The Sacrifice (10 page)

“Aunt Elizabeth,” Abigail said, “what occupies your days here?”

Aunt Elizabeth smiled and sat down next to Abigail. “Abby,” she said, “remember the days at
home when you wished with all your heart to be rid of your chores?”

Abigail nodded. Many mornings she had rolled over, wishing only for her warm bed and a longer sleep, no kneading of bread, no stirring of soap, no cleaning of wool, nor spinning of cloth.

“Here your wish will be granted,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “But I fear that is exactly what makes this place most intolerable. There is nothing to do all the day but wait and hope for your next meal, if you should be lucky enough to have money to pay for one, or for a visitor, or for one of us to at last be given our trial.”

“Small hope that offers,” one woman said. “Not one of us has been found innocent. The trial does but prepare us to be sentenced to die if we deny being a witch, or be imprisoned in here forever for confessing to witchcraft.”

“Has anyone here confessed?” Dorothy asked, her voice trembling.

“Aye,” said the same woman, “I have.”

“Oh, Aunt Lizzy,” Dorothy said, sitting down, braving the bugs in the straw to be closer to Abigail and Aunt Elizabeth.

The woman laughed bitterly. “Child, I had little choice. Either I denied it and was hanged, or I confessed to it and was imprisoned for life. What choice is that?”

“Then the trials do not free one?” Dorothy asked.

Aunt Elizabeth put her arm around Dorothy. “’Tis true that no one has yet proven innocence to the magistrates. But there is always hope, niece, always hope.”

“Hard to feel it here, though,” another woman said softly.

“Aye,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “One must work hard to maintain faith in this dismal place.”

Abigail stared at the woman who had admitted to being a witch. She looked just like the others, dirty and haggard, but otherwise normal. Was she indeed innocent, as she claimed, or could it be possible that she was lying and was really a witch?

“Are there days when food does not come, Aunt Lizzy?” Dorothy asked.

“Nay, child,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “In this cell, we are fed better than most. Our families have paid most dearly for our upkeep, so we are fed regularly and given this goodly sized cell. But I fear the food
will leave you hungry. It is not much.” She paused. “Still, ‘tis better than what those whose families cannot afford their upkeep will receive. They get very little, and in the end, if they cannot pay the jailer his fee, they remain here until their debts are paid, innocent or not.”

As if he had heard them speak, the jailer came down the steps a moment later, preceded by a light in the hallway. Two young boys followed him, each carrying wooden bowls steaming with something hot.

Abigail’s mouth watered. Neither she nor Dorothy had had anything to eat since breakfast.

The jailer went down the rows of cells, doling out food to many. But he passed several others without stopping. Abigail heard the pleading of those who could not pay, crying for mercy and for more food.
It would be difficult to have an empty belly, to smell that food yet have none of it,
she thought.

At last the jailer reached their cell. The boys with him were breathing heavily from the hard climb up and down the stairs to fetch bowls of food.

“Move back, move back,” the jailer called to the women who had been crowding the door. They
moved swiftly away. The jailer took out his ring of keys and opened the cell door.

Abigail and Dorothy lined up with the others to receive their supper. Abigail was careful to leave some space between herself and the woman in front of her. In this place, there seemed to be no telling if one was next to a witch or not, and Abigail would not risk that closeness.

When she reached the head of the line, the jailer handed her a wooden bowl and a rough wooden spoon. Abigail glanced down. It was broth, with only a few small, stringy pieces of meat in it. If this was what she was being fed, what did those who did not pay as well get? The jailer handed her a piece of bread. Abigail took it, noticing the mold along one side of the slice.

“Please, sir,” she said, “might I have another piece? This bread is moldy.”

“If it’s unhappy you are, then eat it not,” the jailer growled, snatching away her bread. “Let the soup fill your belly tonight.”

Abigail gasped with surprise at the abruptness of his gesture.

“Please sir,” she said, realizing that she would go hungry if she did not eat some of the bread. “I am truly sorry That piece will be fine.”

“Please,” Aunt Elizabeth said behind Dorothy, “’tis their first day here, and they are most hungry. The child is sorry she has offended you.”

The jailer gave Aunt Elizabeth a sharp look, but then relented, handing Abigail back the moldy bread, which she took eagerly. Abigail understood now why Aunt Elizabeth had looked so frightened of their jailer. It was he who controlled their lives.

Dorothy was not so wise. She stared down at the clear broth and then handed it back. “Surely for what my Papa has paid there is more than this!” she said.

“Dorothy!” Aunt Elizabeth gasped.

Abigail turned and looked back at her sister. She prayed the jailer would not beat Dorothy for the comment, or do something even worse. Still, there was a part of her that admired her sister for having the courage to confront the jailer.

“Nay,” the jailer cried, anger in his voice. “There is naught else, and with impertinence such as this, you shall not receive your candle that has been paid
for either. Now move on. May your wicked, ungrateful little belly rumble loudly in your ears, for you’ll get naught to eat from me on the morrow either.”

“You cant do that,” Dorothy protested.

“I can and I have,” the jailer replied. “Now move on.”

With that, he gave her a shove, pushing her toward the back of the cell. Dorothy stumbled in her heavy leg irons, but quickly righted herself and moved toward Aunt Elizabeths bug-infested bed. Abigail and Aunt Elizabeth joined her there.

Dorothy looked disdainfully down at the plates in their hands. “I wouldn’t eat that food if it were on real delft china,” she said haughtily.

Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “You will be happy enough with this food after having had naught for two days, niece. That was truly a most foolish thing to do, and now that our jailer has withheld your tallow candle, I fear you will get little sleep, either.”

“Why?” Dorothy asked. “Because of the condition of the bed?”

Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “Because of the rats.”

Then she bent to eat her food.

“Rats?” Dorothy gasped.

Even Abigail felt sick thinking of those awful creatures. Though they rarely frightened her, she was not overly fond of them either.

“Aye,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “They mostly come during the night. It would have been better had we three candles near our corner rather than two, since the candles keep them at a distance.”

Dorothy lifted her legs and chains up onto the straw. It seemed she was willing to risk bug bites rather than face the rats.

When they had finished their meager meal, the bowls and spoons were collected by the jailer’s young helpers. Then they were left again in the silence and darkness of the cell.

“Come. We must be about preparing for sleep,” Aunt Elizabeth said.

“How do you even know when the nighttime comes?” Dorothy asked.

Aunt Elizabeth shrugged. “There is a rhythm to the day that you shall soon learn.”

Abigail wondered why they should worry about sleep when it seemed as if nighttime were all that existed in this gloomy place. But she stood as her aunt asked her to do.

Aunt Elizabeth fluffed at the straw. “We will have to share this bed,” she said, “but no matter. The closeness will keep us warm, as this place grows cold at night.”

“Colder still?” Abigail asked in wonder, for even now, her feet and hands were raw and damp.

“I fear so, niece,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Come. Let us lie down and find a comfortable way to be together upon this bed.”

Abigail and Dorothy removed their heavy leather shoes and stretched out upon the straw. Aunt Elizabeth joined them, lying at the opposite end of the wooden bed and spreading upon them all a thin blanket.

“Is this all there is to keep us warm tonight?” Dorothy asked.

“Be grateful, Dorothy,” Aunt Elizabeth replied. “Most here can afford no cover at all.”

Dorothy said nothing, but Abigail saw her pull the blanket up over her head, and then heard her sobbing. Abigail turned on her side and put an arm around her sister, drawing her close until Dorothys body fit snugly against her own. She held her sister, comforting both of them, until at last, she felt Dorothys body soften in sleep.

Abigail stared at the cell walls, on which the tallow candles made flickering shadows. She thought of home, of Franny and her dolls, of Paul and his gruff love, of Edward growing so fast, and of Mama and Papa. They seemed so far away now. The sound of her heart was loud in her ears, and her mouth was dry. Abigail knew herself to be a courageous girl, but she could feel the fear in this place like a rough cloth against her face, smothering her. She longed for the forgetfulness of sleep, but it would not come. Instead her head was filled with horrible images of waking to find a witch above her, and it was a long time before she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

·  ·  ·

Abigail woke in the middle of the night. The cell was quiet, except for the snoring and -ccasional murmurs of some of its occupants. Her back was cold against the wall, and she turned over to warm herself against Dorothy.

She knew that something other than the cold had awakened her. She listened and heard a slight scratching sound. Rats had come into the cell. Dorothy slept soundly beside her, and Abigail was grateful, for she knew her sister would have been horrified to hear them.

There was a slight movement at the end of the bed where her aunt slept. Aunt Elizabeth began to cough.

Abigail hoped she would stop and soon slide back into sleep, but Aunt Elizabeth’s cough worsened, growing louder and louder. That must have been what had wakened her.

“Aunt Elizabeth?” Abigail finally said into the darkness.

“Abigail, I meant not to wake you.”

“Do not worry, aunt. I fear the rats would have disturbed my sleep anyway.”

“Well, child, go on back to sleep. It will give you strength, and you shall need that here.”

“Are you not afraid that perhaps the witches in here will come for you as you sleep?” Abigail whispered.

“We are all chained, Abigail,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “In truth, I have been here a month now and have suffered no torments at these women’s hands.”

Abigail thought about this, still wondering if some of them would not try to recruit her for the devil. Her aunt began coughing again.

“How long have you had your cough?”

“A fortnight, but it is naught. It comes only at night. Do not worry, Abigail. Sleep.”

Aunt Elizabeth coughed again, her body shaking with the effort of it. Abigail listened to the force of the cough, aware of what it might mean.

“Is there blood?” Abigail asked when Aunt Elizabeth had stopped.

At first her aunt said nothing. Then, quietly, she replied with a sigh, “Aye.”

Abigail moved her leg so that it touched her aunt’s. “We need to get you out of here soon, then,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and
her concern hidden. Coughing blood was a serious sign, especially in a place so damp and cold.

“Please say naught of this to your mother,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “I do not wish to frighten her and Daniel.” She coughed again and then spoke softly. “Abigail, you are strong, and so I will speak truthfully to you. I hold out little hope for my trial. Not one has been found innocent without accusing another. If they refuse, they are condemned.”

“Then you must accuse someone else, aunt,” Abigail said.

In the dark, Abigail could sense Aunt Elizabeth smiling.

“And condemn another innocent to this most horrid of places?” her aunt asked. “Come, Abigail. Surely you do not mean me to do this?”

Abigail knew it was not right, but if her aunt was not freed from here, Abby knew death would be a possibility. But then, her aunt must realize it too.

“Nay, Aunt Elizabeth,” she finally said, steadying her voice. “Nay, I would not have you lie.”

“Good child,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Let me say just one more thing, then. Though release for me seems unlikely, I cannot believe that the magistrates
will hold two such as Dorothy and you. Your young age will surely convince them of your innocence. As for me, in spite of what has happened to the others, I am still determined to survive, if for no other reason then to hold my dear Daniel in my arms once more. This desire, I believe, will give me strength to find an answer as to how to effect my freedom, Abigail. Now let us both turn our minds to sleep.”

Abigail did as her aunt asked and fell silent. But sleep would not come for her. That night she listened to the rats and her aunt’s cough and prayed for an answer to save them all.

The food brought them in the morning was no better than the evenings meal. But Dorothy, on waking hungry, was quick to beg forgiveness of the jailer. Though he grumbled and complained, at last he gave in and handed her a bowl of the awful grub. Still, Dorothy could not resist making a face before eating the horrible mush. Abigail was glad to see her sister eat, and gladder still to see that Aunt Elizabeth’s cough had stopped.

When the meal was finished and removed, they were left again in the dim light with nothing to do
for the rest of the day. The other women sat on their beds or on the floor and stared into the darkness. Abigail, too, sat in silence, and the longer she sat, the more she was certain she would not survive this place. She longed to cry out, to beat on someone, to wake up and find she had only been dreaming this nightmare. And though it seemed impossible to believe, she longed to have chores to do: mending, sewing, baking, weeding. She would have welcomed these things now to make the time go faster.

Just when she thought she would go mad from it all, a light appeared above, and the jailer descended with Mama behind him. Mama moved slowly, her belly large with the baby.