“Sitting on the banks of the Thames, I softly touch the scar she left across my hand, the mark that binds me to her forever …Today feels like a dream, though I can’t entirely convince myself that’s all it was. At the docks this afternoon while i was working a shipment, a vagrant woman, dressed in rags and reeking of whiskey, accosted me. She grabbed my arm, clawed at me like she was drowning, screaming for me to listen. Didn’t give her much thought really—merely assumed she was off her bird and was satisfied to leave it at that. But when I saw her eyes, there was something there—something I recognized. For a quick second, I understood her, and all was calm. She touched my temple before placing her palm against my breast. “Pigeon,” said she, “You don’t have much time. Don’t trust him with her life.” Long after my workmates pulled her away, I stood there frozen, staring after her…I remind myself that I’ve returned to the real world now; it isn’t all magic and omens and whispers of the dead. The starving will say anything for a scrap of quid, and yet…I think of my love, an ocean away, and I wonder who sent me the message.”
~From the diary of William Wells; June 1st, 1685
~*~
At first, Elizabeth could not respond at all, feeling entirely shrouded in shock and disbelief. It could not be right; Tara would never do this to her. The quiet, kind young woman was the only person in town besides Dawn that Elizabeth genuinely counted as an ally, and now…what? This is not happening. All around her, the crowd became instantly agitated, exclaiming that they “knew it all along” and “of course, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Some of them shouted, drawing back in disgust, and cursed Elizabeth with viler words than ordinarily came from a Puritan’s tongue. But she hardly heard any of it as she continued to stand there stunned with cotton ears, almost without feeling, though perhaps perversely amused at just what the hell else could go wrong in her life. Some higher power certainly seemed to have it out for her. The townsfolk began to creep away from where she stood until she and Dawn were entirely alone in the midst of a sea of faces. Looking up to the doors of Town Hall, Elizabeth spotted Tara huddled against a pillar, weeping as her husband rushed to her side.
“How dare you,” Elizabeth uttered in an icy hush, “It’s a lie, Tara, and you know it! What right have you to damn me?”
But the young woman did not hear the words directed at her, or appeared not to, as she refused to even glance in Elizabeth’s direction. Small, trembling fingers linked with Elizabeth’s, and looking down beside her, she saw her cousin standing resolutely, chin held high.
“If she’s a witch, then I am too!” Dawn screeched, as two lawmen made their way toward the pair.
Ignoring the younger girl completely, one of the men seized Elizabeth by the elbow.
“So it begins,” the magistrate declared from his high position at the top of the stairs, “The trials of witchcraft must start at once. We will see if she can pass the physical tests and decide on a sentence once there is a verdict.”
Abruptly the nightmare became real once she felt a screaming Dawn pulled away from her. Panic finally set in.
“Nathaniel!” she cried out, straining her neck to see the nasty rat standing behind the magistrate, “Nathaniel, you know they can’t do this! Tell them to drop this nonsense at once!”
The Reverend merely shrugged in apathetic nonchalance, obviously unwilling to draw unnecessary attention to himself by stepping into the fray.
“I’ll tell them everything!” she hollered as the men roughly dragged her away.
“I am afraid I do not know what she is speaking of. ‘Tis the rambling of a mad woman, sadly. I have suspected all was not right with her, even before she allied herself with Wells. And I am no longer responsible for her actions,” Nathaniel explained calmly to the frenzied crowd.
Just what he wanted all along!
“You cannot do this!” Elizabeth yelled until her throat felt like it might tear in two. And she knew in that moment that she must use her only remaining defense, so she cried out, “I’m pregnant! I’m going to have a baby!”
“Stop!” the magistrate declared immediately, holding up a hand to the men that intended to take her away to begin whatever these tests might entail, “You are with child, Miss Summers?”
“Yes…Yes, I am with child.”
A hush sunk over the crowd—all of them glaring at her as though she’d instantly grown horns. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Dawn, wide-eyed and mouth agape, a look of horror etched across her face.
“And you could prove this to the court? A doctor may examine you to confirm your word?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
The magistrate sighed in annoyance at this complication, taking a moment to decide his next course of action.
“Very well. The tests must be postponed until after the birth of the child. Whatever evil conceived it in this world, it is nevertheless an innocent in the Lord’s eyes and must not be harmed by the hand of man. Miss Summers will be confined until the time is appropriate for her to submit to the trials.”
--
Elizabeth sat huddled on the cold, stone floor of the tiny cell with her knees drawn up close to her body. It was four days into her imprisonment, but it may as well have been forty. A crease formed in her forehead as she stared numbly down at her hands. She tried hopelessly to keep her mind occupied; reassuring herself that eventually all would be well, so that she would not lose her spirit to despair and claustrophobia. William and Mr. Giles will come. Early May would mark four months since their departure, and if they remained true to that time frame, she wouldn’t have much longer to wait. Yes, a month in a jail cell seemed excruciating, but she could bear it. And even if they took a bit longer than expected, Elizabeth still had time. The baby would not arrive until late summer or early fall, so she wouldn’t even have to worry about the trials until after that. August felt very far away.
In a small way, Elizabeth did not feel entirely alone in her isolation. Knowing that she had the baby with her kept her from losing her mind in the deafening, confined silence. With that tiny, precious gift he’d never intended to bestow, she carried part of William with her always. He had not gone completely; an ocean did not separate them, not really—rather, he was inside her, growing stronger every day. The delicate, fluttering movements in her belly were a comfort, and when Elizabeth found herself alone in the darkness, she spoke to the child, sang to it, as though it could understand. She liked to pretend it heard everything.
So far she had seen no one save the constable, who came to bring her the same meal of stale bread and cold porridge each day. At least the man seemed genuinely concerned and sympathetic to her situation. He promised that after the first week, she would be able to spend an hour or two outdoors every day, and Elizabeth looked forward to that time desperately. Anything she might have to hope for could get her through the first dreadful week.
On this fourth day, however, the established routine was broken when she heard the constable unlocking the back door late in the afternoon, hours before the time for him to bring her the evening meal. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet as quickly as she was able, wobbling slightly with the change to her center of gravity.
“Miss Summers!” the man called from down the hall, “Lady’s here to see ya!”
After the heavy door creaked and slammed shut, there was a brief silence before Elizabeth heard the click of a graceful, feminine step down the stone hall. Soon Jenny appeared, arms folded before her, expression unreadable, as she stood on the opposite side of the bars.
“Elizabeth,” she began thinly, her dark eyes awkwardly avoiding her niece’s glare, “…Are you well?”
“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth asked coldly, not bothering to hide the contempt in her voice.
“To talk some sense into that obstinate head of yours,” Jenny replied, lips tight as she raised her chin.
“Please, enlighten me with your wisdom,” Elizabeth sneered.
“You owe me more respect than that, young lady.”
“I don’t owe you anything. And I’m not a child.”
“Confess, Elizabeth.”
“What?”
“Make a confession now, sign it, and they will go easier on you. Perhaps they might even release you.”
“I will not confess to witchcraft. And I will never—ever—name an innocent person to save myself.”
Jenny sighed, rolling her eyes as she placed her hands on her hips.
“Is it really worth dying over, Elizabeth?” she huffed.
“Maybe it is,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Foolish girl.”
“Depends on your perspective.”
“Is it true?” Jenny asked abruptly, as if her mind had been preoccupied with the question all along.
“Is what true?”
“You will give birth to Wells’ bastard?”
“My child has a father, and is therefore, not a bastard.”
“Do not get smart with me. You know of what I speak.”
Elizabeth raised her brows, jaw clenched, as she pulled her dress taut over the swell of her abdomen. Jenny nodded and looked away.
“Nathaniel was right,” she muttered, “You’re just like your mother.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth snapped, “My mother was a great woman—wise, loving, kind, entirely unselfish—everything I aspire to be.”
“You deserve to know the truth, Elizabeth. All your life you’ve been fed pretty lies.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked carefully, trying to mask her surprise.
“The nature of your parents’ relationship is not what you believe it to be.”
“Well, we never truly know our parents, do we?” she asked pointedly.
Jenny drew in a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the small window at the far end of the hall, and began slowly, “Your father was visiting the Bay on business and opened his ship for trade at the port. I was with Joyce when she first laid eyes on him—she purchased a trinket of silver jewelry from his collection. He captivated her instantly, of course, as he did all women, with his bronze skin and vests made of gold and emerald silk. He wore spices, as well, from the Far East. Joyce was enraptured by the childish notion of romance and intrigue, and…she bedded him. Not only was she unmarried, but she had not even known him for more than a day. She crept aboard his ship late that night, and their…union produced you.”
“I don’t care,” Elizabeth replied hastily, her pulse quickening, “That doesn’t change anything. My father was a good man and he loved us.”
“Yes, I’m sure he did. Just as he loved all his wives and all his children,” Jenny smirked.
“What? No, he—his work took him away often, but he always came home to us. We were his family,” she stammered, a tightening sensation creeping into her chest.
“Elizabeth, Hans Summers only married your mother as a favor; because otherwise she would have been shunned by the community. There was no love between them. He was wealthy—gave her things, offered her a pretty new life. And so she took it.”
“No. No, I don’t believe you,” Elizabeth screwed her eyes shut tightly, seeing a flash of red behind her lids.
“Where do you think he was all that time he was away? Overseas? Is that what he told you?”
“You speak poison to make me feel ashamed. My father was a good man and he loved his family,” she repeated as a mantra to herself, though an intense anger—perhaps hatred—stirred within her. And she could not be sure that all of the emotion was directed solely at her aunt.
“Since you’re now an adult, as you say, I just thought it was time you knew. You can’t hide behind a perfect fantasy. Sooner or later you must face the realities of the world.”
“Right,” Elizabeth replied scornfully, “I must face the realities of the world. Wake up and look around you, Jenny! My God, look at who you’re married to! You must know that he’s a liar! Everything in his life is a deception. He’s evil—this whole town is in mortal danger because of what he does and because of what lurks around the borders. Do not tell me you’re ignorant of it. I know better.”
“You share someone’s bed long enough…and you learn to accept things. You learn to hold your tongue,” Jenny replied softly and deliberately.
“You disgust me. This town disgusts me,” Elizabeth spat.
“I cannot believe you!” Jenny exclaimed, “I am trying to help you—to save your life!”
“I don’t care if you are blood kin; you’re not my family. Do not pretend to care. Go away and leave me in peace.”
“As you wish…But it’s useless to die for this, Elizabeth. You’re not proving a point by sinking to William’s level—using fairy stories as a defense in an attempt to save your honor.”
“He is a better man than any in this town could dream of becoming. Now get out.”
“Fine,” Jenny answered coolly, “I am finished helping you.”
Turning swiftly, Elizabeth’s aunt strode down the hall, the door slamming shut behind her. In the silence that followed, Elizabeth should have felt some form of vindication perhaps; but instead, she felt empty and very very tired.
--
When the warmth of spring gradually faded to summer, an uncharacteristic heat wave swept across New England. Mid-days grew muggy and humid, and the small, poorly-ventilated jailhouse became sweltering. For Elizabeth, it was unbearable. Perspiration constantly coated her brow; and beads of sweat would often trickle down her spine, causing her to itch insufferably in the utilitarian woolen smock. Even worse, a dull ache had permanently taken up residence in her lower back; and no matter how she moved, Elizabeth could not ease the discomfort. It was especially irritating when she tried to sleep. Quite regularly, she would stand in the night and pace the cell in circles, hands pressed into the ache while she arched her back, but it never did any good.
In mere weeks, her feet had disappeared from view as the girth of her belly increased. Being naturally quite petite, balancing herself with the new weight in her center became an intriguing struggle for Elizabeth. As the baby grew, its former light, fluttering movements transformed into firm, strong kicks—and often directly into its mother’s ribs. One night in late June, Elizabeth was torn from sleep by such a distraction. When she woke, she sighed, resigning to wakefulness, and hauled herself to her feet to begin the pacing routine.
Gently, Elizabeth pressed her palm into the lee of her belly and pleaded softly, “Baby, don’t kick your mama there. Please go to sleep, sweetheart…You’re just like Papa, aren’t you? Never wasting your time with rest when there’s exploring to be done…He’s going to love you—and no doubt show you endless ways of getting into trouble.”
Elizabeth tried to chuckle lightly at the thought, but instead felt a lump swell in her throat as her eyes flooded with tears.
“Damn it!” she cried out, before biting her lip.
Briskly, she strode the few feet to the front of the cell and struck her fist against the bars until her knuckles bruised. The slight pain did nothing to assuage her fury—not that she really thought it would. Opening her shaking fist and turning her palm over, Elizabeth traced the long, thin scar with her fingers and recalled the moment she’d driven the blade across her flesh. Other than their baby, it was the one thing she still had from him. When she’d been taken into custody, both the knife and her engagement ring were lost.
“William…let me see him. I want to see him. Just for a minute. Show me,” she spoke firmly to her sight as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
Silent moments crept by and then…nothing. For months now, the sight had abandoned her. She still dreamed vividly, but of ordinary things: William lost in fog, calling out her name, begging her to find him; babies laughing, babies screaming, babies caught high in trees…But the visions never spoke, and neither did Susan. So it shouldn’t surprise her now that she still saw nothing, but it was no less terrifying.
“Fuck!” she seethed; the bitter, obscene profanity tasting sharp and odd on her tongue. The voice that uttered it was not her own.
“How could you do this to me? How could you leave me here? You knew. You knew about the baby and you abandoned me,” she murmured to the darkness, seeing Giles as he’d appeared that day behind the church when he’d told her his plans of escape.
The anger and fury bubbled within her until she felt an intense wave of loathing engulf her thoughts. I hate you. I hate you for doing this to us. He wasn’t to be entirely blamed, of course. Giles certainly couldn’t have known what would happen. But they still haven’t come. It’s been nearly six months, and they still haven’t come, she reminded herself bitterly. A feeling of dread and foreboding abruptly seized her. They’re not coming.
Oh God. I’m eighteen years old. And I’m really going to die.
--
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth tilted her neck back to feel the warm sunshine caressing her face. It was late afternoon—her favorite time of day, since she was able to walk freely about the yard behind the jailhouse. During this precious time, she could almost forget the constable’s eyes boring into her back as he observed her closely, musket ready at his side lest she attempt escape. A gentle breeze sifted through the leaves, cooling her heated skin. Opening her arms high above her head and stretching muscles sore from lack of use, Elizabeth enjoyed the blissful freedom of space. Looking out ahead into the grassy expanse behind Town Hall, her eyes accidentally fell upon the scaffold and gallows. She quickly jerked away and spun around, not wishing to see the dark wooden skeleton that marred the landscape.
“Miss Summers,” the constable called out, breaking into her reverie.
Elizabeth sighed, shoulders drooping, her expression instantly turning sad and distant. Every day her hour of freedom seemed to grow shorter. Sullenly, she turned to follow him back into her prison. He surprised her, however, by purposefully striding out into the yard to meet her.
“There’s a lady here to see ya, ma’am. You can talk with her out here if you’d like.”
“I told you that if my aunt ever returned—“
“That you’re not seeing her. Right, I got that. This is somebody else.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, surprised, wondering who could possibly be visiting after weeks of nothing.
“So do you want to come back in or should I just send her out?”
“Outside would—would be nice.”
Nodding curtly, the constable strode through the backdoor of the jailhouse and soon reappeared with a tall, wiry woman at his side. After exchanging brief words that Elizabeth could not hear, the woman broke away and walked into the yard toward her, smiling warmly. As she approached, Elizabeth tilted her head to the side while she tried to place her visitor. Before she even spoke, Elizabeth could sense the odd calming effect this lady seemed to exude naturally. She moved gracefully, and her features were quite pretty—sparkling hazel eyes, delicate ivory skin, wisps of hair the color of rich chestnut falling loosely from her starched bonnet. There was a familiarity about her, and Elizabeth was sure she must’ve passed her in town and in church on several occasions.
“I’m sorry, I—“ Elizabeth began.
“Hello! I’m Goodwife Burkle, except my husband died last year, so I suppose I’m nobody’s good wife anymore really, so why don’t you just call me Winifred,” the woman introduced herself with more speed and cheer than Elizabeth was accustomed to witnessing in Connecticut.
“Hello. I’m Elizabeth,” she said simply, before releasing a startled “oomph” as Winifred grabbed her hand, shaking it firmly.
“Yes, dear, I know who you are, being that I came just to see you and all.”
“Um, I’m sure I’ve seen you before. It is odd that we were never formally introduced…I am very sorry to hear about your husband,” Elizabeth continued awkwardly.
“Oh don’t be sorry darlin’. He was mean. Got what was coming to him—that’s what Ma would say if she were still here, God rest her soul.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth answered, a smile cracking automatically, which she quickly tried to cover.
“You can laugh, honey, it’s all right. The whole thing was quite funny, actually. See, he was trying to chop a branch down from the cedar tree in front of our house, and then the whole darn thing fell right on top of him and squished him good.”
“I see,” she replied, releasing her giggles, somehat shocked that she remembered how to laugh. With a great deal of effort, her demeanor became serious once more, “I’m certainly happy to have someone to talk to today, but may I ask what brings you to the jailhouse, Winifred?”
“Absolutely. You’re coming home with me, Elizabeth.”
“Excuse me?”
“I spoke to the magistrate, and I finally convinced him that a woman in your condition shouldn’t be cooped up in a teeny cell. And there’s no way that poor baby needs to come into the world in such a rotten place.”
“I—I hadn’t even thought about it, really—about where I would go, or anything for that matter. I just try to get through one day at a time, I guess.”
Truthfully, Elizabeth had been living in a state of semi-denial regarding the actual birth of her child; part of her refused to believe it would ever happen, despite her ever-changing physical state…She didn’t even want to think about what her life would be like after the baby came.
“It’s just terrible—them putting you in here like this,” Winifred said solemnly, shaking her head in sadness, “I wish I could do more…but what I can offer you is a comfortable place to stay and a nursemaid—being myself, that is. I helped all my sisters when their children came, not to mention I have two of my own, so I know a thing or two about birthing babies. I want to help…if you’ll let me,” she murmured sincerely, her eyes warm and shining.
“Why?” Elizabeth asked quickly, before biting her lip to silence the edge in her tone, “I’m sorry, it’s just…I’m not used to kindness.”
“I’d like to fix that. Some terrible things have been done to you, and I’ve just decided that…I’ve been sitting back and watching it happen for too long now. There’s a big empty bedroom in my house, unused…and I know we don’t know each other, but you seem like somebody who just needs to be loved. And I think I can give you that. It’s a small thing, really, it doesn’t change much. It can’t…it can’t save you. But it’s something, I reckon.”
“Winifred, I—“ Elizabeth began, her voice breaking with tears, “Would you really want an accused witch in your home?”
“Oh honey, we both know you’re no witch.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm off to my new city soon for apartment hunting, but hopefully I'll get in one more update after this before I leave so that the story will be at a nice place for pausing. Thank you so much for reading! : )