The Captive Bride (28 page)

A burly man with a pock-marked face planted himself
before Matthew, a sneer on his lips as he said, “Ye had yer say, Winslow, now I'll have mine!” He gave a quick look around and was satisfied to see that he had the crowd's attention. “Now wot about it, Winslow? Ye called me own brother a liar, did ye?”

Matthew lifted his head and looked coldly at his accuser. Something in Matthew's eyes made the heavy-set man blink and take a sudden step backward. “Rufus Cook, your brother is a liar, as is well known in this community. You are a liar and a thief, which I am perfectly willing to prove either in a court of law—or right now with fists, knives, guns, or any weapon you care to name!”

A silence fell over the yard, for Winslow's youthful reputation as a fighter of terrible proportions had not been greatly dimmed.

Rufus Cook backed down quickly. “Aw, yer so good an pure, all you Winslows! But lemme' tell ye, there's talk about the lot of ye, there is! The girl there, why, the hull town knows there's something that ain't natural about the way folks git well when she goes to 'em. And if a body can make somebody
well,
why, they can cast a spell and make 'em sick, can't they now?”

A sinister mutter went over the crowd, and Cook nodded savagely, “And that wife of yers, she prays strange. Some say in some kinda language that ain't good English!—and wot we wants to know is—wot sort of words is it, Winslow—mebbe' the Lord's prayer backwards, could it be, now?”

Matthew's arm moved so quickly that it was difficult to see. His fist shot out, catching Cook in the face with a solid
thunk!
The force of the blow drove the burly man backward, and he fell on his back in the dust. Then Winslow reached down, grabbed his coat and yanked him to his feet. He ignored the blood streaming from Cook's nose, and in a deadly voice said, “You open your mouth about my family one more time, Rufus Cook, and this community will not be bothered with your worthless presence any longer!”

He shoved the man away, and the crowd parted to let the family through. None of them spoke until they were out of sight of the square. “They're mad!” Miles said bitterly.

“They surely won't convict the old woman on such evidence!” Rachel said.

“They might,” her father said heavily. “We must have help with this. I shouldn't have struck Rufus Cook!” He shook his head and gave Robert an apologetic smile. “You have any ideas about this, Reverend?”

“I think you must go to Reverend Parris,” Howland instructed. “He may not be your idea of a good pastor—but he
is
in a position to do some good.”

“Yes, that's true.” Gilbert said suddenly. “The man has not much of the Spirit of the Lord, but as pastor, he has authority to disperse those idiots!”

“I wonder why he wasn't at the trial, Matthew,” Lydia said.

“His daughter is sick, I believe,” Rachel spoke up. “Perhaps he didn't want to leave her.”

“Well, I don't like the sound of
that,
” Matthew grunted. “In a matter this important, the pastor should be on the scene. We'll wait until the hearing is over; then we'll have a talk with Reverend Parris.”

It was a long wait, and Howland felt somewhat awkward being there, but when he mentioned leaving, Matthew objected. “No, you must go with us, Robert! Parris may listen to a fellow minister—for he surely won't pay much heed to
me.
”

The morning went by, and Lydia prepared a small lunch. No one was hungry and though the hearing was not far from their thought, they talked mostly of other things. After lunch, Gilbert lay down to take a nap, and Miles left on an errand for his father. When Matthew and Lydia also disappeared, Howland was disconcerted to find himself alone with Rachel.

As he sat at the table sipping tea, she came and seated herself across from him. “You look tired, Robert,” she remarked. “I suspect you've been working hard.”

He shrugged, started to agree, then a sudden streak of
honesty overtook him. “No, I've been troubled about the last time I was here, Rachel.” He caught her look of surprise and laughed shortly, adding, “I take it that you haven't been upset?”

Rachel stared at him, a slight color rising in her cheeks— making her even more attractive, he thought. “I've thought of you,” she said quietly.

The silence ran on, making the ticking of the clock on the mantel seem very loud. She put her hand on her throat in a feminine gesture, and her eyes found his; for several seconds they looked at each other.

Then she said, “We're alike, aren't we, Robert? I mean, both of us have chosen to give our lives to God. And we've both been very careful to build a high wall around our hearts. I saw it in you the first time we met.” She smiled at the memory. “It was like a large sign a man would put on his door:
KEEP OUT—NO LOVE ALLOWED!
”

Howland's face changed, for her words had put his life into sharp focus; he had never thought of it in that way, but now he said, “Why, in that you're right! I do want to give God my life, but I never made a vow about it.”

“Nor I!” she admitted, then bit her lip and a sadness filled her hazel eyes as she said, “When I lost the man I was going to marry, I thought life was over—in that way. So I turned to God, and since that day, I've tried to think of nothing but serving Him.”

He got up and paced nervously around the room, pausing to look out the window. Finally he came to stand before her, looking at her with troubled eyes. “I find myself thinking of you constantly,” he said, then added, “I can't forget your kiss.”

She rose in agitation, and he caught her before she could turn away. “Robert!” she protested, but he held her fast, and she found her heart beating furiously as they stood there.

“I may be in love with you, Rachel,” he said quietly.

“You—mustn't be!” she cried. “This is no time to talk of that, not with all the trouble,” she finished bruskly.

“If a man's in love,” he said roughly, “the time to talk about it is when he has the woman in his arms—like now.” He kissed her again, ignoring her effort to release herself.

She never knew which of them broke away first, for she was lost in the wonder of it. But when he lifted his head and stepped back, she said swiftly, “This can't be! It's too—quick! What would you say to one of the young people in our church who did what we've been doing?”

“We're not children, Rachel,” Howland answered. “I know one thing, and that is that I feel about you as I've never felt toward any other woman! If it's not love, I don't know
what
it is. But answer me this, how do
you
feel?”

She was caught between two desires, both of them strong, and she could not answer immediately. He waited as he watched the struggle reflected in her face. Finally she sighed and said, “I must pray! It's no small thing, is it, to put your heart in the hands of another human being!”

He smiled as he took her hands. “This is the testing time, Rachel. You say God's never refused you anything? Then the matter is simple. You must ask Him if it is His will for me to come into your life.”

“I will,” she said quietly. “But this time, I don't think God is going to shout the answer from the housetop. I think the answer will be like the treasure hid in a field. Robert, I think we're going to have to give all we have to find God in
this
matter!”

Lydia was not ignorant of what was going on between her daughter and Robert. As they were on their way to the pastor's house, Lydia looked questioningly at Robert, but said nothing. There was a light in her dark eyes, though, that made him feel uncomfortable, like a small boy caught with his fingers in the honey jar. To avoid any misunderstanding, he resolved to make his feelings known to Rachel's parents as soon as possible.

Their visit with Parris was brief, almost abrupt, for the pastor was so agitated that he found it difficult to speak.
His red-rimmed eyes indicated he hadn't slept in days. When Matthew told him why they had come, Parris cried out, “Oh, I cannot put myself against the court! No, not after what has happened here, in my own home!”

“Why, Pastor, what's the trouble?” Winslow asked in surprise.

The slight man began to moan in distress. Finally he made an attempt to compose himself and began. “I must—must tell you,” he said with some pain, “the devil has raised his head—in my own house!”

“What do you mean?” Winslow cried.

“My daughter Betty and my niece Susanna have been attacked by the devil! Betty is in a trance, and her cousin informed me that the two of them have been afflicted by my servant Tituba and two others! Oh, it's worse than you can even think! They have been dancing in the forest, naked! And Abigail Williams—she is involved—and God knows who else! The devil is loose among us, I tell you!”

“Brother! Calm yourself!” Matthew commanded. He stared at the distraught minister and said, “You must be mistaken!”

“Would God I were!” Parris moaned. “But they have confessed, and I have sent for help from Boston. Reverend Hale is on his way, or so I trust.”

“John Hale, of Beverly?” Howland asked instantly.

“Why, I believe so,” Parris nodded. “Do you know him, Reverend Howland?”

“Yes. He was at Harvard last year.”

“He is the most knowledgeable man in the matter of witches in the country—except for Cotton Mather, of course.”

“We have not come to that, surely! Sending for
experts
on witches!” Winslow exclaimed. “We are godly men! Surely we can find the truth of this business!”

Parris pressed his lips together stubbornly. “My daughter is in a trance, sir! We must root out the devil—even if he takes the form of a faithful member of the church!”

“That's the danger, Parris!” Matthew cried. “If you had
been at the hearing, you might have seen a sample of this smelling out of witches! John Cook points at a poor old woman he's hated for years over a trivial matter and cries out, ‘
She's a witch!
' And others begin to get caught up in the thing, so that before you can bat an eye everyone is anxious to be a part of the hunt!”

“Mr. Winslow, I refuse to discuss the matter!” Parris shouted. “Reverend Hale will find the devil who's taken our people by craft—and then we will deal with him!”

Winslow nodded, “We will see what this man has to say, but we are in danger of losing ourselves in this thing, I tell you!”

They left and the door slammed behind them.

“What sort of man is this fellow Hale?” Matthew asked as they made their way back to the house.

“He's not a bad man, Matthew,” Howland said slowly, “but he's obsessed with his subject! Spends all his time reading about witches and studying the invisible world. Now, Reverend Mather is interested in this subject, as you know, but there is no—no
balance
in Hale! He sees a demon behind every bush! But he's a fair man, and one who loves God.”

“It's a sad thing—a sad thing, indeed!” Gilbert shook his head and added as they proceeded along the way. “In the old days, on the
Mayflower,
we helped each other, and during the first years, we clung together like children—now Christians seek the life of their fellow believers!” He said nothing until they got to the house, and then he stopped and looked over the village, shook his head and said, “I've lived too long, I think!”

“No, don't say that!” Rachel cried quickly. “We'll see this through, Grandfather!”

“It's a time of darkness, child,” he said quietly. “And there'll be many of us who'll get swallowed in this wave of evil!” His prophetic tone sent a chill through Howland, and he left for home depressed as he had rarely been.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BRIDGET

Reverend John Hale was a man of forty, small in stature, but filled with zeal for his task. He'd been at Salem only a few hours when, to his complete satisfaction, he found the hoofprint of the devil.

Howland was present when Hale located the problem of Reverend Parris's daughter Betty. Hale had been reluctant to allow Howland's presence, but he could find no good excuse for excluding the young favorite of Cotton Mather.

The small room was crowded. Joining Hale, Parris, and Howland were the West Indian servant, Tituba, Parris's niece, Susanna, and Abigail Williams.

Hale began by saying, “We must be precise in this matter, for the devil is subtle. But we will have him out!”

For over an hour there was a long interrogation of the girls, and the truth, though slow in coming, finally surfaced. Susanna Walcott was so nervous during the first part of the interview that she could hardly speak, while Abigail Williams defended herself angrily. It was Susanna who finally began to weep, crying out, “Yes, we were dancing! And there was a bowl of soup with something awful in it, but Abigail made me drink it!”

Howland happened to be looking directly at Abigail Williams as the younger girl cried out, and he saw an instant change go over her face. She had been sullen and angry, but in the flicker of an eye she assumed an expression of grief and sorrow!
She's acting!
he thought in astonishment, and
immediately she began to cry out and gave every evidence of honest grief.

“It was Tituba!” she moaned. “She put blood in the soup and said she'd kill us all if we didn't drink it!”

Hale turned his guns on the black woman, and in no time she was broken down, confessing all that he put in her mind. An air of hysteria came into her voice as she began to scream, “I saw Mistress Mason with the devil! I saw Bridget Bishop with the devil!”

Instantly Abigail began to screech, “I want the light of God! I want the love of God. I saw John Proctor with the devil! I saw Mistress Osburn with the devil.”