“But we are innocent!” Susannah shrieked.
“Release them! Release them now!” Susannah heard her father cry.
Low murmurs spread through the long rows of benches, growing to a roar.
“Release my innocent wife and child!” William Goode cried desperately. “My son needs his mother!”
Matthew turned to point to Susannah’s father, who stood with his hat gripped tightly in one hand. “Remove him from the hall!” he shouted angrily.
Suddenly John Halsey, Mary Halsey’s husband, stood in the back of the meeting house.
“Let him speak, Matthew. You’ve known the Goode family for years,” he cried.
“Release my family!” William insisted. “This trial is a mistake! A mockery!”
“Remove him!” Matthew ordered, silencing John Halsey.
From out of the shadows two militia officers moved quickly, pushing their way into William’s row, grabbing him by the shoulders.
Staring over the startled, silent faces of the onlookers, Susannah saw her father struggle. She heard angry shouts. Scuffling. A hard blow, followed by her father’s cry of pain.
A few moments later she could see her father’s limp body being dragged up the aisle. The doors at the back were flung open.
The sudden breeze threatened to extinguish the torches against the walls. The flames dipped low. The darkness deepened. Then the flames rose up again.
The room returned to heavy silence.
Her father had been taken out.
You cannot save us, Father, Susannah thought, cold dread tightening her throat.
You cannot save us. So who will?
Will it be you, Edward?
Are you here? Will you speak to your father? Will you rescue us from the fire?
Or will you betray me again?
“We have all witnessed their dark powers,” Benjamin Fier announced to the rows of onlookers. “We have seen them try to darken this hall just now. The torches nearly went out. But our goodness prevailed over their evil power!”
He turned to Susannah and her mother. “Your evil could not douse our torches. Your evil could not put out the light of truth in this room!”
“It was the wind that nearly doused the torches!” Susannah cried.
“Silence, witch!” Benjamin screamed, his booming voice ringing off the dark wood walls.
He raised one hand high above his head. Susannah saw that his hand was gripping the purple bag, bulging with its odd assortment of items.
“I found the proof of your blasphemy!” Benjamin declared. “I myself found the tools of your witchcraft. I found this near your hearth, a hearth made cold by the presence of the Evil One!”
“It does not belong to us!” Susannah screamed, feeling her mother’s restraining hand on her sleeve once again.
“Silence!” Benjamin warned, his dark eyes narrowing at Susannah.
“We have the proof of your evil practices,” Benjamin continued. “We have witnesses who have seen your moonlight dance with the Evil One and his servants. And we have seen your attempts to frighten us tonight by bringing a bat into our meeting hall and trying to douse our light.”
“No!” Susannah shrieked, tugging at the sides of her hair with both hands. “No! No!”
“Good shall always triumph,” Benjamin continued, ignoring Susannah’s shrill cries of protest. “Good shall always triumph over the Evil One. Those of us with pure hearts shall always triumph over your kind, Martha and Susannah Goode.”
Susannah’s mother lowered her head, but Susannah could see her shoulders trembling and knew her mother was crying.
Susannah wanted to scream out her protest, to declare her innocence until Benjamin Fier would listen to her. But she could see that her shouts were of no use.
Her heart pounding, her head spinning, Susannah slumped over and leaned her head against her mother’s trembling shoulder.
“A dark evil has descended on Wickham,” Benjamin Fier was saying. “As magistrate, it is my duty to battle it wherever it may appear.”
He faced the onlookers and lowered his voice as he spoke to them. “It is not my desire to put on trial the wives and daughters of our village. But it is my sacred duty to protect all who are innocent from those possessed by the Evil One, such as these.” He pointed to Susannah and her mother.
“There is nothing left but for you to confess!” he demanded, stepping up before the prisoners’ box. “Do you confess, Mistress Goode? Do you confess to your evil practices?”
Susannah’s mother was crying too hard to reply, her shoulders heaving, her face turned away into the shadows.
“Do you confess to practicing the dark arts, Susannah Goode?” Benjamin demanded.
“I am innocent,” Susannah uttered in a choked whisper.
“Your refusal to confess,” Benjamin shouted, “your unwillingness to confess to the truth proves your guilt!”
He stood over Susannah and her mother, leaning close, so close that Susannah could smell his sour breath. “We have found you, Martha Goode, and you, Susannah Goode, guilty of witchcraft. It is my duty as magistrate to sentence you both.”
“No—please!” Susannah shrieked, reaching out to him.
He backed away, eyeing her coldly, his face half hidden in shadow. “You both shall burn tomorrow night,” Benjamin announced without any emotion at all.
A pale half moon, poking through wisps of dark cloud, cast a faint rectangle of light through the tiny window of the prison cell. Susannah leaned against the cold wall and stared down at the patch of light on the dirt floor. Her hands were tied behind her, so she could do no witchery, the warden at the jail had told her.
Martha Goode lay in darkness against the opposite wall. Breathing hard, uttering low moans, calling out for her baby, she slept fitfully.
Too frightened and upset to sleep, Susannah suddenly saw a shadow making its way up the front of her skirt. A spider.
She bent toward it, struggling to free her hands. But they were fastened tightly. She could not brush the spider away. She could only stare at it helplessly as it made its way up her dress.
Outside, the white moonlight fell on two large mounds of straw, golden under the pale wash of light.
Is this the straw we will burn in? Susannah thought with a shudder.
Are these mounds of straw waiting to be our final bed?
The spider was up to her waist, its legs moving quickly over the coarse fabric of the dress.
As she stared at the mounds of straw and pictured them afire, a strangled sob burst from her throat.
She turned her eyes from the window.
I am not a witch, she thought with fierce bitterness. My mother is not a witch.
What of the three who have already burned? Were they innocent, too?
Are the innocent burning in Wickham? Can that be true?
Suddenly the moonlight appeared to be snuffed out.
The tiny cell was cast in deep darkness.
Startled, Susannah turned to see a silhouette on the other side of the window, blocking the light.
“Wh-who’s there?” she stammered.
“Susannah,” came a hoarse whisper.
“Edward!” she cried, feeling a burst of joy lighten her chest. “Edward—have you come to save us?”
Chapter 7
Edward Fier stared at her, his face half hidden in darkness.
“Have you come to save us?” Susannah repeated in an eager whisper.
Edward hesitated. Susannah could see his dark eyes staring in at her, studying her coldly. “Save you? Why would I save you?” he demanded finally, his voice as cold as his eyes.
“Edward, I thought—”
“How could you betray me like this?” Edward asked, spitting the words angrily.
Susannah gasped. “Betray you? Edward, I did nothing to betray you. You betrayed me. You toyed with my heart. You were engaged to be married, and yet you continued to—”
“I was never engaged!” Edward insisted vehemently in a low w
hisper. He pulled back from the window and glanced quickly from side to side. When he was certain there was no one around, he pressed his face close to the opening again.
“I was never engaged. I told my father that I was in love with your !” Edward told her bitterly.
Susannah swallowed hard. “You did?”
“But you betrayed me, Susannah.”
“No. I never—” Susannah started.
“You betrayed me with the Evil One!” Edward accused, his dark eyes glowing with anger.
“No! I am innocent, Edward!” Susannah whispered fiercely. “You must believe me! You must!”
“You cannot be innocent,” Edward whispered. “You are a witch, Susannah. You tried to lead me astray. But your evil was exposed in time.”
“No! I am innocent!” Susannah declared. “Edward, you know me. We have been so close. We have meant so much to each other. How—” Her voice caught in her throat. She took a deep breath and tried again. “How can you be so certain of my guilt?”
He stared at her, his features set, his eyes as cold as his words. “I told you, Susannah. I revealed my feelings about you to my father. I told my father of my love for you. Do you think that knowing this, my father would put you on trial if you were innocent?”
“But, Edward—”
“Do you think my father would put me through this pain? Do you think my father would hurt me like this? Deliberately hurt me by trying an innocent girl?” Edward shook his head, his eyes still burning accusations into Susannah’s.
“No, Susannah,” he said sadly. “My father may be stern and hard, but he always does what is right. He is a good man. My father cares about me, about my feelings. He would never do this to me. He would never put you on trial unless he was certain of your guilt!”
“I swear to you, Edward—” Susannah started.
But he wouldn’t let her finish. “To think that I defied my father on your behalf,” Edward cried. “To think that I went against my father’s wishes in order to stand up for you. To think that I risked my father’s goodwill, my father, who is a good and pious man, who only wants the best for me. To think that I was ready to defy him, for you—a witch!”
“Edward, your father is wrong!” Susannah shouted desperately.
His eyes narrowed. He lowered his voice to an icy whisper. “Do not speak of my father, witch. Your spell over me is ended.”
“Edward, no! Edward, please!” Susannah wailed.
The face in the window was gone. The pale moonlight returned.
Susannah sobbed quietly. Across the room her mother stirred but didn’t awaken.
Susannah felt the spider inching along her neck now. Her skin tingled as it made a path up to her chin.
Go ahead, spider. Bite, she thought with a bitter sigh of defeat.
Go ahead and bite.
Across the village in the Goodes’ small house, William Goode sat hunched in a tall-backed chair. The fire had burned low, purple embers sizzling quietly. The room grew cold. William, staring blankly at the darkening hearth, didn’t notice.
Deep in despair, he had been sitting motionless for more than an hour. Unable to focus his eyes, unable to focus his mind. The sounds of the trial, the shadowy faces, and the accusing eyes all washed across his distressed mind.
All is lost, he thought, picturing his wife and daughter, picturing them at home by the fire, picturing them in the peace and tranquillity that would never return. Even his baby was lost to him—a neighbor had George for the time being.
All is lost.
When a knock came at the door, William didn’t move.
Sinking deeper and deeper into his despair, he didn’t hear it.
The knock repeated. And then again even more loudly, a third time.
William stirred, raised his head, listened.
Yes. A knock on the door.
Who could it be at this hour? Who would have the nerve to come to his door, knowing how he must be suffering at this moment?
Knowing how he would suffer the rest of his life. How this night would be played out again and again in his mind until the day he died.
The loud knocking was repeated.
Someone was being very insistent.
With a groan William pulled himself unsteadily to his feet.
The purple embers came into focus.
The fire is dying, he thought.
Everything in my life is dying.
More loud knocking.
“Go away,” William muttered.
But he made his way to the door and pulled it open.
The bright light of a torch caused William to shield his eyes. Slowly the face of the torch bearer came into view.
“Matthew Fier! What do you want of me?” William demanded weakly. “Have you come to take me away too?”
Chapter 8
The torchlight fell over Matthew Fier’s face, casting it into deep shadow. His dark eyes stared out at William, black circles ringed by black as black as the grave.
“I have come to help you, not accuse you, William,” Matthew said softly. He raised the torch high, and once again his face disappeared under the shadow of his hat.
“Help me?” William asked weakly, his body sagging in the narrow doorway.
“May I come in?”
William nodded and took a step back. Matthew Fier set the torch down in the dirt and edged into the house, pulling his cloak around him. He removed his hat, revealing tousled brown hair. He hung the hat on a hook on the wall.
The two men stood awkwardly in front of the door, staring at each other.
William was the first to break the silence. “My wife and daughter have been unjustly accused. Your brother has made a dreadful mistake. Martha and Susannah know nothing of the dark arts.”
Matthew started to move past William, his eyes on the dying fire. But William grabbed the front of his cloak. “Your brother is wrong!” he cried. “He is wrong! Wrong!”
“My brother is human,” Matthew said softly. He pulled away from William’s grasp and, straightening the front of his cloak, stepped to the fire.
William stared after him, bewildered by his remark.
Matthew picked up a log from beside the fireplace and dropped it onto the dying embers. “You let your fire die, William,” he said, staring into the hearth.
“I do not care about fires now,” William replied, his trembling voice revealing his emotion. “I care only about my wife and daughter. 1 implore you, Matthew—”
Matthew turned to face William, clasping his hands in front of his gray doublet. He had rough hands, William saw. Farmer’s hands.
“I believe I can help you, William,” Matthew said slowly, softly.
“You mean—?”
“I believe I can save your wife and daughter.”
William uttered a loud sigh. He gestured to the straight-backed chair near the fire.
Matthew shook his head. He began to pace back and forth in front of the hearth, his boots clicking against the floorboards. “My brother is human, as I said.”
William scratched his white hair. “I do not understand. Do you mean to say …” His voice trailed off.
“I have influence with Benjamin,” Matthew said, raising his dark eyes to William’s.
“You can talk to him?” William asked eagerly. “You can reason with him? You can explain to him that he has made a tragic error?”
A strange smile formed on Matthew’s face. He stopped pacing and nodded. “I believe I can persuade my brother to change the verdict. Your wife and daughter need not burn tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Matthew!” William cried joyfully. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head in a silent prayer.
When he raised his eyes, he saw that Matthew still had a strange smile on his lips. A wave of doubt swept over William as he climbed heavily to his feet. “You really can sway your brother?” he asked hopefully. “Your brother will listen to you?”
Matthew nodded. Sweeping his cloak around him,
he lowered himself into the tall-backed wooden chair. “I can persuade Benjamin,” he repeated. He narrowed his dark eyes. “But it will be costly.”
“What?” William wasn’t certain he had heard correctly. Was Matthew Fier asking for payment? For a bribe?
“It will be costly, William,” Matthew repeated, his smile fading. “My services in this matter must be well rewarded.”
William Goode swallowed hard. “I have little money,” he choked out. “But I will spend every shilling I have to save Martha and Susannah.”
“The price is one hundred pounds,” Matthew announced flatly, staring hard at William.
“One hundred pounds?” William cried, unable to conceal his surprise. “But, Matthew, I beg you!”
“One hundred pounds is a small price to pay,” Matthew said, rising and walking over to the hearth. The fresh log had just caught flame. Matthew held out his hands to warm them.
William gaped at him in disbelief.
He is willing to spare Martha and Susannah in exchange for a bribe, William thought. I knew the Fier brothers were ambitious. I knew their characters were weakened by the sin of greed. But I never dreamed they were so corrupt. I never dreamed they would try to increase their wealth by threatening the lives of an innocent woman and girl.
“Matthew, I have only eighty pounds,” William protested. “Eighty pounds is all that I brought from England, all that I possess in the world. If you take it, I will have nothing.”
Matthew’s dark eyes lit up, reflecting the leaping flames in the hearth. “You will have your wife and daughter,” he said flatly.
William lowered his head, knowing he would pay the huge sum to Matthew Fier. Knowing he would pay anything to rescue Martha and Susannah from the flames.
When he looked up, Matthew was examining a long-handled pan hanging on the wall beside the hearth. “Very nice warming pan,” he said, taking it down and turning it over in his hands, admiring it. “Is it brass?”
“It is of the finest brass,” William replied. “It was craned by my father.”
“I will take it as part of the payment,” Matthew announced, still examining it. “Since you do not have the full one hundred pounds to pay me.”