When the Black Roses Grow (17 page)

My knees buckled and hit the dirt, followed quickly by my hands, as I collapsed to the ground. My breath thieved from my lungs, as though punched with some imaginary force.

“I am not a witch.”

All four men ignored my desperate declaration uttered with blinding tears. I could not comprehend. I could not reason. My mind numb—far too, paralyzed by the sheer terror spreading through my veins. An unimaginable horror that no one should face, now left at my feet to bear witness and claim the burden.

“But, we hath never burned a witch. Are you certain of thy convictions, and that such will not cause the town hardship and suffering?”

Reverend Perris glared at me, studying my petrified, wide eyes. With his hand outstretched, he slowly approached, wrapping his fingers around my arm. As sudden as his touch, he jerked and hollered in pain, holding onto his wrist as though someone had just severed his hand.

“She burns with fire and hatred. I saw the devil inside of her and the vile thoughts in his mind. Fire is all that will kill him.”

“He lies. He is telling nothing but lies.” Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sobbed, stuttering through my denial. “He lies.”

“Gag her before she casts her black magic.”

With the reverend’s warning, Sheriff Corwin yanked a rag from his pant pocket, rolled it, and shoved it in my mouth. The thick cotton tasted of candle wax and soap, while the stench of age and little washing burned my nose. After several hard jerks, he secured it and tied the ends tight around my head while I screamed against this new assault.

“Our Lord in Heaven has spoken to me, Sheriff, warning me of her sins. She must burn.”

I met the reverend’s gaze. My eyes mirrored the hatred they saw—a hatred that glimmered in the dark brown that I loathed so much. Unfortunately, for me, he held my fate in his hands. He would decide my destiny. He had the authority to secure my death.

And, I was powerless to deter him.

I cowered in the dirt as the men reigned over me. Only able to manage tiny, gasped breaths, my body trembled.

Death mocked me. Death laughed at me. Waiting for me, the new flesh for his sacrifice, with a malevolent smile as he rubbed his hands together and licked his lips.

How does one face such a horror without growing insane? An uncontrollable insane that caused them to attempt to claw out of their own skin, rip their hair from their head, or take their own life before evil souls could take it from them instead. My body crumbled until I laid the dirt, weak, numb, I could not speak, could not move.

I lay motionless, living out the last minutes of my life.

SEVENTEEN

My tears dripped from my chin and fell to the dirt.

Bent over and chained to the stock, my knees ached. A burden to my bones, the rocks dug into my skin and cut through my stockings. Voices echoed around me as the townspeople bustled about the town square where Sheriff Corwin began constructing the fire pit.

For the past several hours, he had beckoned for stones and wooden boards. His pleas followed with instructions and demands for a quicker pace. Unrest and anxiety spurred everyone in town. They wanted rid of the devil’s powerful servant that could curse them at any moment.

“Witch,” sneered a young boy’s voice.

A hard thump smacked against the side of my face, and juice squirted through my hair. The sweet, juicy smell of the tomato stuck in the strands.

I craned my neck to spy toward three young boys who laughed at me from mere feet away. One of them carried a few other tomatoes in his hand, and all of them glared at me with a hatred I only witnessed in adults, never children.

“Pa says thee are set to burn,” another one of them said. “So, thee can burn back to Hell with the devil.”

All three laughed again, while the one holding the tomatoes pitched another.

I jerked my head and struggled to shield my face, but the stock confined me just enough to hinder my attempt. Helpless and unable to move, the perfect sitting target sat at their disposal. The second tomato thwacked against my head. Juice splattered once again through my curls and dripped to the ground as the fruit oozed.

“Boys!” a voice warned. “Now there will be none of that today.”

I twisted my neck just in time to see Deputy Thomas wave the boys off. They laughed as they trotted away.

My shame outweighed my torture. The town disgrace: tormented, humiliated, persecuted, and left to wait out the final moments of my life on my cowering knees, locked in a stock. Alone, and without the knowledge of James’s whereabouts, my vulnerability consumed me.

Had they convinced him of their lie? Had they locked him up for his sedition? Did he sit in the prison chamber or the courthouse listening to the outside noise? Or, was he even in town?

Footsteps scuffled through the dirt. My heart pounded. One, two—nay—three sets of boots suddenly appeared through my restricted line of vision. I ignored them, memorizing the tiny pebbles in the dirt instead—their color, their shape, anything about them to distract myself from the horror reigning over me.

I never appreciated stones for the tools they were, I only cursed them especially when one would find its way into my shoe. However, looking at them in this very moment, a few of them were quite pretty. Different shades of gray and white in swirling patterns that—

A lock clicked, and the top of the stock lifted from my neck. Fingers fidgeted with the rag, untying it within seconds.

“Miss Hawthorne,” Sheriff Corwin said. “There being a complaint this day before us by Mary Pruett and her parents, on behalf of their magistrates for themselves and for the townspeople of Salem that you harbor for high suspicion of Sundry acts of Witchcraft. Proof was offered to the court against you, barring any trial. You are therefore in the magistrates names, sentenced to death, and will burn for thy sins.”

With his final words, I glanced up and met the eyes of all three men—Reverend Perris, Deacon Pruett, and lastly, Sheriff Corwin.

Did they hold any flicker of doubt or any sign of sympathy? Although, I wished to believe perhaps a slight chance existed, my theory attested only such—a theory, and one they proved wrong as all three men glared at me with nothing but loathing in their eyes.

They cared nothing for what they were about to do.

With a single nod of Sheriff Corwin’s head, Deputy Thomas shackled my arms behind my back. I closed my eyes.

Please, God, let me fall to the earth and die in this very moment. Please.

A stab to the heart with an axe, or a shot to the head with a musket, I did not care. Any means would be better than what awaited me.

“Do you hath any last words to say?” Sheriff Corwin’s snide tone oozed through his condescension.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze with a fierce glare. I would not dare give him satisfaction of all control. Any word bespoken would prove weakness, illustrating they had prevailed because they allowed me last words so I might grovel at their feet. They wanted me to beg for mercy, to beg for a different death than the one they chose for me, and to beg for my life.

I did not desire to face death, but more, I did not desire imploring the man before me.

Reverend Perris held up his Bible in protection—a perfect act to fit the façade that he actually believed me to be what they accused me of, the daughter of the devil. Surely, he knew how foolish he was. I saw the truth held in his eyes, the look that did this for other reasons than a simple belief behind the brown hue.

Threats sat on the tip of my tongue. Easily spoken, I could hath played along with their assumption. I could curse them—provoke the belief my evil spirit would now haunt their lives, that I would haunt their dreams, their children’s dreams, and the dreams of their children’s children. For a brief second, the thoughts of torture toyed in my mind. I could hath the last word, if I wanted—a lasting impression to make them cringe with fear for the rest of their lives.

Revenge held sin, though—not that I had not sinned enough in the last few weeks of my life, but did I truthfully desire more on my conscious in the last minutes?

The three men stared at me as they waited for an answer. Would I declare my innocence again? Would I beg for my life? Would I admit to the false accusation placed upon me?

I shook my head.

“I will speak for her.” Adalene rushed toward us—sheer worry glowed in her eyes and her voice was but barely a whisper. “I will speak for her. Please, gentlemen, please. I beseech thee not to—”

“You hath no authority here, Miss McCarven.”

“Her mother entrusted her care upon me. I shall speak for her when she has no voice.” Her lungs heaved as she stuttered and trembled through her words—her pace far too great for her old body to handle.

“Leave now while you remain in my good grace.”

“Please, Reverend, please.” Adalene clutched onto the material of his jacket. Her arms trembled in weakness and from trepidation. “I beg upon thy mercy for a young innocent woman. Miss Hawthorne is not what the young Pruett Miss accuses. She is just a mere woman, you must know this.”

“I know not of what you speak.” Reverend Perris jerked his arm away from Adalene’s grasp. A look of contempt flared in his eyes. “I witnessed the fire in her and felt the Devil employing her bidding. She will burn for her sin so the earth will be rid of evil.”

“Please, I beg you—”

“You do not hath authority to speak, old woman. I will not hesitate to hath you arrested upon suspicion as well.”

With the reverend’s grave warning, Adalene retreated from him and clutched her throat.

“No!” I cried. “She will heed thy warning. There ‘tis not a need to arrest her.”

Tears shed down her cheeks as she met my gaze.

With a nod from Sheriff Corwin, Deputy Thomas shoved me with a force that knocked me to my knees. He began to stride away, and I scrambled to my feet to follow him.

I would not allow them to drag me to my death. I would walk to it.

“No, no, please, no.” Adalene sobbed and struggled to clutch my clothes in her frail grip. “Thou cannot condemn the innocent.”

“Fetch the cow, Adalene, she is thine now. Fetch her and return to thy home.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. She retreated from me, but instead of leaving, she scurried to Reverend Perris and Sheriff Corwin.

“Please, sirs, I beg you, spare the life of an innocent woman.”

Sheriff Corwin grabbed her shoulders and denied her another step. “Miss McCarven, I suggest you return to thy home.” He shoved her to the ground as he released her, and she cried in pain—my last glimpse of her, as she lay upon the ground, sobbing and immobile.

As we marched around the courthouse, the fire pit came into view. Stacks of thinner logs and branches encircled a wooden table that held a thick pole upright into the air. An assemblage of townsfolk surrounded the fire pit.

Nearly everyone in the village waited to watch the witch burn.

I scanned the faces in search for James, but I could not trace him anywhere. The closer we drew toward the fire pit, the crowd separated to bestow a path. I inhaled deeply and lifted my chin to let the sun shine upon my face as I closed my eyes, straightened my shoulders, and braced myself for vile taunts.

Not a word was spoken and not a single piece of fruit or vegetable was thrown—an eerie silence clawed at my skin.

My heartbeat deafened my ears. It pounded so hard I prayed it would fail at any moment. Tears threatened to fall down my cheeks, but I held them at bay.

I would not cry today.

I would not show them the torture or terror they desired to see. They relished in believing they hunted and murdered the devil amongst them, that they rid the evil from the earth, and they found joy in the applause for condemning those who should be condemned and damned to Hell.

The deputy’s footsteps halted in front of me. I opened my eyes and met his unsympathetic glare. He hesitated for a second before he stepped over the large pile of logs and branches and stood in the foot-wide space between the pile and the table.

“Step onto the table.” His order growled through his clenched jaw.

I obeyed, then faced the crowd while he secured the shackles to the post.

Just as with John Coleman’s death, a few women clutched their throats as they watched, while a few hid their faces in their husband’s chests. Mothers covered their children’s eyes, and a few staggered away so they would not hath to witness the scene.

Everyone’s stunned silence fueled my terror, leaving my lungs only capable of tiny breaths. The world spun and my knees grew weak. I glanced down at the logs and branches and lost control of my tears. Through my blurred vision, I continued to look for James. My gaze fluttered from face to face as I prayed to find the one I desperately needed.

Where is he?

Reverend Perris strode forward from the back of the crowd, followed by the deacons and Sheriff Corwin, who held a lit torch in his hands.

I caught my breath.

My knees trembled under my weight.

I fought the urge to scream.

“Emmalynn Hawthorne, you hath been found guilty of witchcraft and hath been sentenced to burn to rid this world of thy evil. You are henceforth damned to Hell.”

I bit my lip as Sheriff Corwin pitched the torch upon the pile of logs and branches. Several women screamed, others spun on their heels and buried their face in their hands, while a few more dashed for their homes. Children fled in all directions, some by the commands of their parents while others just out of sheer fear in what they saw.

The logs and branches ignited, and within seconds the flames blazed higher and higher. Heat surrounded me as the inferno spread through the kindling and encircled me in a ring of orange and red fire.

Smoke billowed around me, choking my lungs as flames licked the toes of my shoes.

The blaze hit another layer of kindling and raged even higher.

I screamed again and braced myself for when the pain would shoot through my body as my skin caught fire and began to burn.

I closed my eyes and held my breath.

Please, God, please, help me.

Seconds ticked by. One by one, they grew into minutes—gut twisting minutes as I waited and waited.

My skin did not burn, and no pain spread through my body.

I opened my eyes. Flames surrounded me, and yet, I did not burn, they flowed through me without touching me.

Terrified screams from the crowed resounded all around me.

I looked up and through the flames and the smoke, my eyes locked upon someone striding toward the fire, shrouded in a long traveling cloak with a hood covering the stranger’s face.

A few of the townsmen approached the hooded figure with fists clenched and poised to strike. The stranger waved his or her hands, and the men were heaved through the air, back into the crowd as if they had been shoved by an explosive force. The men’s bodies slammed into the ground, and they were knocked unconscious.

Men and women scattered, including Deacon Pruett followed by his wife and Mary.

Reverend Perris, Sheriff Corwin, and Deputy Thomas remained, positioned in front of me to guard me from the cloaked figure stalking toward them.

“’Tis the devil.” Reverend Perris brandished his Bible. “’Tis the devil coming to claim his servant.” He continued to shout different proverbs at the stranger who unceasingly marched toward them and me.

Suddenly, the flames around me transformed into several stems that grew as tall as my waist. Vines burst from each of them. Covered in sharp thorns, they twisted in on themselves as new leaves danced around. Tiny buds sprouted and within seconds, bloomed into black roses.

The hooded stranger halted in his or her tracks, and with a single movement brushed the hood of the cloak away from his head.

A familiar set of blue eyes stared into mine.

James.

I inhaled a sharp breath.