Wicked Girls (11 page)

“Mother, I believe I saw John Willard—

the one who tended you unkindly

when you were a child.

The specters of John Willard

and Rebecca Nurse

told me they murdered

baby Sarah last summer.”

Mother looks down at her stomach,

now round with a new child.

Mother's eyes fuel.

“My dearest Ann,

'tis true.” She attempts

to clasp my hand.

I withdraw my palm

from hers like we play hot coals.

“Or perhaps, I did not.”

Mother looks perplexed.

I stroke her arm and smile.

“My sight can
sometimes
become

hazy and
sometimes
be made clear.

Same with the other girls.

I see more clearly when you are kind

to
Mercy
and me.”

Mother exhales out her nose

and says with direct eyes,

“Then I shall be kinder to you both.”

The cave of Ingersoll's shrouds me.

I pat Wilson's head

and close my eyes.

Ann says, “Margaret,

I care not who Mother told ye

she knew to be a witch.

'Tis who
we
say.

This week we see old man Giles Corey,

whose wife be already in prison.”

Stead of gnashing her gums,

Margaret nods at Ann.

“For all his tongue-lashing against us,

Goodman Corey ought have it nipped.”

“We also see Mercy's prior master,

Reverend George Burroughs.

Remember to call him the Grand Conjurer,

the leader of the witches.

Father sent a party up to Maine

already to arrest him.”

Margaret shakes her horse head:

“Mercy lies. Reverends are not wizards.”

Abigail whispers hesitantly,

“I seen 'em both.

Uncle says Reverend Burroughs

stole from Salem Village

when he was pastor here.

He must work for the Devil.”

Ann be not impressed with Abigail.

“Do you think I know this not?”

Ann squints one eye at the rest of us

as though
her
words be luminary.

“Both men have been known

to
murder
wives and servants.”

Elizabeth peeps open her mouth,

“I seen none ye named.

I cannot testify.”

“If ye testify not and see not,

then out with you.”

Ann's words fierce as frostbite,

she motions toward the door.

“Go on serving always Doctor Griggs.”

Margaret adds,

“Defy your calling, Elizabeth,

and the Lord will punish you.”

Elizabeth shivers.

She rubs her shoulder.

“I follow the Lord.

Pray do not send me home.”

Isaac Farrar enters the ordinary

as a gust of wind.

Margaret loses breath.

But Isaac looks not on her;

he beckons me with his eyes.

Margaret be turned over.

I could melt her to nothing.

She be that much a gob

of butter. All I need do

is sashay over to Isaac

and bat my lids

and call him outside.

I stand,

but Wilson bites my sleeve

and pulls me down to seating.

“Susannah,” I say, and a girl

twice the size round and half

the size tall she ought to be

waves at me from the corner.

I sink. My idea to replace Abigail

with this new, older girl

seems now nothing but folly.

“Ann Putnam,” she says

in a voice overfull of cheer.

“'Tis your father who issues

complaints against the witches

who torture me—what a man he must be.”

“Yes,” I say. Susannah Sheldon's

yellowed dress rags at the edges

and has been let out more than once.

“You are as all do say.”

Susannah puts her stubby hand on mine.

“A perfect lady.”

“Want some?” I offer her

a piece of my bread.

No doubt she'll take it.

Susannah shakes her head.

“Cannot. Martha Corey chokes me

each time I try to take a bite.”

She brings the bread to her lips

but as soon as she tries to bite,

her face blues and her throat tightens.

All the folk in Ingersoll's

stop their dining and look on Susannah.

I pry the bread from her hand.

“Goody Corey stops her eating,” I say.

Susannah returns to color and breath.

“Ann, you saved me.”

She says it so all hear.

Why uproot

a perfectly healthy

white blazing star

from the soil

to allow room

for a roadside weed?

The purple love grass

may appear somewhat

spectacular at first

with its bright-colored veins,

but it grows wide and irreverent,

knows not how to

contain itself

within the garden.

Ann flits about the room

in her white streaming nightclothes.

Her skirts pick up

under the little gusts of air

created by her wake.

“Abigail”…she hesitates like

the squirrel who tests his branch

before scurrying onto it…

“speaks out of turn.

She follows not as the others.”

I say, “She is young, and she will follow

orders better than most. You shall see.”

Ann ventures onto the branch,

wobbly on her little paws.

“Do we really need Abigail

to be part of the group?”

I brush out my hair.

I wish to brush out this nonsense.

“She was one of the first two to see,

and she lives with the Reverend.

What have you against Abigail still?”

“She acts like my baby sister.

I think I have a girl to replace her.”

“Who, Ann? Who else has our sight?”

I pull hard on my brush.

Ann stands behind me

so I cannot see her face.

She gulps in some air.

“Susannah Sheldon, a maid

from Salem Town. She is very nice.

And she speaks well and torments well.”

“Ann, 'tis dangerous to bring

new people into the group.

Forget not the lesson of Ruth Warren

the traitor,” I say.

Ann's face sulks like the willow's branch.

“But of course, we should ask

all the other girls,” I say,

my brush clenched tight.

“Perhaps it will be decided to be

a fine idea.”

“And what about Abigail?” she asks.

I stroke Ann's head.

“She is good to have at hand.”

We leave Susannah

loitering outside the tavern

like a beggar.

Ann says, “She'll be of help to us.”

“But she's not from the village.

She dwells in town,” Margaret rebuffs

her cousin.

Abigail looks down,

afraid to give speech.

Elizabeth struggles to put her words

together. “Maybe we should pray

and let the Lord guide us.

We do not know Susannah.”

“Exactly the truth.” Margaret stands.

She says, “We know not

that we can trust her.

She is from the outside.”

“But we must grow in numbers.”

Ann's hands ball into fists.

I open my lips to say

let Susannah

remain where she is,

shut out of our doors,

'tis dangerous to let in new blood.

But then Margaret blurts

from her sour mouth,

“Must we grow

with orphans and servants?

Will the town believe

words of them so low?”

“We need to enlarge our group.”

I push away from the bench.

I open the doors to the ordinary,

strain my eyes against bright noon

and let Susannah Sheldon

into our circle in the shade.

Susannah's hands nearly twist

full-round at the wrist

like a weather vane

swept up in a great gust of wind.

Her fingers arrow at each witch

Ann names, even ones Susannah

must never have set eyes upon.

The crowd gasps.

Ruth Warren stuns silent on the stand.

She cannot playact afflicted again;

none can match Susannah's skill.

Abigail opens her mouth

to cry out “Ruth Warren,”

but her lips move without sound.

Tears sink her eyes,

and Abigail tries to sit down,

but Susannah occupies

double her rightful space

on the bench, and Abigail

is forced into the pew behind us.

Ann smiles. I look away.

Margaret whispers to Elizabeth,

“Susannah be a braggart”

as she elbows Susannah's jaw

like one harsh gavel blow.

Elizabeth's eyes focus on the doors

like she herself feels chained

and examined and awaits her moment

to run.

I exhale.

This feels nothing

like a court examination

but as though

one might next see

a three-headed horse

parade round the pulpit.

“They be needing aid at the Wilkins home,”

Uncle Thomas says to Ann and me

and stinking Mercy.

“Bray Wilkins suffers and they believe

'tis witchcraft what causes his grief.

You girls must visit and tell all

what ye can see of the Invisible World.”

Mercy look at Ann, and I know

Mercy been deviling with Ann's mind.

Ann clutches her father's arm.

“Let Mercy travel on first.

I have a lesson to finish

and so does Margaret.

Ye shall check our pages

and when they are correct

send us forth to join Mercy.”

I contain my grumble,

the stove of my anger

so hot I got fever.

Mercy grins at me out of

the side of her lips.

“I'll set a carriage for Mercy

and ye girls shall follow,” Uncle says.

Aunt Ann swells with a new baby,

but none in the house dare speak

about it, for Aunt fears it will curse the birthing.

Aunt says, “I do not think 'tis wise—”

Ann stares at her and she stops

talking like she lost her throat.

Ann tugs my arm.

“Come quickly. I must finish my copy

so I can join her,” she says.

“I don't want to do that healing

to none anyway. 'Tis work of heathens

and slaves.” I yank away my arm.

After Ann leaves

I rip my paper into dust.

I pound my fist so all them pieces

shower round me, hiding the rain

of my tears. How can I lose

both Ann and Isaac to Mercy?

Benjamin Wilkins's eyes cling

to me. I toss my cloak

so that it covers his head,

and the room laughs.

Poor old Bray Wilkins

sits in his armchair,

his legs elevated,

his face a place of pain.

His water stopped for over

a week now, and like a stream

clogged by a fallen tree,

his river swells.

His face's red

and bloated enough to burst.

Goody Wilkins asks,

“Mercy, can ye tell us

what happens here?”

I hush the room

with a lift of my hands

and close my eyes.

When I open my lids

I say, “I see the Invisible World.

John Willard jumps upon

the belly of his grandfather, Bray Wilkins.

The same man I am told tended

Missus Putnam as a child.

He presses down on old Bray Wilkins

hard enough to crack ribs.”

I begin to faint,

draw my backhand

across my forehead,

and my legs go limp.

Benjamin catches me.

His eyes no longer paw.

He looks at me now

as though I am a spirit.

Ann blusters through the door.

“Yes, John Willard,

whose specter I saw whip

my baby sister Sarah to death.

I see him too.”

Ann's uncle, the Constable,

punches the air where we point

the invisible witches to be.

My legs jerk and my arms spasm

each time he strikes a witch.

They lift Ann and me out

of the Wilkins home,

nestle us in the horse cart

as my feet are too weak

to hold up my body.

Benjamin bounds toward me.

“Grandfather, he looked not pained.

He smiled, teeth and all,

and said his aches were released

for a spell when Constable Putnam

hit those witches. Thank you.”

I nod at him, wave him well.

Parched now

and tired beyond sleep,

I look out at Salem Village

and feel like this place

calls me its own.