A Break With Charity: A Story About the Salem Witch Trials (4 page)

I accepted his kind invitation and followed him inside.

Tituba stood in front of the large hearth in the company room, where a crackling fire burned and good things bubbled in pots. She was wearing a bright red turban around her head while she scoured pewter mugs with sand. Skeins of wool were piled in the corner, and a yellow cat dozed at her feet.

With its high, leaded windows and white plastered walls, its rubbed furniture that gleamed in the firelight, the room was a smaller version of our company room at home.

"So you have come to see me at last. Let me take your cloak. It is wet at the edges. Here, sit by the fire."

Gratefully, I sank down near the fire's warmth and accepted a mug of hot cider. She offered me warm cornbread with butter on it. And then, before I knew what she was about, she set a light scarf over my shoulders. Her hands, strong and sure, kneaded the tight muscles at the back of my neck.

I felt completely coddled, and my cares receded. The whole world blurred at the edges as I succumbed to her ministrations.

Yet, inside me, a warning bell went off. Physical pleasure like this went against the Puritan code. In my house, Father hugged my sister and me occasionally, and we always pecked Mama on the cheek before retiring for the night, but affection was not bandied about. Yes, when William came home from a long sea voyage he always hugged me and Mary. And sometimes lifted us right off our feet. But William was boisterous and world-traveled. Therefore, he was forgiven such displays.

But before I could bring myself to resist the touch of her hands, she moved away. "And why did it take you so long to come, then?"

"The others wouldn't allow me to come with them."

"You asked to join them here, and they said no?"

"Once. I wouldn't ask again. I wouldn't beg."

She sat down and picked up her knitting. "John, set the wood down and leave us, do."

He had come in with an armload of wood, which he set on the side of the hearth. He smiled at us both. "I'll be sweeping the snow from the front doorstep and keeping watch," he said.

She nodded and turned to me. "What is it you want from Tituba?"

I couldn't lie and say I'd simply come to visit. She knew better than that. Apparently everyone who came wanted something from Tituba. I decided to be as plain in my speech as she was.

"I heard that you tell fortunes."

"Tituba only reads what's there in the hand. Tituba tells stories. Tituba makes tea."

"They say you do magic."

Her smile was sad. "Tituba only wakes the magic in the heart."

I had never before heard anyone speak of magic in the heart.

She continued. "These people here in Salem are harsh. Like the winter when the snows are heavy; they keep winter in their hearts all year round. When Tituba first came to Salem, the Reverend Parris told me why they gave this place that name. Do you know what
Salem
means?"

"No."

" 'City of Peace.' " She frowned. "But there is no peace in this place. There is nothing but hate. The girls who come here hate you because you are of the gentry. Oh yes, Tituba knows this. And the woman who stood out there with you before, in the snow?"

"Goody Bibber?"

"Yes, that is the one. She stands out there often, looking at this place. She, too, would like to join the girls here."

"I didn't know that."

"Tituba knows. They hate Goody Bibber because she is poor and has no man. Tituba never saw such a place for hate as this City of Peace."

"How is it where you come from, Tituba?"

"People hate there, too. But the water is so blue and the sand so white. The coral so pink in the sea. And the birds, oh, they are so brightly colored that you can't tell them from the flowers. And you can't hate long with such beauty around you."

She went on knitting as she spoke. "Tituba gives little Betty Parris that love which her own mama holds back from her. Children are like flowers. Flowers cannot live without sun. Children cannot live without love."

"And the girls who come to see you?"

"Tituba gives them attention they do not get from anyone else. Of course, some of the girls are no longer children. Yet they are not allowed to be women. They are not married. There is no place for them in this way of life here. Except to do hard work or study scriptures. Their hopes and desires die on the vine. This turns them inward. They are seeking ways out of themselves. So they come to Tituba."

"But you do tell fortunes," I said.

"Yes, it brings a little sport into their lives."

"But you are a Christian, Tituba. I see you in Meeting. Surely you know it is sinful."

She gave a little laugh. "Everything is sinful to these people. They think love is a sin. All they speak of is the Devil. Tituba knows that if you speak of the Devil enough he will come 'round."

"Will you tell my fortune?"

"Why do you want Tituba to do this if it is sinful?"

"Because I need to know about my brother, William. He's at sea and we haven't had word of him in two months. I must know if he'll ever come home. I can't bear not knowing anymore, Tituba. I don't care if it is a sin!"

Her smile becalmed me. "You love this brother, William?"

"Oh yes! We all do. And we miss him so."

"Love brought you here to Tituba, then. It won out over this fear of sin. This is good. Let me see your palm."

I showed her my palm. She examined it carefully for a few minutes while she made some murmuring sounds in her throat. Then she shook her head and murmured some more. I thought I would burst with the burden of not knowing.

"Tell me," I begged.

"This William, is he fair of hair and blue of eye?"

"Yes."

"Does he know how to capture the fancy of the ladies?"

I thought of the twinkle in William's eye when he hinted at sojourns in Barbados or France or England. "Yes, yes."

"He will return."

I gasped. "When?"

She clasped her hand over mine and clutched it to her heart. "It is not for Tituba to say when. All is not given for Tituba to see right now."

"Another time?" I asked. "Can I come back another time?"

She paid no heed to my question. "There is another matter," she said.

I knew it! She was keeping something from me! William would come back maimed, with an eye lost or a leg missing. "Tell me."

She stared at me for a long time with those brown eyes that had yellow flecks in them. The fire spit and popped. The old cat in the corner got up and stretched, humping her back. I could hear snow falling against the windows, and it seemed as if all the world was closed off. As if there was only this moment, cut out of the rest of the fabric of time and stretched near to tearing. And Tituba, holding my hand against her heart and gazing at me with those brown eyes, while the yellow flecks in them turned to gold.

"When William returns there will be a great outpouring of joy in your family. But there will be great sadness as well."

"What is the reason for this sadness?"

"It is not given for Tituba to know, but it has to do with happenings in this village. Such happenings will touch your family. And the families of many others."

"Does it have to do with our charter?" I asked. "Will Reverend Mather be lost at sea bringing it home to us?"

"It has nothing to do with over there." She gestured with her head to the window, indicating England. "It has to do with this village. You are mindful of all the trouble here now."

"Yes. Just the other day, my father took up his musket and went to help hunt wolves on the edges of this village."

"Child, there is more trouble here now than wolves. It's the people. They would eat one another alive if they could."

I shivered. She was right, of course, but the passion behind those words frightened me. "You don't like it here, do you, Tituba?"

She shook her head no and lowered her eyes.

"Does the Reverend Parris beat you?"

"He is sick of soul. This town is not good to its ministers. One left because of the constant bickering. Another they almost starved out. This one failed as a merchant in the Indies. Being minister here is just a way for him to keep his family, no more."

"The townsfolk didn't want him," I told her. "He wanted to be deeded the parsonage. He wanted thirty cords of wood, cut and stacked for him. He got naught of what he asked for."

"His face is craggy like rocks," she said. "His voice drains the color from this place. Even his little sickly daughter fears him. His niece Abigail has the same sickness of spirit. And I fear it is upon the other children who come here, too. This afternoon a new one came."

I looked up quickly. "Ann Putnam?"

"That is the one. She is only twelve but wise and cruel beyond her years. Her mother taught her well. She sent little Ann to see how she can use Tituba to take revenge on her enemies here in the village."

I paid close heed. This woman was not dull, I minded. She had powers to conjure, yes, but more than that—she could read people's hearts. I must always be forthright in my dealings with her.

"I would come to see you again," I said.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes."

"Will you read my palm and tell me more next time?"

"I will tell you what it is given Tituba to see."

She did not caution me to keep my own good counsel about the visit. No such words were necessary between us. She took the light shawl from my shoulders, helped me on with my cloak, and bade me hasten home quickly. Then she accompanied me to the back door, where John Indian had brought around my horse and cart.

He smiled at me. "I fed the little fellow," he said.

"Thank you, John Indian."

"I brushed the snow from him, also."

I patted Molasses, and then John Indian held out a carrot for me to give him. "His patience should be rewarded," he said.

I felt becalmed as I drove off, with a peace greater than any I ever got from attending Meeting. I knew I was wrong to feel so, but I also knew that in such troubled times I had to take my peace where I found it.

THE HOUR WAS
late by the time I got to Salem Town, where candlelight from all the house windows threw a soft glow out on darkened streets. I knew I was in trouble, for in the cart I still had many of the items I was supposed to have distributed to the poor of Salem Village: precious packets of needles and skeins of wool, an iron cook pot or two, bolts of warm flannel, some molasses, flour, and salted codfish.

Mama would want to know why I had returned with my cargo. And so it was that I determined to lie.

I was not practiced in the art of dissembling, the word given to such a sin. There had been no need in my life, up until now, to keep any of my doings from my parents. But in the next few months I was to learn the art of dissembling well.

I knew what I must do, exactly, at that moment. I must ask Jeb, our stable boy with the limp, to keep the cart of goods in the stable until I could dispose of them on another trip tomorrow.

But as fate would have it, I did not have to resort to such deception. For I met four creatures in the snow on the empty streets of Salem Town that evening. And they all helped me.

The first was a rooting pig.

Wandering pigs were a plague in both Salem Town and Salem Village. Frequently they would break out of their pens in the village, where most of them lived, and wander at will into town, where they would then proceed to enjoy the contents of people's gardens.

In winter they came for slops to the back doors of Salem Town's fancy residences and ordinaries. Or to steal the codfish drying on rocks along the shore. It wasn't enough that the people from both the town and the village fought with each other over cattle-grazing rights, property boundaries, and class distinctions; the wandering pigs caused more quarrels than anything.

This particular pig ran right out in front of Molasses, who shied and whinnied in fright. I held the reins taut and shooed the pig, but it wouldn't move. Then a thought came to me.

I got out of the cart, rummaged around in back, and came out with two ears of dried corn. It is excellent for popping when put in an earthenware pot and covered with ashes in the hearth. My father says the Indian Squanto taught Captain Standish and the original settlers to pop corn like this years ago.

The pig took the corn and ran off with it.

The next creature I met was John Dorich. John was sixteen that winter, the age of my sister, Mary. We had all gone to dame school together. John now worked as apprentice to Josiah Green, who was proprietor of the wharf in town. Because he was about the wharf every day, John had learned to swim, manage small boats, salt down fish, barter goods, and fall through the ice and not drown. He often boasted to me of his accomplishments.

Among those accomplishments he also numbered the ability to lie and to run off from his master without being caught. He was also privy to talk that went on between ships' captains and crews, which meant he was one of the first to get news from Boston Harbor.