The Sacrifice (15 page)

“And Mama?” Franny asked.

“She will be safe there,” Dorothy assured her.

“And we will get her back, Franny,” Abigail added. “I promise.”

Paul came huffing and puffing into the yard. “’Bout time you two came back. Lollygagging in Salem Town while I’m left with all the harvesting and fall chores.”

Abigail grinned at him “’Tis glad I will be of chores, Paul.”

“Mayhap you need some time in Salem Town Prison to consider the good fortune you have in doing your chores, Paul,” Grandpappy said gruffly.

It was meant to be a joke, but immediately everyone grew silent. Abby could think only of Mama, now
imprisoned in that dark and dank place. And when she saw Uncle Daniel, she could no longer see her own homecoming as a happy occasion. Her uncle seemed to have aged overnight. There were lines around his eyes and mouth, and his hair had begun to gray.

“Uncle Daniel,” Abigail said, going to him and hugging him close.

“Thank God you are all right, Abby,” he said, hugging her back. His voice cracked when he spoke.

Dorothy came and hugged him too. “Can you show us where she’s buried?” Dorothy asked.

Uncle Daniel nodded.

Aunt Elizabeths grave was easy to spot. The grass had just begun to grow over the black dirt mound. They stood together as a family, yet it felt incomplete with Mama missing.

“Aunt Elizabeth was a great comfort to us, Uncle Daniel,” Dorothy said.

Uncle Daniel nodded. “She was a great comfort to me, too, Dorothy.”

A cool wind blew through the trees, making Abigail shiver. Yet, looking around, she decided that the spot where Aunt Elizabeth was buried was a
good one. There was a fine view across the fields, and the trees behind them would give good shade in the summer.

“You chose well, Papa,” she said, remembering that Mama had left that task to him.

“I looked a goodly time,” Papa said softly, and then sighed. “If only it had not been necessary.”

“’Twas a waste,” Paul agreed.

“Her life was not a waste, Paul,” Grandpappy said. “It may have been short, but it was a life filled with love.”

Uncle Daniel nodded.

“Come,” Grandpappy said. “It is late, and we must see to supper.”

Franny skipped on ahead with Grandpappy and Uncle Daniel. Dorothy hooked her arm with Papa’s as he carried Edward toward home. Abigail hung back until she was alone with Paul.

“I’m glad you are back,” Paul said gruffly.

“As am I,” Abby said.

“If only Mama hadn’t had to …” Paul’s voice trailed off. He looked out over the fields and the stone walls.

“She didn’t have to, Paul,” Abigail said. “She
chose to. It was a sacrifice she wanted to make.”

He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “Makes me angry, though,” he said. “I can think of nothing to do to help her. I feel as weak as Papa.”

Abigail knew that feeling of resentment. She thought about these last weeks, the fear she had felt then and now. She hated it, and yet it had taken hold of her. Fear, she had learned, was hard to shake.

“He tries to fight it, Paul,” she said.

“Since when have you taken his side?” Paul asked.

“Are there sides?” Abigail shook her head. “Nay, brother. I have seen too much division and distrust in jail and at the trial. Let it not break up this family, too. This has been a terrible time, and yet in some ways I know good has come of it.”

“Good?” Paul looked at her in surprise.

Abby nodded. “I learned something during those days in prison and at the trial. Each of us is trying the best we can, Papa especially. He cannot help the illness that plagues him, just as I cannot help the color of my hair or the shape of my face. But I am not him. Nor are you. Fear may come to us, but you and I can beat these fears. Truly I think so, Paul.”

She smiled at her brother. “We are too strong to
be frightened forever. No one can ever tell us what we should say or how we should think.”

She thought of Elder Stevens that day of the race and the look of disapproval on his face. “No one.”

Paul gave her a rueful smile. “You look most formidable when you speak this way, Abby. Remind me never to anger you.”

She gave a short laugh. “I think that may be an impossibility. You know my anger is quick.”

Paul nodded, serious again. “But usually right.”

“There are things we can do to help Mama,” she said, putting her arm around her brother. “I know not what they are yet, but I am determined to find a way to free her.”

Abigail looked at the sun, setting now across the fields, at the colors in the trees, and at her home in the distance. She dropped her arm from her brothers side, lifted her skirts, and tossed her head defiantly.

“Race you,” she challenged him.

Without waiting for his response, Abigail flew across the fields. She could hear her brother running hard behind her. But he would not beat her. No one could.

In the fall of 1987 I was living
in Andover, Massachusetts. I had grown up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where my mother’s family had been for generations. My father’s side of the family was German and had settled in St. Louis, Missouri, and Alton, Illinois. I didn’t think I had any connection whatsoever with the East Coast.

So it was a great surprise when I was told by my father that we had ancestors who had arrived on the Mayflower. Another branch of my family was of Puritan stock, and members of that family were accused of witchcraft, convicted, and jailed during the Salem witch trials in 1692.

I was fascinated. My father came to visit, and
together we began to research our family’s Puritan roots, learning of my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Reverend Dane and my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother Abigail Faulkner. As we pored over old documents and books, some amazing facts emerged. Not only had my ancestors been involved in the witch trials, but they had lived in the very town I was living in at the time of my father’s discovery. Beyond that, they had owned the very land on which my own house stood!

The connection was too spooky for me to ignore. I felt a calling to write a book about them. For me, the most intriguing aspect of all was this: Why did Abigail Faulkner turn upon her own mother, saying that she had recruited her to work with the devil?

Then one day I looked at my own two daughters, and I knew. Her mother had told her to do it. By accusing her, Abigail went free, and her mother took her place in Salem Town’s prison. What parent would not do this for a beloved child? And so I wrote
The Sacrifice
.

Although the story of the Salem witch trials has been told often, few are aware how deeply towns other than Salem Town (now Salem, Massachusetts) and Salem Village (now Danvers, Massachusetts) were affected. At one point, Justice Bradstreet refused to sign any more warrants in Andover, because so many had already been issued. In fact, more people were accused in Andover than in any other town, including Salem Village itself!

The Faulkners were a family caught up in the upheaval. Both Abigail and Dorothy were arrested and imprisoned, as was their aunt, Elizabeth Johnson. Elizabeth Johnson did not die in prison as she does in my novel, although due to the deplorable conditions, many of the accused did.

Here are some other facts I changed for the sake of the story:

Abigail’s mother’s name was also Abigail. I renamed her Hannah.

Paul’s real name was Francis. I renamed him to avoid confusion as well. Paul was actually the eighth child in the Faulkner family, born after the Salem witch period.

The Faulkner family had six children at the time of the trials, not five. In addition to Dorothy, Abigail, Francis, Franny, and Edward, there was an older sister, Elizabeth. Later, Ammi and Paul were born.

Aunt Elizabeth had two children, Hannah and Steven. They were also imprisoned, but they were released after their trial.

Abigail’s mother was accused of witchcraft before her children were, and she was in prison with them for a short time. I left this aspect out, as I wanted her free to worry about her children. It is true that Dorothy and Abigail accused their mother at their trial, and that they were freed as a result.

These facts are also true:

Records show that Francis Faulkner did have “fits,” and it was reported that only his wife was able to soothe him. There are reports that the fits caused him to suffer memory loss. Madness was not uncommon during that time. Chores and religion were the sole occupations of the day. There was no time for play, for children or for adults. This monotonous existence led many people to suffer mental illness. In
fact, it is speculated that hysterical depression may be what the original accusers suffered from.

Abigail’s grandfather was in fact the minister of Andover, and he did try to speak out against the hysteria that consumed the town. He was ignored as the fury spread. After Abigail’s mother was convicted based on Abigail’s and Dorothy’s accusations, Reverend Dane and several others took a petition to the governor of Massachusetts to try and free her. Abigail’s father was suffering from his illness again and did not go on the trip. He did, however, sign his name to the petition, drawing a heart pierced by an arrow beside his signature.

Abigail’s mother did go on trial, and she is described as having been “a lady” in her denials. She was found guilty but was spared hanging due to her pregnancy. The trial was packed, as most of the trials were, and it is true that when the hysteria ended, many townsfolk starved, having neglected their fields and crops in order to attend the trials.

In the end, when the governor ordered the witch trials to cease because his own wife had been accused, Abigail’s mother was given a reprieve. Three
months later, she bore a son. She named him Ammi Ruhamah. The biblical name means “My people have obtained mercy.” Perhaps she named him to express her relief that the witch hysteria was finally over and her family was, at last, free. I like to think so.

Brown, David C.
A Guide to the Salem Witchcraft Hysteria of 1692
. Worcester, MA: Mercantile Printing Company, 1989.

Hill, Frances.
A Delusion of Satan: The Full Story of the Salem Witch Trials
. New York: Da Capo Press, 1997.

Karlsen, Carol F.
The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England
. New York: Vintage Books, 1989.

Mofford, Juliet H., ed.
Cry “Witch”: The Salem Witchcraft Trials—1692
. Carlisle, MA: Discovery Enterprises, Ltd., 1995.

Starkey, Marion L.
The Devil in Massachusetts: A Modern Enquiry into the Salem Witch Trials
. New York: Anchor Books, 1989.