And if Fatherhadpaid for Ann to be accused and had let his own wife hang twenty-four years ago, what else might he do?
So many people had been accused, I couldn’t keep track. Men, women, and children awaited questioning and trials. When would it end?
“How would you have me look at you?” Grace asked as she took a cup and cut out the muffins, then quickly laid them on a hot iron pan to cook.
“The same as usual,” I told her, sending a pointed look at Leah to remind Grace that there were ears in the room.
Grace laid some of the recently cooked muffins on the plates I was carrying and offered me a reassuring smile. “We will get through this,” she whispered.
I couldn’t imagine how. Melancholy weighed so heavily upon my shoulders, part of me wanted to give up completely. But as much as I hated 1692, I was thankful that I still had it. If Grace had let me forfeit this path before now, I would have nothing left.
How odd that while I slept, Grace would have a full day away from me for the first time. She would have to deal with the grief and mourning there, would have to help plan my funeral. It was too much to think about.
It took concentrated effort to serve supper. My mind was so distracted, I forgot what I was doing and had to be reminded constantly by Grace, by the customers, and even by my father. He watched me carefully, though he didn’t ask what was wrong.
Susannah watched me as well, but her stare was more calculating—and I wondered how much she hated me. Would she accuse me if I wasn’t careful? She had yet to become afflicted, but was it only a matter of time? Her friends and cousins were suffering affliction, and she spent a lot of time in their company.
When the supper dishes were washed and Leah had gone to bed, I finally allowed myself to sit down for the first time thatday. I had wanted to stay busy—needed to stay busy—but I was tired. I’d never been so exhausted in my life.
Grace walked into the kitchen with a rag in hand. She had been wiping the tables in the dining room. “Father and Susannah have gone to bed,” she said as she set the rag in the bucket.
“Leah, as well.”
She stood with her hands on her hips and studied me. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired, scared, and bewildered.” Tears came to my eyes, but I refused to cry again. Crying was a waste of my time and energy. I had to face reality—and the sooner I accepted it, the sooner I would find some semblance of normalcy. There was some comfort to the familiarity of the ordinary. It was my home, after all.
Grace nodded. “I’m feeling the same.”
A sound outside the door brought both our heads up, and I went to the window. Though it was dark, I could make out the form of Isaac on his wagon, and a wave of affection overcame me. He was another constant in this path—just like Grace. He was steady. Something I could be sure of.
“’Tis Isaac,” I said.
“Do you think Pricilla has arrived?”
I felt a quickening in my pulse. Now, more than ever, I wanted and needed answers about our mother. I longed to connect to my family. I had Grace and Isaac, but I had purposely not drawn close to anyone else. I didn’t want it to be difficult to leave Salem. But now? Now I needed connections like never before.
I opened the back door while Isaac was still in his wagon and walked out into the sultry July night. It was humid, and the frogs were croaking in a nearby swamp. The moon was starting to wane, but it was still bright and vibrant, casting shadows onto the yard.
Isaac’s eyebrows lifted as he secured the reins to the brake, probably surprised that I had come out to greet him.
“Good evening, Isaac.” I wished I could throw my arms around him for a hug. I didn’t realize how much I longed for physical comfort until this moment. “Have you come with good news?”
“I hope so.” He jumped off his wagon and strode toward me. “Are you and Grace able to come? I have a visitor.”
I nodded eagerly, wanting to distract myself with something encouraging.
Grace stood in the doorway, her white coif and apron shining bright in the moonlight. She smiled at Isaac, admiration in her gaze. Grace was giving up so much to stay with me in 1692; there had to be a way to convince Isaac to love her. She deserved to be happy with him. I resolved to make it happen—even as my own heart was breaking.
We changed our aprons, blew out the candles in the kitchen to make it appear as if we’d gone to bed, and made our way to Isaac’s wagon. He helped us up—Grace first and then me—before stepping up to sit beside me.
It was a tight fit, but we didn’t have far to go, and his steady presence beside me reassured me in ways I couldn’t explain.
The moon was like a beacon in the dark night, but the shadows it cast made simple objects appear ominous. We had to pass by the watchtower across the road from the ordinary.
“I’ll have to explain myself to the guard tomorrow,” Isaac said quietly as we passed. Thankfully, the guard didn’t stop us as we drove south.
“Hath she been here long?” I asked Isaac as we drew closer to his farm.
