Read Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3) Online

Authors: Sheila Connolly

Tags: #mystery, #genealogy, #cozy, #psychic powers, #Boston, #Salem, #witch trials, #ghosts, #history

Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3) (12 page)

BOOK: Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3)
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“I really don’t see what you’re apologizing for. It’s not like a shameful secret, exactly. What did you learn?”

“That I’m pretty sure I have at least one ancestor there. In Salem, not what was Salem Village. And he—or she—knew who one of the judges was and which house was his, and hated him.”

“Okay. No names, or anything useful?”

“Only that I think this person lived on Turner Street, not too far from the House of Seven Gables, which was actually the Turner House.”

“You took the tour?” Ned asked.

“Yes. Now I’m feeling guilty again. Is that something you’ve yearned to do for years?”

Ned chuckled. “Abby, I’ve been there, a couple of times. Don’t worry about it. All right?”

Abby nodded, feeling petty. “I don’t like keeping secrets. Not that I have many. See—this is what I’d like to help Ellie avoid. She has to know who she can talk to and when not to say anything—but obviously I’m messing up that part.”

“Relax, Abby. It’s fine. Now, can we get back to my idea about visualizing the time? Now that you’ve seen Hawthorne’s house, it should be easier for you.”

“Okay. What do we do?”

“Shut your eyes again. You’re in a reasonably nice home in Salem Village. What do you see?”

Abby thought. “It’s dark.”

“Are you seeing it at night?” Ned asked, sounding surprised.

“Hard to tell—the windows are so small. I guess so. That would be the scary time, right? No streetlights outside. Inside, not much better. A candle or two. Light from the fire. It’s not like you were going to find a cozy corner and read a book. If you could read at all.”

“All right. Go on.”

“Outside there were animals. Your own livestock, for one, but wild animals that could go after those. And even one cow was valuable then. You had only the vaguest idea what lay beyond your village, or the one next to it, and there were still hostile Indians around. Maybe Salem was more cosmopolitan, since it was a port, but in Salem Village it would have been different. There was a lot of land to the west—but how far did it go? So outside in the dark was a scary place.”

“Go on,” Ned said quietly, still holding her. She could feel a quiet connection flowing back and forth between them. Was he seeing what she was?

“So you huddled inside, together. All you had was your family, maybe a servant or two, and you needed to keep warm. Even by day it would have been dark—windows were expensive, and wood was often unfinished, inside and out. Dark clothes. Dark thoughts . . .” Abby fell silent, her eyes still closed, building the image in her head. In the present, in the real world, she was safe in Ned’s arms. In her head, she was trying to enter another era, one that was frightening and uncertain. Children died at birth or not long after; mothers died giving birth. A simple accident could cripple a man, destroy his ability to work. And there was always the looming specter of an Indian attack—or worse, the wrath of an angry God, watching, watching. Men—and women—were sinful. The Devil was always lurking, looking to capture a soul . . .

“Abby?” Ned shook her gently.

She opened her eyes and was back in the present. The sun hadn’t set yet, and the room was filled with soft light. “I guess I got sort of caught up in it.” She turned slightly to lay her head on Ned’s chest and listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady. “Did you feel it? See it?”

“Let’s say it was clearer to me than it has been in the past. Maybe that’s part of our connections, that we can amplify each other’s visualizations.”

“What we were seeing wasn’t based on anything real—it was imagination. Can we actually boost that between us?” Had this been another experiment?

“I don’t know, Abby. This is almost as new to me as it is to you. Tell me—when you were picturing this scene, was it brighter than usual? Did you feel like you were seeing it on a screen, or were you inside it?”

“Ned, I am not a guinea pig. You asked me to imagine something, and I did. I’ve always had an active imagination, and read a lot. Are you saying this wasn’t different for you?”

“Abby, no, I’m not just using you. It felt different to me too. Please don’t get me wrong. Was it unpleasant for you?”

“You mean, was I sensing fear or anything else? No, no more than I would expect people to feel under those circumstances. But we shouldn’t judge people then based on how we see things now.”

“Agreed,” Ned said.

They were silent for a while, their connection to each other muted but still present. Chemical, electrical, psychological—Abby couldn’t begin to explain it, but she knew she felt it. It was wordless—nothing like mind reading. There weren’t even any images: she didn’t “see” Ned’s thoughts. It was just a feeling, one that sometimes let her see the world around her—and occasionally the world in the past—more clearly.

Finally she said, “I wonder if that’s why I like teaching children. They’re so receptive, and they don’t have as many preconceptions, or ideas about what’s right. Things just are. And they have such active imaginations. They can ‘see’ things in their minds. Why do adults lose that? Is it physiological or do they suppress it, consciously or unconsciously?”

Ned’s arms tightened. “Well, if what happened at Salem is any indication, imaginations need to be controlled.”

“Are thoughts contagious? Just because one person believes something, does that mean anyone he or she comes into contact with can catch it? Even if it’s crazy?”

“Abby, I don’t have answers for any of this. I’m not a psychologist, or even a social historian. I’ll admit I’ve always wondered how Hitler could attract so many people and generate such deep commitment and enthusiasm in them, which in turn led them to do awful things. Or why any such incidents in history rose up and overwhelmed common sense and decency.”

“But it keeps happening. Why do terrorists chop off people’s heads? Or why are there still countries where men believe that women are no more than breeders to produce children, but at the same time they are sluts not to be trusted and have to be kept locked up? Does that make any sense?”

“Abby, didn’t I just say that I don’t know? All we can hope to understand and manage is our own little universe. What lies within these walls, and in the little universe of our work and our families. Few people manage to control more than that.”

“So where do I go next with this?” she asked.

“What would a crime scene investigator do? We’ve decided the physical evidence is next to nil.”

Abby turned and sat up to face him. “Yes and no. Some of the buildings are still standing, or have been reconstructed. Like the parsonage, where it all began. The house is gone, but there’s still a foundation. There are pictures of the place before it was torn down. That gives us a pretty good idea of the setting, and where it was in relation to the rest of the village.”

“Good point. So there is some information to be gleaned there. But no relics, no physical objects?”

“Like what? A witch’s handkerchief? A piece of furniture?”

“Maybe. Have you read anywhere that people made an effort to destroy any artifacts? And what if some people left town and took items along with them? They might never have mentioned that the bits and pieces came from Salem, but they could have survived.”

“And I’m supposed to find them how?” Abby said, but with a smile.

“I’m just putting the idea out there, Abby. You’ve already said that all the documents are available online. What do they tell you, if you read between the lines?”

“Wonder if there’s a handwriting specialist who could tell me something? But back up a sec—a lot of people couldn’t read and write then, so many are secondhand reports, which means they may well have been edited, so we can’t assume they’re accurate. And a limited number of people may have done the official recording—and those people may have had an axe to grind. Shoot, another metaphor. They may have had their own agenda, and slanted their text. Or there might be an official version and a behind-the-scenes version of the same information—I think I saw something about Cotton and Increase Mather getting themselves involved. They may have said one thing in public, but they could have been communicating with other players unofficially to try and calm things down. We have only what survived, not everything that was written, so we don’t get the full picture.”

“Abby, this is beginning to sound like an obsession. You need to set some goals for yourself, and maybe a time limit. Weren’t you going to look for a job sometime?”

“Well, yes, of course, if I can persuade Leslie to write me a decent recommendation. And I agree about limits. I was thinking I could take the summer to sort all this stuff out—not just Salem, but all the family lines. Salem is only a small part of that, and I should wrap that up in a couple of weeks. I should hear from Leslie soon, and we’ll set up a schedule for getting together with Ellie on a regular basis. And then I can get serious about that job when she goes back to school in the fall.”

“Is she going to be involved in this quest of yours?” Ned asked quietly.

Abby studied his face, but he kept it neutral. “If I’m not your guinea pig, I can’t use Ellie as mine. And it wouldn’t be fair—to her, to her mother. I’m not trying to teach Ellie anything, because I don’t know enough myself. I hope to watch, and maybe guide, and reassure her that she’s not alone in the world with this. I’m not about to take her to Salem and say, find the witch. Or the Devil. Or whatever.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Did Leslie say anything about me, when you were talking about arrangements?”

“Not really. Ned, Ellie already senses a connection with you, which shouldn’t surprise either of us. But if Leslie and Ellie haven’t had the talk about who her father is, we can’t get into it. Ellie’s pretty young to have any idea what all that’s about.”

“Which part? Love, marriage, making babies?”

“All of the above. She’s seven. If she asks questions, I’ll try not to lie, but we—you and I—need to talk to Leslie about this. My initial impression is that she’d rather you stayed out of it for now. But that may change. I have no idea where this is going to lead. Are you saying I should keep Ellie out of Salem?”

“No, just that you should let it happen naturally, not force it. If she asks about the place, fine.”

“Ned, there were children involved in the witch trials, you know. Some of them were accused, others were the accusers. Children grow up a lot faster now, and know much more, than they would have in 1692. So let’s say, very broadly, that they’re peers. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. But I’m uncomfortable with the idea of dragging her into this, at least right now. Why don’t you get settled into a relationship and then you can revisit the idea?”

“That’s fair. Goodness, look at the time!”

“Ready to go up?” Ned asked.

“I am. As long as you’re coming with me.”

12

 

Abby was not surprised when Leslie called her early the next morning. “Listen, I’ve only got a minute, but I’ve got to give Ellie’s summer program the final schedule today. Are Wednesdays good for you?” Leslie said breathlessly.

“Sure, no problem,” Abby said cheerfully. Any day would be fine, so Leslie could have her pick. “Should I meet you at the museum and collect her on those days?”

“I guess.” Leslie sounded less than enthusiastic. “Listen—no cemeteries, okay? I know Ellie likes them, though I can’t see why, and I think it’s kind of creepy. Can’t you do something like normal sightseeing?”

“That’s easy. How much do you want me to say to her about this . . . other thing?”

“I don’t know. If she has questions, answer them, but you don’t have to bring it up, do you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to. Look, I know this isn’t a good time to talk about it, but how much does she know about Ned?”

“That he’s a nice man and Mommy’s friend. Period.”

“Leslie, I think she already thinks they’ve got this connection thing. I promise I won’t say anything about the biological link, but I don’t know how many more people we’ll meet that share it. If we don’t find any more, she’s going to wonder why she has it with him.”

“Let me handle that, all right? Damn, she’s so young,” Leslie added almost to herself. “I really thought I’d have more time before I had to explain things.”

“Well, I won’t rock the boat. When do you want to start on this schedule?”

“School’s out the end of this week. Next week all right?”

“Fine. I’ll touch base before that to confirm the details with you. And thank you, Leslie.” Abby could have sworn she heard Leslie mumble something like “ha” as she hung up.

So, she had a plan for Ellie. And a deadline. She should try to learn as much as she could about the whole Salem mess before next week, and then she could decide whether or when to involve Ellie. If ever. Maybe Ellie would just outgrow whatever this thing was, and it would never come up again. Or maybe it would blossom and she’d have a real problem on her hands—and so would Leslie.
One day at a time, Abby,
she told herself.

Well, if she had a deadline, she needed a quick-and-dirty plan for research. She couldn’t just keep floundering around the Internet, dashing off in six different directions every time she saw an interesting article. It was fun, but it wasn’t efficient. And the odds she was going to come up with some earth-shattering discovery were kind of small—better minds than hers had tried. So if this was
CSI: Salem,
what would all those brilliant (and ridiculously well-dressed) investigators look at? Her findings didn’t even have to stand up in a court of law; all they had to do was make sense.

She sat down at the dining room table with a clean pad of paper and a sharp pencil (with a good eraser) and thought. What was it most important to look at? She started setting down a list of bullet points.

Point 1: the biological side. She’d already taken a look at possible physical causes, and discussed some of them with Ned, and her immediate impression had been that while on a micro-level a number of them fit, so far none seemed to work for an ailment that dragged on for months and affected only a limited group of people. To her mind, at least. She should check the water and soil and native pest theory (an infestation of poisonous spiders? that could be interesting), but generally she felt that the answer didn’t lie there.

BOOK: Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3)
12.07Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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