The Captive Bride (32 page)

She said all this in a rote fashion, as though she had it memorized, but it satisfied Hawthorn, and he asked for more details.

Susanna opened her mouth, but it was not her voice that began to cry out. “I saw Rachel Winslow with the devil!”

The voice was clear, and every eye in the court swung to where a young woman named Sarah Good was standing up, looking at the ceiling. She began to sway from side to side, and again she cried out, “I saw Rachel Winslow with the devil!”

Several other young girls began to take up the chant, calling out that they had seen certain people with the devil. It
had happened often in the court, and Hawthorn stood there looking satisfied.

Finally he said, “The devil is revealed! Rachel Winslow, you stand accused! The evidence is that you are a worker of iniquity and a servant of the Evil One.”

He would have said more, but suddenly Sarah Good's voice rose again. This time she came out of her seat and moved in a ghostlike fashion down the aisle. Then she held out her finger and cried in a piercing voice, “I saw Judge Hawthorn in the forest! He was drinking from the devil's cup!”

A deathly silence fell on the room. Not a soul stirred, and then Sarah Good cried even louder, “Judge Hawthorn is the Black Man—he came to me in my room—he made me sign his book! He is the Black Man!”

Hawthorn's face was the color of old putty, and his voice mute. He sat in his chair as the girl continued to cry out terrible accusations against him—things no decent girl would even
know
about!

Then, as before, others began to take up the chant. It was the young girls who had cried out before, and older women, too, and some men. But this time they were crying out, “I saw Governor Danforth with the devil!” “I saw Samuel Sewall with Satan!” One of them began to cry out that she had seen the governor of the colony with the devil!

Then a young girl, no more than fourteen screamed out, “I seen Cotton Mather with the devil! I seen Increase Mather with the devil!”

A gasp went up from the crowd, for Howland's companion had risen. He walked to the front platform and stood there staring at the judges. He said nothing but let the silence build up, and then he said in a silky voice, “You gentlemen are accused of witchcraft, I believe.”

“But this is ridiculous!” Hawthorn sputtered. “These witnesses are lying!”

“Have they accused other people?” Mather asked, still not raising his voice.

“Why, I believe they may have—one or two—”

“Have some of those who were accused been executed, Judge Hawthorn?”

A mutter swept through the room. Hawthorn sat as though paralyzed, unable to speak.

“Yes, they have,” Judge Sewall answered quietly.

Increase Mather stared at the judges, then said with no emotion whatsoever, “I declare this court dismissed—and I will meet with the judges immediately in private.”

He turned and walked to the door in the rear, and the judges followed him with ashen faces.

Not a soul moved to leave, but there was a rising tide of talk, and for thirty minutes the courtroom buzzed like a beehive. Then the door opened and Reverend Mather walked out, his face set like a flint. He was followed by the judges. This time they did not mount the platform but stood there staring out at the crowd.

Increase Mather looked out over the people, his face still, but with a light in his dark eyes that revealed the smoldering anger he kept carefully under control.

“People of Salem, I have received testimony that the so-called ‘evidence' used by this court to prosecute defendants is of an illegal nature.” A gasp went up from the crowd, but he ignored it, and continued. “I hereby dismiss this court, and declare that all prisoners be set free pending further investigation.” He paused again and looked down at the judges. “The judges of this court are relieved of their offices and will report to Boston at once. They will remain there until a full and complete report of these trials has been made by the authorities.”

He said no more, but stalked out of the courtroom, closely followed by the sulking judges, who walked with their heads down.

Howland got up and walked over to where Rachel stood speechless. “You're free, Rachel,” he said. “Let me take you home.”

She turned to face him but couldn't make herself heard because the crowd was coming alive with an accelerated wave of emotion. She raised her voice to cry, “Yes, take me home, Robert!” She looked over at her family who were watching them with unbelievable, joyous shock in their faces. “Take us all home!”

Gilbert was too weak to walk, so they got a carriage, in which he, Matthew, and Lydia rode. Since it was not far to the house, the rest of them walked. Neither Rachel nor Miles could say a word to Howland. They walked in silence. Rachel looked up at a crow clutching the denuded branch of a peach tree, croaking in a gutteral tone as they passed. She breathed deeply, drinking in the fall air, crisp and keen with the bite of winter in it. Oh, the joy of being alive and free.
I'll never take anything for granted again!
she thought.

It was a moment to be treasured when they all entered the house. Matthew and Lydia stood there, holding Gilbert upright, looking around as if they'd never seen the room before.

“I never thought I'd see this room again!” Matthew exclaimed as he assisted his father to a chair. Then with a sudden motion, he turned to Howland. “Robert, you're a wonderful
actor!
” Overwhelmed by the magnitude of Robert's service, Matthew wrapped his arms around Howland's shoulders, tears coursing down his cheeks. He was joined by Miles and then Lydia. Gratitude radiating from her eyes, Lydia took his hand and kissed it.

“Oh, come now, you don't have to do
that!
” Howland protested.

Rachel came and stood before him while the rest watched silently. “Robert, you warned me I wouldn't understand—and you were right. I—doubted you. Forgive me! But you have an advocate here—Grandfather told me never to doubt—and from that moment, I didn't!”

“You make too much of it!” Howland said, embarrassed and humbled by their response.

“I want to know what happened. Tell us everything!”
Rachel urged, pulling him to a chair. As the rest of them sat down, looking at him eagerly, he began.

“Why, it's simple—at least it seems so now,” Howland stated with a smile. “I'd seen Abigail Williams before—you remember, when we went to Parris's house the first day I came to Salem with Miles. And later I saw her when Reverend Hale examined Parris's daughter. One thing I didn't miss—as soon as it was evident that she was going to be found out, the girl put on an act. It was a good act, but I saw her when she thought nobody was looking!”

“She fooled almost everyone else,” Rachel remarked.

“I knew she was lying,” Howland nodded. “And I knew Cotton Mather was
not
going to do anything about it. The idea came to me that there was only one man more powerful than Cotton Mather—and that was his father!”

“Did you know him?” Edward asked.

“No, but I knew he'd not interfere in anything his son refused to touch. They're very close. So I put the two things together—Increase Mather could do something to stop the trials, but he had to be convinced. Abigail knew the trials were false, but she wouldn't admit it.”

“That's why you started seeing her!” Miles cried. “What a fool I was!”

“We all were,” Lydia said quietly. “But we have a lifetime to make it up to you, Robert.”

Rachel had a frown on her face, and she gave Howland a peculiar look. “I wonder
how
you got that girl to help you, Robert? She's very clever.”

Howland's lips lifted in a wry smile, and he answered grimly, “I used the only thing in the world that would have made her admit she'd been a fraud—money.”

“You paid her to admit her guilt?” Matthew said, incredulous.

“It was all I could think of. If I'd tried to threaten her, she'd have laughed at me. So I kept on seeing her, and little by little she let her guard down.”

“But wasn't she afraid of what would happen to her if people found out she'd been lying?” Rachel asked. “And wouldn't she be put in jail for lying in court?”

Howland lifted his hand in a gesture of disgust. “That young woman doesn't care what anyone thinks of her—not really. And as for being in trouble with the law, they'll have to catch her first.”

“She's left Salem?” Lydia asked quickly.

“Never to return, I'd venture.” He gave a shrug and added, “She's one shrewd vixen, I can tell you! When I told her I wanted her to tell her story to Increase Mather, she upped the price high enough so that she can go anywhere she likes and live like a queen.”

“You don't have that kind of money, Robert,” Matthew broke in quickly. “I'll pay the fee.”

“You may have to, Matthew,” Howland smiled. “I don't have any money myself, so I had to borrow up to my neck to get the price.”

Lydia, sitting near Matthew, shook her head in disbelief. “I can't believe that girl was so wicked.”

“She sent men and women to their deaths!” Matthew sighed with aching heart. “Poor old Giles and Bridget and John Proctor—and all the others—dead in vain!”

“But God sent us a deliverer!” Lydia cried out. “Our friend and deliverer—Robert Howland—”

“Could you add to that—
son-in-law,
please?” Howland interrupted. Going to Rachel, he put his arm around her.

A glad cry went up as they all welcomed their new son and brother.

Gilbert looked at Robert, tears in his eyes. “My boy,” he said quietly, “you're very like your grandfather! Very like!” He wiped his eyes, then said with a sudden laugh, “I'm very glad I fished John out of the sea! He's given me a good return, he has! A new limb to the family tree of Winslow!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

TAKE ME HOME!

The winter that year was mild, but for Gilbert Winslow it was a time of sickness. He could not shake the cough he had contracted in jail, and by March he was unable to walk without assistance.

“He'll be better in the spring,” Lydia said hopefully to Rachel. “The winter air keeps him down.”

Rachel did not reply, for she saw it was more than physical weakness—it was weariness of the spirit. He was weak and unable to eat, but the trials had drained him of something.

“He's not fighting as he once did,” she said worriedly to her father. “He's low in spirit.”

“I've seen it, Rachel,” Matthew agreed. He stared at her and then sighed. “He's had more life than most. We'll miss him—you'll miss him more than anyone, I think.”

She said no more, but by spring he still had not improved. The doctor visited him but was noncommittal. He knew as well as the fiery old man did—he was wearing out.

Then one night in May as Rachel sat reading, she saw her grandfather sit up and try to walk. He began to lean and before she could get to him, he fell to the floor. His breathing was irregular, his face ashen. She ran quickly to get a neighbor to run for the doctor and the family.

When they arrived, they tenderly lifted him into bed. He did not move, and the doctor decided Gilbert had suffered some sort of stroke. For three days he lay there without opening his eyes.

Howland arrived as soon as he could and stayed with the family night and day. None of them expected Gilbert to regain consciousness, but he did. Early one morning, while Rachel watched by his bedside, he opened his eyes and said, “Rachel?”

She began to weep, and he smiled and said weakly, “Now, this is not the time for that, is it?”

She left him only long enough to call the family.

Gilbert lay there looking at them. “I take it you're surprised to see me back with you?”

Matthew took his hand. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“I'm about to give you another one!”

Matthew stared at him, puzzled. “How is that, Father?”

Gilbert smiled. He looked so much like both Matthew and Miles that Rachel almost cried. “I want to go for a little ride,” he said.

“A ride!” Matthew cried in astonishment. “Why, when you get better—”

“I mean
now,
son,” he affirmed. “And not a short one, either.”

They all looked at one another. Then he continued. “Oh, I'm not out of my mind. But it's a small request—just one ride.”

Rachel knelt down and took his hand. “Where do you want to go, Grandfather? I'll take you anywhere!”

“There's my good girl!” he breathed. He closed his eyes and they thought he'd gone to sleep, but he opened them and said, “Take me to Plymouth—to the sea—where Humility is buried.”

Matthew started to protest, but Lydia squeezed his arm. He stared down at his father for a time, then said quietly, “I'll get a carriage ready.”

Robert and Miles went with him, and in less than an hour they had taken a seat out of a carriage, built a framework, and placed a mattress in it.

By the time Matthew came to the house, the women had dressed Gilbert. “Are you ready, Father?” Matthew asked.

“Take me home, son,” he said with his eyes closed.

Matthew went to him, and with easy strength picked his father up as he would a small child. As he did, Gilbert opened his eyes and smiled. “Once I carried you, my boy—now it's your turn!”

Matthew did not answer, but carried him out, placed him carefully in the carriage, then said, “We'll go slowly.”

Miles had obtained another carriage, and they all got in and started out with no more ceremony than if they had been going across town.

They had to stop often, and the inns were not of the best, but Gilbert got no worse. He never complained, and much of the time at night the family would gather around and he would listen as they talked. He said little himself, but from time to time he would mention something that had happened long ago.