The Witch Trials

"Yes, it is true," said Dorcas, defiantly. "I bewitched her, I did it deliberately, and I did it on my own. She is completely innocent. I am the witch. Hang me."

"Dorcas! What are you doing!" shouted Sarah. "She's lying, your honor! We were in it together!"

"No," said Dorcas, stoically and quietly. "It was me. All me." She hung her head piously.

"So be it!" said the Magistrate. "Madame Buckley, you are free to go. Bailiff, take Madame Corey away to await her execution."

"Noooo!!" shouted Sarah, as she was led out of the courtroom, struggling. Dorcas, still in her chains, was returned to her cell.

The next day, Sarah stood outside Dorcas's cell. "Why did you do it, Dorcas? Why did you tell them that it was all your doing?"

"There is no point in both of us hanging, darling. They'll be happy to take one of us. I am old; you are young. It only makes sense."

"But I love you!!" Sarah wailed. "You get to go to your rest and peace; I have to go on without you! It isn't fair." She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Dorcas hung her head. "When you put it that way, maybe I am being selfish. But you have a chance for a new life. Forget about me. Go love your husband, beg him to forgive you. Love your children. Put what we had behind you. It never could have worked. It was wrong, after all. And we knew it all along."

"No," said Sarah, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It wasn't wrong. Love can never be wrong. You said so yourself. This is wrong."

"Sarah, do not cross me in this," Dorcas chided. "Let me take the blame in this matter. You must save yourself. You have young children and a husband. And I hope that you will take care of my children, too. Promise this to me."

Sarah sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Maybe, my dear," she said. "I promise not to put myself at risk. But if I can save you from this fate, I will." She set her jaw and looked at Dorcas, resolute.

"All right, my love, as long as you do not risk yourself. Don't let me die for nothing. Alright?"

They kissed, briefly but passionately, between the bars, and then Sarah fled from the jail, sobbing.

****************

After the hanging, Sarah watched the body of her lover being cut down. Limping, her knees and elbows scraped from her rough treatment at the hands of the constables, she followed the wagon carrying the bodies of the hanging victims to the communal graveyard. She watched as Dorcas's body, along with the other hanging victims, was rudely tossed onto a pyre. She watched the oiled logs below the bier as they were lit by a torch, and watched the flames grow slowly larger and more intense. She watched, from a distance, for a long time, as the flames consumed the remains of the convicted witches, and as the smoke and ashes fled heavenward across the sky. Dorcas's mortal remains were now one with the planet. Sobs wracked Sarah's body as she made her way back to her home.

The next day, Abigail Stoughton, nubile young daughter of Chief Magistrate William Stoughton, was strolling about the town square. Her bonnet, the best in the county, was tied tightly upon her head with a scarf. Her parasol kept the summer sun off of her porcelain skin. Her lithe body, with its trim waist, ample bosom, and shapely buttocks, turned many a head of the young men in the square, and truth be told, not a few of those of the young women, as well. She stopped at a fruit vendor, and purchased a single date, which she sensuously sucked into her dainty mouth. Then, satisfied that she had made enough of an impression for one day, she headed for home.

Cutting through a side street, Abigail heard an urgent whisper from an alley.

"Pssst! Abigail!! Come here!" said the voice.

Abigail was wary, but curious. She cautiously poked her head into the alley. In an instant, an arm was wrapped about her throat, and a hand held a pungent cloth to her nose and mouth. She was unconscious in a matter of seconds.

************

She was vaguely aware of her own consciousness. Oblivion, like a blanket no longer needed after a chilly night, gradually lifted from her mind. Small stray thoughts, like mice across a kitchen floor, skittered through her awareness. Her eyes, though closed, sensed light about her. She cautiously fluttered them open.

She was lying on a dirt floor. Her arms and legs were outstretched. With her head, they formed a five-pointed star. A congruent star was traced in the dirt of the floor, and it was circumscribed with a circle. Each point of the star held a scented candle, burning.

A pot was boiling on the fire on a nearby hearth. The pungent odors seemed vaguely familiar. Her body felt strange. She flexed her fingers, her toes. Who was she? She wasn't sure.

A face hovered above her. She tried hard to bring it into focus, failed. Below the face was an arm, and a hand, holding a small glass phial. Another hand held a book, open. A voice was reading from the book. The words were indistinct, as if heard through a thick woolen blanket. But the words, though unintelligible, burned their way through her brain. She felt them sharpening her faculties, aligning her thoughts, bringing her back to awareness, back to the world.

The face zoomed in and out of focus. It was a young face, a pretty face, a face she knew. It was a face she had loved. Sarah! The name popped into her head.

"How do you feel, darling?" asked Sarah. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you fine, I think," she answered. "Where am I? Who am I?"

"What do you remember?"

What did she remember? She thought back. She remembered a plain sackcloth frock, she remembered standing barefoot on coarse wooden planks, and she remembered a rough rope about her neck. She remembered a snap. And then she remembered her name.

"Sarah! They hanged me! Why am I here? Am I dead?"

"No, darling, you aren't dead. Not anymore. I brought you back. And we will be together forever."

Dorcas sat up. Her head throbbed. She brought a hand up to her forehead. But her arm was not her arm. Where were the liver spots? Where were the wrinkles? She looked down at her body. In place of her sagging breasts, her flabby belly, her crinkled skin, there was the trim body of young woman. She had firm, proud breasts, a flat stomach, shapely legs. She looked up at Sarah. Sarah smiled.

"Yes, darling," Sarah said. "Exactly. I decided I did want to sample her wares after all. The magistrate can still go to hell, but he was right all along. And we're going to have to be much more careful from now on."