Pounding on the front door came after first light, just as Elizabeth knew it would. She heard Winifred’s hurried steps scurrying past her bedchamber and down the stairs, followed by an exchange of hushed voices.
“Oh no you don’t! This is my house, sir!” Winifred hollered as the other voices grew closer and a heavy footfall began to clomp up the steps, “You can’t just burst in!”
“Where is she, Goody Burkle? If you refuse to produce her, you and your sister will both face arrest,” a gravely voice barked as several doors along the hall opened and slammed shut.
“You don’t understand! She’s still healing, she’s not ready—she can’t—“
The door of Elizabeth’s bedchamber suddenly flew open, banging into the wall behind it and instantly awakening and frightening poor Elijah. Elizabeth was not at all surprised to see the constable looming in the entryway with a lawman at his side. Clearly the other man was a judge of some sort, as she recognized him from the panel at William’s trial.
“Elizabeth Summers,” the judge began, “A charge of witchcraft has been issued by the magistrate under the authority of His Majesty the King. You are now required to submit to the trials of your crime.”
“She gave birth scarcely a day ago! The child still needs his mother! Are you so cold that you would deny the right of child-bed, which is given to all women?”
“Goody Burkle, you would do well not to interfere with matters of the law. This woman has already been granted allotted reprieve for the child’s sake.”
“It’s all right, Winifred. Please don’t fight them…You’ve been so good to me. I’ll go,” she said quietly to the judge, before looking back to her friend’s tear-streaked face, “Care for my son.”
“The child will be returned to its blood kin. Goody Redding has requested custody,” the judge replied absently, as though he were quite bored with the annoyance of making an arrest so early in the day.
“No!” Elizabeth cried, the panic she’d successfully fought thus far now seizing her throat, “He is my child, and I wish for him to stay with Winifred.”
“Until your innocence is proven, you have no rights, Miss Summers. Your wishes hold no sway in the matter,” the judge droned in the same bored monotone.
“You don’t understand. He cannot be sent to that house! It’s not safe! He can’t—“
As she spoke, Elizabeth realized that he would be taken despite her protestations. In her dream, she had seen him in the Redding home. The future was quite clear.
“He’ll need a nurse, Elizabeth. That’s something your aunt can’t do for him. I’ll offer myself. And I’ll stay with him no matter what. I promise.”
“Yes, please…please make sure he’s all right,” Elizabeth murmured thickly, trembling as she tried to keep her emotions in check. Be strong.
The baby continued to fuss while Elizabeth brushed her lips against his forehead and gave him up to Winifred with shaking hands. The constable awkwardly offered his arm to help her out of bed, but Elizabeth pushed him away so that she could maintain her last shred of dignity, albeit with great difficulty. Biting her lip against the pain, she held her head high in preparation to follow. When her stubborn legs refused to carry her, both men dragged her along between them. As they ripped her away from her cocoon of safety, Elizabeth forced herself not to look back.
--
The few days that followed bled together in an endless stream of grey. Everything felt numb and cold. The pain in Elizabeth’s hips grew icy instead of searing. She still bled—she felt it hot and pulsing, but no longer paid the loss of her life-fluid any mind. It made her weak and dizzy, slowing her heartbeat to a soft thud, but she ignored it—just as she ignored everything. If she’d had the strength, maybe she would have clung to a last ray of hope, but that fortitude no longer existed within her. Elizabeth’s present state of mind could be likened to a broken raft, tossed by stormy waves out to sea.
The night before her trials were set to commence, the rains began. Elizabeth listened to the water droplets beating against stone as she huddled against the cool wall of her cell. When the grey light of morning appeared, the men came to take her, but she detached herself from them—from their loud, sharp voices and rough hands that hauled her to her unsteady feet. Finally someone threw her over his shoulder. Tired. So tired. Let me sleep now.
Witch trials, as seemingly lofty and important as they were, should reasonably take several days; but for such a complex criminal procedure, the process flew by in less than one. Elizabeth’s trial was over once morning shifted to afternoon. The “test” proved remarkably simple. Someone pushed her into a stream at the outskirts of town, and that alone was enough for the conviction. Despite her weakened, listless state, Elizabeth acted instinctively in the water, as she’d been an avid swimmer since before she could walk. Her arms and legs treaded naturally in the chilly, muddy water, keeping her head easily bobbing above the surface. And thus it was: God’s water rejected her. Like all things born of Satan, her body floated. Once they pulled her out, Elizabeth tried to laugh in hysteria as she lay sprawled on the riverbank, but her lungs couldn’t quite handle the exertion. Funny. So funny. Drowning would prove my innocence.
The world grew fuzzy, and when her mind pulled into focus once more, she found herself in the cell again, curled on her side in a fetal position. Thunder rumbled distantly as the constant patter of rain filled the silence. Fitting that Zeus should come to bid me farewell. The knowledge came swirling back to her, the understanding that it would all be over soon; and she felt oddly peaceful regarding her fate. The execution was set for a Thursday. Well, tomorrow specifically.
Her thoughts drifted to William, as they always inevitably did; but she no longer fooled herself. I will not see him again in this life…Please, please Lord, help him find his son. Look after both of them for me. Before she drifted to sleep, Elizabeth idly remembered a day in the forest a lifetime ago. She remembered herself, so young and uncertain, as she’d strained to climb a small mountain made of rock, teetering on the edge of falling, afraid of death.
We’re at the top. Just a few more steps and you’ve made it.
She heard his voice in her ears and smiled.
--
When they led her out into the pouring rain, Elizabeth could scarcely believe that it was only noon. The hour felt quite late, judging from the darkness of the sky. Her jelly legs still refused to cooperate, and her head spun, swimming with dizziness; but she did her best to stand. Water saturated her hair and smock, settled on her lashes, and streamed into her eyes as she approached the yard behind Town Hall, awash in mud and stagnant puddles. Surprisingly a large crowd had braved the weather in order to witness Wethersfield’s first witch-killing in a great many years. The townspeople greeted her presence excitedly with cries of hatred, or amusement perhaps, it was hard to tell. The constable guided her arm and helped her to shakily ascend the stairs of the scaffold up to the gallows. Carelessly her gaze shifted to the noose as it swung slightly to and fro in the wind.
“Elizabeth Summers, you have been convicted of the high crime of witchcraft,” the magistrate’s firm baritone boomed before her, “You have thus far refused to make a confession or name accomplices. But, because our Lord is merciful, I will grant you one last opportunity. Are you guilty of the crime of witchcraft?”
“No,” she answered firmly, her voice steady and strong.
“Fine. Is there anything you’d like to say at this time? Any final words?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
Looking out into the sea of blurred faces below, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, gathering her last bit of strength.
“For thousands of years, you’ve killed in the name of your God…not because you believe it is just, but because you wish to silence your own fears—to hide your own guilt. Countless women have been murdered simply because they were beautiful. Witchcraft…witchcraft is not a crime, because it does not exist. It is merely a name you would use to shield your ignorance.
You can have my body. And you can break it. In the end, it means nothing. Pain is fleeting. You will never have my dignity, or my name, or my soul. Those things will always belong to me…My blood is on your hands today, along with the blood of all men and women whose only crime was in telling the truth…My life has been full and blessed, and I regret none of it, not even coming to live here. I have loved more powerfully than I ever thought possible…I am loved, and I will always be loved. Today, I see God.”
She braced herself for the end. Fear came to overwhelm her, despite her intense focus on remaining calm. Come for me, Mama. Closing her eyes, she focused her thoughts away from the noose, away from the inevitable snap of her neck, away from the pain that would torment her before it was over. In a whisper, her final words escaped her lips, very much like prayer, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
A firm pair of hands pushed her forward and held her steady. But the scratch of rope against the tender flesh of her throat did not come. At first she was sure that she’d imagined what followed—a ghost of a sound from a dream or distant memory…the steady clop of a galloping horse. A surge of commotion and confused voices flooded the grassy yard surrounding the gallows. Elizabeth could not look or allow herself to listen; because she was certain that it was all a trick of her mind, a shadow of thoughts and hopes and memories. But when the musket shot rang through her ears, sending her cringing backward, she finally opened her eyes. Through a silver sheet of rain, an orange light burned and flickered. Elizabeth blinked in confusion as the world crept around in slow motion…A dark figure on horseback, carrying a torch in one hand and a musket in the other. He hurled the torch into the center of the crowd; and although the sodden grass could not burn, the violent act in itself sent the people scattering like ants.
“If you ponces don’ let her go, I’ll kill every last one a ya,” he hissed, cocking the barrel of the musket, “So gimme the girl.”
No. It cannot be. The lawmen that held her promptly moved aside at the stranger’s warning. With the sudden lack of support for her feeble legs, Elizabeth collapsed. A bright light dazzled her vision when the back of her head clipped the edge of a raised board on the scaffold. There was shouting and screaming and the peppery scent of gunpowder everywhere. Elizabeth dimly registered all of it along with the sensation of the rain, fresh and cool, washing over her. And then she was in the air, rising up, floating…Is this it? Nothing hurt. Warmth encircled her, seeped through her clammy skin as a pair of strong arms enveloped her in their heat. A heartbeat pounded against her ear through a wet tunic, and the aroma of sweet hickory infused her to the core. His voice, soft and gentle as it rumbled against her…It was like coming home, and Elizabeth wondered fleetingly if she’d gone to Heaven after all.
“S’alright, luv. You rest now. Rest against me.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?” she mumbled, trapped in a hazy, exquisite dream.
“’Course I’ll be here,” the angel soothed.
“You came back. You found me. You’ll always find me, won’t you?”
“Always.”
All the tension in her body dissolved; all the pain, all the cold, all the fear vanished instantly as she sunk into the cradle of his chest and arms. She couldn’t speak, and she didn’t need to. The chaos of the townsfolk evaporated as Elizabeth felt herself being carried away, faster and faster until the wind whipped across her cheeks, her body jostling in time with the clop of hooves beneath her. After what seemed like a long time, the movement stopped. His arms delicately lifted her to the ground, settling her rag-doll form into his lap. Firm, warm hands smoothed gently over her torso and limbs, restoring heat and sensation.
“Elizabeth, sweetheart, can you hear me? What have they done to you? Please luv, wake up and tell me where you’re hurt. I’m gonna take care of you…Elizabeth?” his tender voice sounded panicked, uncertain.
“William?” she breathed, struggling to pry her eyelids open.
The angelic beauty of his face, the fullness of his lips, the brilliance of his eyes—such a perfect reflection of Elijah’s—filled her vision and caused her to weep. Behind and above loomed the heavy green canopy of the forest.
“Yes, baby. I’m here. Oh God, Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Bollocks,” William muttered, “What have they done?” he repeated, smoothing her damp, tangled hair away from her forehead.
“Nothing. Where were you, William…all this time?”
“I’ve been workin’ in England, loading cargo on the ships. Made some good quid for us, luv. We’ll be able to settle now, good and proper…Rupert kept tellin’ me it wasn’t time to come back. He said it wasn’t safe. I didn’t—I believed him. Our ship from London just docked this morning.”
“He’s with you?”
“Yeah—well, followed me, really. He went to your uncle’s place to get Dawn. We’re meeting at the docks. There’s a ship to Virginia Colony…Everything will be all right, sweetheart, I promise. It’s almost over. This place is almost gone forever. Just tell me where you’re hurt.”
“I—I don’t know,” Elizabeth murmured numbly, her voice echoing like it floated from somewhere above.
“You stay with me, okay? Elizabeth, baby, don’t close your eyes. Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“From inside…never stopped. Still bleeding from the baby.”
At first he appeared genuinely confused, as though he believed that he’d simply misunderstood. But soon his breath caught as those stormy blue eyes studied her intently, not quite able to focus.
“What baby?” he rasped.
“Mr. Giles didn’t tell you?” she asked drowsily, feeling warm and tired, only wanting him to hold her while she fell asleep.
“Tell me what? Elizabeth, tell me what?!” he begged, his voice cracking.
“We have a son, William. He’s only a few days old…so beautiful.”
He sucked in his breath as his eyes flooded with tears. Elizabeth raised a shaking palm to cup his cheek.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t, and I—I didn’t know you’d be gone so long… Can you ever forgive me?”
“You were pregnant when we…” he trailed off thinly.
“Yes.”
“I left you,” he breathed, his visage instantly stricken with horror, “I left you…and our—our baby here, all alone. All that’s happened is my—“
“Shh. No. William, no, you mustn’t think that…I named him Elijah. He looks just like you,” she said, smiling.
“Elijah,” he whispered hoarsely.
“He’s with my aunt. You have to get him away from here, William. Love him for me. Teach him. Watch him grow.”
“No! You’re fine, d’you understand me? You’re gonna be fine, Elizabeth!”
The world started to fade. Colors ran together and flowed like oil on canvas. She wasn’t afraid—wouldn’t be afraid ever again. There was no pain except for a numb throbbing that pulsed at the base of her skull. Absently, Elizabeth reached her fingers up to touch the place that thudded slowly in time with her heart. When she removed her hand, it was stained with liquid streaks of crimson. Opening her palm out, away from William, she allowed the rain to wash the red paint away. She didn’t want him to see it.
“I’m not too late. It can’t be too late. Not now, not yet. I’m gonna save you,” he said, choking on the words.
“You already saved me. You saved me that day on the street when you nearly crashed into me …and you saved me every day after that.”
“No. No. No…I need to get you on the boat, outta this rain.”
He swept her up and began to run, her head cradled in the curve of his neck
“We’re almost there, Elizabeth! The docks are so close. Just hold on,” he panted.
She couldn’t feel the movement anymore. His voice came from somewhere else, as if a thin veil of gossamer separated them. Suddenly everything grew incredibly, breathtakingly clear. I am finished now. Elizabeth finally understood. She could almost see how everyone, all of her dreams, were all connected—souls like raindrops rolling down a spider’s web, pooling together, joining, moving on—a thousand intricate threads forming one beautiful design…She could look back and see the world from Susan’s perspective now—observe existence without being part of it. Past and future all at once lay out together in a vast array…Despite the decades that breezed by, the souls that occupied them were forever the same.
I’ll kill him for you, Susan. I’ll finish what you started. Just give me three hundred and eleven years.
As her sight continued to fail, her mind’s eye opened, and she observed inward.
Elizabeth saw herself standing before a mirror, nose wrinkling as she scrutinized her image, believing that she looked much too young to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy; lips sparkled pink, her golden hair lighter and cut short. Blue paint shone on her fingernails. Elizabeth smiled at her new self—still afraid, still a child, teetering on the edge of change…and yet excited for a great journey, thrilled at beginning a winding, unknown path.
The picture faded as another drew focus. Once again she saw herself, older and stronger, standing on the edge of a precipice while the chanting of a vast army emanated from below. All around, the air felt suffocating, heavy, and oppressive; identical to the atmosphere that clouded over that dreadful field near the pond. But in this dark, deep cavern, Elizabeth was not afraid; because she knew that the fight was not hers alone. Two figures stood beside her: William, dressed all in black, his hair white and smooth, the intensity of his features sharp and angular as stone. The other…Susan, her wavy chestnut hair falling below her shoulders as she wielded a blade made of silver and crimson.
When the visions dissolved, Elizabeth became aware, once more, of William’s arms around her. The frantic beating of his heart thudded rapidly against her ear.
“I love you,” she breathed.
“Love you,” he answered absently, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he ran.
“Don’t forget.”
Everything good in me was you.
The scars will fade.
If you don’t finish now, there’s always next time.
You just gotta have a little faith.
Daughter of the righteous. It’s who you are.
Not everything dies, Buffy.
The world turned white. Elizabeth heard William screaming her name in a strangled plea. Then he was gone.
~*~
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Chapter End Notes:
So this chapter was kind of an evil bitca to write. Since my first outline, I knew where I was taking this story and what I was trying to communicate. I’ve been tempted to veer off my original path, but decided in the end to remain true to what inspired the story in the first place. I realize that some people might not be happy with it, but anything creative is invariably going to be subjective. It hasn’t helped, though, that I recently received a couple of flames complaining about angst and such. I’m sorry, but that’s just what the story is. I understand if it’s not your cup of tea, just please don’t send me nasty flammery, mmkay? Helpful and/or respectful criticisms and disagreements, of course, are always welcomed; and I do love hearing what you honestly think. Only not in an “angst sux you stupid @#&*!” way lol. That being said, there’s still another chapter and an epilogue to go, so not done yet!