He made his way to the stables where the night before he’d bedded down Dancer. Jeremy worked to ready the horse for travel, and the animal sensed they would soon be underway when Jeremy removed his feedbag. After saddling up, Jeremy draped the saddlebag across Dancer’s rump and cinched it tight. “Might be a wet trip,” he said to his horse. “But I trust you’ll get me there, girl.”

“I wish I could go with you,” came Serena’s voice from behind him. She’d stood silent at the barn door watching him bridle and saddle Dancer, not speaking as he snatched hard at the last cinches to his bags.

“I didn’t want to wake the house,” he said to her.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye!” She rushed at him and together they leaned into Dancer, exchanging a long kiss that she did not wish to have an end to. He wrapped his arms around her, and Dancer looked on, craning his neck.

“Do you really believe the authorities in Boston will help us, Jeremy? Do you think your going there will change anything?”

He smiled wide. “I will plea for calm and sanity to prevail, as I have in my letters.”

“Letters?”

“I’ve been in correspondence with Cotton Mather since my arrival.”

“All this time?”

“All this time, yes.” Even as he assured Serena, he secretly hoped it was not too late to stem the cankerous tide spreading from the village in every direction save the west where only aboriginals lived. Given the state of affairs in the colony, Jeremy felt grateful there were no hostilities with the native Indians nowadays. But the thought revived an old concern of the villagers, one Ingersoll had drummed into Jeremy when he was a boy working as sentinel at Watch Hill: that Salem Village found itself land-locked and unable to grow. Impossible to grow westward without creating hostilities with the natives, impossible to grow north due to Topsfield’s border, Southward Swampscott—useless land for the most part due to the salty backwaters, and East of the dividing line of Ipwsich Road? The Nurse-Towne family compound hugged those valuable waterways.

“Hold on,” he said to Serena. “Has your father a map of the area?”

“Indeed, he has many.”

“One showing the lay of the land—hills, valleys, rivers?”

“Yes, why?”

“I must have a detailed map with me when I see Mather. Seeing is believing.”

“And what kind of man is he Cotton Mather?”

“A minister like his father, and a man devoted to peace.”

“I’ll get the map, but I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“Come along then.”

They found Francis who’d just roused from sleep, and together they went to his study and pulled forth a detailed map of the entire area. One which illustrated precisely what Jeremiah had thought. The Nurse-Towne properties waved a red flag at the center of the firestorm.

Jeremiah, Serena and Francis together made enough noise in the house to arouse Mother Nurse who’d surprised them at the doorway, curious as to why they were rummaging in over maps. With the Nurses and Serena looking on, Jeremy pointed out how very isolated Salem Village was. “The village parish, not the seaport,” he added. “Hemmed in on all sides, unless it finds a way to grow. I have it on good authority that Samuel Parris has invested in a mineworks operated by Putnam and Wilkins.”

“The one that caved in?” asked Francis, surprised.

“Family business,” Jeremy muttered. “I overheard some remarks passed between Parris and Putnam but thought little of it at the time, but look here. The mine is here at Wills Hill, a short distance to the Frost Fish River but see here?”

“Our land,” muttered Francis.

The map clearly showed the Ipswich Road in bold relief. This road and the lines depicting the borders with other villages and Salem Town, and the myriad of rivers connected up in such a way as to eerily mock the shape of the human heart.

Rebecca pointed this odd fact out to the others, giving them all pause. “Human heart. Where fear and ignorance take root. “The same heart capable of undying love,” she added. “What’re you hatching, Jeremiah Wakely?”

“I’m pointing out to your husband, ma’am, that your lands are worth everything to the village at large—not just Parris.”

“Worth everything?”

“If the village is ever to expand and grown, yes—every material thing.”

“And they’ll do anything to get our land, I fear,” muttered Francis.

“I fear so, sir,” said Jeremiah. “May I have the map?”

“For the fools in Boston?”

“Yes, for one fool in Boston in particular. To more easily demonstrate our cause.”

“Take the map,” said Rebecca, “and Jeremiah . . . ”

“Yes, Mother Nurse?”

“Take Serena with you.”

“What?” asked Serena.

“You’ve never seen Boston,” her mother said, smiling. “Never been beyond Salem Harbor, child.”

“But Mother, my place is—”

“Go and be married there, the two of you!” Rebecca’s voice cracked. “I know how you two feel about one another. Your love is written on your faces.”

“Father?” asked Serena.

He shrugged. “I saw you on the porch swing.” He giggled.

“Married? Boston?” repeated Serena. “Don’t be mad. Jeremy hasn’t proposed—besides, if I’m to be wed, it’s a big wedding I want! Surrounded by—”

“For once, young woman, simply do as I tell you!” Rebecca shouted, causing a pain in her chest that sent a hand to her heart. “Don’t argue, Serena, please. Tell her, Francis!”

Francis rushed to his wife to support her both physically and in word. “It is obvious you two love one another. Mother is right. Elope to Boston, marry, do what you can about this matter here, Jeremiah, and come back to us safe, and you, young woman--return with the name Wakely.”

“So that’s it. You want me no longer a Nurse? To hide behind the name Wakely? Even if it were so, I’m a Nurse!”

“No, child,” said her mother. “We want you away from here at any cost.”

“Like Ben? No, I won’t hide from a fight.”

“No one expects you to,” countered Rebecca, sitting now, catching her breath, “but you do love this man and always have, true? Is it not true?”

Serena felt Jeremy take her hand. “Will you be my wife?” he asked.

“You like this idea of marrying in Boston?”

“You’ll love Boston.”

Serena paced, circling the room. “I don’t know. . . I don’t know.”

“Don’t know about Boston or about me?” Jeremy again pressed her hand in his.

“I love you, Jeremy,” she said, their eyes meeting, everyone and everything else in the room melting away, “and-and I accept your proposal of marriage.”

A cheer went up from Francis and Rebecca, and Jeremy took Serena in his arms. Francis hugged Rebecca to him.

“But we shan’t tarry long in Boston, Jeremy,” Serena remarked. “We must get back as quickly as possible.”

“Is that the only condition of marriage you propose?” he joked but instantly saw that she wasn’t amused, and he guessed she was thinking of the empty house on the compound where they’d made love, the one she hoped one day to turn into a home with him. “Yes, it’s a condition. Yes!”

“I accept your condition. Now we need saddle up another horse.”

“My roan will do best on a long journey.”

“When all this nonsense in Salem settles to a dull roar,” promised Francis, “we will have a wedding feast for you two!” He shook Jeremy’s hand briskly and hugged Serena to him, tears in his eyes. Serena went to her mother and they held tight to one another for a long time.

# # # # #

Salem Village Parish, Sabbath Day, March 30th

From behind his slender pinewood pulpit, the gaunt Samuel Parris stood on a platform that raised him above his people. Parris 6’1 frame was now seven-foot tall, and his hapless expression, nose, chin, even his ears and the veins in his neck had been put into play—now part of the anger and rage he demonstrated against those who’d dare attack a minister’s daughter through channels of witchcraft and demonism.

His eyes, sunken and blackened from days and nights without sleep, seeing to the needs of the congregation while seeing to his bewitched children at home, told the story of a man put upon by the Devil himself.

Parris was disappointed he’d be unable to move to excommunicate Rebecca Nurse and her sisters today. Such action, he’d been advised was premature according to the judges who wished to lay more groundwork and preparation before such accusations as those against the Nurse and Towne women were made official and public. All the same, word got round. Word of what lay in wait on the court docket.

While the magistrates’ hesitation proved upsetting, Parris believed that the judges were leaning in the direction of his view of things. In fact, Parris felt confident that he had convinced Corwin and Hathorne of their duty once he’d ridded himself and his home of that weasel, Jeremiah Wakely. A traitor, whose sole purpose had been to discredit me, no doubt an agent for Mr. Higginson rather than Increase Mather—whose signature was no doubt now a forgery made by the man’s son—Cotton Mather!

Parris had revealed these truths to the Salem judges, but what had truly tipped the scales with the judges had been the matter of the old Towne land grant, which had been contested for years. What with the old man having no male heirs and what with the land falling into the hands of three sisters, all of whom married Nurse, Tarbell, and Cloyse men, and not one of them willing to return so much as an acre back to the common holdings of the village; it all added up to two angry and shrewd judges.

“If any one of these women in that family can be proved a witch . . . ” Parris had led the magistrates to the water.

Hathorne had nodded, saying, “A-And proved a witch at the time of being heir and assign—”

“W-When old Jacob Towne passed on,” added Corwin.

“Then that negates their rights to every bloody acre,” finished Parris the same night as Jeremiah Wakely had knocked him down with his horse—for which he meant to bring charges once he got round to it.

“Careful of foul words on your tongue, Mr. Parris,” Corwin had cautioned at their last meeting. “Such language can invite the devil in, as they say.”

Parris had gone away that night secure in the knowledge that the magistrates had as much to gain as he, as Putnam, as others of his faction if and when Rebecca Nurse and her sisters were formally accused, a warrant made, all three arrested, jailed, and brought to his church for the cleansing needed there. The ritual of excommunication had already been performed today with Goodwife Sarah Osborne. Goode had been put through the ritualized outcasting at the time he’d arranged to have her child, Dorcas Goode, removed from her.

Parris hadn’t brought Tituba into his church for public humiliation, referring to her as a cooperating eyewitness to the demonic reveling going on in Burnham Woods just beyond his apple orchard. He stressed that it was his orchard and not the parish orchard being picked clean by the devils. The previous week he’d stood at the pulpit and denounced those bold felons who filled a bushel basket to bring to his door as paltry payment for his rate. Every parishioner, including his closest allies such as Putnam, owed monies on his rate; every man, woman, and child had routinely paid their tithes to him in goods, often goods he had no need of, and if he saw one more basket of apples on his doorstep with a note attached with the word tithes scribbled across it, he’d publicly read these names at next Sabbath meeting.

“And I need not one more bean, nor potato, nor onion. My woodshed is full even now, my barn full of hay, my animals stocked with grain. What I need is coin.”

After speaking on these church business matters, he delivered his sermon, all the while upset, at the back of his mind thinking how much he’d wanted to deliver the sermon he’d first prepared for today—the one stolen by that miscreant Wakely and now in Hathorne’s hands. While he felt confident that Hathorne would bury the sermon until which time as it was appropriate to give it, and that he would not use Parris’ fervor and enthusiasm, nor his premature judgments against him. “After all,” Hathorne had summed up, “we are all of us going into the battle for souls in Salem.”

Just as Wakely meant for Hathorne and Corwin to condemn Parris for publicly disclaiming a woman not yet arrested, Parris meant to point out that he had a pipeline to the good souls whispering into the ear of his daughter and nieces. On the one count, he wanted to engage the enemy now, today, at this Sabbath Meeting, but on the second, suppose events turned, setting the magistrates against proceeding in the manner that he so hoped that they might? They had hinted at making contact first with authorities in Boston before proceeding. He must be patient and faithful that the judges would act in his favor.