“There have been terrible happenings in Salem,” Chester said. He was overwrought and plainly nervous. “Providence has brought you home barely in time. We have been much disquieted and distressed that you would arrive too late.”
“It is my children?” Ronald asked with alarm.
“Nay, it is not your children,” Chester said. “They are safe and hale. It is your goodwife, Elizabeth. She has been in prison for many months.”
“On what charge?” Ronald demanded.
“Witchcraft,” Chester said. “I beg your pardon for being the bearer of such ill tidings. She has been convicted by a special court and there is a warrant for her execution the Tuesday next.”
“This is absurd,” Ronald growled. “My wife is no witch!”
“That I know,” Chester said. “But there has been a witchcraft frenzy in the town since February, with almost one hundred people accused. There has already been one execution. Bridget Bishop on June tenth.”
“I knew her,” Ronald admitted. “She was a woman of a fiery temperament. She ran the unlicensed tavern out on Ipswich Road. But a witch? It seems most improbable. What has happened to cause such fear of malefic will?”
“It is because of ‘fits,’” Chester said. “Certain women, mostly young women, have been afflicted in a most pitiful way.”
“Have you witnessed these fits?” Ronald asked.
“Oh, yes,” Chester said. “The whole town has seen them at the hearings in front of the magistrates. They are terrible to behold. The afflicted scream of torment and are not in their right minds. They go alternately blind, deaf, and dumb, and sometimes all at once. They shake worse than the Quakers and shriek they are being bitten by invisible beings. Their tongues come out and then are as if swallowed. But the worst is that their joints do bend as if to break.”
Ronald’s mind was a whirlwind of thought. This was a most unexpected turn of events. Sweat broke forth on his forehead as the morning sun beat down upon him. Angrily he tore his wig from his head and threw it to the floor of the boat. He tried to think what he should do.
“I have a carriage waiting,” Chester said, breaking the heavy silence as they neared the pier. “I thought you’d care to go directly to the prison.”
“Aye,” Ronald said tersely. They disembarked and walked quickly to the street. They climbed aboard the vehicle, and Chester picked up the reins. With a snap the horse started. The wagon bumped along the cobblestone quay. Neither man spoke.
“How was it decided these fits were caused by witchcraft?” Ronald asked when they reached Essex Street.
“It was Dr. Griggs who said so,” Chester said. “Then Reverend Parris from the village, then everyone, even the magistrates.”
“What made them so confident?” Ronald asked.
“It was apparent at the hearings,” Chester said. “All the people could see how the accused tormented the afflicted, and how the afflicted were instantly relieved from their suffering when touched by the accused.”
“Yet they didn’t touch them to torment them?”
“It was the specters of the accused who did the mischief,” Chester explained. “And the specters could only be seen by the afflicted. It was thus that the accused were called out upon by the afflicted.”
“And my wife was called out upon in this fashion?” Ronald asked.
“’Tis so,” Chester said. “By Ann Putnam, daughter of Thomas Putnam of Salem Village.”
“I know Thomas Putnam,” Ronald said. “A small, angry man.”
“Ann Putnam was the first to be afflicted,” Chester said hesitantly. “In your house. Her first fit was in your common room in the beginning of February. And to this day she is still afflicted, as is her mother, Ann senior.”
“What about my children?” Ronald asked. “Are they afflicted as well?”
“Your children have been spared,” Chester said.
“Thank the Lord,” Ronald said.
They turned onto Prison Lane. Neither man spoke. Chester pulled to a stop in front of the jail. Ronald told him to wait and alighted from the carriage.
With brittle emotions Ronald sought out the jailer, William Dounton. Ronald found him in his untidy office eating fresh corn bread from the bakery. He was an obese man with a shock of unwashed hair and a red, nodular nose. Ronald despised him, a known sadist who delighted in tormenting his charges.
William was obviously not pleased to see Ronald. Leaping to his feet, he cowered behind his chair.
“No visitors to see the condemned,” he croaked through a mouthful of bread. “By order of Magistrate Hathorne.”
Barely in control of himself, Ronald reached out and grasped a fistful of William’s woolen shirt and drew his face within an inch of his own. “If you have mistreated my wife you’ll answer to me,” Ronald snarled.
“It’s not my fault,” William said. “It is the authorities. I must respect their orders.”
“Take me to her,” Ronald snapped.
“But…” William managed before Ronald tightened his grip and constricted his throat. William gurgled. Ronald relaxed his fist. William coughed but produced his keys. Ronald let go of him and followed him. As he unlocked a stout oak door he said, “I will report this.”
“There is no need,” Ronald said. “As soon as I leave here I will go directly to the magistrate and tell him myself.”
Beyond the oak door they passed several cells. All were full. The inmates stared back at Ronald with glazed eyes. Some he recognized, but he didn’t address them. The prison was enveloped with a heavy silence. Ronald had to pull out a handkerchief to cover his nose from the smell.
At the top of a stone staircase, William stopped to light a shielded candle. After opening another stout oak door, they descended into the worst area of the prison. The stench was overwhelming. The basement consisted of two large rooms. The walls were damp granite. The many prisoners were all manacled to the walls or the floor with either wrist or leg irons or both. Ronald had to step over people to follow William. There was hardly room for another person.
“Just a moment,” Ronald said.
William stopped and turned around.
Ronald squatted down. He’d recognized someone he knew to be a pious woman. “Rebecca Nurse?” Ronald questioned. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
Rebecca shook her head slowly. “Only God knows,” she managed to say.
Ronald stood up feeling weak. It was as if the town had gone crazy.
“Over here,” William said, pointing toward the far corner of the basement. “Let us finish this.”
Ronald followed. His anger had been overwhelmed by pity. William stopped and Ronald looked down. In the candlelight he could barely recognize his wife. Elizabeth was covered with filth. She was manacled in oversized chains and barely had the energy to scatter the vermin which freely roamed the semidarkness.
Ronald took the candle from William and bent down next to his wife. Despite her condition she smiled at him.