“Father finds it curious that Mr. Parris claims to’ve been ordained at Harvard when there is no record of his finishing there.”

“It’s not unusual for a minister to complete his ordination elsewhere. And if memory serves, wasn’t there a fire at the Divinity School that wiped out some records?”

Harvard had begun as a Divinity School and to date was the only school of higher learning in the colonies; aside from getting a berth to Europe or England, there was no other place for a man seeking higher learning to go. Jeremiah had put in two years of study of law and history there himself since leaving Salem as a young man.

“Look Jeremy,” Cotton continued, his tone pressing like a knife now, “Reverend Nehemiah Higginson has tried to pin Parris down to exactly what year he was ordained—anywhere!—to no avail. Said and I quote—”

“Never mind, quoting me, Cotton!” came a booming voice and a man with a noisy cane entered through a door where he’d been listening at the keyhole, or so Jeremiah surmised. “Mr. Wakely, I am Higginson.”

They shook hands, and Higginson added, “Young Mr. Mather here is not emphasizing our need hardly enough—and that time is our enemy.”

“But, sir,” countered Mather, “I thought we agreed—”

“Never mind what we agreed. Look here, Wakely, I recall you…”

“You do, sir?” Jeremy was skeptical.

“Recall your father, your birth mother, and your beautiful stepmother, all dead now. And I recall you as a boy in Salem. You tended bell and fire on Watch Hill for Deacon Ingersoll.”

“I am flattered, sir, that you recall it. I remember you as well.” But this man did not look like the strong giant of Jeremy’s memory. This man was ashen with only tufts of snow white hair, sunken eyes, shriveled lips and voice, a scarecrow’s body held up by a rickety cane. The years had battered the minister as if in some cosmic war and on the verge of losing.

“Son, it wasn’t my parish in Salem Town who excommunicated your father.” A pained look came over the weary features. “Rather ’twere those unmerciful souls inhabiting in the village at that time—many who’ve passed on to whatever reward awaited them.”

“Them, yes, that refused my stepmother a seat in the meetinghouse, and later my father a burial plot. Yes, sir. I know the sort well.” Jeremy’s eyes bore into Higginson. No one in authority had intervened on behalf of a poor dish-turner, he thought but held his tongue.

“And so you have scars from that place—a good thing! You must do all you can for this cause, young man. Else…else I’m off to my grace afore seeing the village holdings returned to our control. Wrested free of this misguided Barbados businessman’s control. He must relinquish any fanciful belief in his ownership in perpetuity of our property!”

“But then why did the Select Committee make such a deal in the first place?” Jeremiah lamented the question even as it escaped him. He set aside his empty cup.

“The pact was with only half his congregation.”

“So I am hearing.”

“The half that signed away the parish property and parsonage,” the aged, white-haired minister fired back. “In essence, he and the others’ve stolen property of the First Church—me, man, me! And the entire congregation!”

“Sounds outrageous.”

Higginson remained sharp, picking up on Jeremy’s sarcasm. “See here, Mr. Wakely, you must have some allegiance to your old parish. The parish that molded you.”

“My allegiance is to Reverend Increase Mather, sir.” Whenever dealing with theologians, Jeremy felt as if walking a tightrope. It was a struggle to keep one foot in the real world without insulting such men. Does this old minister really believe that I owe Salem Village a thing? How he wished that Increase hadn’t abandoned him to these two—one officious, the other in his dotage. Among church and statesmen, Increase Mather alone was the exception—as practical as he was intelligent. His son, Cotton, was an empty shadow of his father.

But the covenant tonight was with these two—Higginson and Cotton Mather as Increase was gone—almost as if he’d planned it. Such poor timing, to be away now—two days under sail, months before he might return.

Higginson took Jeremy aside, a palsied hand on his shoulder. “You do understand that the parsonage, even the meetinghouse, and everything on the grounds Parris claims as his.”

“Deeded over to him by his congregation so I’ve read.”

“An unlawful contract!” shouted the old man who fell into a coughing jag. “And being enforced by his deacons.”

Mather added from where he stood, “Even claims the parish apple orchard!”

Higginson seconded this with a pounding cane to the floor. “Yet those lands and buildings rightfully belong to Salem Town Parish!”

Jeremy squinted at this. “Your parish, sir?”

“Created as an offshoot of the main parish, yes!”

Jeremiah nodded appreciatively. “Then any such dealings rightfully go through your council of elders and deacons?”

“Yes, Jeremiah, before you were born that parish village home and meetinghouse was built to create a convenient place of worship for those living in the village.”

It never gave me or mine any comfort, he thought.

“Especially during particularly rough winters,” added Higginson.

Cotton Mather erupted with, “And now they’ve given it—lock, stock, and barrel—to this man Parris!”

What few teeth Higginson still had, Jeremiah feared he’d crack, so hard was he gnashing them now. “And then there’s this claim that he is a Harvard educated minister, ordained—ha!”

“Then you think him a fraud?”

“Parris has no more right to the property than any of the eight or nine ministers who came before him.”

Mather brandished paperwork over his head. “The original grants—same as those offered the minister before Parris, all broken! Every commandment, every contract! Thanks to the party that recruited Parris.”

“Led by men Parris has named as deacons and elders, some of whom are the man’s relatives!” Higginson found a seat, looking faint.

“Outrage . . . untenable,” Jeremiah knew the words to this game. If Increase Mather and such dignitaries as Higginson wanted this man Paris out, they’d find a way to uproot him with or without any dirt that Jeremiah might dig up.

“Porter is his cousin,” sneered Higginson, a bit of uncontrolled spittle escaping his mouth. “He and that fool Thomas Putnam, brother-in-law, went clear to Barbados to entice the devil to come to Salem!”

“These men you name,” began Jeremiah, “they led the delegation to Barbados?”

“Trust me . . . they’re all abed together in all these nefarious affairs.”

Jeremiah asked at this point. “Will you, sirs, and your father, Reverend Mather, will all three of you back me if I am exposed?”

Higginson didn’t hesitate. “If you can prove this hiring of Samuel Parris three years ago was an ill-conceived contract, that there are holes, young man, you have my undying gratitude—which means that of Increase Mather as well.”

“Demonstrate your ability with the law,” added Cotton Mather, “demonstrate that it is an illegal contract. And yes, absolutely, we’ll back you, Wakely. And the more evidence we can bring to bear . . .well…. ”

“We need your experienced eye and ear in that parish, man,” added Higginson. “Meet me at midnight tomorrow night before going into the village.”

“Midnight? Where?”

“At Watch Hill—” he coughed roughly—“before you enter the village for the parish house. When we meet in public, no one can know that we’ve had any contact.”

“Understood but Watch Hill at the witching hour?”

“This fiend, Parris, believes himself the owner of the entire parish and its buildings.” More coughing interrupted the old man. “I will have additional papers, affidavits you should see and read before you go much further.”

“I hope your confidence in me is not misplaced, Reverend Higginson.”

Mather laughed and poured more ale for them all. “Come, come. This is a challenge for a man of your talents, and if you rise to it, Wakely, your star will rise as well. You will’ve finalized your indenture to our family and take up your final education in the law. My father will see to it that you are well rewarded.”

Jeremiah kept his eyes pinned on the elder statesman of the church. Higginson did not flinch or blink. “Increase spoke of a magistrate’s seat opening up…an appointment in a district along the Connecticut, I believe. Once this is over.”

Jeremiah turned to Mather. “I’d like that in writing, sir.”

Again Mather laughed. “That’s why my father likes you, Jeremy! Preparation and reparation. You’re wise enough to cover your backside.”

The powerful Mathers had obviously discussed this matter at length with the patriarch Higginson some time before Reverend Increase Mather had sailed for England in a bid to negotiate a new Charter for the colonies with the new King of England. The Mathers and Higginson believed that an insider was needed, one the powerful ministers, in the end, could control.

Mather now lifted his ale cup and toasted: “Get word back to us, Jeremy.”

Jeremy stayed his hand for any final toast. He feared his coming off as ridiculous in Serena’s eyes—no matter her current situation—when he should show up in that cursed village as a Prodigal Son who’d turned to the clergy. There as an apprentice working toward being ordained a Puritan minister. Far from the promises made to Serena in the letter he’d penned and left behind, that he’d return when he made his way in the world as a man worthy of her. As a result of these careening thoughts, Jeremiah’s ale cup was the last to go up in toast to seal this backroom deal.