
“Do not look at me so,” I begged as I took up several plates filled with mutton cutlets and stewed peas.
Leah was in the kitchen, quietly preparing the supper plates. She glanced at us but remained silent. Ever since Susannah claimed that Leah confided in her, I had felt a deep aversion for the girl. It was Grace and I who had taken Leah in and treated her with kindness—not Susannah. Had Leah really betrayed us? Betrayed Ann Pudeator, who was now rotting away in Salem gaol—accused for the second time by Sarah Churchill? And had Father paid Sarah Churchill to make the accusation? It seemed too coincidental that we had witnessed him paying Sarah. Did he suspect that Ann had spoken to us, or had he paid Sarah to accuse her because she was the only person who knew about our mother?
How many accusations had been made because of long-standing grudges, revenge, or simply to keep a secret safe?
