Bewitching Familiar Page 9

  “Run!” Ezekiel cried, pushing aside one of the older women as he made for safety in the woods. Pandemonium broke loose and the persecutors ran for their lives, pushing and trampling each other in the process.

  Abigail started forward, but Samuel held her back. “Wait,” he whispered. “Don’t let them see you.”

  “But the bear!” Abigail tried to pull free of him.

  “Wait!” He held her, pinning her struggling arms.

  “The bear! It’s going to get her!”

  Even as she spoke, the cub was making directly for the terrified woman who was tied to the stool. She struggled to get away, but her bonds were too tight.

  As soon as the last of the witch-hunters had fled for their lives into the woods, Samuel released Abigail. Ten seconds later he was halfway to Elizabeth. With a quick scoop of his arm, he picked up the hefty bear cub, spun around and put the angry baby down—running in the direction of its infuriated mother.

  Just at the edge of the clearing, cub and mama were reunited in a loud roar. Together they went lumbering back into the woods at a quick shuffle.

  Samuel bent over Elizabeth’s hands and quickly freed them, then her feet.

  “Can you manage in the woods?” he asked her. “It isn’t safe for you to go home. If you can make it through tonight, tomorrow I will find someone to take you to Boston.”

  Abigail had rushed out to join them, making sure the frightened woman was not physically injured. As she turned to look for Familiar, she saw something that made her catch her breath. Standing at the edge of the woods, cat in his arms, was an Indian.

  “Samuel!” Abigail practically hissed the word. “I think the bear was only the first wave of attack.”

  With a cry of delight, Elizabeth darted past Samuel and ran toward the Indian. She slid quickly into his arms, her relief and happiness evident on her face.

  Samuel took Abigail’s arm and they walked toward the Indian, who had dropped Familiar lightly to the ground in order to hold Elizabeth.

  “Thank you,” the Indian said. “You saved my wife.”

  Without showing a trace of surprise, Samuel nodded. “Take her with you, Sanshu. She isn’t safe here any longer.”

  Sanshu looked at Abigail, then the cat. “He is your creature? I would like him to live with me. He has a great spirit.”

  Familiar moved against Abigail’s leg, then turned to put his claws into her dress, begging to be lifted. She obliged. “Yes, he’s mine. And we have work to do together, although there are times I’d dearly love to give him away.”

  Sanshu looked at her long and hard as his hand stroked Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Yes. I think you have much work that requires the cat.” He turned to face Samuel. “We have taken the children who were in Elizabeth’s care. They are safe with us now, thanks to her medicine. Now it is time for us to go. She has proven herself and will be welcome with my people.” He didn’t flinch, but a flicker of sadness touched his features. “We will not be back to this village in peace, Truesdale. Tell the people of the village that when we return, it will be as enemies.”

  “I will tell them.” Samuel held out his hand and the two men shook. Sanshu, his arm still around Elizabeth, turned back into the woods.

  “But…” Abigail started to speak, but Samuel grasped her arm and turned her away.

  “No buts, Abigail. This is the way it has to be. We have enough troubles to settle with the witch trials. I don’t think we can stop the Indian wars, too.”

  “But they will die in a slaughter.” Abigail tried to turn back, to warn the man and woman who had already disappeared into the dense woods. “They don’t have guns. They don’t have anything. It’ll be a bloody slaughter that will end in the death of their entire tribe.”

  Samuel refused to let her turn around, but he did stop. She looked up into his face and felt as if she’d been struck. She knew instantly what had occurred. “You know, don’t you?”

  He took a breath. “Yes, I know. And I wish to God I didn’t.”

  Chapter Seven

  Abigail and Samuel, with Familiar meandering behind them, stopped at the edge of the woods beside her house. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” She didn’t like the drawn look on his face. The reality of the past three hundred years had hit him like a ton of bricks.

  “This is the past. It’s already happened.” His gray eyes were tormented as he looked at her. “We can’t change the past, Abigail. Think of the consequences. If we do one little thing that actually changes the course of history, everything could be drastically changed. It’s mind-boggling.”

  What he said was true, but Abigail knew she’d been sent back in time for the specific purpose of changing the witch trials. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she knew. And the black cat did, too.

  “We’re tired. Let’s think about this later.” She was bone weary with the weight of what was happening around her. “At least Elizabeth is safe. And the Indian children. She’ll be able to ease their suffering with the medicine she knows.” She turned suddenly. “You never told me what happened with Silas. We got a little sidetracked.”

  At the hint of her smile, Samuel couldn’t suppress his own. “Yes, we did, didn’t we? Something we need to discuss further.”

  The look in his eyes was suddenly hungry. “Silas,” she reminded him.

  Samuel forced his thoughts back to Silas Grayson. “He was a no-show at the trial. It’s odd, but neither Mary nor her father made a single accusation.” Samuel frowned. “The entire procedure was diverted by the accusations against Elizabeth. Everyone in town knew she was helping those sick Indian children, and no one thought anything about it until little Emily Waters said she’d seen Satan sitting in a chair by the fire rocking those babies.”

  Abigail shook her head. “It’s ridiculous what these people believe.”

  “What they want to believe,” Samuel said. He reached out to pick up a strand of her russet hair, letting the silky texture slide through his fingers.

  “Do you think that Elizabeth was a diversion, to draw attention away from Silas Grayson and his little adventure last night?” Abigail mentally tried to push the facts into a neat line. Why was Elizabeth suddenly a victim? Why Rebecca Nurse?

  “I’ve thought of that. If we could only get to the root of all this. If I remember my history correctly, almost everything is motivated by economic gain. At the bottom of all wars, all great religious conflict, it’s always basic human greed.”

  “Exactly.” She liked the feel of his fingers tugging at her hair and was tempted to remove the stupid white cap that was de rigueur for women of 1692. But the sexual desire they felt for each other was so near the surface that if she offered the least encouragement, Samuel would follow her into the house—and that could cost both of them their lives. She already knew the witch-hunters were after her. Samuel had been a thorn in their flesh as he tried to keep the trials from completely dissolving into hysterical mass hangings. The Silas Graysons of Salem Village would be only too glad to use any excuse to get rid of both of them. And if little girls were seeing Satan rocking babies in Elizabeth’s home, there’s no telling what they would see if they could catch her and Samuel together under the same roof.

  “Who is gaining by these accusations?” Samuel asked. He continued with his train of thought. “Of the women executed, they generally have no relatives that I’ve been able to find. If they do, no one comes forward to claim their property.”

  “What has happened to the property?”

  Samuel thought a moment, his fingers absently reaching up to pull more hair from beneath her cap. “Nothing yet. It will be sold at auction, I suppose, if no family member claims it. Of course, the village itself will take some fees from the sale.”

  “Fees?”

  Samuel shook his head in disbelief. “Yes, those who have been executed owe fees. For their incarceration, for the trial, for their execution. It’s incredible, really. The prisoners are charged for their food, Abby. As the dungeon fil
ls, more and more are starving because they can’t pay for food. They have land, but no ready cash.”

  “What can we do?” She thought of the people locked in the dank cells beneath the magistrate’s courtroom.

  “I’ve been taking food down to them, hidden in my cloak. Just some bread and things. Hardly nutritious, but it’s the best I can manage.”

  “Perhaps I could smuggle some food down there. There ought to be some purpose to these horrid dresses and petticoats. I could sew food in the petticoats!” She was inspired by the idea.

  Samuel gently touched the corners of her eyes. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? But if you dare to show yourself, they’ll never let you out again. To provide succor to a witch is a sign that you’ve been bewitched. Or in your case, I think they’d make a case that you were feeding your minions.”

  “Right!” Her enthusiasm turned to disgust as she realized Samuel was correct. “So what do we do?”

  “Right now, I have to get to the Graysons’. Silas was suspicious of me last night when I returned so late. Of course he didn’t say anything because his own butt was in a pickle, but he won’t remain passive for long. I don’t want to be his next target if I can avoid it.”

  Abigail kissed his cheek. “Go now. We’ll meet tomorrow.”

  “At four. In the loft of your barn. The woods are too dangerous for you.”

  “I—”

  He cut her off. “They are, Abigail. Sanshu taught me a lesson today. That could just as well have been Indians angry about the diseases and treatment they’ve been given at the hands of the settlers. Not to mention the bear!”

  “Familiar stirred that hornet’s nest.” She looked behind her to find the black cat grooming a paw. He completely ignored them, though she knew he was listening to every word. If the Salem witch-hunters ever suspected the cat’s intellect, they’d really believe in witches.

  “Perhaps, but the bear was there for him to stir. This isn’t Yellowstone. These animals aren’t used to seeing humans.”

  “Go.” Dusk was falling hard and fast.

  “Promise me you’ll stay on your property and mind your own business tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Samuel. I thought you’d accepted the fact that you were from 1995. You sound like one of these men ordering their women around.” She was exasperated.

  His grin was quick. “Now that’s one part of this system I like.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Be off with ye, Samuel Truesdale, or I’ll turn ye into a toad.”

  With a wave of his hand he stepped back into the woods. His laughter lingered a moment longer, and then he was gone.

  WELL, WELL, so Pilgrim Man has finally come to his senses and realized he’s from the future. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to knock him on the head or something. I’ve been making some of my usual astute observations about humanoids. Now, they’re inferior creatures to us felines, no doubt about that. But it’s mortifying to me, a male feline, to discover that the male gender of Homo sapiens is even dumber than the female of the species. Not dumb as in taught knowledge, but as in common sense and just plain paying attention to details.

  Pilgrim Man is smart. But he isn’t aware. If I had to place odds on which of the two would survive this extremely hostile world we’ve been sent back to, I’d take Madame Mysterious any day. But then I begin to think that Abigail has a little edge on both of us males. There’s something about her that’s positively…witchy.

  Well, I’d better catch up to her before she goes in the house. She’s forgotten that she thought she left me locked inside. Wait until she discovers that Silas Gruesome paid her a little visit—and tossed her house in the process.

  Lucky for me I’m a sly and devious fellow. I eased right out the door and he never even saw me. All I can add is that I’m glad Abigail washes my dishes every time I eat. Otherwise, I think it would have been hard to explain a saucer of lobster and a bowl of milk on the floor. That would look suspicious to a blind man.

  Uh-oh. She beat me to the house. I do believe I hear the sweet chimes of her voice tinkling out some very 1995 language. I’d better go plug the geyser before someone walks by and hears her.

  ABIGAIL PUT the last towel back on the shelf and went to sit by the fire she’d built. Familiar hopped into her lap and she began to stroke him. “At least you escaped without being caught. I tell you, Familiar, when I get my hands on that low-life, sneaky, ratso, I’m going to make him squeal.”

  Familiar reached up to put a paw on her lips. His green gaze held her own.

  She removed his paw. “Listen, you sassy cat, Samuel is trying to tell me what to do. The villagers are trying to hang me for doing nothing. I’m not going to be bossed by a black cat.”

  Familiar’s gaze was unrelenting.

  “Okay, I’ll watch my language.” She stroked his head. There was something peculiar about the cat. He understood what she said. She knew he did. And he had saved her life back in 1995. She remembered how she was walking across the street to go to an appointment at Cassandra’s Tea Room. It was a small tea shop around the corner that offered a wide variety of herbal and spiced teas. And she often met friends there. But she couldn’t remember specifically who she was meeting. In fact, there were a lot of things about her personal life in 1995 that she couldn’t remember.

  When she sat down and really thought about it, it was troubling. What role had Samuel played in her life before they’d found themselves dumped backward in time to 1692? Was he her lover? She didn’t think so. Then why him? Why was he the man sent back in time? And Familiar? She looked at the cat who watched her so intently. “Where do you fit in my life, Familiar?”

  His only answer was a louder purr.

  Abigail looked out the window. Darkness had fallen over Salem Village and the night was still warm. She put the cat on the floor and set about making something to eat for both of them. As she took in the stock provisions, she sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that I was a vegetarian?” She thought of Sally the cow and shuddered at the idea of eating her. But there was only the joint of smoked pork, the milk she had to get from Sally, some bread and cheese and some eggs from her chickens. “This is a cholesterol nightmare. I think I’d better find the garden if I’m going to stay here.”

  Motioning for Familiar to follow, she went to the barn and finished taking care of Sally and the sheep. With the bucket of warm milk in her hand she stopped at the barn door. It was a beautiful night. The stars overhead were bright beyond words. For all the lack of modern conveniences—such as a vegetable steamer and a grocery store—the natural beauty of the land was impossible to ignore. Could she stay in this time, if there was no way back?

  “Oh, my, Familiar, what are we going to do?” She fought back a sudden wave of homesickness. “This is stupid. I can’t even remember what my home was like. How can I miss it?”

  “Meow.” He rubbed against her legs in a statement of sympathy.

  “You have a family and I know they’re looking for you. What must they think?” Since there was no answer that would help the situation, Abigail started toward the house. From the barnyard the house looked inviting and warm. The cook fire burned in the hearth and the candles were lit on the table. It was a cozy house, well built and apparently loved by the prior owner. And where had she gone? What had happened to the 1692 Abigail? These were all questions to which Abby had no answers.

  In the distance she could see the sudden flicker of light. At first Abigail thought she’d imagined it. Standing in the dark with the warm milk and the cat, she searched the dense blackness where her pasture ended and the woods began. Tiny pinpricks of light glimmered momentarily in another gust, then disappeared. “Torches?” she asked out loud. The thick trees of the forest hid them, except when the wind pushed the thickly leaved tree limbs around. “Torches?” she asked the cat.

  He put both paws on her dress. Still holding the milk, she bent over and lifted him so that he could see the dancing lights. They seemed to be coming from deep
in the woods.

  “Probably a band of Indians planning a takeover. Or maybe a coven of witches,” Abigail said, then immediately regretted her words at the march of goose bumps that rushed over her. “Of course, there’s no such thing as witches,” she reminded herself and the cat.

  Sudden inspiration struck. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, would it?”

  “Meow!” Familiar jumped to the ground and started back to the house.

  “Oh, don’t be an old pantywaist. We won’t get into trouble. We’ll be very quiet.”

  “Me-ow, yow!” Familiar stood his ground.

  Abigail was certain he’d said something about her promise to Samuel to stay home and safe.

  “I never actually gave my word,” she argued. “Stay here if you want, I’m going to see what’s happening. It takes a foolhardy group of folks to meet in the woods when everyone is being accused of witchcraft. Maybe we should find out who these people are.”

  She started walking, and she knew without looking that Familiar was following. He might not like her decision, but he wasn’t going to leave her alone in the woods with lions and witches and bears.

  Abigail’s brash confidence began to wane as she drew closer and closer to the flickering lights. There was a strange sound in the forest. She was certain it wasn’t being made by animals, but it didn’t sound human, either. It was a low drone, almost a language, but not quite.

  As the sound got louder, she slowed her pace. Putting one foot forward and slowly testing the ground for the snap of a stick before she lowered her full weight, she inched her way ever deeper into the woods. Behind her, Familiar didn’t make a sound. The only time she knew he was there was when a stray flicker of light lit his golden eyes. She could only hope she was as well concealed in her dark clothes.

  The sound was human, that much she could determine as she got closer. It was a chant of some kind. She felt a thrill of fear. Of course she didn’t believe in witches! What was wrong with her?

  She stepped out from behind a large fir tree and finally saw the lights. There was a small fire surrounded by what must have been a dozen torches. The flares flickered in the gentle summer breeze. But it wasn’t the fire or the torches that caught her attention and held her transfixed. Three dark figures moved around the fire in a strange, choreographed dance. They all wore black cloaks with hoods that were pulled low over their faces.