Bewitching Familiar Read online

  A gasp went around the room, and the eager audience moved forward. The magistrate had all but accused Samuel of witchcraft!

  Abigail started forward and caught herself. What could she do? If she showed so much as a shred of sympathy, it would go worse for Samuel. They’d hang him for sure.

  The boy beside her leaned forward, also, and whispered, “’Tis a far better show than even I expected.” His eyes were alight with pleasure. “Sure they’ll hang them both before sunset.”

  “Her for sure,” another boy answered. “Not him. They’ll want to set him up for punishment for all to see.”

  Abigail focused her attention on Samuel. He was waiting for all the whispers to die down.

  “If it be a spell which holds me, it is the sweet spell of reason,” Samuel said. “I speak with common sense and a stout heart. I am not afraid of tales of evil, because I know my heart is pure. I believe it is those who make the accusations who have been placed under the thumb of evil. And those who listen to them because it suits their pocketbooks are even worse.”

  At that proclamation, another round of gasps and comments spread through the room.

  “Is it your intention, Goodman Truesdale, to imply that—”

  “My intentions are to prove Elizabeth Adams is innocent of all charges.”

  Appleton stood, his face actually quivering with emotion at Samuel’s effrontery. “We shall halt these proceedings.” He slammed his fist into the table and turned to leave the room.

  Samuel gave a slight nod to Elizabeth before she was dragged away in chains. He had not proved her innocent, but he had gained a day for her. At what cost, though?

  Abigail pressed back into the wall as the crowd got to its feet and began to hustle out the door. Many had taken time away from their duties to attend the trial. Since the entertainment was over, they were in a hurry to get back to their farms.

  Samuel had disappeared from sight, so Abigail fell in with the crowd. She was getting ready to walk down the steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  The fingers clamped into her collarbone in a bruising grip.

  “You, boy. Some business awaits you in the dungeon.” The man who spoke was missing several of his front teeth.

  Abigail tried to shake him off, but he held tight to her shoulder, gripping with fingers that seemed to dig through to the bone. She was afraid to cry out for fear she’d give her gender away—and die for it.

  “Who would want such a scrawny lad?” His grin was mean, and his fingers gripped even harder. “I’m a desperate man to take on such riffraff as yourself. I have orders from the magistrate to bring you around to his office, and that’s where I’m taking you.” He leaned forward into her face, his piglike eyes amused at her fear. “’Tis a cell that may be waiting for you, lad. Cold stone and torture. That’s what’s in the bottom of this old building. At night, when they test the witches, their screams rise into this chamber. The very walls quake with the suffering.”

  Abigail lurched forward in an attempt to break the man’s grip, but he wasn’t easily dislodged. “Let me be,” she stormed.

  “Or what? What would ye do to me?” He laughed, dragging her backward through the exiting people.

  Abigail cast a pleading look, but the men and women who still remained stepped away from her as if she’d developed a dreaded disease. With a sinking heart, she realized that was exactly what had happened to her. She was infected with the disease of suspicion. Who had turned her in? Would Samuel be able to help her? She was swept away, through the courtroom and into a small, private office. The door was open and she was uncermoniously flung inside.

  To her surprise Samuel tossed a coin to the man. “Thank you. I have some chores for this boy to do for me.”

  “My own son is big, brawny,” the man said.

  “This lad will do.” Samuel signaled for him to close the door, then turned to confront Abigail. “Well, well, I see you can’t resist tempting fate.” There was anger in his voice. “When I saw you in the courtroom today, I thought I would die of fear for you.”

  “I had to come. You were brilliant, Samuel. Brilliant!”

  He ignored her compliment and began to pace. “Unless I can think of something to do tomorrow, Elizabeth will die. I’m not brilliant. What I am is desperate.” He paced with his hands behind his back and his eyes lowered. “What can I do to save her? If she dies, Sanshu and the other warriors will come to the village. Women and children will die.”

  “They’re dying now,” Abigail observed. “Hanged by their own citizens. Perhaps the Indians will end these terrible trials.”

  Even as she spoke she could almost remember what event had actually stopped the witch trials. She could almost reach out and grasp it, but it slipped away. “Double damn!” she said, shaking her head. She refocused her frustration on him. “And by the way, how dare you have me dragged in here like a sack of garbage!”

  “I had them bring you to me to help with my defense of Elizabeth.”

  Abigail was suddenly alert. “You had that oaf manhandle me and scare me half to death because you wanted my help?” She didn’t know if she was mad or amused.

  “I asked him to detain you.”

  “He implied I was going to the dungeon.”

  Samuel’s smile was mocking. “You are. Since you seem so determined to spend your time in the dungeon, I’ve made arrangements for you to do so. As a janitor, of sorts.”

  “Janitor?” Abigail didn’t like the sound of that at all. “You mean…”

  “I mean, scrub the cells and floor, carry out waste materials, all the general work of a young boy employed to tend to prisoners.”

  “How kind you are.” Abigail’s tone dripped sarcasm.

  Samuel shrugged. “You wanted to gain access to the prisoners. I thought you’d appreciate the work I did. But if you aren’t interested in taking food to them any longer, then I don’t suppose you care that they live in filth.”

  “You did this to keep an eye on me.” Abigail suddenly saw his fine hand in the manipulations.

  “I did. I thought it would serve your purpose as well as mine. You can feed the prisoners, and I’ll know where you are.”

  Abigail stood and began to pace beside Samuel. She gave herself a few moments to digest the proposed plan. It was pretty good. She’d be able to come and go at will, and among her buckets and cleaning utensils, she could pack additional food for the hungry. In fact, it was a damn good plan. “You’re right.” She threw her arms around him. “It’s an ingenious idea.”

  Abigail’s dress was that of a boy, but her body was all female, and he felt the lush curves disguised beneath the coarse trousers and shirt. His desire for her was instantaneous. “My God, Abigail,” he murmured, easing his hands down her ribs to the indentation of her waist. She was so feminine, so fiercely independent. “The things you do to me!” He lifted her to eye level, seeking her emotions in her beautiful eyes.

  Abigail was bubbling with excitement. “I can speak with the accused. Perhaps they can tell me why they’ve been named. I mean, there has to be some rhyme or reason to these charges. Why Rebecca Nurse, an old woman? Why Elizabeth, who harms no one? Who is benefitting from these foolish charges?”

  Samuel lowered her to the floor. “An excellent question. Perhaps those in the dungeon can answer it for you.” He turned away and began to pace again.

  “But what?” Abigail reached out to touch his arm. “It’s a good question, but not good enough.”

  He shook his head. “Good but not quick enough. Not to save Elizabeth.”

  “What can we do?” Abigail asked.

  “I can only hope that Sanshu has a plan,” Samuel said. “And I can only pray that it doesn’t involve the slaughter of innocent people.”

  ABIGAIL rose with the fresh milk and patted Sally’s side. Making butter was a job that made her back sore and her arms burn. Cheese was even worse. What Salem Village needed was a local convenience store. And a good restaurant with a wine list. Some d
ecent food and a glass of wine might put the entire village in a better mood.

  As she hefted the heavy pail, Abigail resolved never, never, never to refer back to “the good old days” when she became a white-haired old woman. “Bah! Humbug to the good old days,” she told Sally as she left the barn.

  Outside, with the beauty of the night falling so softly on the landscape, her heart softened. “Why is it that with all of the bounty of this land, there is so much meanness afoot?” she asked the black cat who had stopped beside her.

  She’d spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to figure out a way to save Elizabeth Adams from the hangman’s noose. So far, she’d come up with nothing.

  Samuel was meeting her at midnight in the hope of exploring the strange rituals going on in her woods. And also to discuss plans for the next day. He had vowed not to let Elizabeth hang, and Abigail felt a rush of fear at the thought that he would risk his own life to save the woman. There had to be another way, and she had to think about it.

  She was almost to the house when she sensed another presence. She stepped to block Familiar, knowing that it was Silas Grayson come to spy on her. The man needed a wooden stake driven through his heart!

  “Whoever you are, get off my property!” She held the pail at her side, determined to use it as a weapon if she had to.

  “It was our land first.” Out of the shadows of the tree, Sanshu emerged.

  Abigail felt her heart trip-hammer, then level out. The Indian made her slightly uncomfortable, especially in view of his last words. He’d all but declared war.

  “Where is my wife?” he asked in English that held only a trace of an awkward accent.

  “She’s been accused of witchcraft. She’s in the dungeon.” Abigail spoke with as much gentleness as she could. She knew Sanshu loved Elizabeth. Nothing could have been plainer.

  “They will hang her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “They want to, but Samuel and I are trying to stop them.” Abigail felt the chill of death as she looked into Sanshu’s eyes. If she and Samuel didn’t come up with a plan, she knew Sanshu would do whatever it took to save Elizabeth—or at least avenge her. For a moment she considered the possibility that this was what she had come back three hundred years to facilitate. It would be one way to stop the witch trial madness. But in her heart she knew this was not true. There was malice among some of the participants of the trials. Malice and evil. But some were simple people who were honestly terrified. It was difficult for her to understand such terror, but in 1692, many aspects of life were tenuous and frightening.

  She sighed and reached out to Sanshu. “We’ll save her. You have my word on it. I don’t know how, but we will.”

  Sanshu nodded. As quick and silent as a panther, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

  He would give her and Samuel the first opportunity—and after that he would handle things in his own way.

  Abigail went into the house, the milk pail dragging at her tired arm. If she had the power, would she simply wish herself back to the future?

  “Auntie Em, Auntie Em, I want to go home,” she whispered to hide her growing dismay.

  MADAME MYSTERIOUS is at the breaking point, and I can see why. An Indian massacre isn’t going to solve the problem here. In fact, if that happens, these frightened Puritans will find a reason to blame that on Satan and point the finger at God knows who!

  Well, it’s time for a little black cat action. I did a little reconnoitering of the dungeon. Jeez, that place is aptly named. There’s the kid who left Abigail the key to the door, but he doesn’t have the individual cell keys in his possession. Neither does old Silas Gruesome. So I’m wondering who has the key to the cells, and my best guess is Fattie Appleton or that prune-faced prosecutor, Hawthorne.

  Samuel and Abigail are due to rendezvous tonight at the witching hour to check out the woods. While they’re preoccupied and won’t miss me, I’m going to do some checking of my very own. We have to act fast, but they didn’t call me The Streak in my younger days for nothing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abigail and Samuel slipped into her house and dropped their cloaks in disgust. They’d spent more than an hour crouched in the woods, waiting for something that never happened.

  “You were right,” he said. “It will be the new moon before they return.”

  “Or the half moon, or the second day after the rise of the sickle moon!” She slumped into a chair. “What are we going to do, Samuel? Time is running out. They’re going to kill Elizabeth tomorrow. And whoever else they take a fancy to stringing up.”

  Samuel went to her and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

  She reached up and took his hands and held them. “We’re both exhausted. We need sleep, but there’s no time. Maybe we should go to the jail now and try to open the doors.”

  “You saw that dungeon. It isn’t a matter of knocking a few wooden slats off the hinges. Those doors are embedded in stone. I can’t say much for the comfort of the design, but the damn thing will stand for eternity.”

  “If we could get inside, do you think we could get Elizabeth out?” Abigail had pondered this while her legs cramped and finally went to sleep as she’d hid in the woods.

  “It would be hard to leave the others.” Samuel had also given it some thought. “But we would have to do that. Did Sanshu say how Elizabeth had come to be recaptured?”

  Abigail shook her head. “No.”

  “Since I’m not allowed to consult with the accused,” Samuel spoke with disgust, “I’m assuming that she went back for some medicine or something. She’d been gathering roots and things all spring and summer.”

  Abigail jumped up as if she’d been stung by a bee. “That’s it! That’s it!”

  “What?” Samuel still held her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

  “Elizabeth’s herbs and roots. Surely there’s something there that we could use as a sleeping potion. We could drug the guard and slip Elizabeth out with his keys.”

  Samuel’s face fell. “The guards are not allowed keys to the cells. Appleton has already foreseen the situation where a guard might feel sympathy for a prisoner—or, as he puts it, ‘Might come under the spell.’”

  “Damn!” Abigail slapped the table. As she turned to the window, she drew in her breath and almost stumbled into Samuel’s arms.

  “Look!” She pointed, but the window was empty.

  “What was it?”

  “There were two large green eyes staring directly at us.”

  Samuel tensed, then started to laugh as Familiar jumped back up on the ledge and batted the window with his paw.

  “It’s only your Familiar,” he said, going to open the door.

  “I should have known he was being too well behaved to be in this house.” Abigail put her hands on her hips. “He’s impossible.”

  Before either of them could say anything else, Familiar darted into the room. He stopped at Abigail’s feet and deposited a key ring with several iron keys.

  “Familiar!” Samuel recognized them. “That’s Appleton’s keys to the dungeon.” He picked them up with wonder. “How did you get them?”

  Familiar gave the closest semblance of a Gaelic shrug that Samuel had ever seen, then licked his paw and applied it to his whiskers.

  Samuel hefted the keys, looking first at Abigail and then at the cat. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re no ordinary woman, and this is definitely not an ordinary cat.”

  Abigail swept Familiar into her arms. “Because it’s true.” She planted a kiss on Familiar’s nose. “He’s magic.” She kissed him again.

  “And so are you.” Samuel swept cat and woman into his arms and kissed Abigail. Cozied up between them, Familiar gave a purr and then hopped down to the floor where he went to his bowl and attacked the lobster broiled in butter that Abigail had set out for him.

  He cast a critical eye at the two of them, locked in an e
mbrace that had grown hotter, more urgent, upon his departure. He blinked at them twice, then turned his attention back to his food.

  The relief that came with the keys and a plan made Abigail dizzy, and Samuel’s kiss was not helping her keep a level head. The passion they shared was like a warm wave that swept over her, engulfing everything except the moment, his hands and lips, the need for his touch that seemed to be something alive and independent of her will.

  “It’s late,” Samuel whispered, his lips so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

  “Too late to sleep,” she said. “We have to be at the dungeon early if we’re going to make this work. And we have to stop by Elizabeth’s place before dawn. No one can see us.”

  “I should go.” But his embrace didn’t loosen.

  Abigail looked up at him. How had they come together in this place? What would their lives be like back in the Washington of 1995? Would there be anything there to bind them together? Did it matter? It did, but not enough to halt the headlong plunge her heart had already taken. “Stay with me tonight,” she said. “Everything we think and do is dangerous. At least give me one night of happiness.”

  Samuel tightened his hold on her. “Not one night, I promise you that. Whatever else happens, we won’t lose each other.”

  The ache in Abigail’s heart stopped the flow of her words. She touched his cheek, feeling the day’s growth of beard. “If I ever had any powers as a witch, I would use them now. To make you safe.”

  “To make us safe,” he corrected her.

  “No matter what happens, Samuel, we’ll have this night to remember.” She kissed him with all the turmoil of emotions she felt. Taking his hand, Abigail led the way to her bedroom.

  The waning moon washed over the quilt that covered her bed. Abigail’s skin was silvery as she stood and let Samuel undress her. With each lace, each button that was separated, she felt her excitement and desire grow.