Story

“Sara, hurry, get the water!” shrieked Mabel. The men passed back and forth on the oak wood floors. Their boots clambered to the doorway, their ears pressed against the door, listening for any sounds of life. The soft whimpering grew louder and louder, until it was a high piercing wail. The men stepped back from the doorway horrified. Sara slowly opened the door, and stepped aside. The men straitened their clothing, and walked in with high heads, as if to show they were not afraid. The whimpering grew softer, until the baby was calmly breathing into sleep. Lawrence went over to Mabel and watched the couple by the bedside comfort each other. John went over to his wife, and knelt beside the bed. The woman’s face was frail and white as a ghost.

“The baby is beautiful and healthy,” John breathed, not wanting to wake the baby. “What shall we name her?”

“My sister’s name?” replied Mary confused, “I thought you didn’t like her?”

The town was unusually busy that Saturday morning. All the wooden shops were being swept through and then cleaned out by all of the town’s folk, going in and out. Everyone was going from shop to shop. Word around town was, someone named Matthew Hopkins was coming to town. Not just passing by, but looking for witches.

He came into my tavern that day, all the ladies hanging around his arms. We had some small talk, and I decided, that he was the kind of man who depends on money and the help from others, but would not admit it. He said that all the drinks were on him. After he threw the money at me, he grabbed all of his belongings and headed out the door. I hoped I wouldn’t see him again, but it didn’t turn out that way…

They say that Hopkins was looking for nice and clean witches. Those are the worst kind. The good witches help others, performing miracle acts and working with the devil. A couple of towns away, just last week, Betty Leen was accused of being a witch because she was having the devil come over to her house and spend the night. She was hanged when her neighbor ran and told one of Hopkins men what was happening. Why would a man want to look for witches? One reason. Money.

The next few days, it was like Matthew Hopkins was running the place. All the pretty girls were doing whatever he asked them to do, new men were joining him, the sheriff was giving in, and innocent women were being accused of being witches each day.

I had no worries for our family. Our healthy daughter was growing up fine, to be strong and beautiful. Our family grew closer and closer each new day. When someone was ill or in need, Mary was there to help cure and comfort, also with Esther, because I was working all day. They were the medicine women of the town. After awhile, the folk from the town started calling them the, “Miracle Workers.” This is all, but too much, of what Hopkins wanted.

They say that Hell came upon us that day. More likely it was the town that got out of hand. My wife and I were very happy and gay, until this Hopkins man came. Esther and Mary were always helping, what kind of a man would want them hanged or burned? Damn Hopkins, damn his men, damn Salem, Massachusetts!

Hopkins came to our door, with a riot outside on the dirt road. Mary and Esther were on the other side of town, helping old Johnson to eat something.

“Where are the witches that killed my brother?” shouted a woman in the middle of the street.

“Where are the ones so evil, that made my cows milk spoil?” a man dressed in farmers clothing bellowed. The riot went on and more and more men and women were shouting, and yelling at each other, about my most loved ones in that way.

“Who are you,” I calmly said, my voice loud so that all could hear. The riot stopped, all was silent. “To come up to my doorstep, and say that the two most beautiful women, in this house, are the ones that set to you your bad luck?

“They have only done good, so that some day we may all live in peace.” They shook their heads, some agreeing, others disagreeing and showing it by telling everyone.

“The witches have put a spell on this man, making him say this nonsense of lies!”

“How could a child do that? In God’s name, what is wrong with all of you!” I screamed, trying to make them understand.

“I think there is nothing wrong with these people,” the same cool voice from my tavern said. The voice called for everyone’s attention. It sent a cold rush down the back of my neck. “They say what they believe, don’t you?”

I needed to get out, time to get help. “I agree… everyone has their own right to believe whatever they want to.” I panicked.

“Then, I’m glad that you realize our cause.” He spoke with a tone of sarcasm.

When they left, I shut the door as hard as I could, so it would slam. Surely, the devil had come among us. Mary and Esther had no idea what was happening. My sister in law might help us, being with high power and knowing lots of people. Maybe she could stop this whole massacre.

I tried to help my sister and her family, but I thought to highly of myself to do anything. They came to my door, begging and pleading for help. I let them have a bit to eat and talked for a little while, and then I asked the butler to throw them out.

I heard that they came and dragged Mary and poor Esther to the center of town. Mary had a face that looked as nothing was happening, as if nothing mattered, to her or little baby Esther. Hopkins had a gleam in his eyes, the kind of evil look that makes you look like one of Satan’s helpers. There were more then twenty women and children standing on a cart ridding into town. Some of the girls were crying, calling for their fathers. Esther had her best dress on. Mary was standing, holding Esther’s hand. They stood out from the rest of the women and girls. They didn’t belong, and everyone knew that. They stood tall and proud, holding each other in their misery.

It was a long day. Didn’t have a moments rest. Hopkins kept on pushing me until I gave in. He was (as John Smith put it) running the place. I saw the expression that Mary had, it was unbearable. She had that look. That look that you don’t find very often, that look of a burden. I called out it would be all right, but she said nothing as if she hadn’t heard me.

They came for me and Esther that day. They called for us to leave the house, or it would be burned. I grabbed Esther and ran outside, for fear of our house that my John’s grandfather built with his own hands. For a sign of retreat, I held up the white handkerchief that my mother gave me. They tied ropes to me and Esther, so we wouldn’t escape. I screamed in vain, so that someone would hear me. John was at the tavern, but word got around town so fast that he would soon know of our fate.

The girls on the cart, looked young, and still have more time to grow. We all stood because it was so crowded. The bottom of the cart was covered with hay, thinking that we were animals. Treating us like them too. The ride was bumpy and long. The young ones were softly whimpering.

A crowd was there for our arrival. Not to welcome us. They threw food and rocks at us, to show their hatred. I blocked out the sound. I didn’t want to hear it anymore, the people, Esther’s painful crying from the rocks, and a voice. I thought I heard a familiar voice, but I just shrugged it away. A kind gentleman helped Esther and me out of the cart and escorted us to the block were we were soon to be hanged.

The crowd screamed and shouted at us to die. I calmly held my head high, letting the man lead me up the stairs.

It seemed that the crowed wanted me and Esther to die the most. But Hopkins wanted us for last.

They killed us in groups of four. Each woman would stand over a trap door. They would put a black hood over their heads. Then the men would place the ropes over their necks. The man shouted, “One, two, three!” Another man would pull the lever, and the trap door dropped.

There was a screech of horror that made me tighten with fear. I thought of how that would be me soon. I craned my neck, searched the crowd looking for my husband. Maybe with the riot going on, he would help all of us. The group before us just was exterminated. I stepped up. The only thing I didn’t want to do was this.

“Any last words?” the man standing in front of me said. I turned around, staring down at him, full in the face. He cringed away, in self-pity.

“I have a few words that I might say.” I calmly replied. But just before my next words were spoken, a shot ran out throughout the town.

“ Don’t let others control you. Make your own decisions by yourself.” The galloping came closer to the town square. “Let yourself do what you want to.” By now it was a thunderous roar. The shots ran out again. But this time, there was blood.

A woman screamed. Another shot ran out. The woman screamed again. Her husband lay dead on the road. A band of horses ran up and scattered everyone around. More screams were heard. More people lay dead on the dirt road.

“Let no man or beast challenge you into the game of death. Forgive your enemies, and they will forgive you. Open your hearts to other people, so that God may let you into the pearly white gates.” I talked so that I might escape. Esther way crying, I ran to her trying to comfort her, but then it all happened. A loud shot belted towards her. I tried to run, stop the bullet. But the rope on my neck held me back. I screamed. Esther lay dead. Her small body lay sprawled on the wood block. I screamed again. The blood soaked into her new dress. I screamed as loud as I could. I stood there crying. Slowly the world moved around me. My soft whimpering was echoing around me. The small sound of fighting and shouting was far off. I heard a lever pull. The trap door beneath me opened. I looked up at the sky, praying that I would be with Esther again, and John.

I ran outside to see what the riot was about. I saw the women about to be hanged. I got on my horse and road to the Ward’s house. We got together and planned to stop what was happening. They had some friends that rode with us into town.

I saw my wife and child about to be hanged, so I shot to distract their attention. But, I didn’t shoot at the air. I shot a man. The crowd screamed, horrified at the sight of blood. I sat there on that horse looking around, gaping. Lawrence rode up behind me and shot again. This time I saw a young child fall. She looked familiar. I rode up looking to see who it was. I stopped. I turned around staring at Lawrence. “What have you done?” I screamed at him. “You killed my child! Why did you do it?” I got off the horse, falling to my knees, and crying. “My baby… My baby.” I heard a creak, I lifted my head. My wife was about to fall through the trap door. Then a tight pull and she was hanging by a rope. Limp like a rag doll. “Why would you want to do this to me? Why in God’s name would you do this to me?”

Click here to go to FHTMS home page

For comments or questions contact Bill Wight at billw@sbschools.net