The Sacrifice (12 page)

Abigail shivered when she felt how cold a body turned once its spirit was no longer there. She wished to turn away from the gruesome task, but Dorothy’s determination kept her focused. If her sister could do this, then so must she.

“Hand me your comb, Abby,” Dorothy said.

Again, Abigail did as her sister commanded, and Dorothy scrambled up onto the far side of the bed, carefully lifting Aunt Elizabeth’s head into her lap. Slowly, she began to comb out her hair. When the knots were all worked out, she arranged the hair, skillfully plaiting it and curling it on top of Aunt Elizabeth’s head.

At last she crawled back down and carefully placed Aunt Elizabeth’s hands over her chest. Abigail looked at their aunt. She was white, almost alabaster, and her skin had shrunk into itself about her cheeks. But at least now she looked presentable and peaceful.

Abigail laid her head against her sister’s shoulder. “That was truly a brave thing to do, Dorothy,” she whispered.

But her sister was crying now, and Abby realized that Dorothy’s newfound courage had been but a temporary thing. She hugged her sister close, taking back the role she had grown up in all her life.

The jailer would not come to the cell when he saw the amount of water on the floor. But he did keep his word and sent home news of Aunt Elizabeth’s death. It was the next day when Mama, Uncle Daniel, Grandpappy, and Paul arrived. Abigail felt a great weight lift from her shoulders when she saw them coming down the stairs. Last night, she had kept herself away from her aunt’s body, but several times had wakened to feel her aunt’s cold leg next to her own. It had shocked her each time.

The jailer led her family to the cell and opened the door, grumbling the whole time about the water. The rats swam from the unwelcome light of the jailer’s torch, as he lifted the blanket from Aunt Elizabeth’s feet and unchained her. Uncle Daniel was the next one in. Without seeming to notice the water, he knelt next to Elizabeth and placed a hand on her forehead. Then he laid his head on her chest.

Mama came and hugged Dorothy and Abigail.
She looked down at the face of her sister. “Did you girls arrange my sister so?” she asked.

“’Twas Dorothy’s idea, Mama,” Abigail said.

Mama nodded. “I can see it was truly done with love, girls,” she said. “Thank you.”

Grandpappy came in too, and kissed Abigail and Dorothy. He looked over at his daughter, lying still upon their bed. “How many more lives will be lost in this madness?” he asked.

Abigail did not answer. What could she say to his question?

“You’ll need to hurry there,” the jailer growled. “I must get this door closed so them witches don’t escape.”

“In good time,” Grandpappy said. “We’ve paid to retrieve the body.”

“Shall be in
my
time,” the jailer retorted, “or I’ll have my boys carry her out and bury her in a pauper’s grave as all the others who’ve not been retrieved by their families.”

Grandpappy’s eyes flashed with fire. “You speak to a man of the cloth,” he said angrily. “Mind your tongue, or it shall be a day in the stocks for you.”

The jailer scowled but was quiet.

Paul came into the cell. He shrank from the other prisoners, his eyes turning to Abigail.

“They’ll not hurt you,” she said, going to his side. “We’re all chained.”

“Oh, Abby,” he said, looking about him. “I hate to think of you and Dorothy in this place. I hate not being able to help you get out of here.”

“Help Mama,” Abigail said.

“Aye,” Paul agreed. “You know I will. Papa has had fits more frequently these days. I think the fear for you and Dorothy has been too much for him.”

Grandpappy pulled Abigail and Dorothy to him. “Let us pray for your aunt’s goodly soul,” he said.

Mama, Paul, Abigail, and Dorothy bowed their heads while Grandpappy said his prayer. The women around them bent their heads too, and for once, they were together as one.

When he had finished, Grandpappy went over to Uncle Daniel and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come,” he said. “Let us be about taking my daughter from this horrid place.”

Daniel nodded and stood.

“Here boy,” Grandpappy said, turning to Paul. “Lend us a hand.”

Paul nodded and went forward. He reached under Elizabeth’s waist and lifted, while Uncle Daniel held her head and Grandpappy lifted her feet.

“Come along, come along,” the jailer groused, having found his voice again and deciding to risk the minister’s wrath. “I have other chores to attend to.”

Mama turned an angry face to the jailer, but Dorothy laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mama,” she said softly, “do not forget who decides our fate in this place.”

Mama swallowed hard, then nodded. Uncle Daniel, Grandpappy, and Paul carried Aunt Elizabeth to the cell door.

“Be strong, girls,” Grandpappy said. “Your mother and I will find a way to get you out of here.”

Uncle Daniel said nothing, but Paul’s sad eyes met Abby’s. Then they were gone.

“Ma’am,” the jailer said, indicating that Mama should leave.

“Papa is ill?” Abigail asked quickly, wishing to prolong the visit.

Mama nodded. “Aye. He is distraught,” she said.
“I could not let him come and see Elizabeth here. I asked him to stay with Franny and Edward and told him he must be about finding a spot in which to lay my sister to rest.”

“We shall not be there,” Dorothy said softly.

“She would know that you meant to be, child,” Mama said.

She hugged and kissed them both. Then she followed the jailer up the long prison stairs, the light disappearing with them.

The other women turned away from Abigail. Their moment of togetherness had ended. Abby stared into the dark at their now empty bed.

In the stillness of that morning,
Abigail lost all hope. Like her sister had before, she began sitting day after day, caring little if she ate or if she starved. She stared out at the darkness, her mind numb, no longer longing for freedom, ignoring the awful truth of Aunt Elizabeth’s death. For the first time in her life, all she could feel was fright. Every little thing scared her. Every little noise made her jump. She was going to die. She knew it.

She retreated and spoke not at all, simply closing her mind off. It was not until many days later, when Mama stood directly in front of her, shaking her hard, that Abigail even became aware of the fact that her mother was there. “Abigail!” Mama cried. “Abigail, rouse yourself, daughter. Do not frighten me so.”

Abigail stared at her mother. She wondered why Mama was screaming. Could she not see that there was no hope? Could she not feel the end and the frightfulness of it?

“Abigail,” Mama cried again, putting her arm around her and rubbing her shoulders.

“Here, here, Mistress. Not so close. ’Tis not permitted. I could have trouble for letting you into the cell as it is,” said the jailer.

“Can you not see that she is ill?” Mama snapped.

The jailer glared at her but said nothing more.

“Abigail,” Mama said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Bear, I know this has been a hard time for you. But I have good news! Good news! I have the way to free you at last!”

Into Abigail’s vision came the face of her sister. “’Tis true, Abigail,” Dorothy said. “Mama has devised a plan whereby we shall be quit of this place. Think on it, Abigail! Free from this horrid prison! Free from this cell of death! Come, Abby. Listen to Mama. We must do as she tells us.”

Abigail looked at them both. What good was freedom if Aunt Elizabeth was not here to have it also? Or was she free? Did her spirit roam about now, glad to be rid of this earthly hell? Abigail shivered.

The slap, when it came, was hard and shook Abigail to the core. “Rouse yourself, daughter,” Mama scolded her. “They may have taken Elizabeth, but they shall not take you also. It is time to fight, Abigail. I mean to bring you home.”

Home,
Abigail thought.
Home
. Somewhere deep inside her something stirred, a hope, a glimmer of her old self. Could it be so? Could she be rescued from this horrible cell? Could she return to some-place warm, somewhere safe?

Abigail opened her mouth for the first time in days. Her voice cracked from lack of use. “How, Mama?” she asked. “How can I get home?”

Mama smiled. “I have managed to arrange your trial for the day after the morrow,” she said.

Abigail’s heart fell. The fright returned. “What of it?” she croaked bitterly. “The trial offers little hope.”

“’Tis true if you refuse to accuse someone as your teacher in the devil’s ways,” Mama said, her eyes glowing and dancing with some secret.

“Would you have me falsely accuse someone?” Abigail asked, crying. “Would you have me condemn someone to this life?”

Mama nodded, smiling again. “Aye, Bear. I would.”

“Who?” Abigail cried. “Who would you have me name as a witch, Mama, that I might go free?”

Mama hugged Abigail tight. “Me, Bear,” she whispered. “You will accuse me.”

“Nay, Mama!” Abigail cried,
suddenly thinking clearly. “Are you mad?”

Mama shook her head. “I am not mad, Bear,” she said. “This seems to be the answer. If an accused witch accuses someone else of teaching them the devil’s work, the accused is considered innocent and is freed. The teacher of the devil’s ways is then arrested in their place.”

“Surely, Mama, you are aware that they will arrest
you
then, and
you
will be imprisoned in this place,” Abigail said.

“Aye. I know this to be true,” Mama said. “But at last I shall have some peace, knowing you and Dorothy are to be safe.”

“And when your trial comes,” Abigail said
scornfully, “will you in turn accuse someone, or will you refuse to confess to being a witch and thus be condemned to death?”

“That is our secret,” Dorothy said. “Mama will refuse to admit to being a witch, but they cannot condemn her.”

“And why not?” Abigail demanded. “They have hanged many for their refusal to speak.”

Mama smiled and rubbed her belly. “They may not hang one who is with child,” she whispered. “So you see, I am saved.”

What Mama said was true. Witches who would not confess but who were with child were not hanged until after the birth of the baby. But did this make things right?

“What if we are unable to free you after the babe is born?” Abigail said. “What if you should sicken here and die like Aunt Elizabeth?”

Dorothy’s eyes widened. “I had not thought of this, Mama,” she said. “What if we cannot free you after the babe is born? What then?”

Mama rubbed Dorothy’s head. “I will be fine, Dorothy. I am strong. This you know, and the babe will keep me safe. Even now there is talk of protest
against those doing the accusing. Grandpappy speaks out against it daily. ’Tis only a matter of time before reason returns, and the babe will give us that time.”

Abigail stared at her mother. Did she truly believe they could go through with this? What her mother was asking was too much! How could she possibly stand in front of the magistrates and accuse her own mother of teaching her witchcraft? And how could she condemn her to this horrible place?

“Nay, Mama,” Abigail said. “I cannot do it.”

Mama’s hand dropped from Dorothy’s head. She stood, drawing herself up tall in front of Abigail. “You will do it, Abigail Faulkner. You will do it because I am telling you to.”

Never had her mother spoken to her this way. Then her mother’s face softened, and tears came to her eyes.

“You will do it because I can take the thought of you here no more. My torment does but hurt the babe inside. Truly I say to you, Bear, you must do this for me so that I might rest easy,” Mama said.

She went to the cell door and called for the jailer. Then she turned once more to her daughters.

“Over the next day, talk to each other and prepare stories for the magistrates,” she said. “Say the stories together, for they must sound true should they ask. Now I must go, for there is much to do to prepare for my coming absence at home.”

The jailer opened the door.

Mama smiled slightly. “At last,” she sighed, “at last, you will be set free.”

Then Mama was gone, and Abigail and Dorothy stared at each other. Abigail’s fright had been replaced by the horror of what they must do. If Mama was right, and Dorothy and Abigail played their parts, they would be free in two days’ time. But how was Abby to live with herself after she had accused her own mother of witchcraft?

The day of their trial, Abigail and Dorothy were led from their cell. No one wished them luck nor said good-bye, but Abigail was not surprised. Friendships in places full of suspicion were not easy to make.

Still, when the leg irons were taken off her feet, she turned one last time to look at the bunk on which she had rested with Aunt Elizabeth. Though
she did not believe in ghosts, there was a part of her that wondered if some spirit of Aunt Elizabeth’s still wandered these halls, unsettled and angry.

“Come,” the jailer grumbled. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to stay a little longer?”

Abigail quickly shook her head and with her sister followed the jailer down the darkened corridor and up the stone stairs to light and freedom.

When they reached the top, Dorothy put a hand to her eyes. Abigail, too, shut her eyes, for the sunlight hurt after being in darkness for so long.

They were led to a small room in the prison where Mama waited for them with a tub of steaming water. Mama helped them take off their clothes and bathe. She combed their hair to free it from nits and lice and helped them dress again in clean clothes, all the while hugging them to her and planting kisses on them. Her happiness was overwhelming, and whenever Abigail or Dorothy started to protest what they were about to do, Mama would hush them.

“Free. You are
free,
girls,” Mama said, smiling through her tears. “You are clean and in fresh air once more. Do not break my heart now with talk of
refusing to do what I have told you to. Nothing, no jail, no cold, no hunger will affect me as much as seeing you in this place did. Now my heart sings at your release.”