The Necromancer (20 page)

*****

Ambrose found himself at once in the room where

Susanna was staying, hovering at the side of her bed, watching her sleep restlessly.
She’s alive,
he thought, relieved.
She’s alive.

He reached out to her and touched her face, but

instead of having the soothing effect it was supposed to, the caress seemed to hurt her. She fl inched and jerked and woke up and screamed when she opened her eyes and saw him, but the scream sounded muffl ed, probably because of the opium.

She scrambled away from him, crying and holding her cheek where he had just touched it, and fell out of the bed.

176

Home

She was yelling at him, backing away from him on the fl oor.

Ambrose frowned. A profound sadness came over

him seeing Susanna so repulsed and terrifi ed by his presence.

Then he could hear them.

The demons had found him and were squawking

hungrily like the war cries of countless battalions.

He could see them now through the windows, and

they weren’t alone. The rotting undead were with them, the ghosts of his victims unchained from the purgatorial prison he had set them in.

For the fi rst time he could remember, fear counseled him. Unreason reigned. Those people were his slaves. The demons weren’t his, but those people were. How did they get free? How could they get free? This was no time to ponder those questions. They weren’t looking to have a nice little chat with him over a cup of tea; they wanted to rend him apart limb by limb, body and soul, however black that soul may be. He briefl y mourned the loss of favor in Susanna’s eyes and fl ed.

Knowing where she was would have to be enough for today.

He would have to think about getting her back later. Now he had to save himself.

He willed himself back to his body as his assailants passed through the walls and windows unhindered, and he was gone. He snapped back into his body at once and opened his eyes and gasped like a drowning man who had just been yanked out of the water.

The clamorings of the demons and the dead stopped.

Ambrose tried to sit up but could not. He was too exhausted and inebriated. He closed his eyes again, feeling the acute sting of Susanna’s rejection, and drifted into sleep.

*****

177

The Necromancer

That evening, as the sun began to set, Edward Colton drove his horse and wagon down Topsfi eld Road into Salem Village. Elethea was in the back with Susanna, whose condition was vastly improved. Being out in the fresh air had done much to revitalize her.

On the journey down, she told the Coltons everything.

She told them of her arrest, how she met Ambrose, and how he took her out of prison. She even told them of Walpurgisnacht, with more than a few accompanying sobs.

Edward and Elethea were horrifi ed, but they believed her and wanted to help her, and that’s what mattered. For the longest time Susanna felt so alone and shunned—even with Ambrose during the time she thought she was in love with him—but now she had friends who believed her and who actually cared about her even though they only knew her a few short days. It was comforting to know she was no longer so alone in all this chaos.

Within the hour, the wagon rode up to the Harrington house and stopped.

Roger heard the wagon coming up the road and came out to see who would be visiting him at this time.

“Father!” Susanna called out after climbing out the back of the wagon and seeing Roger standing in the doorway.

He just stood there, dumbfounded with shock.

“Father!” she cried, running into his arms and burying her face in his chest. “I missed you so much.”

“Susanna?” he said with disbelief. “Could it truly be you?”

She pulled back so he could see her face.

“Yes, Father. It’s me. I’m so glad to be home.”

“My God. What happened to your face?”

178

Home

“It matters not. I’m just happy to be home again.”

She nestled her head against his chest again and they stayed that way for a long time, embracing each other snugly, not wanting to let go.

“Father,” Susanna said fi nally.

“Yes, dearest?”

“Where is Mother?”

179

The Necromancer

180

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Martha’s Eyes

Susanna didn’t take the news of her mother’s illness very well. In fact, she broke down and sobbed uncontrollably in her father’s arms when he told her, and she couldn’t enter the house until the tears had completely abated. That took a long time. Hearing that her mother had contracted smallpox was almost as good as telling her she was dead.

Susanna knew the virulence of the disease only too well, having seen Phoebe succumb to it a little bit every day before she died without giving Susanna a chance to say goodbye.

Roger didn’t euphemize Martha’s illness by telling Susanna it wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was bad, and he knew telling Susanna otherwise would only prolong her grief and ultimately be more devastating. It was better to be honest as he had needed to be with himself. Martha was dying, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent that. Optimism had no place in the face of imminent tragedy.

Susanna stood in the doorway of her mother’s

bedroom and peered in at her. Martha slept soundly. The room was illuminated by one solitary candle burning steadily on the night table. The way the light hit Martha’s face accentuated her 181

The Necromancer

gaunt and partially lined features, making her look older and sicklier than she may have in a brighter room. Susanna knew this, but that didn’t change the impact the image had on her, nor the fact that her mother was dying and probably didn’t have much time left. She looked back at her father.

“I’m all right,” she said. “May I sit with her for a time?”

Roger nodded, knowing she meant she wanted to be alone, and closed the door quietly behind her as she stepped inside.

*****

“I would like to thank you again,” Roger said, turning around to face Edward and Elethea. “I did not know if Susanna was alive or dead. With all that has happened to our family this past year, I was certain she would be lost to me forever. At least now she may be with her mother in her fi nal hours. I do not know if Susanna told you, but she was deprived of that privilege when her sister Phoebe passed on last spring.”

“Yes,” Elethea said, nodding gravely. “We feel for your loss.”

“Indeed,” Edward added, adjusting his spectacles.

“You have our most sincere condolences.” He shook his head.

“Poor girl.”

Roger sighed.

“We have suffered most grievously this year,” he said sullenly. “I, for one, will be glad when it is over.”

“You will still have Susanna,” Edward said in hope of consoling him.

“Will I? I am no longer that certain.” He looked back at the bedroom door as if he could see through it to Susanna sitting at Martha’s bedside.

182

Martha’s Eyes

“Surely you don’t think that she will still stand trial as a witch after all that has happened,” Edward said.

“Only the Lord knows what will happen in times such as these,” Roger replied.

“Well,” Elethea said. “Let us not allow for that possibility. I think it prudent that Susanna remain hidden until this madness is resolved. Edward and I shall stay and yield what assistance we can.”

“I—”

“Now, Mr. Harrington, I insist,” she said, pressing his hand between both of hers. “This is no time to be proud. You cannot bare the burden by yourself for long. You are plainly exhausted. It would make no sense to continue as you have.

Your wife and daughter need you strong and well rested. What good would come of you wearing yourself ragged?”

Roger broke away and stepped back from the old

woman.

“I cannot ask you to do this for me. You have your own problems, I’m sure. I would not feel right—”

“To the Devil with feeling right!” Elethea barked.

“This
is
right. When Edward found that child in there lying near death at the side of the road and brought her into my home to heal, she became my responsibility because that was right. And with the Lord’s help, she became well again, and I intend to see that she stays well.”

Roger looked at her with some surprise. The woman obviously felt strongly about the issue. He thought about what she had said for a moment, then decided she was right. He needed all the help he could get. A few extra bodies around the house to help share the labors of putting food on the table and taking care of Martha would be a great relief, and he welcomed 183

The Necromancer

the thought of having someone to talk to and confi de in since Martha slept most of the time now.

“You are right. I do not know how much longer I

will be able to continue by myself. And I suppose even with Susanna home now the burden will still be great.”

“Indeed it will,” Edward agreed.

“Well...” Roger sighed. “We have the room.”

“Then it is settled,” Elethea said. “We shall stay and help you in your time of need.”

“I know not how I shall repay you for your kindness.”

“Fret not, Mr. Harrington,” Edward said, placing a hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Any righteous person treading the path of the Lord would do the same. It is only just. Would you not do likewise if me and mine were in a similar predicament?”

Roger nodded.

“I would.”

“Good,” Elethea said. “Now I will hear no more of this. I am most tired from the journey. So, Mr. Harrington, if you would be so kind as to show us where we will be bedding down for the night—”

Roger cut in.

“Please. Call me Roger.”

“Very well, Roger,” Elethea said. “You may call me Thea, and you know Edward.” Edward smiled gently and nodded once.

“The rooms are up the stairs,” Roger said. “Come. I will show you.”

And the Coltons followed Roger upstairs to their rooms.

184

Martha’s Eyes

*****

Susanna wept, holding her mother’s hand against her cheek, wetting it with her tears. The sense that some great evil had stricken their home was overwhelming. No matter what any of the Harringtons did to counter this evil it remained brooding and inescapable, like a shark that sensed a man’s blood in the sea and circled and picked at him, ignoring his kicks and butts, until nothing was left. Was there anything more unjust than losing someone you loved?

The hand trembled.

Susanna raised her head, her hair shrouding her tear-streaked face. She looked at her mother’s face. It was troubled and covered with pockmarks left by her disease. The heavy shadows made it impossible for Susanna to see if her mother had opened her eyes or not. They were just large black pits in her face.

“Mother?”

A wan smile creased Martha’s mouth.

“Susanna? Susanna, is it truly you, my daughter?”

“Yes, Mother,” she said, parting the hair from her face with one hand, gently squeezing Martha’s hand with the other.

“Yes, it is me.”

Martha seemed to be only half awake.

“How are you, dear?” she asked listlessly.

“I’m well,” Susanna replied. “How are you? Are you in much pain?”

“Oh,” Martha uttered faintly. “At times I can barely endure it, it hurts so...” Her words were choked off as her expression bunched up into a cringe.

“Mother?”

185

The Necromancer

Martha gasped and swallowed aridly.

“Susanna,” she said with a raspy voice. “Would you pour me some water please? My throat is most dry.”

Susanna reached to the jug on the night table, poured the water into a cup, and thought:
She looks so old and tired. This
may be the last time I ever speak with her.

Susanna slid her hand under Martha’s head and raised it to the cup. Her head was hot, much hotter than Susanna knew it should be. Fresh tears spilled from her eyes as she watched her mother sip feebly. Water fl owed over the rim and trickled onto Martha’s chin, neck, and nightgown. She nodded stiffl y, pulling away from the cup, and Susanna placed it back on the night table.

“Thank you, dear.”

She coughed a wet cough and a stringy whip of clear saliva lashed out between her lips and slapped against the side of her mouth.

Susanna didn’t wipe it off. She found herself too disgusted to think of that, and she couldn’t believe she felt that way.

And she was terribly ill.

And she was dying.

How could she feel disgusted by something her

mother could not control? At that moment, she felt contempt for her, and a greater contempt for herself for feeling that way.

I am an awful person
, she thought
. I deserve to be dying in bed, not her.

“When did Judge Hathorne let you out of prison?”

Martha asked.

She knows nothing of what happened. Father did not tell her.

186

Martha’s Eyes

Susanna looked into her mother’s eyes. They were hollow, black, empty. She still couldn’t see her eyes; she wasn’t even sure her mother had eyes anymore. Maybe she only had dark, vacant craters now, like the ones that were sprinkled all over her face and body.
MY GOD!
she thought.
WHERE

ARE HER EYES! SHE HAS NO EYES! THE SMALLPOX

ATE AWAY HER EYES!

But, when Martha turned her head and the light struck her face, her eyes were there, sunken, glassy and dark, but still there. That was some comfort, but not much. Those eyes heralded the coming of death. Those were Death’s eyes. It would only be short time now, Susanna knew, and her mother would be gone. She would never come back. There was no coming back from death. Death was forever, and that’s how long she would be gone. Forever.

But was that really true? What about Goody Bishop and the Hawks brothers? Death might be forever, but only in this world. In the other world there would be life eternal; Goody Bishop and the Hawks brothers were proof of that.