“He’s disgusting, and she’s hateful—and now I’ve got that other one after me, too.”

“We’ve got to find of that snake pit, child. We must.”

“You got your own worries now with Dorcas.”

“Aye, I do. But I’ve not forgotten ye! Maybe, if we work things right, dearie, you can come live with Dorcas and me, and I can teach you the arts.”

“The black arts?”

“Them arts, too, but mostly the art of protection.”

“What’d you bring me this time?” asked Susana, hands behind her back, eyes closed, swaying as if a toddler again.

Goode held up a small sack. “Open yer eyes, girl! Put this into his bed.” The sack moved, wriggling with some life within.

“Wh-h-h-at is it? A rat?

“Nay, a poisonous snake.”

“I-I ain’t sure I-I can . . . ”

“Yes you can. Choose which of the two you hate most—Bray or the hag he calls Goodwife, and use the snake. He’s charmed against harmin’ you.”

The wool bag changed hands. “I best get back.” Susana rushed off, going back toward the house, wondering where to hide the snake until she might use it.

“Men’re an ugly, sorry lot, they are!” shouted Goode after Susana.

Susana shouted back, “They ought hang every sorry one of ’em, ’specially those calling themselves reverend and deacon and elder and captain!”

“Reverend, ha! Nothing reverent ’bout Sam Parris. May he rot in hell for his dirty blasphemies. Using the Lord’s own words when he’s got nothing but evil for a heart.”

# # # # #

The following day in Salem Village

Samuel Parris called Jeremiah into his sparse private quarters. He asked Jeremy to sit in a chair in one corner while he straddled a second, nothing between them. “I want to count you more than my apprentice alone, Mr. Wakely,”

“Really, sir? How so? I mean, whatever I can do to be of service, you know—” Jeremy had affected his role as naïve stumbling apprentice well up to this time, and he hoped to continue on with his true nature invisible to the minister and his network of friends, relatives, elders, and deacons.

“I wish to count you, Jeremy, as . . . as a reliable Goodfriend.”

Goodfriend Wakley, Jeremy thought, a nice ring to it. There were Goodmen, Goodwives, and Goodfriends in Puritan life. “Ah . . . Goodfriend, me, sir?”

“I hope in our short acquaintance, Jeremy, that I have earned the title along with your trust and companionship? Jeremiah?”

“Yes. . . yes, Goodfriend Samuel, you have it.” The lie had Jeremy biting his tongue.

“And your backing in all things.”

“I would likewise hope for the same in re-reciprocation, sir . . . ah-ah Goodfriend.” Jeremy had been taken by surprise at this turn of events, and he wondered what he’d done to warrant this declaration of trust from the reverend.

“Good, good!” Parris smiled in a manner Jeremy had never seen from him before except when he played with little Betty, tossing her in the air. “I need to know you are on my side in any fight, Jeremy.”

Jeremy swallowed hard. “I hope you have no fights you cannot win, sir. . . I mean Goodfriend.”

“I like the sound of it, Jeremy. Like the arrangement, and you can dispense with the sir-sir-sir.”

“But in public, sir.”

“Yes, most likely best, and perhaps best that we keep this between us for the time being, not to be too openly aligned. Most of all, I like you, young man! And I will do my utmost to be a good friend to thee.”

“Excellent…excellent.” Jeremy felt a rising sense of guilt. He had always been told that people warmed to him, even strangers; that he had a gift for putting people around him at ease, and that it was not so much what he said and did as what he didn’t say and didn’t do that afforded him the trust of others. It was a trait that Increase Mather had ceased upon early on.

“Now about our talk yesterday?”

“We’ve had many talks, sir.”

“Regarding George Burroughs.”

“Ah, yes, the former minister here.” Parris seemed to have a fixation on this man who had preceded him in the village parish. Time and again, he brought up stories and rumors that had swirled about the name Burroughs for years here.

“Do you know there is talk among my enemies about this man.”

“Talk? What sort of talk?”

“Talk of importing him back here to reinstate him in my position. Can it be believed?”

“Smells of a bad rumor, sir, and you know how people love to talk, but honestly, I’ve heard nothing of it.” This was new information, and Jeremy tried placing it in the scheme of things and in the context of Higginson’s wishes and Mather’s string-pulling. When Parris said no more but fell silent, running both hands through his hair, Jeremy offered, “Why would anyone in his right mind speak of such foolishness? The village parishioners ran this Burroughs fellow off for nonpayment of debts!” Jeremy thought of how Reverend Burroughs’ debts had been incurred. They’d accumulated due to successive funerals for his three children and his wife.”

“There was more to it than simple nonpayment of debt, although that was the charge that placed him in lockup.”

“There were other charges brought against him?” Jeremy had perfected wide-eyed wonder with Parris, who responded well to any facial cues Jeremy sent.

“Not any that could be proven, but the baser people here began rumors to do with Burroughs’ athletic prowess. Or so Thom Putnam tells me.”

“Ah! His reputed superhuman strength, yes! I’ve heard, but the man was a gymnast at Harvard where he studied Divinity and he ran track. I understand you did most of your studies at Harvard? Were you, too, an athlete? Did you know James Burroughs?” Jeremy hoped to hear more about Parris’ time at Harvard and perhaps why the college had no record of his ever having been ordained.

“His name is George, not James. James was Bailey—James Bailey—before him, and no . . . I must’ve been at the college different years.”

“But you were on an athletic team?”

“No, no! I was in the study of Business Practices, but I changed to Divinity a bit later. Look here, worse yet is this business of rumors that this Burroughs fellow . . . that he had some dealings in the dark arts.”

“Witchcraft? Charges brought or was it talk of witchcraft?” Jeremy’s face gave way to horror.

“Some say there was no confusion of his being a necromancer or wizard. In league with the Wizard over all wizards.”

“Satan? Really?” Jeremy had heard such charges leveled at any man others despised or disliked for any number of reasons. In fact, the charge was so common as to be foolish, yet the lower church assize courts collected heavy revenues on trying such cases, and so it went.

“You know as well as I, Jeremy, that any time that a congregation, or half that population wants to rid itself of a man or woman . . . to ban or worse, to excommunicate as in your father’s case, the foul slander of being in league with Satan and his invisible minions is leveled.”

To excommunicate as you did with Sarah Goode, Jeremy thought but said, “You speak the truth, Reverend Parris.”

“In private moments, please, call me Samuel or Goodfriend,” he reiterated.

“Well then, Samuel, as I mentioned, the charge of heresy was leveled at both my parents when it was expedient to dredge up invisible evidence, so I am not convinced of your predecessor’s having used his pulpit badly.”

“Expedient invisible evidence . . . using his pulpit badly,” Parris repeated and laughed. “How politic your are, Jeremy.” Parris continued mulling over Jeremy’s words like a chant. “And now I, Jeremy, I am in line for their poisonous gossip, innuendo, half-truths, rumor and slander—for which they will pay if the courts in these colonies are fair and impartial! God, how I miss London. Even in Barbados a man of my stature could count on speedy redress of slander from the courts.”

“I am sure that’s true, Samuel.”

“They’d love to prove me a heretic and a Satan worshipper, the dissenting ones here!”

They might settle for liar and thief, Jeremy thought. “Some say you’ve slandered them in your sermons.”

Parris’ most dangerous stare drilled into Jeremy.

“I mean . . . this is what I have heard bandied about.”

“Bandied about by whom?”

“No one I know; just overheard bits and pieces, sir—ah Samuel.”

Parris dropped his angry gaze, nodding. “Too true.”

Jeremy was angry with himself, thinking: Should’ve held my tongue. First rule of subterfuge. Allow your target to talk. But then my disguise is a naïve apprentice. “Sir, I am not so naïve as you may take me. I am well acquainted with slander from a young age—”

“As you’ve harped, I know. Don’t give it another thought.”

“It is easy enough to condemn publicly, but not so simple a matter to turn libel into evidence in a courtroom.”

“Too damnably easy in our church assize courts, I can tell you, especially when the wrong element has the ear of the judges.”

“Agreed. Fortunately, the secular courts take a dimmer view of hearsay.”

“And testimony from the addle-brained people who bring such suits,” added Parris, who then laughed. It was the first time Jeremy had heard him utter a mirthful sound in days except, again, while playing with his daughter. While his mirth here and now began lightly enough, it ended dismally, like something dead at the bottom of an ale barrel. Then Parris added, “It’s good that you know something of the law, Goodfriend. I may have need of your counsel soon.”

“My counsel? Soon?” Jeremy tried to get more from the man.

“I didn’t know Burroughs.” Parris sounded thoughtful yet again harping on his predecessor. Parris stood at the window, staring out over the village he meant to set straight. “However, I’ve succeeded him, and now am faced with the bitterness of his supporters, people who allowed his disgrace then, and are bent on my disgrace now.”

The man one moment is repeating awful rumors about Burroughs, and now he is aligning himself with the man? Distance yourself if Burroughs is found guilty of such nonsense, stand beside him if he is found innocent? Jeremy realized he must choose his words with great care. “I have traveled to many of our settlements. Salem is like all others in one respect.”

“And that is?”

“All hamlets have the ill-minded who haven’t the least respect for Christian rule, or for our calling, or for the law.”

Parris smiled. “You’ve certainly a clear eye on the situation here. “

Jeremy translated this in his head as meaning: You understand my side, and that it is a terrible cross to carry. Tiptoeing now, Jeremy said, “I believe it’s come to a war of words and wills.”

Parris stepped away from the window and crossed the small room with a single stride. He snatched up his bible and pulled some loose notes from it. The pages he held at Jeremy’s eyes. “Here . . . read my sermon for the Sabbath.”

Jeremy’s mouth dropped open.

Parris added, “I want your counsel on it. I believe every condemnation I make here is only the truth.”

Jeremy took hold of the papers, Parris hesitating only a moment before completely releasing them. “What do you wish in the way of commentary, Samuel?” Jeremy found it difficult to call him Samuel.

“I want an intelligent man of the cloth to remark on the details, the point, the facts and supporting words from the Bible itself. Afterward, we’ll again talk.”

Parris replaced the chair he’d earlier straddled, and next he shook Jeremy’s hand like a co-conspirator. “We will drive a righteous nail into every black heart in the Meetinghouse this coming meeting day.”

We, Jeremy silently thought, when did Parris and I become we?

# # # # #

Alone with Parris’ absolutely loathsome and dreadful sermon, Jeremy found it threatening and repugnant. The gist of the sermon set Parris up as a modern day Christ on the cross, with his parishioners role as so many Judases and Pilates. Jeremy also gave more thought to the Reverend George Burroughs—a minister whose rate was withheld from him for months by one faction of the parish, and when his family died while in this very house, the debts Burroughs incurred were burial debts. Penniless, he’d left Salem to reemerge as a successful minister in Casco Bay, Maine.