Chapter 5. “I dislike peeling potatoes!” Susannah groaned.

“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.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20