Reincarnation (14 page)

servant and it would be taken care of. We wouldn't be paid nothing for our work but we'd

be housed and fed, so who needs money anyway?

It didn't occur to me that there was anything wrong with this deal until we were too far out

to sea to do anything about it. We got little to eat, one lump of hard fresh bread every two

weeks of the twelve-week journey. After five weeks one married couple begged to be

thrown overboard then and there rather than endure another day of hunger. They were told

to go back below where they did die of weakness and starvation before the journey's end.

The dysentery was a nightmare down there; the stench was unbearable. By the sixth week

my fellow had found himself a new girl, her husband having died of the pox and been

thrown overboard two weeks earlier. I'd grown so fed up with him I can't say I was sorry to

see him go.

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I thought I was glad when the trip ended, but little did I know that my troubles were just

beginning. We landed in Virginia where a man took all of us to work on his tobacco farm.

You've never done backbreaking work until you've picked tobacco, though I hear those that

pick cotton have it even worse. We had to work alongside slaves from Africa. Most of them

could not even speak English but talked only to one another in the most foreign language

I've ever heard.

I've been too bone tired to write in this diary but finally I got a break. The man in Virginia

lost a third of his indentured servants in a poker game to a man named Wheldon living in a

place called New England. As long as there are no tobacco fields, it's got to be better than

where I am.

Mrs. Charles Wheldon, Esq. Salem, Massachusetts, March 3, 1691

Dear Mr. Wheldon,

This letter is to inform you that in a week's time I will be putting my daughter, Elizabeth

May, on a boat heading for the town of Salem in the colonies. She is aware that, when last

you were in England, you consulted me regarding your honorable intentions to wed

her. She has assured me that, though the two of you are not well acquainted, she is

favorably disposed toward what she does know of your appearance and disposition which

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you made known to her on your several visits to our home with your esteemed father.

Elizabeth May has been well educated, having read the classics in my well-stocked library,

the very one your esteemed father remarked upon so favorably when last we saw you. She

has also been taught by a governess well-versed in Latin, history, and Trench. The life of the

mind is of utmost interest to my daughter but I trust you will find her a lively enough

companion as she has always been a girl of spirit. It will bode well for your happiness

together if you could see your way to providing her with a supply of books as well as

stimulating pursuits that will satisfy her active mind.

As you are aware, Elizabeth May has just this month attained her seventeenth birthday. My

wife, Mrs. Harrington, and I are certain she is mature enough to make you a fine wife but I

pray you will keep in mind her tender age while at the same time patiently guiding her with

the benefit of your experience. I am confident you will treat her well since she will know no

other in this new land into which she is to come. Were I not certain of your fine character, I

would not send her so far from home.

Sincerely,

Mr. Henry Harrington

London, England

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Salem, Massachusetts, 1691

Charles Wheldon clapped the snow from his gloves as he entered the front door. As usual,

his young wife, Elizabeth May, was on the couch in the library reading. At his arrival, she

looked up from her book.

"What brings you home so soon?" she asked. "My court case was postponed."

"Why?" She put down her book and approached him.

He made an aggravated, dismissive grunt. "The Lewis sisters were in court. They claim to

have seen witches flying through the air on poles and believe they recognized one of

them to be their neighbor."

"Are they believed?" Elizabeth May bent down to pet her black cat, who had padded in from the library after her.

"Yes, by many," he told her. "Of late this town has gone mad with sightings of witches."

Elizabeth May's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. Expressions like this reminded him

of how young she was, despite her wifely position. "I hope the Lewis sisters are not pointing a finger at old Miss Pritchard."

He looked at her sharply. "Why should she be suspect?"

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"She grew up on the island of Barbados and knows a great deal of the ancient folk cures of

the place. Besides that, she's always talking of omens and what they might foretell."

"I would advise her to keep such notions to herself. The penalty for witchcraft is death."

"I will tell her," Elizabeth May agreed, heading for the winter bonnet and cape she kept hung on a peg by the front door.

Charles held up his hand. "On second thought, do not. We want no guilt by association."

"I'll tell her what is afoot and then leave," Elizabeth May replied.

"It's none of our business."

"But they hanged Jane Stewart as a witch just last month!" she protested.

"That woman should have been in an asylum," he reminded her. "She spit at every citizen who crossed her path, hurling vile curses at them."

"That did not make her a witch. She was more to be pitied than despised," Elizabeth May

insisted.

"Her hanging was also a small loss. These witch hunts cull criminals, deviants, the indigent, and the insane from our society."

"That's harsh. Besides, Miss Pritchard is none of those, but she is a single lady who does not attend church and is therefore a target," Elizabeth May pressed.

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"If she does not attend church, then she must take her chances."

"Charles! The woman is old and blind."

"I forbid it!" Charles insisted firmly. His tone was raised just enough to mean that this was his final word on the subject. "And perhaps that cat of yours should be gotten rid of. You

know what they're saying about cats, m sure.

Elizabeth May scooped up her cat, cradling it in her arms. Lowering her eyes in that way she

had, she bowed slightly before retreating back into the library. Those falsely humble

lowered eyes infuriated him. He had seen indentured servants and slaves make the same

compliant nod too many times not to understand the contempt it masked.
Yes, sir. Thank

you, sir. I'll stab you in your sleep first chance I get, sir.

It was not a look he desired to see in his wife. But then, he had come to see many things in

his new wife that he wished were not there.

He hung his coat and hat in the front closet and went to his study. This delay in the court

hearing had been a reprieve of sorts. The man he was defending, Mr. Woolcot, had sold

another man, Mr. Matherson, a horse that turned out to be lame.

Mr. Woolcot claimed he had no knowledge of this infirmity and had made the deal in good

faith. Was he required to take back the horse and return the money? Charles's client said no,

but Mr. Matherson had disagreed and sued.

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Taking down one of his law books from the shelf, Charles opened it in the hope of finding a

legal precedent for such a situation. He had found several cases that were similar but

searched for one that was exactly the same and would thus make this an easy and swift

hearing.

With his mind drifting off the case at hand, he absently rubbed his jaw.

He noticed it was painful. Had he been grinding his teeth at night again? If so, it usually

meant something was weighing on his mind. It was not the legal case at hand, though it

was, in a way, related to it: Should Mr. Henry Harrington be expected to take back his

daughter and reimburse Charles for her expenses? Just as with Mr. Matherson, what Charles

had gotten was not what he had expected.

Though lovely to look at, Elizabeth May was stubborn, willful, nearly addicted to reading,

and insatiably curious about everything besides her husband. When it came to him,

Elizabeth May all but implied he was some sort of petty tyrant, duly bound to the status

quo, and someone whose wishes and rules were simply to be gotten around by secrecy and

deception. In short, she behaved as a child -- granted, a smart and pretty child, but her mind

was immature, nonetheless.

It was perhaps partly his fault for choosing such a young bride, barely seventeen, when he

was nearly twenty-four. But he had been so taken with her when he first saw her in London.

She conversed so intelligently on a number

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of subjects, including medicine and history. She even had knowledge of geology. When he

had mentioned that he might invest in an emerald mine in Rhodesia, she had supplied the

fact that polished emeralds came from beryl, a mineral found in aluminum beryllium silicate.

He'd been impressed. Who wouldn't be?

At the time she had struck him as the most desirable possible wife, a mate young enough to

adapt herself to the harshness of life in the colonies and learned enough not to bore him to

tears during the long, hard winters.

What, though, had impressed her about him?

Many women had desired to marry him. And why not? He was handsome, from a well-to-do

family, and a lawyer. Athletic in his build, he had been a star athlete in college, excelling at

track and field events. He was confident in his demeanor, a natural leader among men.

Perhaps the more pertinent question was: What had disillusioned her about him in the six

months since they had been married? What had brought on the polite distance between

them?

Shrugging off this concern, he returned to his law book. Certainly it was not his fault if she

behaved childishly; looking at him disapprovingly when he was sharp with the servants,

narrowing her eyes at him for shooing a beggar from the back door. Order had to be

maintained in a household, and it was up to him to do it.

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An hour later, he had found the legal precedent he'd been searching for, and left his study.

In the hall, he met Abby, the indentured servant who was one of their maids. His father had

won her indenture papers in a poker game along with many others. He had given two of

them to Charles and Elizabeth May as a wedding gift.

Abby plumped the red curls bundled at the back of her head in a seductive manner before

dipping into a quick curtsy. "Good evening, sir," she said, her voice warm and caressing.

"Tell Missus Wheldon I am ready for lunch," he requested.

"I'm afraid Missus Wheldon has gone out, sir."

"Out? Do you know where?"

"No, sir."

He rubbed his jaw. He was fairly certain he knew where she'd gone.

Elizabeth May lifted her long dress above the swirling snow drift as she rapped on the back

door of Miss Pritchard's house. It was answered by Lily, the family slave Miss Pritchard had

brought with her from Barbados. "Come in, child," Lily said in her thick island accent. "It is near to a blizzard out there." With vigorous slaps she brushed the snow from Elizabeth

May's cloak. "Oh, I can never get used to this wretched climate. It's what will kill me in the 144

end," she said. "Have you come for another herbal poultice wrap to soothe that ankle of

yours? Is it bothering you again?"

"No. Thanks, Lily. Thanks to your good medicine my ankle has not bothered me of late. I've

come to speak to Miss Pritchard about some news I believe is of importance to her,"

Elizabeth May revealed as she hung up her cloak and bonnet on the pegs near the wood-

burning stove.

"The Missus will be up from her midday napping soon. Let me make you a cup of tea in the

parlor, and you can wait for her there."

"I'd just as soon take it here with you," Elizabeth May said.

"If that pleases you," Lily agreed. "It's not the proper thing, but Miss Pritchard is not fussy about such as that."

Lily made the tea while Elizabeth May told her what she'd learned of the witchcraft

accusations. Lily's cheerful expression melted into a scowl of concern. "No one has come to

involve us with such a thing -- not yet, anyway," she said as she put the tea kettle over the iron hot plate atop the burning stove.

Elizabeth May noticed several cats strolling through the kitchen. A gray tabby cat leaped up

onto the table and Lily quickly shooed it off again. "How many cats have you got?" Elizabeth May asked.

"Oh, I've lost count," she replied. "Miss Pritchard is so good-hearted. She can never turn away a stray. More and

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more cats seem to be homeless these days. It's as if people don't want to be associated with

them anymore."

Miss Pritchard appeared in the doorway. Her long white hair was loosely splayed over the

shoulders of her black robe. Elizabeth May found the white-blue blankness of the woman's

blind eyes unsettling, and made an effort not to stare at them.

"Miss Elizabeth has come to visit us," Lily informed Miss Pritchard. "She is here at the table."

"I am aware. Thank you, Lily." The old woman took a seat across from Elizabeth May. "This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here, my girl?"

"Troubling news, I fear." She told her what she'd heard from Charles.

"And you naturally assumed I was the witch these girls saw riding across the sky, did you?"

Miss Pritchard asked, an amused smile playing on her thin, lined lips.