The Sacrifice (11 page)

Relief flooded through Abigail at the sight of her mother. She would have a plan and news of what was being done to get them all released. Abby ran her fingers through her hair and tried to press down her dress. She wanted to look good for Mama.

“’Tis Mama,” Dorothy said. “Let us move to the front of the cell so that she may not be aware of the chains on our feet.”

“’Tis a good suggestion, Dorothy,” Aunt Elizabeth said as she rose to greet her sister.

“Abigail and Dorothy Faulkner,” the jailer said, “you have a visitor.”

Abby smiled brightly. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Dorothy was doing the same, but Mama was not deceived. Her eyes fell on the chains, and she began to cry.

“Dear God,” she whispered. “’Tis a far more horrid place than I had even imagined.”

“We are fine, Mama,” Dorothy said.

“We have eaten and slept well, Hannah. You mustn’t worry,” Aunt Elizabeth added.

Mama began pacing outside their cell, shaking her head back and forth. Abigail watched, her concern rising. This was not like Mama.

“How can I not worry?” Mama cried. “The house seems empty without you girls. We all miss you. You will understand when you have children of your own. If I do not free you soon, I will be destroyed. It is truly unbearable for me to see you like this.”

Abigail had never heard her mother speak like this, as if she was out of control.

“How fares Papa?” Abigail asked, hoping to focus Mamas mind on other matters.

But it did not help. Mama gripped the bars of the cell so hard that her knuckles turned white.

“He began hearing voices again on his return,” she said. “I tried to soothe him, but this morning the demons plagued him still. For once I could not help him, and I know not what to do to help you, either. I feel all is lost—everything I have loved and worked to keep together.”

Abigail stared in fright. Her mother had always been the strong one, the one with a plan, the one who would aid them and comfort them. But now she seemed spent.

“Mama,” Dorothy said, “you frighten me when you talk like this. Surely Grandpappy will find a way to free us. Do you not believe that the magistrates will find us innocent when they hear our case?”

Mama shook her head back and forth, saying nothing. Dorothy looked at Abigail, her eyes wide.

Then Abigail felt a hand on her shoulder. Aunt Elizabeth had moved to her side. The light the jailer had left fell full on her thin body and tired face. But when she spoke, there was no weakness there. “Hannah! You do these girls and the baby you
carry no service in such an emotional state. Pull yourself together, sister, and concentrate your energies on your family and the means to free your daughters.”

Mama looked up. Her eyes widened as she saw Elizabeth in the light.

“Eliza,” she whispered, “you look most horrible.”

Aunt Elizabeth let out a laugh. “Thank you, Hannah. You do not look particularly well yourself. But come. We were both aware of the horrors of this place before I or the girls arrived. I will watch over them here and keep them safe. But you, my dear sister, must do your part, too.”

Mama shook her head. “What?” she cried. “What is there for me to do?”

“Hannah,” Aunt Elizabeth said sharply, “I know not. I am in here, but you are there. You must find a way to convince these magistrates to free your daughters. There has to be a way, Hannah, and for them, you have to stay strong and find it.”

Mama stared at the floor.

“The Lord will help you, Hannah,” Aunt Elizabeth said.

Mama laughed bitterly. “The Lord has deserted us.”

Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay, sister. Our fellow man has deserted us. God is still with us, and he will save us. I believe that. And sister, if I can believe that, being
here,
surely you can believe it as you return home.”

Mama lifted her eyes to Aunt Elizabeth’s. They looked at each other for a long time. Then, slowly, Mama nodded. “Aye, sister. You are right.”

She sighed. “Forgive me, girls. I have been consumed with my own suffering. Aunt Elizabeth is right. You shall not be free unless I fight for your freedom, and this I promise to do. Though it pains me to see you, I must forget this heartache and work toward a solution that will end all our troubles.”

Tears streamed down Dorothy’s cheeks.

“I must go now, girls,” Mama said, “but I will find a way to free you. On this you may depend.”

Telling them that she would be back in two days, Mama called for the jailer and was led away. But Abigail did not feel better. With Papa ill and Mama herself pregnant, what strength could she find to
help them to freedom? Abigail looked back at the darkened cell.

She would give anything, say anything, to be out of here. But what? What could she do that would convince the magistrates she was truly innocent?

Abigail and Dorothy settled
into the routine of Salem Town Prison. August gave way to September and then October, with no break from the cold, dampness, or dull weariness. Abigail’s arms and legs were soon covered with red sores from the bedbugs. Her hair grew greasy and full of lice. Her eyes burned from the smoke of the tallow candles, and she was no longer able to distinguish the bad smells of her cell. She knew that she, too, must smell as awful as the others around her.

As the weeks passed, Dorothy seemed to give up all hope. She did nothing all day but stare off into the darkness. Many times she refused to eat, though she took what was offered, only to sit on the bunk with the food held listlessly in her lap.

Aunt Elizabeth’s health worsened. Her cough, racking her only at night before, now continued into the day. Some days she never left her bunk, lying for hours with the heaving cough, which left her face spattered with blood.

As Abigail watched them worsen, she feared for her mind. She knew the time would come when, like Dorothy, she would have no courage to get up at all, but would sit half-mad next to her sister, staring out into the darkness, not caring anymore.

Mama and Uncle Daniel came every other day to visit. They brought knitted caps from Franny, a whittled animal from Paul, and new stories of Edward’s escapades. But their visits did little to lift Abigail’s spirits. Though Uncle Daniel was hopeful with Aunt Elizabeth, Mama grew more depressed with each visit. Papa had worsened, rarely leaving his bed now, muttering over and over that someone was after him. Mama had tried hiring help to watch him, but each one lasted only a day or two before their fear of Papa’s fits and witchcraft led them to believe that Papa was afflicted by his own daughters, who were able to reach him from their cells.

This rumor, reported in guarded tones by Uncle
Daniel to Aunt Elizabeth, but overheard by Abigail, worried her. If the magistrates learned of this tale, they could have her sentenced before she was even able to plead her case.

It seemed to Abigail that their lives could not possibly get worse. Then came the rains.

In that terribly dark and gloomy place, Abigail was not aware of the fact that fall rains were coming down heavily outside. It wasn’t until she noticed a wetness along the base of the floor that she learned of it.

“Aunt Elizabeth,” Abigail said, pointing, “what is that?”

Elizabeth turned her pale face toward the seams of the floor of their cell. “I know not,” she replied in a puzzled voice.

“Ah, no,” a voice moaned, “’tis the fall rains from outside. They must have saturated the ground. Let us pray that the rain ceases, for if it does not, the seawater will begin to rise.”

“Inside the cell?” Abigail asked.

“Aye,” another voice said. “’Tis what happens so close to the ocean. The floor of this cell will not hold
it back. I daresay we will be walking in saltwater before the week is out.”

Abigail prayed for the rains to stop. Their conditions were terrible enough without having the jail cell flooded.

But the next morning, the water continued to press its way inside, and the morning after, an inch covered the floor.

“Up, up you go,” the jailer called out. “I’ll not be bringing your food in to you like a servant. If it’s food you want, you must come to the door to get it.”

Abigail rose with the others and gingerly made her way to the line for food. Saltwater seeped into her shoes and stung her feet with cold. Abigail looked at the hefty boots on the jailer’s feet and envied him. She would remember to ask Mama to bring them all boots when she was next here.

“Abigail,” Dorothy whispered, “I cannot seem to get warm.”

Abigail put her arm about her sister. “If I could get your supper for you and let you return to bed I would, but you know he will not allow it.”

“I can manage,” Dorothy said. “But I fear Aunt Elizabeth may not fare as well.”

“Aye,” Abigail agreed, turning to see Aunt Elizabeth in line behind them, her body trembling from the cold water. “But we will do what we can. Tonight we will draw close to her, and try our best to warm her.”

But that night, Aunt Elizabeth would not hear of it. “Nay,” she said, coughing heavily and trying desperately to draw a breath. “I can manage at this end nicely. Curl yourselves together, girls. You need the warmth more than I.”

Abigail opened her mouth to object, but she knew it would do no good. Aunt Elizabeth was stubborn and would not hear of them warming her if it meant either one of them would be cold. So Abby drew herself to Dorothy and held her close that night.

Early the next morning when Abigail awoke, she sensed something was wrong even before she saw that there were things floating in the now ankle-deep water.

“What is that?” she asked.

“’Tis rats!” someone cried.

Dorothy sat up beside her, looking down into the water of their cell. “Abigail,” she moaned, “what are we to do? Is it not bad enough we are bothered by these demons at night? Must we suffer their presence during the day, too? How shall we go for our food?”

“You can’t really think he’ll come down here to feed us with these rats about?” a woman laughed. “Nay, girl. We will go hungry until the waters go away.”

“Oh, Abigail,” Dorothy moaned, “how shall we survive without food?”

But Abigail did not answer. Though everyone was awake and staring in horror at the rats swimming about their cell, one person had not moved. Abigail felt underneath the thin blanket for Aunt Elizabeth’s leg and shook it gently. Her aunt did not move, and her leg was cold.

Abigail looked at her sister, tears tumbling from her eyes.

“Dorothy,” Abigail whispered, “our aunt is dead.”

Dorothy scrambled to move
away from the dead body. She stared at her aunt, who lay motionless beneath the thin blanket.

“Abby,” she whispered, “what are we to do?”

Abby wiped at her tears. “There is naught we can do now, Dorothy,” she said.

Abby looked at the white face of their aunt, so pale and gaunt in death. She remembered the day her aunt had wed her uncle, how happy they had both been on that day. Abby had been only four then, but she could still see their smiling faces in her mind. Now Uncle Daniel must face a life without Aunt Elizabeth. Abby bent her head and wept for Uncle Daniel, for her mother, who must now face life without her sister, and for her grandfather, who
had lost one of his daughters. Aunt Elizabeth had been but twenty-four. How quickly her life had passed, only to end here, in this miserable prison. What if tomorrow Abby should start coughing? Would
her
death be swift? Would she end her days here in this horrid place?

The other women in the cell sat upon their beds, staring at the girls and their dead aunt. They said nothing to comfort them.

But Dorothy, who was sitting on the other side of Abby, suddenly pushed past her and waded into the rat-infested water.

“Dorothy,” Abigail said, rising to her knees, “what are you doing?”

“Hello!” Dorothy yelled out into the dark. “Hello, up there!”

There was no response.

“Do you hear me?” Dorothy yelled again. “Hello! We need help down here!”

“You’ll get no answer,” one of the women muttered.

“Well, I’ve got to try, haven’t I?” Dorothy said, whirling on the women, facing them defiantly. A rat swam next to her. Dorothy shot out her leg and gave
it a good, swift kick. She turned back to the bars of the cell.

“Hello!” she screamed. “Help! Help!”

To Abigail’s amazement, a door opened above.

“What’s the commotion all about down there?” the jailer yelled. “People are trying to sleep. If you don’t pipe down, I’ll not feed you, not a one of you, you hear?”

“Please, sir,” Dorothy cried out, “my aunt has passed away. Please. Won’t you send for my family?”

There was a silence from above.

“What’s the family, then?” the jailer finally called down.

“The Faulkner family, sir,” Dorothy answered him.

“Fine. Fine,” the jailer said slowly. “I’ll send on word. But no more noise or I might change my mind. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Dorothy called out.

The door closed, and Dorothy waded her way back to the bed. Abigail looked at her with new appreciation.

“That was very brave of you, Dorothy,” she said, putting her arms around her sister and hugging her tightly.

“’Tis nothing,” Dorothy said. “Come, Abby, for now we must be braver still.”

“You mean because now we are alone?” Abigail asked.

Dorothy shook her head. “Nay, sister,” she said. “Because we must be about preparing the body of our aunt.”

For the first time in her life, Abigail took direction from her elder sister. In all the years that she could remember, she had been the brave one. But Aunt Elizabeth’s death seemed to have given Dorothy a courage she had not shown before.

Dorothy pulled back the blanket and found Aunt Elizabeth covered in her own blood. “Abigail,” Dorothy instructed, “rip a piece off your undergarments and dip it in the water below. We must clean her as best we can.”

Abby did as she was told, tearing off a piece of her petticoat. As she bent over the water, the rats swam near, thinking she had food. She shooed them away and dipped the cloth in the water. Then, with Dorothy helping, she cleaned the blood from Aunt
Elizabeth’s face and neck. There was little they could do about her gown.