Her Dear and Loving Husband (8 page)

“Hello again,” she said.

“Have you read more about the witch trials?” he asked.

“I haven’t had time. How was class?”

“It was…interesting.” He wouldn’t tell her how he hardly remembered his classes because he was too consumed by thoughts of her. He certainly wouldn’t tell her about Timothy’s angst. He chose a desk nearby, sat down, and spread his papers out in front of him. He picked one from the pile and began reading and making comments in the margins.

She peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing. “Wouldn’t you rather work in your office?” she asked.

“I prefer working down here sometimes. During the night it can seem like everyone in Salem is sleeping, and I like that even after dark the library bustles with energy. There’s life in here.”

“There’s life in here during the day too. You should try it some time.”

“Perhaps I should.”     

 He glanced across to the opposite end of the library where Jennifer stamped books behind the librarians’s desk. As she worked, a man James didn’t recognize waited to speak to her. He was a short, nervous-looking fellow in a suit and tie, uncomfortably formal among the relaxed young college crowd wearing t-shirts and blue jeans, even more formal than the professors who were also mostly the t-shirt and blue jeans type. 

“Excuse me,” the man said. He handed her a business card which she looked over. 

“Can I help you, Mr. Hempel?” she asked.

“I’m looking for a professor named Wentworth. I was just by his office and one of his students said she saw him in here. Is he around somewhere?”

“Is there a problem?” 

James looked away, not wanting Sarah, the man, or anyone else noticing that he could understand their conversation though he was too far away. He didn’t know the man and couldn’t guess what he might want, though he felt some foreboding at the man’s sudden intrusion into his private world. James watched Sarah, who had turned back to shelving books, and he hoped she would finish soon. 

“Nothing like that,” the man said. “I’m writing an article for the
Salem News
and I wanted to ask him a few questions. Just looking for a source.”

“That’s Professor Wentworth across there,” Jennifer said. “The blond man in the blue shirt wearing glasses.”

James resumed writing, his gaze focused on the paper. He didn’t turn around when he heard heavy, plodding footsteps behind him.  

“Professor Wentworth? James Wentworth?”

James looked at the man. “Yes?” he said.

The man handed him a business card that read
Kenneth Hempel, Staff Writer, The Salem News
. 

“How do you do, Professor. I wanted to ask a few questions for an article I’m writing. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. Please,” James gestured to an empty chair beside him, “sit down. What is your article about?”

“Supernatural happenings in Salem.”

James laughed. “That’s not particularly original, is it, Mr. Hempel? Supernatural happenings in Salem have been a topic of discussion for over three hundred years.”

“But I have a unique angle. The stories I’m going to be telling are true.”

James pushed his glasses back on his nose. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can help you. I teach literature. I can tell you anything you want to know about Dickens and Shakespeare, even Jane Austen or John Keats, but I’m afraid the supernatural is not my sphere. I’d be happy to help you get in touch with one of the religious studies professors here.” 

“It isn’t specifically the supernatural I’m interested in. It’s vampires.”

“Vampires. Really.” 

James glanced at Sarah, who was whispering to a student. She didn’t seem to notice them. He was grateful to the student and hoped the young man had a complicated question that would keep her busy awhile. At that moment, he wished, more than anything, that she would leave for the other side of the library, or home.

“That’s right. I understand you know a lot about vampires.”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“A trusted source.”

James studied the reporter, his hands forming a triangle under his chin. He had to appear nonchalant, like this inquisition was the most natural conversation in the world.

“Well,” he said, “I can discuss Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
with you if you like. There’s certainly a lot of vampire literature out there. Some of the books aren’t half bad, even if it’s not my favorite genre.”

“I’m not interested in literary vampires, Professor. I’m interested in real vampires that walk the streets right here in Salem and probably all over the world.”

James tried to see beneath the lines in the reporter’s face, lines so deeply ingrained it was as if every smile the man ever had was forced across his lips. When James didn’t see any clues there he wished he could read the man’s mind. He pushed his glasses against his nose as he considered his reply.

“Vampires aren’t real,” he said. “They’re legends, figments of people’s dark imaginations.”

“But you’re wrong, Professor. Vampires are fact, not fiction. I’m sure of it.” 

“In that case you might want to try the Supernatural Tour here in Salem. I haven’t taken it myself, too scary for me, but it’s supposed to go around the creepy corners of town searching for ghosts and talking about vampire folklore, explaining how early New England settlers tried to stop the undead from haunting them. They say people run screaming from it because they’re so scared. Seems to be just what you’re looking for. Maybe you’ll see a real vampire.”

“Maybe I will. So you’re new to Salem?”

James heard the rattling of the wheels as Sarah pushed the book cart to the shelf directly behind him. She didn’t seem to be listening, busy as she was, but he wasn’t sure. He had to fight the urge to grab Hempel by the neck with his teeth and dump him out the window. Instead, he answered the reporter’s questions as quickly as he could, hoping that the nuisance would then leave him alone. Forever would be nice.  

“You could say that,” James said. 

“Where were you before you came here?”

“Washington State.”

“Were you with family?”

“I have friends there.”

“How long were you there?”

“A few years.”

“And you went to Harvard, is that correct?” 

“Yes.”  

Hempel nodded as he took a pen from his briefcase, pulled out a yellow legal pad, and jotted some notes. “When did you graduate? You look rather young to be such a distinguished professor.”

James looked at Sarah, who had stopped working and was now watching them through the open slot on the shelf. How much she had heard, he couldn’t guess from her blank expression. From the corner of his eye he saw Hempel watching him watch Sarah, and the reporter jotted something on his notepad.

“I don’t know how distinguished I am,” James said. “I teach at a small state college.”

“But you also have a degree from Cambridge. Didn’t you teach there as well?” 

“I’m hardly the only person to ever have the name James Wentworth.” It wasn’t the greatest comeback, but James was at a loss, concerned about what this man knew.  

“But you do have a degree from Cambridge, and you have taught there.” 

James let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve never been to England, so I’ve never been to Cambridge. I’m sorry, but is your article about vampires or about me?”

Hempel stood up and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Professor. We’ll talk again.” 

James shook his head. “I have a cold. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“It’s all right,” Hempel said, keeping his hand out. “I have a cold too.”

James didn’t want to be more conspicuous, so he shook the reporter’s hand as quickly as he could. But the man wouldn’t let go. Hempel pulled James’s fingers close to his face and inspected them as if he had never seen another man’s hand before.

“You should put some gloves on, Professor. You’re cold as the dead.”

Kenneth Hempel smiled as he left. 

When the reporter disappeared past the metal detectors, Sarah walked to James. He braced himself, concerned about what she might have overheard.

“Who was that?” she asked.   

“Someone from the newspaper. He wanted some information for an article he’s writing, but I wasn’t able to help him.”

Sarah looked in the direction Hempel had gone. “He seemed kind of creepy.” 

James laughed. “I thought so too.”

He said good night to Sarah and went up to his office, giving Hempel time to leave campus. He didn’t want to run into the reporter on his way home. As he sat at his desk he worried about what the reporter would do if he knew the truth. And he worried about how Sarah would feel if she knew. But more than Kenneth Hempel, even more than Sarah, he was troubled by the madness he knew would infect everyone everywhere if his secret went public. If make-believe suddenly became real-life. When the library was deserted and everyone else had gone home, when the campus was dark and the parking lot empty, when a hint of dawn glowed the thinnest ribbon of gold on the horizon, James made his way home alone and anxious in the darkness.

CHAPTER 8

Two weeks later it was Halloween, the most important holiday in Salem, a month-long celebration. The streets were closed to motor traffic, and James had to walk around the barriers to find his way to Pickering Wharf and the Witches Lair. When he passed The House of the Seven Gables he saw an audience watching a reenactment of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s story. He passed a pumpkin festival where small children held their oddly carved treasures over their heads, and he shook his head in amusement when he saw a walking tour, a class on how to hunt for ghosts and vampires. He passed that group quickly, not wishing to be bagged as a prized game that night. The smell of sweet and salt—candied apples, sugar-spun cotton candy, popcorn, and the sea—filled the air. He enjoyed being outside in the crisp autumn night, watching the children point and laugh and eat and run while a parade of witches, ghouls, and superheroes roamed the roads. He knew the Witches Lair would be open late. It was a good time for sales, Jennifer had told him, since the tourists get bored when everything else around town closes at five. But James didn’t care anything about the tourists or the costumes or the sales at the Witches Lair. He knew Sarah would be there. He was going to see Sarah.

Once at the shop he walked inside, glanced around for Jennifer, then sat behind the counter. He watched the people stream in and out, smiled at the happy children, flipped through some books on casting spells. He spotted Olivia, dressed as Raggedy Ann and moving around helping customers. Then he saw the silver crosses displayed in a basket by the cash register. He picked one up and held it close to his face. He was still studying it when Jennifer tip-tapped behind him.   

“You mean the crosses don’t work? I thought I could finally do away with you.”

“You’re thinking about werewolves. Or maybe that’s silver bullets with werewolves. Most of it is such nonsense.” He shook his head as he looked at Jennifer. “You’re dressed as Glinda the Good Witch? I’m not sure you picked the right costume. I was thinking more like the Wicked Witch of the West for you.”        

Jennifer curtseyed, touching her star wand to her gold crown. Her iridescent pink dress was so wide at the waist she hardly fit behind the counter. 

“Oh no, Professor. There are only good witches in Salem. And I’m at your service. I’ll grant you three wishes.”

“I don’t think you could grant my wishes. They’re beyond even your magical capacity to help.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“Who do you think I am, Dorothy from Kansas?”

Jennifer pointed her wand at the door. “I guess that makes Timothy Toto.” 

James watched Timothy walk into the store. The boy looked pleased with himself as he stopped in front of the counter and threw his black cape behind his shoulders. From his tuxedo shirt to his black shoes, his brown hair run through with black dye, red streaks dripping from his lips, there was no mistaking his costume. 

“You’re dressed as Dracula?” James asked.

Timothy flashed his fake fangs. “What do you think?”  

“I think you’ve lost your mind.”

“It’s not very original,” said Jennifer.

“Not any less original than your costume,” Timothy said. “Come on you two—it’s the one night a year I can be proud of what I am and show the whole world. I’m a vampire, everyone! A real live vampire!” 

The customers walking by, an older couple wearing orange ‘This is My Costume’ t-shirts, probably tourists, their cameras giving them away, looked nervously at Timothy and stepped aside to study the prayer beads. They only looked back once to see what the vampire boy was doing.

“Where’s your costume, James?” Timothy gestured at James’s street clothes, his gray argyle sweater, blue jeans, black Converse shoes. “It’s Halloween. You’re supposed to dress up.”

“I’m a little old for dressing up.” 

Suddenly James smelled it, the fresh human blood, and he sniffed the air to center in on the source. He was afraid the temptation of oozing human blood would be too much for Timothy, who was still new to that life. Then he leaned close to the boy’s face and barked in frustration. The blood was dripping from the sides of Timothy’s mouth as part of his costume.  

“You have human blood on your face?” James whispered.

Timothy shrugged. “It was all I had.”

James grabbed the collar of Timothy’s shiny black cape and pulled him close. “Go wash that off before someone sees it’s human blood. Are you trying to get caught?”

“Relax, James. I’m having some fun. You should try it some time.”

Timothy wiped the blood from the sides of his mouth with his hand and licked his fingers. He laughed as he left the store. 

James turned to Jennifer. “You said you’d grant me three wishes. Can you make Timothy disappear?”

“Sorry. I’m only allowed to use my spells for good.”

“Too bad.”

James looked around at the faces, some painted, some masked, all smiling, laughing, happy with the sugar-induced candy high. He walked to the door, propped open by a black cauldron smoking from the dry ice inside, and peered up and down the wharf.