“The child’s not been out of bed for several days,” countered Jeremy.

“Not Betty but Betty’s likeness, and-and Goode, she kept stabbing it with needles.”

A long silence followed this ‘expert testimony’. Jeremy realized that there was just enough truth in the story to make believers of these men of Salem.

“Take the children home, Mr. Putnam,” suggested Hale, who’d listened without a word.

After the children and Putnam had left, Jeremy looked around the room at the grim faces of the ministers and magistrates. He pointed and asked, “What’s to become of Tituba, here?”

“She’s to be held until she confesses her part in all this,” replied Parris, “and given her stubborn heart, that may be indefinitely. However, if she but confess, name names of those she and Goode have conspired with, then she will of course be spared and rehabilitated.”

Jeremy imagined Parris’ idea of rehabilitation.

“Confession, contrition is her only recourse,” added Noyes, nodding and downing a second Brandy.

“Osborne,” said Tituba in so low a whisper no one heard it at first.

“What?” asked Corwin. “What’d she say?”

“Osborne,” she repeated in a birdlike voice.

“Of course,” Hathorne shouted, “that crude Sarah Osborne.”

“You know her?” Hale asked of Hathorne.

“The woman’s been in and out of my court so many times, I know her entire history.”

It’d become village history long ago. Sarah Osborne had scandalized Salem Village when suddenly her normally hale and hearty husband, Camden Osborne, fell deathly ill. It’d been a protracted, painful, ugly death as if the man’d been poisoned some said, and perhaps he had been. To add another layer of curiosity to the situation, the widow subsequently married her bondsman, William Osborne, thus wiping out all her debts to Osborne, and he soon after succumbed to a similar end as Osborne’s.

Some supposed Mrs. Osborne got her poison lessons from Goode, and many resented how she’d come by Osborne’s property and holdings as a result. She’d been hauled into Hathorne’s court on this charge of poisoning, but it’d gone unproven. Osborne had also come before Corwin’s court, but as always, there simply was no evidence strong enough to hold her, much less to hang her.

Now they have ‘spectral’ evidence to help out, whispered Jeremy to himself, imagining from Higginson’s twitching expression that he was thinking the same way—that when people used their dead ancestors and relatives as proof that the law must take a stand and say no to such twice-told tales and hearsay from sprites.

“Look here, this is all coming from the fruit of a forbidden tree, gentlemen. Even our books dealing with witchcraft in the courts urges us to pay no attention to the so-called whispers of ghosts and goblins. That we not make spectral words more credible than the word of the living by virtue of a judge’s blessing.”

For a moment, Jeremy was encouraged. The judges were listening even if the ministers were not.

Hale surprised Jeremy, saying, “Mr. Wakely is right; it’s a point well made in cases here and in England.”

“The dead inform us when danger approaches,” countered Noyes.

“Would you please just not allow spectral evidence into your thinking, gentlemen?” added Jeremy. “Keep your deliberations with your feet, planted in this world.”

“Precisely my thoughts,” added Higginson with a resounding bang on the floor of his cane. “Else there is no reason for a hearing, not if you use the word of children dead ten years like some magic wand for Samuel Parris’ purpose in all this.”

“Careful of your accusations here, Nehemiah!” countered Parris, his index finger stretched toward Higginson as if waving a wand.

In fact, the real wand had long before now been waved, and it’d had a profound effect on Noyes, Hathorne, and it would appear, Corwin. Hale remained aloof despite the confusion creeping into his features. Perhaps he, Higginson, and Jeremy might still somehow halt or avert this headlong rush over the cliff.

“My purpose, Nehemiah,” continued Parris after unclenching his teeth, “is to provide relief and comfort to my child, Betty. That is my only hope in this matter.”

“Please, everyone, let us remain calm,” suggested Hathorne. “There is merit in what young Wakely says, and Mr. Higginson as well, and we don’t want to rush into this matter without considering all sides.”

The room fell silent, everyone seeking his own counsel, save Noyes. Noyes was conferring with Hathorne about the woman Osborne and Jeremy heard the young minister say, “I heard she’d been shunned.”

“Parris had her excommunicated after her second husband’s mysterious death, despite our rulings.” Hathorne turned to Corwin. “You recall it, John?”

“Parris was the one brought her up on charges the first time in my court. Yours?”

“Putnam.”

“The woman sounds like a candidate for Satan’s side to me,” answered Noyes.

“Dey steal the fruit from de trees.” Tituba’s mutterings were directed to no one in particular. “I try to stop dem, but dey laugh and spit fruit in my face, and drag me by de hair.”

“Go on, Tituba. Don’t stop now,” urged Parris.

“Dey come into the window and find me ‘neath the stairs, and dey pull me out by de hair into dem woods. I didn’t want dem to get the children, so I go with dem to forest—to save de children.”

“How did you travel?” Noyes’ eyes had grown two sizes.

“Did they-they, that is, c-carry you?” Corwin sounded more tipsy than frightened.

We go on a stick.” Tituba raised her shoulders as if this were evident.

“A stick?


“Broom stick.”

“You flew?”

“Dey carry me on de stick.”

“You flew?” asked a stunned Hathorne.

“We flew.”

“Maybe you were dreaming, Tituba?” suggested Jeremy in as stern a voice as he could muster in an attempt to quell this nonsense and so-called evidence.

“Like a dream but not a dream.” Tituba met Jeremy’s eyes. He saw shame, darkness and hurt lurking there like three invaders.

“Describe to us what you saw once you arrived, child,” pressed Hathorne.

“Many people. Dancing at fire dat burns high wid smoke and fairies come out de fire—”

“Fairies indeed?” Higginson smirked and searched the room for any sign of reason. “Cavorting about a fire!”

“And-And people run and catch de fairies,” Tituba replied, not understanding Higginson’s sarcasm. “But de fairies disappear when I touch dem. Disappear like my baby disappear.”

“This has gone far enough,” Higginson cried out.

“Please, Mr. Higginson,” countered Hathorne. “Go on, Tituba. Tell us everything.”

“Some laugh and fall, and if it be man and woman, when dey fall, dis means dey go into deeper woods together where dey kiss and make baby.”

“Fornication, she’s talking of fornication,” said Noyes, titillated by this revelation.”

“Yes dat, yes.”

“Who were these people?” Hathorne pressed on with the questioning.

“I don’t know no one but Goode and Osborne.”

Parris went to her and opened his hands to her. “Tituba, tell us the name of the leader, the man in black with the book.”

“He is like a shadow and not a man, only in de shape of a man, and he holds a book. A bad, bad book.”

“A black book?” asked Noyes.

The literature on the Antichrist and his followers as described for centuries depicted the Devil’s emissary and advocate, the man-like creature who came in a pleasing form to look like a minister and to dress as one. What better cover? And how ironic, Jeremy thought, eyeing Parris’s black clothing and the outfit he had himself worn since arriving in Salem. Wolves in sheep’s clothing feed on the innocent.

Jeremy saw now that Tituba realized that these important men were hanging on her every word; as result, there came a flood of words from her: “The black book, yes, and dey want me to make my mark in dis book, but I spit at dem and fight dem, but dey tear my dress away and beat me with sticks and kick and jump on me, until I can’t fight no more, and den de black shadow man, he straddle me, and he-he did terrible t’ings to me, until I thought I be killed, so I finally make my mark, but I still in my heart don’t want it. I say no-no-no! a hundred times, but you see dese scars?” She dropped one shoulder and jiggled as best she could to expose red welts across her back.

The room had fallen silent.

“Dey drag me by de hair,” she repeated her innocence in this manner. “And, and say dey’re going to throw me into fire, but still I don’t sign. I fight. Dey promise me t’ings den. Still I yell, no!”

“Sounds like you put up a brave fight,” Jeremy put in.

“Sounds like Ahab and the whale,” added Higginson.

“What sort of things?” pressed Hathorne. “Tituba, what sort of things did they make you do?”

“Promise good t’ings, but still I say no, no, no! Den dey promise I can see my dead baby’s face.”

“W-What’d you say then?” asked Noyes, completely won over by the story.

“I still say no!” She broke down in tears.

“What happened next?” Hathorne had pulled a chair up and sat eye-to-eye with Tituba now. Noyes stood behind her, staring at the red welts visible as if he wished to see her entire backside.

Tituba swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and continued: “Dey come back again. Back every night. S-Same t’ing over and over. Dey steal me from my bed; beat me. Sign, sign, dey scream in my ears. Dey hate me ’cause I won’t sign de book. Den dey say Betty will be sick and die if I don’t sign.”