Acceptable Risk (3 page)

Ronald swallowed with difficulty. His mouth had gone dry. “I have come directly from the ship to the prison,” he said. “I have yet to see the children.”

“Please do. They will be happy to see you. I fear they are disquieted.”

“I shall attend to them,” Ronald promised. “But first I must see to getting you free.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said. “Why are you so late in returning?”

“The outfitting of the ship took longer than planned,” Ronald said. “The newness of the design caused us much difficulty.”

“I sent letters,” Elizabeth said.

“I never got any,” Ronald replied.

“Well, at least you are home now,” Elizabeth said.

“I shall be back,” Ronald said as he stood up. He was shaking with panic and beside himself with concern. He motioned to William for them to leave and followed him back to the office.

“I’m just doing my duty,” William said meekly. He was unsure of Ronald’s state of mind.

“Show me the papers,” Ronald demanded.

William shrugged, and after searching through the debris on the top of his desk, handed Ronald Elizabeth’s mittimus and her execution warrant. Ronald read them and handed them back. Reaching into his purse, he pulled out a few coins. “I want Elizabeth moved and her situation improved.”

William happily took the money. “I thank you, kind sir,” he said. The coins disappeared into the pocket of his breeches. “But I cannot move her. Capital cases are always housed on the lower level. I also cannot remove the irons since they are specified in the mittimus to keep her specter from leaving her body. But I can improve her condition in response to your kind consideration.”

“Do what you can,” Ronald said.

Outside, it took Ronald a moment to climb into the carriage. His legs felt unsteady and weak. “To Magistrate Corwin’s house,” he said.

Chester urged the horse forward. He wanted to ask about Elizabeth but he dared not. Ronald’s distress was much too apparent.

They rode in silence. When they reached the corner of Essex and Washington streets, Ronald climbed down from the carriage. “Wait,” he said laconically.

Ronald rapped on the front door, and when it was opened he was relieved to see the tall, gaunt frame of his old friend Jonathan Corwin standing in the doorway. As soon as Jonathan recognized Ronald, his petulant expression changed to one of sympathetic concern. Immediately he ushered Ronald into his parlor, where he requested his wife give them leave to have a private conversation. His wife had been working at her flax wheel in the corner.

“I am sorry,” Jonathan said once they were alone. “~’Tis a sorry welcome for a weary traveler.”

“Pray tell me what to do,” Ronald said weakly.

“I am afraid I know not what to say,” Jonathan began. “It is an unruly time. There is a spirit in the town full of contention and animosities and perhaps a strong and general delusion. I am no longer certain of my thoughts, for recently my own mother-in-law, Margaret Thatcher, has been cried out against. She is no witch, which makes me question the veracity of the afflicted girls’ allegations and their motivations.”

“At the moment the motives of the girls are not my concern,” Ronald said. “What I need to know is what can I do for my beloved wife, who is being treated with the utmost brutality.”

Jonathan sighed deeply. “I am afraid there is little to be done. Your wife has already been convicted by a jury serving the special court of Oyer and Terminer hearing the backlog of witchcraft cases.”

“But you have just said you question the accusers’ veracity,” Ronald said.

“Yes,” Jonathan agreed. “But your wife’s conviction did not depend on the girls’ testimony nor spectral demonstration in court. Your wife’s trial was shorter than the others, even shorter than Bridget Bishop’s. Your wife’s guilt was apparent to all because the evidence against her was real and conclusive. There was no doubt.”

“You believe my wife to be a witch?” Ronald asked with disbelief.

“I do indeed,” Jonathan said. “I am sorry. ’Tis a harsh truth for a man to bear.”

For a moment Ronald stared into the face of his friend while his mind tried to deal with this new and disturbing information. Ronald had always valued and respected Jonathan’s opinion.

“But there must be something that can be done,” Ronald said finally. “Even if only to delay the execution so I have time to learn the facts.”

Jonathan reached out and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “As a local magistrate there is nothing I can do. Perhaps you should go home and attend to your children.”

“I shan’t give up so easily,” Ronald said.

“Then all I can suggest is you go to Boston and discourse with Samuel Sewall,” Jonathan said. “I know you are friends and classmates from Harvard College. Perhaps he may make a suggestion with his connections with the Colonial Government. He will not be disinterested; he is one of the justices of the Court of Oyer and Terminer, and he has voiced to me some misgivings about the whole affair, as did Nathaniel Saltonstall, who even resigned his appointment to the bench.”

Ronald thanked Jonathan and hurried outside. He told Chester his intentions and was soon outfitted with a saddled horse. Within an hour he set out on the seventeen-mile journey. He traveled via Cambridge, crossing the Charles River at the Great Bridge, and approached Boston from the southwest on the highway to Roxberre.

As Ronald rode the length of the Shawmut peninsula’s narrow neck, he became progressively anxious. His mind tortured him with the question of what he’d do if Samuel was either unwilling or unable to help. Ronald had no other ideas. Samuel was to be his last chance.

Passing through the town gate with its brick fortifications, Ronald’s eyes involuntarily wandered to the gallows from which a fresh corpse dangled. The sight was a rude reminder, and a shiver of fear passed down his spine. In response he urged his horse to quicken its pace.

The midday bustle of Boston with its more than six thousand inhabitants and more than eight hundred dwellings slowed Ronald’s progress. It was almost one by the time Ronald arrived at Samuel’s south end house. Ronald dismounted and tethered his horse to the picket fence.

He found Samuel smoking tobacco from a long-stemmed pipe in his parlor following his noonday meal. Ronald noted that he’d become significantly portly over the last few years and was certainly a far cry from the rakish fellow who used to skate with Ronald on the Charles River during their college years.

Samuel was happy to see Ronald, but his greeting was restrained. He anticipated the nature of Ronald’s visit before Ronald even broached the subject of Elizabeth’s ordeal. In response to Ronald’s questions, he confirmed Jonathan Corwin’s story. He said that Elizabeth’s guilt was unquestioned due to the real evidence that Sheriff Corwin had seized from Ronald’s house.

Ronald’s shoulders slumped. He sighed and fought off tears. He was at a loss. He asked his host for a mug of beer. When Samuel returned with the brew, Ronald had recovered his composure. After a long draft he asked Samuel the nature of the evidence used against his wife.

“I am loath to say,” Samuel said.

“But why?” Ronald asked. He studied his friend and could see his discomfiture. Ronald’s curiosity mounted. He hadn’t thought to ask Jonathan about the evidence. “Surely I have a right to know.”

“Indeed,” Samuel said, but still he hesitated.

“Please,” Ronald said. “I trust it will help me understand this wretched affair.”

“Perhaps it is best if we visit my good friend Reverend Cotton Mather,” Samuel said. He stood up. “He has more experience in the affairs of the invisible world. He will know how to advise you.”

“I bow to your discretion,” Ronald said as he got to his feet.

They took Samuel’s carriage and went directly to the Old North Church. An inquiry with a charwoman told them that Reverend Mather was at his home on the corner of Middle Street and Prince Street. Since the destination was close, they walked. It was also convenient to leave the horse and carriage in Charles Square in front of the church.

Samuel’s knock was answered by a youthful maidservant who showed them into the parlor. Reverend Mather appeared posthaste and greeted them effusively. Samuel explained the nature of their visit.

“I see,” Reverend Mather said. He motioned to chairs and they all sat down.

Ronald eyed the cleric. He’d met him before. He was younger than Ronald and Samuel, having graduated from Harvard in 1678, seven years after they had. Age notwithstanding, he was already evidencing some of the physical changes Ronald saw in Samuel and for the same reasons. He’d put on weight. His nose was red and slightly enlarged, and his face had a doughy consistency. Yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence and fiery resolve.

“You have my loving solicitude for your tribulations,” Reverend Mather said to Ronald. “God’s ways are often inscrutable for us mortals. Beyond your personal torment I am deeply troubled about the events in Salem Town and Salem Village. The populace has been overcome by an unruly and turbulent spirit, and I fear that events are spinning out of control.”

“At the moment my concern is for my wife,” Ronald said. He’d not come for a sermon.

“As it should be,” Reverend Mather said. “But I think it is important for you to understand that we-the clergy and the civil authorities-must think of the congregation as a whole. I have expected the devil to appear in our midst, and the only consolation about this demonic affair is now, thanks to your wife, we know where.”

“I want to know the evidence used against my wife,” Ronald said.

“And I shall show it to you,” Reverend Mather said. “Provided that you will keep its nature a secret, since we fear its general revelation would surely inflame the distress and disquietude in Salem even more than it currently is.”

“But what if I choose to appeal the conviction?” Ronald demanded.

“Once you see the evidence you will not choose to do so,” Reverend Mather said. “Trust me in this. Do I have your word?”

“You have my word,” Ronald said. “Provided my right to appeal is not forsaken.”

They stood up in unison. Reverend Mather led the way to a flight of stone steps. After he lit a taper, they began the descent into the cellar.

“I have discussed this evidence at length with my father, Increase Mather,” Reverend Mather said over his shoulder. “We concur that it has inordinate importance for future generations as material proof of the existence of the invisible world. Accordingly, we believe its rightful place should be Harvard College. As you know he is currently the acting president of the institution.”

Ronald didn’t respond. At the moment his mind was incapable of dealing with such academic issues.

“Both myself and my father also agree that there has been too much reliance in the Salem witch trials on spectral evidence alone,” Reverend Mather continued. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and while Samuel and Ronald waited, he proceeded to light wall sconces. He spoke as he moved about the cellar: “We are much concerned that this reliance could very well draw innocent people into the maelstrom.”

Ronald started to protest. For the moment he didn’t have the patience to listen to these larger concerns, but Samuel restrained him by laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Elizabeth’s evidence is the kind of real evidence we’d like to see in every case,” Reverend Mather said as he waved Ronald and Samuel to follow him to a large, locked cupboard. “But it is also terribly inflammatory. It was at my discretion that it was removed from Salem and brought here after her trial. I have never witnessed a stronger evidence of the devil’s power and ability to do mischief.”

“Please, Reverend,” Ronald said at last. “I should like to return to Salem forthwith. If you will just show me what it is, I can be on my way.”

“Patience, my good man,” Reverend Mather said as he drew a key from his waistcoat. “The nature of this evidence is such that you must be prepared. It is shocking indeed. For that reason it had been my suggestion that your wife’s trial be held behind closed doors and the jury be swom to secrecy on their honor. It was a precaution not to deny her due process but to prevent public hysteria which would only have played into the devil’s hand.”

“I am prepared,” Ronald said with a touch of exasperation.

“Christ the Redeemer be with you,” Reverend Mather said as he slipped the key into the lock. “Brace yourself.”

Reverend Mather unlocked the cabinet. Then, with both hands he swung open the doors and stepped back for Ronald to see.

Ronald’s breath escaped in a gasp and his eyes momentarily bulged. His hand involuntarily covered his mouth in horror and dismay. He swallowed hard. He tried to speak, but his voice momentarily failed him. He cleared his throat.

“Enough!” he managed and averted his eyes.

Reverend Mather closed the cabinet doors and locked them.

“Is it certain that this is Elizabeth’s handiwork?” Ronald asked weakly.

“Beyond any doubt,” Samuel said. “Not only was it seized by Sheriff George Corwin from your property, but Elizabeth freely admitted responsibility.”

“Good Lord,” Ronald said. “Surely this is the work of the devil. Yet I knoweth in my heart that Elizabeth is no witch.”

“It is hard for a man to believe his wife to be in covenant with the devil,” Samuel said. “But this evidence, combined with the testimony of several of the afflicted girls who stated that Elizabeth’s specter tormented them, is compelling proof. I am sorry, dear friend, but Elizabeth is a witch.”

“I am sorely distressed,” Ronald said.

Samuel and Cotton Mather exchanged knowing, sympathetic glances. Samuel motioned toward the stairs.

“Perhaps we should repair to the parlor,” Reverend Mather said. “I believe we all could use a mug of ale.”

After they were seated and had a chance to take some refreshment, Reverend Mather spoke: “It is trying times for us all. But we must all participate. Now that we knoweth the devil has chosen Salem, we must with God’s help seek and banish the devil’s servants and their familiars from our midst, yet in like purpose protect the innocent and pious, whom surely the devil doth despise.”