Bewitching Familiar Page 4

  “Yes, Abby.” The little girl was solemn, but she smiled. “I can do this. The cat likes me.”

  Choking back panic, Abigail closed the panel and then looked at Hester. “Get dressed quickly. I’ll hold them as long as possible. And for God’s sake, cover up that A.”

  Hester took a bit of courage from that. “Let them search. You’ve nothing to hide.”

  Abigail had no choice. There was the sound of something battering into the door. “Wait!” she cried, and went to lift the heavy wooden bar that was used as a lock.

  Standing on the steps was Silas Grayson. Behind him were two more men, and at the edge of the property stood a solemn Samuel Truesdale. Abigail had expected Silas and the others, but the sight of Samuel made her suddenly more afraid. He’d heard her talking to the cat. He knew Familiar was in the house. Had he told?

  “What right have you to search my home?” She blocked the doorway, though she was no match for the strength of the men who demanded entry.

  “By right of the magistrate. It’s been reported that you have a strange creature in your home. A familiar.”

  Abigail summoned up the courage to laugh. “Indeed, and is this a small green man who hops and dances in the road?”

  “’Tis no laughing matter, Mistress West. The charges are serious.” Silas eyed her long and hard. “The penalty is death.”

  It was the look of pleasure in his eyes more than his words that truly frightened Abigail. She opened the door as soon as she saw Hester coming down the steps. “Search as much as you like. I have nothing to hide.”

  Silas brushed past her, moving into the house with the two other men. One man stood outside the door, as if to prevent her escape. Samuel stepped forward to the doorway.

  “I did not expect to see you on this type of errand.” She met his gaze directly, daring him to tell all that he knew of her.

  Samuel felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Strange that he should want to smile at such a time. When he’d heard Silas rouse out of bed in the middle of the night and tell Sarah that he’d been ordered to search Abigail West’s home, Samuel had insisted on accompanying the search party. To Silas’s great displeasure.

  Taking a step away from the guard at the door, Samuel signaled Abigail outside. Although she was stiff and angry, he managed to get her to follow him safely out of hearing of anyone in the house. “I was not invited to attend.” He did allow the briefest of smiles. “Silas is unhappy with my presence here, but I wanted to be sure that if he found something, it was not something he brought with him.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened. “He would do such a thing?”

  “I have no proof, but I have begun to suspect that not all of the evidence brought before the magistrate is real.”

  “We have to stop…” She swirled quickly and started to run back into the cottage.

  Samuel’s strong fingers circled her upper arm, holding her. He’d meant only to detain her, to keep her from rushing back into the cottage. But the touch of her firm flesh, even through the layers of clothes, ignited a sudden, powerful desire.

  At the feel of his fingers on her arm, Abigail instantly stopped. A man did not touch a woman other than his wife. It was not done. She glanced back to the doorway to see if the guard had noticed. Luckily the man was looking into the open doorway of the house. Abigail shook her arm free.

  “Let them search,” he cautioned her. “Pretend you do not care.”

  Abigail clamped her mouth shut. She did not want her house searched. She did not want her space violated. As an American citizen, she had rights against such behavior. The constitution guaranteed those rights….

  She felt her legs weaken. She turned to Samuel, her head swimming with a million conflicting thoughts. Constitution? Rights? What were those things and where had she heard of them? Citizen? What was that? She was in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and women had no rights.

  “Mistress West?” Samuel saw her eyelids flutter.

  “Help…me.” Abigail managed to croak out the words before the tide of black washed over her. Her legs buckled and she felt herself falling.

  Samuel was near enough to catch her before she hit the ground. She was a tall woman, and as his arms encircled her, he could feel the lush curve of her waist and hips. One hand brushed her full breasts as he tried to maneuver her into his arms. The desire he felt for her was so sudden, and so apparent, that he was glad the folds of her cloak fell across him.

  “Hey, you!” he called to the guard. “Help me.”

  The man rushed forward and with his assistance Samuel was able to shift the unconscious Abigail into his arms. As soon as he had her safely nestled against him, he ordered the man away. Without further ado, he carried her into the house and made for the ground-floor bedroom, which he assumed to be hers.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” A strange woman with her hair disheveled but pushed beneath a white cap rushed at him.

  “She fainted, I think.” Samuel wasn’t exactly certain what had happened to Abigail. All he knew was that something serious had happened to him. The feel of her in his arms, her gentle breathing against the side of his neck, all acted as the most potent of aphrodisiacs. With great reluctance he lowered her onto her bed.

  “Out of my way,” the woman ordered, pushing against him to make room for her to step forward. She waved a tiny vial under Abigail’s nose.

  “It’s th-the law,” Abigail sputtered, her eyes rolling and blinking rapidly as she came to her senses. She pushed up on the corn-shuck mattress covered in clean linen sheets. She looked beyond Samuel to the gaunt man who stood lurking in the bedroom doorway. “Get out of my house. You have no right here.”

  Silas Grayson stepped into the room. “I have every right, Mistress West.” From his side he lifted his hand. In it was a small figure, a doll made from a corn cob and the husks. The golden silks had been arranged into two glistening braids. “Has Tituba been teaching you the art of voodoo?”

  “You foolish man.” Hester snatched the figure from his hand. “It’s my…” She caught herself. “It’s a doll. For a child to play with.”

  “I see no children in this house.” Silas’s smile was one of victory. “I see only two women, one of them known to be an adulteress, Madame Prynne.”

  Although Hester was flustered by the fact that he recognized her, she held her composure. “I brought the doll from Boston. I wanted Abigail to help me make them so I could sell them.” Hester stood her ground. “I need money to support myself and my daughter.”

  “Your daughter?” Silas arched one bristling eyebrow.

  “My daughter, Pearl. Since you know so much of my private affairs, I’m sure you know of her.”

  “Where is the child?”

  “Since you are not the father, that is none of your concern.”

  Thunder darkened Silas Grayson’s brow. “You will speak to me with the respect I deserve, or you will pay the consequences.”

  Samuel stepped between the two and moved directly into Silas’s face. “Mistress West has taken ill. If you’ve finished your search we should leave her home. We have no quarrel with her guest.”

  “George, have you searched the upstairs?” Silas called.

  “Yes. There’s no one up there. And no black creature.”

  “You’ve searched thoroughly?” Silas stared at Abigail. His gaze shifted over her form on the bed, lingering on her breasts as he continued to talk. “A witness saw her with the black creature, talking and kissing it.”

  Samuel saw the look, and his hands at his side clenched into fists.

  Abigail, too, saw what was passing between the men. She sat up, swung her feet to the floor and stood. The sensation of weakness was gone, but her questions were not. She knew something, something about the future. She didn’t know how, or why, but she felt a sense of purpose that had not been there an hour before.

  “Get out of my house, Silas Grayson. Take yourself home and to your own bed. You shall not share mine.”

 
At the look of fury on his face, she knew she’d scored a direct hit, but she also knew she would pay for that remark.

  “You cannot tempt me, witch.” Silas spoke the last word with relish.

  “I have no wish to tempt you. I want none of you. But, be warned. I am not an ignorant woman, not someone you can intimidate and bully. Get out of my house before I make you truly sorry.”

  Before Samuel could do a thing, George grabbed Silas by the arm. “She speaks so strangely.” He gave her a terrified look. “She is strong. Hurry!” He tugged at Silas.

  “You have done your search here, Silas, and found nothing but a child’s dolly. Leave,” Samuel said, his tone far more gentle than it had been before. He dared not look at Abigail. She was standing at the bed, her mismatched eyes blazing fury, daring Silas Grayson to do his worst.

  Samuel could not look at Abigail, for he knew she had signed her own death warrant. Hester knew it, too. He could read it in her eyes and the paleness of her skin.

  “I will go.” Silas smiled. “But I will be back. With a warrant for your arrest.” He left the room, joined by his men as they exited the house. They did not bother to close the door as they left, and Silas’s voice carried clearly back to Abigail, Samuel and Hester.

  “She will hang before the week is out,” Silas said, and there was great satisfaction in his voice.

  For a moment no one in the house spoke, then Hester started forward. She slammed the door and barred it again, then hurried to the fireplace. “Pearl!”

  Abigail hurried after her, leaving a very concerned Samuel to follow. When he arrived in the kitchen, Abigail was swinging the secret panel open to reveal a young girl and the big black cat.

  “My daughter,” Hester explained.

  “And my cat, Familiar.” Abigail looked up at him, her face defiant.

  “I see.” It was all Samuel could manage. His emotions were in terrible turmoil. Kneeling at the hearth, her hand stroking the cat, Samuel knew Abigail was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And the most doomed. She had humiliated Silas Grayson in a manner he would never forgive. And Silas would not rest until he made certain the charge of witchcraft had been brought against her.

  “Abigail.” It was Hester who spoke, her voice breaking with the tension. “Pack a few things. We’ll leave immediately. We stand a better chance in the forest with the Indians than we do staying here. As soon as it is daybreak, that man will have a warrant for your arrest. Once you’re in prison, you’ll never escape. We have to leave now.” As she spoke she started pacing the kitchen. Her fingers found first one object, then another, as she picked them up and looked at them, then discarded them as unnecessary. “Just clothes, and some bread and cheese, if you have any. What money you might have stored away. We can manage with that.” She didn’t look at anyone as she paced.

  “Mother, are we going to the islands?” Pearl spoke up with some confusion. “Tonight? I thought we were to visit here for a time.”

  “We’re going nowhere.” Abigail’s voice was firm.

  “You’re still woozy from the faint.” Hester confronted her directly. “Do you deliberately fail to understand? That man is going to have you hanged.”

  “But I’m not a witch.”

  Hester rolled her eyes and looked to Samuel for help.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mistress West. I don’t believe Goodwife Bishop was a witch. She is dead nonetheless. Sarah Good, Elizabeth How, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse, Sarah Wilds—they are not witches, but they will hang because they have been accused.” Samuel felt a twist in his heart. “You must listen to your friend and leave here at once. You will be safer with the Indians.” As he spoke he felt the wrenching loss of her. She was a woman he’d spoken with for the first time only the day before, but already he knew he would miss her for the rest of his life. She had indeed bewitched him.

  Abigail looked at Samuel, then Hester, and finally at the black cat who was staring solemnly at her from the hearth. Even little Pearl was waiting for her response.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Her thoughts were still confused, but things were becoming more and more clear to her. She pressed the flat of her palm against her chest and her fingers automatically found the elongated crystal that always hung between her breasts.

  “I have some coffee.” She smiled as she said it, knowing that Hester and Samuel would find her behavior insane. “There are some things I need to tell you both. Things you are going to find hard to believe because I don’t believe them myself.” She was uncertain exactly what to tell them. So much of what she felt was intuitive, and she had not the first scrap of proof, other than the pendant.

  And the cat.

  She looked at Familiar and saw the intelligence in his eyes. Yes, it was the cat, too. And Samuel. And Hester. They were somehow all bound in this together. An involuntary shudder took her. She disguised it by filling the kettle from a bucket of water and lighting a small fire in the hearth.

  “Coffee, then we’ll talk.” She spoke more to calm herself than anything else. She pointed to chairs around the table as she lit more candles until the kitchen gave off a soft glow.

  “If they’re watching you, they’ll claim you’re holding some type of ceremony,” Samuel warned her, noting the excess of lighted candles.

  “Let them burn in hell.” Abigail grinned at the impact of her words. “You see, Samuel…” She dropped all formal manner of address. “Where I come from, relegating people to hell is a common practice. It may not be very polite, but it certainly isn’t an offense punishable by death.”

  “Abigail!” Hester rose, half in shock. “Where did you learn to talk in such a manner?”

  “Somewhere in the future, Hester. Out of books, from movies, from my parents and friends.” As she spoke, the sense of truth rushed through her with elation. “Yes, from the future. From a time where people finally understand that there are no such things as witches or warlocks.”

  “God save you,” Samuel said, his face a mask of complete dejection and horror. “God save you, Abigail West, because if you behave in this fashion you are surely doomed to hang.”

  I’M AN EXTREMELY intelligent creature with a lifetime of incredible experiences behind me, and I’m having a hard time grasping what’s going on here. So I don’t expect Pilgrim Man and Hester, who was a fictional character from a book, to be able to grasp the premise of traveling here from the future. As difficult as it is to believe, there’s no other explanation for what’s happened to me.

  Last I remember I saw this knockout dame hoofing it across Pennsylvania Avenue. She didn’t see the car coming, and I knocked her out of the way. Then the car struck me. Whammo! Bammo!

  I wake up in this strange place, drift in and out of a coma for several days, then keel over by that stone fence. Next thing I know, I open my peepers and there she is, the woman I knocked out of the street. Only she’s dressed in the ugliest fashion I’ve ever seen, and she’s talking all stiff and funny—like everyone else around her. You’d think they had a broom…never mind, that may not be a good word to use—what with all this witch hysteria I’m hearing about.

  The best I can deduce, though I may be a little iffy from being stuffed into the side of the fireplace, is that we’re somewhere back in time. Late 1600s, I’d say. We’re near Boston. And we’re in major, big-time, serious, cat-killing trouble.

  The question is, why? Why are we here? How did we get here? More important, how are we going to get back?

  At least Abigail is beginning to catch on to the fact that we’re visitors from another time. Once she accepts it, then I’ll have an ally in getting out of here and back to the future.

  Samuel, I’m not so sure about. He seems vaguely familiar, no pun intended at this point, but I can’t be certain.

  And, Hester! Whew! Right out of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel, bearing the sign of her sin, no less.

  Well, Abigail is trying to tell them about the future. She’s pacing the room, talking about cars and movies, a
nd now she’s getting down to the Revolutionary War and Independence and the constitution and, yes, indeedy, the Bill of Rights.

  Samuel thinks she’s flipped over the edge. Hester wants only to pack and run.

  And me? What do I want? That’s what’s troubling me. Why are we here in Salem Village at a time when innocent women and men are being killed as witches? It’s the worst possible place and time for a black cat.

  And the most challenging.

  What if Madame Mysterious and I could actually do something to stop the witch trials? What if we could figure out who’s really behind all of these accusations?

  I feel the need for some action, and I’ve got to get out of this house and do a little exploring. My very extraordinary kitty sense tells me that something is rotten in Salem Village, to bastardize my old friend, Will.

  Yes, I do believe Madame Mysterious and I are going to make an impressive team—and change the course of history, to boot. If these heathens don’t hang the both of us before we get a chance to act.

  “ABBY.” Hester got up from her seat at the table and went over to her friend. She knelt beside her, her hand going to Abby’s forehead to feel for a sign of fever. “Listen to me, and listen carefully. If one person in this village hears you talk of such things, they will hang you. They will not doubt that you are a witch. They will not care that you are ill.” She shook her head, freeing the tears that had been trapped in her eyelashes. “Men riding in machines that go a hundred miles in a single hour. Big machines flying in the sky. Pictures of people in a box that tell stories.”

  “It’s blasphemy,” Samuel said softly.

  Abigail looked from one to the other, aware that she had frightened them far worse than she’d intended. In describing the wonders of the world she was remembering more clearly with each passing moment, she’d terrified Hester and Samuel. Hester, a name from a classic novel, and Samuel, a man who somehow seemed…part of her future. At the looks on their faces, she had a blistering jolt of self-doubt. What if she was crazy?

  “Meow.” Familiar got up from beside Pearl. He leapt onto the table and walked directly to Abigail. His black paw went gently to her chest, and he pressed the pendant into the tender flesh. “Meow.”