A Spell for the Revolution (7 page)

“It was a friend,” Deborah interrupted. “A guide on the highway, with some bad news.” Picking up the hem of her dress, she stomped toward Ezra, who took a step back, startled. She chased him up the porch and back into the house.

The door banged shut before Proctor gathered his wits enough to follow. He still felt weak, but his head had stopped hammering and his balance had returned. He climbed the steps carefully and propped his musket against the house before going inside.

“—don’t just sit there all fish-mouthed,” Deborah said.
She stood at the end of the table, her back to Proctor, with her fists on her hips, staring at her students. “We’re not done with the lesson yet.”

The other students lowered their eyes, but Magdalena glared back from the opposite end of the table. Her plain gray cap had come unpinned on one side and sat slightly askew, spilling her thin gray hair. Her hands were clenched in fists on the table in front of her.

“I think you must tell us what is the news,” she said.

“I told you already that it’s nothing we need to talk about this moment,” Deborah said. She tapped her fingers on the table, and the candles, which had been snuffed, twitched back into flames. “Our lives could depend on these skills, now more than ever. So I want to see all of you try again. Use the flame as a focus and raise this stone.”

Sukey reached out to squeeze Esther’s hand, to show that they were united in whatever she was about to say. “That was Mister Paul Revere Junior, the Boston silversmith,” Sukey said, lifting her long, narrow nose with an air of authority. “A fancy new coat can’t hide that man’s smile.”

“Yes, it was Revere,” Deborah admitted. “Now. If we could return to our lesson.”

Seventeen-year-old Abby turned her blunt, square face to Deborah and said, “You want us to raise this stone?”

“If you please,” Deborah said.

Abby snatched it up off the table and held her fist at Deborah. “Here—it’s raised!”

They all froze for a moment. Little Zoe sat wide-eyed and openmouthed, her head pivoting to stare at each person in turn. The others were grim, waiting to see how Deborah reacted. Even Proctor felt a bit stunned. He had never seen them all challenge Deborah’s authority at once before.

Deborah stared straight at Abby, who grimaced back for a long moment. Finally, Abby’s eyes flicked to either side of the table to see what the other women were doing. Her resolve
shattered, and she dropped the stone onto the table. Pallid Esther flinched at the sharp sound.

Deborah took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “The Covenant is still out there. They killed my mother and father, they killed Alexandra Walker’s family, and they mean to kill us, if they can. We must develop our skills.”

“See, that’s just it,” Sukey said. Her voice was high, and as thin as her bony arms and hands. “Esther and I have been talking, haven’t we, Esther dear?”

“Yes, oh, yes, we have,” Esther said, her plump cheeks quivering.

“If these people, whoever they are, are hunting for witches,” Sukey said, “then wouldn’t we be better off where we were, in our own communities, unnoticed, instead of someplace they’ve attacked before?”

“Yes, yes, exactly,” Esther said, nodding her round head vigorously.

“If you’re here, then you weren’t exactly unnoticed in your own community,” Deborah said. “Someone accused both of you, correctly, of being witches.”

Esther, always eager to please, said hesitantly, “Yes, yes, they did.”

She winced as Sukey gave a hard squeeze to her hand.

“If they attack me, and I need to defend myself with a rock,” Abby said, “then I’ll pick one up and bash their stupid heads with it. Teach us something useful.”

She pushed back from the table, knocking her chair over as she stood up to leave. Deborah’s back knotted up just like a cat’s, and her hand shot into her pocket. The chair righted itself from the floor and shot forward, knocking Abby back into her seat and scooting her to the table. She sat there, pale and shaken.

Magdalena’s chin trembled in barely suppressed fury.

Proctor understood the point Deborah intended—once you learned how to lift a rock, it was easy to move other things. But all the women in this room were proud of their
independence, and with tempers strained at the moment, all Deborah had accomplished was to make them feel insignificant. And afraid. Her point was going to be lost in a flurry of argument and resentment if he didn’t do something fast.

He cleared his throat.

“I’ll go pack my bag while you folks sort this out,” he said, waving good-bye. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

Everyone reacted at once.

Zoe jumped up from her seat. “I’ll go with you!”

Abby slapped the rock, knocking it onto the floor, then sulked back in her chair, arms crossed.

“But, son, I was counting on your help to finish the roof,” Ezra said.

“You can’t leave us here alone,” Sukey said, raising her fist to shake it at Proctor. Her long bony fingers were still clutched tightly around Esther’s plump hand, tugging her halfway over the table.

“Must we all shout?” Esther whimpered, her eyes closed.

“Sopperlut! What is going on?”

Magdalena pounded her fist on the table just like she was using a mortar to crush her potions in a pestle. Proctor knew she was upset—she’d started using that Dutch lingo none of them understood.

“Oh, Deborah will explain it all to you,” he said. “Well, I’ll be going then.”

He turned toward the door, dragging his feet just enough to let Deborah slam it tight with magic before he reached it. He permitted himself a small smile while no one could see him, then wiped it off his face before spinning to face her.

She stalked over to him, tilting her head back to look at him eye-to-eye. She was very angry. The little crease on her forehead was a dead giveaway. “This is no time for wild goose chases,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean this is no time to run off to other states again, away from The Farm for days or weeks, looking for another witch who probably isn’t even there.”
Not with Bootzamon out there
. But she didn’t say that.

“Not even when we know the Covenant is looking for him too?” Proctor asked.

The room fell silent for a moment while the group digested this new bit of information. Finally, Magdalena broke the silence. “Who or what this wild goose is? Tell us everything.”

“Revere brought word of a young boy, an orphan, on Long Island, who may be a witch,” Proctor said. “He shows the talent. His neighbors have started to fear him.”

Abby was the first to speak. She came from a family of eleven, with both her parents living, and her grandparents not half a mile away; more often than not, she seemed to think that if she didn’t speak first she would never get the chance. “Oh, the poor boy,” she said.

“We don’t need another child here,” Deborah said.

Zoe thumped down in her seat so hard everyone stopped to look at her. She ducked her face behind her bangs, glowering.

“I only mean, he’ll be in danger,” Deborah explained quickly.

“He’s already in danger,” Proctor said. “The British army is on Staten Island, and battle is expected any day. And we know the Covenant wants him. Cecily Sumpter Pinckney has been seen in New York, looking for him, just a few days past.”

“We could use a boy,” Ezra said. “We always had boys on our ships—they’re good for all kinds of work.”

“Chores are nothing,” Abby said, with the attitude of someone who rose before dawn every morning to do the milking. “But that boy must be so frightened. I know how I felt when my talent first started to show. I was surrounded
by my family, with my mother and my aunt born with the talent, and them telling me what to expect. But this boy, I’m sure he’s got nobody.”

Her pride in her family showed in her voice. She was the daughter of Margaret Lamb, a friend of Deborah’s mother and a witch who lived up the Hudson River in New York. They were good people, Proctor thought, even if their talent for magic didn’t extend much past easing childbirth and remedying a few common ills. Abby had more talent than the rest of her family combined.

Sukey shook her head. “I have to agree with Deborah this time. If there’s danger here, we have no right to bring a child into it.”

“Oh, that would be so wrong,” Esther squeaked.

“This Sissy person, she’s the one who tried to kill you last year, right?” Abby said.

“Yes, she is,” Proctor said.

“Well, then he’s in danger there,” Abby said, exasperated. “We have to do something.”

Zoe popped out of her chair. “Yeah!”

“Don’t be fools,” Sukey responded. “He could already be dead. It’s a wild goose chase.”

“This orphan boy might not have parents,” Proctor said. “But he’s staying with somebody’s family. I don’t want anyone else to stumble into a scene like the one I found at the Walker farm in Virginia.”

“And you think you’re powerful enough to stop this Bootzamon creature?” Deborah asked. She glanced at the others. “If he’s there with Cecily.”

“I did it once,” Proctor said.

But he was also thinking that he could draw Bootzamon away from The Farm. All he had to do was let the creature know where he was going, and why.

And then survive.

Deborah’s mouth was pursed to argue more when Magdalena, the only person who had yet to voice an opinion, interrupted.

“I think we should call a meeting. We must find the way forward until we come to a unity.”

Deborah’s face went still.

Meeting was a habit that Deborah’s mother had borrowed from the Quakers. When the witches on The Farm needed to decide something, they prayed and discussed it together until they reached a consensus. Deborah had continued the practice, but Proctor could see it was beginning to chafe with the way she wanted to run things herself.

The others were familiar with the practice too. As soon as Magdalena suggested it, tempers began to cool down.

“That’s a good idea,” Proctor said.

“That’s a
very
good idea,” Sukey said, her long narrow hand absentmindedly patting Esther on the arm. “It’ll be just like a town meeting, dear.”

“I don’t care for town meetings or politics,” Esther said meekly, with her eyes downcast. “But I should very much like the shouting to stop.”

“But what’s the point? We’ll all agree that we have to help him,” Abby said. Zoe stood behind her, nearly obscured by the larger girl, but her face peeked over Abby’s shoulder and she nodded agreement.

Deborah bristled. “We will not—”

“We will be quiet,” Magdalena snapped. When Deborah
clamped her mouth shut, the old Dutch woman repeated herself, more softly. “We will begin all of us by being quiet.”

Proctor pulled up a chair and squeezed in at the corner of the table between Abby and Magdalena. He held out his hands palms-up, ready to grasp his neighbors’ hands for prayer. Zoe hopped back into her seat on Abby’s other side.

“If we captained a ship this way, we’d never find our way out of port,” Ezra grumbled. “But this is what we’re fighting England for, isn’t it? The right to rule ourselves. So if this is what we’re doing, I’m for it.” He fell into his seat, next to Esther.

The only empty chair left was Deborah’s, at the end of the table opposite Magdalena.

The two women stared at each other, the old one sitting, the younger one standing. There was so much suppressed anger between them, Proctor thought the air might burst into flame. Finally, Deborah sighed and took her seat.

They had neatly divided themselves, Proctor saw. Magdalena sat at one end of the table, with Proctor, Abby, and Zoe at her right hand. Deborah sat at the other, with Ezra, Esther, and Sukey at her right.

Seven candles burned on the table, the greasy threads of smoke twisting upward into a single cord. This group was not going to find unity that easily, Proctor thought. Getting all eight of them to agree would be powerful magic indeed.

“Let us pray,” Magdalena said at the exact same moment Deborah said, “We’ll begin with prayer.”

The two women glared at each other, and each nodded her head in deference. Then, at the same time, both held out their hands to start the prayer.

Proctor grasped the hands on either side. Magdalena’s knuckles were swollen, her grip arthritic but determined. Abby took his other hand like a farm boy, ready to crush his fingers.

When the circle was completed, he felt a tingle flow from hand to hand, like water moving through a waterwheel.

“Friends,” Deborah said before Magdalena could speak. “We are gathered here to seek God’s will regarding the orphan boy on Long Island who may be a witch.” She bowed her head. “Lord, we pray for guidance, that we may come to a clear understanding of Your purpose for us, so that we may walk in Your light and do Your will.”

“Amen,” Abby said.

They released hands and the tingle stopped.

The opening prayer was followed by silent prayer, so that all the members of the circle could find their inner Light, the voice of God, revealing His will. Proctor lowered his head, but he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. Every time he shut them, he saw the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Walker, scalped and bloody.