“Do you know how poor Matthew and I were? We ate rats to survive, Edward!”
“I know, sir—” Edward tried to interrupt. He had heard this speech before.
“Many was the night we huddled together to keep warm,” Benjamin continued. “We had no fire, no blankets …”
Edward lowered his gaze to the floor. He held his breath, waiting for his chance to speak.
“We came to the New World to succeed, Edward. Not just to succeed but to prosper.”
“You have done well, sir,” Edward broke in. “You are the respected magistrate of Wickham. And Uncle Matthew’s farm is the most—”
“We can do better!” Benjamin exploded, slamming his fist on the tabletop. “Your marriage to Anne Ward will help us do better, Edward.”
“Why, Father? I don’t see—”
“August Ward is the tea importer for Portsmouth,” Benjamin explained, lowering his voice. “It has made him a very wealthy man. As his son-in-law, you will become a tea importer too. You will share his wealth.”
“No, Father.” Edward shook his head. “I cannot. I will not.”
“You will,” his father insisted sternly. “You must. You must marry August Ward’s daughter.”
“I cannot, Father! I am in love with someone else!” The words burst out of Edward’s mouth before he could stop them. He gasped, realizing what he had revealed.
For a brief moment Benjamin’s eyes widened with surprise. Then his expression quickly darkened. “In love?” he asked, his voice rising sarcastically. “With whom?” He made his way down the long table to confront his son. “With whom?” he demanded again, bringing his face a few inches from Edward’s.
“Susannah Goode,” Edward replied weakly. He cleared his throat and tried to avoid his father’s harsh stare.
Benjamin hesitated, stunned. Then he closed his eyes and began to laugh—scornful laughter.
“D-do not laugh, sir,” Edward stammered. “I am in love with Susannah Goode, and I wish to marry her.”
Benjamin Fier shook his head, his smile lingering. “William Goode owns two scrawny chickens and two cows. His daughter is not a match for you, my son.”
Edward took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. In his seventeen years he had never argued with his father, never dared to disagree with him.
Please, he prayed silently, give me the strength to stand up to my father now. I know I am right. I know I cannot betray Susannah. Please give me the strength.
“Sir,” Edward began, “Susannah is a pious girl. She is the girl I will marry. I cannot marry a girl for her wealth. I must marry for love.”
Benjamin closed his eyes. A log cracked loudly in the fireplace. The floorboards creaked as Benjamin shifted his weight. He sighed wearily. “Your engagement to Anne Ward is arranged. We will travel to Portsmouth in the autumn for your wedding. I wish your mother, Margaret, bless her soul, were alive to see you wed so profitably.”
“No!” Edward cried. “No, Father!” He could feel his anger rise, feel the heat of it in his chest, feel himself losing control—for the first time in his life. “I have always obeyed you, sir. I know you are a wise and honorable man. But it is my life!” Edward screamed, his hands balled into tight fists at his waist. “It is my life, and I will marry Susannah Goode! I will marry her even if we have to run away to do it!”
Edward turned from his father and ran from the room.
I did it, he thought, relief mixing with his anger as he made his way to his bedroom. I said what I had to say. I stood up to my father.
Back in the narrow dining room Benjamin Fier slumped heavily into a chair. He fingered the shiny buttons of his doublet as he stared thoughtfully into the fire.
Before long, a dark smile spread over the man’s ruddy face. “I am sorry, Edward, my poor, confused son,” he said, grinning into the leaping flames. “You will never marry Susannah Goode.”
Chapter 5
“I dislike peeling potatoes!” Susannah groaned.
Her mother, seated in front of the hearth with the baby on her lap, raised her eyes to Susannah, her features tight with concern. “Are you feeling well, Daughter? It isn’t your nature to complain.”
“I am feeling well,” Susannah replied, sighing.
I shall never feel well again, she thought miserably. Never, never, never.
She wanted to tell her mother everything, tell her about Edward and how he had lied to her, how he had betrayed her.
But Susannah knew she had to keep her broken heart a secret. Her meetings with Edward were against all rules of conduct.
Susannah had sinned, and now she was paying for her sins. Paying with an empty feeling that gnawed at her without relief, paying with a heavy sadness she knew she’d never shake.
Martha Goode rose from her chair, cradling the sleeping baby in one arm, and stepped up behind Susannah at the table. She put her free hand to Susannah’s forehead. “Hmmm. You feel a little warm, Daughter. Do you feel feverish?”
Susannah lowered her knife and gazed up at her mother. “I am not ill,” she said impatiently. “I just detest peeling potatoes. They are so wet and slippery.”
Martha Goode took a step back, startled by Susannah’s vehemence. “We should all be thankful that we have been given potatoes for our meal,” she said softly. “Your father works so hard, Susannah. It is a sin to complain if there is food on the table.”
“Yes, Mother,” Susannah relented, lowering her eyes.
Edward’s face flashed into her mind. His thick brown hair. His dark eyes.
Where are you now, Edward? Susannah wondered, picking up another potato to peel. What are you doing?
I know you are not thinking about me.
Are you thinking about your bride? Are you packing your bags? Preparing for your journey to Portsmouth?
She uttered a long sigh and stabbed the knife blade into the potato.
“Susannah, are you sure you are not ill?” her mother demanded.
“No. Not ill,” Susannah muttered, unable to shake Edward from her mind.
“The potatoes can wait,” her mother said, returning to the hearthside chair and carefully lowering the baby onto her lap. “It is a beautiful afternoon. Put on your cap and step outside. Breathe some fresh air. It will refresh you, Daughter.”
“I do not feel like breathing fresh air,” Susannah snapped.
I might see Edward, she thought, her heart skipping a beat at the idea.
And what would I do if I saw him again? What would I say?
She could feel her face redden in shame.
I was such a fool.
Struggling to hold back the tears, Susannah picked up another potato.
The door burst open without warning.
Susannah and her mother both cried out in surprise as two village men stepped into the room, grim expressions on their faces.
“What—?” Martha Goode started, but her voice caught in her throat.
The baby opened his eyes and gazed up at her, startled.
The two men stepped to the center of the room, revealing Benjamin Fier in the open doorway.
“My husband is not home,” Martha Goode told the two officers. “I believe he is at the commons.”
The two men stood stiffly, their expressions set, as Benjamin Fier strode into the room. His black boots clonked heavily on the floorboards, his face red beneath his tall black hat. “We are not here for your husband, Martha Goode,” he said coldly in his booming baritone.
“I do not understand—” she replied, alarm creeping into her voice.
The baby uttered a squawk, preparing to cry. Martha Goode pulled him close to her chest. “What business have you with me, Magistrate Fier?” she asked, climbing reluctantly to her feet.
Benjamin Fier ignored her question. “Keep watch on them,” he instructed the two men. “I will search for the proof.”
“Proof? Proof of what?” Susannah cried, tossing down her knife and jumping to her feet. “Why are you here? Why
can you not wait for my father to return?”
Benjamin ignored Susannah, too. He strode quickly to the hearth, his black cloak sweeping behind him. “Aha!” He bent down, as if picking up something from behind a kettle.
When he turned around to face them, Benjamin held a purple cloth bag in one hand. His lips spread into an unpleasant smile. “I believe we have the proof we need.”
“Proof of what?” Susannah demanded shrilly.
Benjamin walked quickly to the table and overturned the bag, spilling its contents onto the tabletop.
To her astonishment, Susannah saw a chicken’s foot, some feathers, dried roots of some kind, a small bone, and a glass vial containing a blood-colored liquid.
“What is that?” Susannah cried.
“That does not belong to us!” her mother cried, her face pale, her troubled eyes darting from the items on the table to Benjamin Fier.
“We have the proof we need,” Benjamin told his men, holding up the empty bag. He gestured to Susannah and her mother. “Take them to the prison. Tie them securely to await their trial.”
“Trial?” Martha Goode shrieked, holding her baby tightly against her chest. “Trial for what crime?”
“For the crime of witchcraft!” Benjamin Fier declared, eyeing Susannah coldly.
The two officers moved quickly, grabbing Susannah and her mother firmly by the shoulders. Benjamin strode quickly to the door, still gripping the empty purple bag.
“Benjamin Fier—you know us!” Martha Goode cried desperately. “You know we are a God-fearing, humble, and pious family!”
“You cannot do this!” Susannah shrieked, fear choking her throat. “You cannot do this to us!”
The officers dragged Susannah and her mother to the door. The baby whimpered in confused fear, one tiny pink hand breaking free of his mother’s grasp and thrashing the air wildly.
As Susannah and her mother were pulled out the door, Benjamin Fier stepped back to watch. His eyes gazed hard at Martha Goode, then lingered for a long while on Susannah.
He didn’t smile. His face was set in rigid coldness.
But Susannah thought she caught a gleam of merriment in his dark eyes.
Just then their neighbor, Mary Halsey, attracted by the commotion, appeared at their door.
“Please take the child,” Martha pleaded, and handed the baby to Mary. “Keep him safe.”
The baby’s whimpers turned to frightened cries.
As the two men dragged Susannah and her mother away, Benjamin Fier followed close behind, his eyes on Susannah all the while.
This is not happening, Susannah thought, her heart pounding, the blood pulsing at her temples. This cannot be happening to us.
She heard surprised murmurs as they passed through the commons. Whispered questions. Muffled cries of surprise.
The prison loomed ahead, a low clapboard building behind the meetinghouse.
“Why are you doing this to us?” Susannah cried, the words bursting from her throat. “Why are you dragging us from our home?”
Benjamin Fier stopped on the path. His voice was low and steady. His eyes locked onto Susannah’s.
“You two witches will burn before the week is out,” he said.
Chapter 6
Torches were hung on the meetinghouse walls. Their flames flickered and threatened to go out every time the door was pulled open, allowing a gust of wind into the hot room.
In the prisoners’ box at the front of the court, Susannah gripped her mother’s hand and stared at the flames. Her mother’s hand felt so small, like that of a cold, frightened animal.
Without realizing it, Susannah had nervously started chewing her lower lip. Now she felt the bitter taste of blood in her mouth.
They burn witches, she thought, staring at the torchlight.
They’ve burned three already.
Her entire body convulsed in a shudder of fear. She squeezed her mother’s hand tighter. Even though witches in other parts of Massachusetts Colony were hanged, Benjamin Fier believed that burning was the only way to punish a witch.
But I am not a witch!
Surely if there is justice in Wickham, I will not be found guilty.
The long, low-ceilinged room was filled with shadows. Solemn faces flickered in the orange torchlight. Eyes, dozens of eyes, peered at Susannah and her mother.
The rows of wooden benches stretched to the back of the long room. People crowded quietly into them, the frightened citizens of the town, whispering their fears, staring at Susannah and her mother with curiosity and surprise and pity.
The whispers and hushed voices grew louder, until Susannah wanted to cover her ears. “Mother, why do they stare at us like that?” she uttered in a frightened voice, leaning so close she could feel her mother’s trembling. “They know us. They know who we are.”
“Some believe they are staring into the faces of evil,” Martha Goode replied, squeezing her daughter’s hand.
“But they know us!” Susannah repeated shrilly, her heart thudding in her chest.
“Our innocence will soon free us,” her mother replied softly. Her words were brave, but her entire body shook with fear.
Edward, where are you? Susannah wondered.
Have you spoken to your father? Have you told him about us?
“Edward will not let us burn,” Susannah said out loud without realizing it.
Her mother stared at her in surprise. “What did you say?”
Susannah started to reply, but someone in a front bench cried out loudly.
Susannah heard a flapping sound and felt a cold ripple of wind close to her ear.
Startled voices called out.
Susannah heard the flapping again, like the beating of wings. A shadowy form darted overhead.
“A bat!” a man shouted from the back of the room.
The creature swooped low toward the flickering light of a torch, then flew over the prisoners’ box again, its wings beating like a frightened heart.
Matthew Fier appeared at the front of the room. “Open the doors! Let it out!” he ordered.
The bat swung low over the spectators, and Susannah saw several heads duck. She felt a cool ripple of air as the bat flew past her face.
“Hold open the doors. It will fly out,” Matthew Fier said in his high-pitched voice.
The doors were obediently pulled open. The torches flickered and bent in the invading breeze. A moment later the bat swooped out, disappearing into the starless sky. The doors were closed.
Matthew Fier shouted over the buzz of voices, calling for silence. He served as trial warden, keeping order during his brother’s trial proceedings.
He did not have Benjamin’s booming deep voice. He was not as large or imposing as his brother, but he had the same fire of ambition in his dark eyes.
The room grew silent. The shuffling of feet made the floorboards creak. Someone near the doors coughed loudly.
Matthew turned to the prisoners, adjusting the white stock he wore over his robe. “You may summon as many evil creatures as you wish,” he told Susannah and her mother, his eyes glowing like dark coals. “You may summon bats or snakes—or the Evil One himself. But it will only serve to prove your guilt.”
“We did not summon that bat!” Susannah cried.
“Silence!” Matthew ordered. “Silence! A dark creature like that would not enter our court unless summoned!”
Loud murmurs burst forth from the rows of benches. Accusing eyes, reflecting the torchlight, glared at Susannah and her mother.
“Silence! Silence!” Matthew shouted, gesturing with both hands.
As the room grew quiet, Susannah saw a man at the end of a row rise to his feet. “Release my wife and daughter!” he demanded.
“It is Father!” Susannah cried to her mother, leaning forward to see him better.
“Release them, Matthew Fier! You know they are not witches!” Mr. Goode cried passionately.
A tall man in dark robes strode to the front of the room and sto
od beside Matthew Fier. “Be seated, William Goode,” Benjamin Fier ordered. “We do not place innocent women on trial here.”
“But they are innocent!” William declared. “I swear it by all that is holy!”
“Be seated!” Benjamin commanded in his booming voice. “Be seated, William, or I will remove you from this court.”
Susannah saw her father open his mouth to protest. But he uttered only a helpless groan before slumping onto his seat.
Benjamin Fier turned to face the accused. His straight black hair and dark eyes glowed almost red in the torchlight.
“Martha Goode, do you wish to confess your guilt?” he asked, leaning close to the prisoners’ box.
Susannah’s mother cleared her throat. Her voice came out in a choked whisper: “I have no guilt to confess.”
Sneering, Benjamin turned his harsh gaze on Susannah. “Susannah Goode, do you wish to confess your guilt?”
Susannah clasped her trembling hands tightly in her lap and lowered her head, a couple of blond ringlets falling loose from her cap, over her face. “I am not a witch,” she managed to mutter.
Edward, where are you?
Edward, aren’t you going to save us?
Isn’t anyone going to save us?
“Confess now,” Benjamin demanded. “There are witnesses. Witnesses in this hall tonight. Witnesses who saw you both dancing with the Evil One in the moonlit woods.”
“That is not true!” Susannah shrieked, on her feet now.
“Susannah—!” She could hear her mother’s warning, feel her mother’s touch on her sleeve.
“That is not true!” Susannah repeated. “We have never—”
“Be silent, witch!” Matthew Fier commanded, stepping up beside his brother, a fierce scowl on his slender face. “You have already tried to bedevil us by summoning that creature of the night into our meeting hall. Do not disrupt the trial again!”
“Confess now,” Benjamin urged. “Your hollow protests only serve to demonstrate your guilt.”