I felt the coarse fibers of
the rope scratch against my skin as the hangman tightened the noose around my
neck. I looked out at the crowd of timid, scared faces of those who would be my
executioners. They could not understand me – so they would kill me instead. My
daughter stirred in my belly as she felt a chill of fear run through me. They
claimed my daughter was a child of Satan and would be born with no soul. How
convenient for their consciences!
My knees nearly buckled beneath me as a wave of panic washed over me
and I felt flush and faint. No! I must take control of the situation, or we
both were lost. It was the thought of never seeing my unborn daughter that gave
me the courage I needed that afternoon. I called upon the spirits of the earth,
to relax the strands of hemp in the hangman’s rope and set me free. I could
feel the roughness softening. All eyes were on me as I deepened in my trance. The
fear and anger melted away as my incantations grew in intensity. I must believe in my heart that the
spirits of the earth would respond to my plea. Until then, my next move would
be suicide. When I felt the time was right, I stepped to the front of the
platform – and stepped off.
Like I’d hoped, the rope parted as my weight pulled
against it. I landed softly in the tall, dewy grass of a summer dawn. Now I was
standing among my accusers, and I could smell their fear over the dampness.
Even Jonathan, the father of my baby, was glass-eyed and slack-jawed. Was it
just the excitement and danger of trysting with the local witch that seduced
him? It didn’t seem such at the time. He appeared genuinely tender and caring.
But now, looking at the weakness in his visage, I was no longer sure. My love
was certainly stronger than that! He should have known he would be safe with
me, regardless of his wife’s position and influence in the community. He
should’ve trusted me. But he didn’t love me that much. Did he love me at all?
I walked untouched past the dumbfounded crowd.
Barefoot and wearing nothing but my stained and tattered nightgown, with a limp
length of rope still dangling from my neck, I went silently through the crowd.
I pulled at the knots confining my hands, and the bindings parted like rotten
twine and fell to the ground. I felt the power and the fury of all the elements
at that moment. I would’ve killed anyone who tried to stop me. I’m truly glad
no one tried. To this point, I had hurt no one. I did not want to start now.
I went down the road to my house, watching children
scurry to their mothers crying. I packed my things, loaded them into a half
rotten dingy laying long abandoned on shore, and exiled myself to this island
about 200 yards off shore from our small-minded town. It would be known to the
locals as Witch’s Island henceforth. How predictably unoriginal…
There I tilled a small vegetable garden from the
rocky earth to feed us. I sewed clothes and curtains from cloth salvaged from
the town’s garbage. I turned a hunter’s cabin into a cozy home. There I gave
birth all alone to Millicent, the only sweetness left in a bitter life.
I had a long time to ponder how I ended up in this
predicament. Jonathan was a good man – sweet, and kind; a gentle and attentive
lover. I was so in love – I’m not
sure if I loved the man or I loved being wanted by such a good man – but it
thrilled me to the core to be with him.
It was, of course, not the most prudent thing I’ve
done. Jonathan was married to Harriett, who sat on nearly every committee a
woman was allowed to participate in. One of them was the Decency Committee.
Which was also the group of women who decided (for all practical purposes) who
would be prosecuted as a witch -and I was well known to be a witch. But my
witchcraft was always to benefit others – I specialized in matters of the
heart. I believe your own heart can be the source of the truest happiness or
the worst kind of torture. Nearly everyone in Somerset had come to me at some
point or another to stoke the fires of love. Harriett herself asked for a
potion to warm the heart of a suitor she wanted desperately before she met
Jonathan. Of course, once she had what she wanted, she immediately tired of his
constant, dogged presence. Hers was a most fickle heart – and therefore an
unhappy one. Most considered me harmless, while others were quite dependent on
my potions and charms. By day they would cross the street and make the sign of
the cross rather than pass me, but they would sneak around to my back door and
leave fresh bread or pies if I’d recently done them a favor. It didn’t matter to me – I knew which
gesture expressed their true feelings and which was just for show.
After the birth of their first child, Harriett’s bed
went cold. Jonathan came to me for help. I should have just given him the
potion and been done with it, but my own bed was empty and he had a large, warm
heart. Something in his eyes made my soul feel complete. So instead of pushing
him out the door a few dollars lighter with a bottle of my best concoction, I
invited him in and offered him a taste of my desires instead. We needed each
other desperately that night – and for several fortnights hence. Each meeting
only deepened our thirst. When we were apart, I realized I was playing with
fire. When we were together, I was on fire. His kisses made me go limp
with desire, and his touch electrified my skin. Just the memory of those
moments still sets my hair on end!
But life in a small town means sooner or later
everyone knows your business, and soon some of the local hens put it together
that Jonathan was slipping out a little too often, and the saloon was not his
destination of choice. This too would be nothing more than idle gossip were it
not for my reputation. All of a sudden I was a succubus bent on stealing the
souls of all the good men of Somerset. I had to be stopped. So they made SURE
that Harriett followed him one day. She threw open my bedroom door and in one
highly dramatic moment, my fate was sealed.
There was a trial – but I was never given the chance
to speak on my own behalf. Jonathan did not have the strength to oppose the
entire town. Even my love abandoned me. He came to my hanging, but I don’t
think he was hoping my execution would be stopped. I think he wanted to be sure
this ordeal was finally over. He could claim I had bewitched him, and never
have to admit the stain upon his own soul.
Now my daughter is growing up. I have taught her the
ways of magic. I have also taught her the ways of the world. She will need both
to survive. But I worry about her still. Last night, I saw her sobbing into her
pillow. She would not tell me what was wrong, but I knew tears that flowed so
freely were leaking from a broken heart. I cannot have it! I cannot bear to see
her hurt the way Jonathan hurt me. I cannot have her life ruined by the
weakness of a man. So tonight, we will create a protection spell together – the
most powerful I’ve ever created. It shall protect us, and all of our
descendants. We will always have each other!
I placed the dark, oily potion on her forehead and
above her heart. I did the same to myself. Then I begged the spirits of the
earth to spare us the pain of a weak man forever. The damp oily spots grew warm
and then hot, as our incantations grew more feverish. A storm rose outside as
the elements were charged by the growing power of the magic I was calling up. I
found myself screaming – and so was my daughter as the potion was activated by
the electricity and magic buzzing in the air. I hoped it would be the last time
she felt anything so terrible.
Afterwards, she came to me, dried tears still lining the creases of her
face. “What have we done, Momma?” she asked.
After that night, my heart felt numb. Not good, not bad,
just numb. But apparently Millicent’s heart was not - she continued to sneak
out to meet a beau in the shadows of the woods. I wonder what it was we might
have done wrong? Perhaps we had asked for too much. The spirits of the earth
are loath to change the future. We could only hope the spell had worked, but I
could not tell if it had. That is – until I heard the ticking of the death
beetle.
It started one spring afternoon – Millicent and I
were having a lovely picnic lunch outside. As clouds gathered for a summer
shower we heard the strangest clicking noise. She did not know what it was, but
I did. I gathered her to me a brought her inside the house. As I held her
close, I felt that her belly was rounded and tight beneath her dress. It was
something a mother knows instantly – my daughter was pregnant! How had this happened? Everything was
going wrong! “What is this?” I asked her.
She replied “I am in love with Peter! The spell
worked! We made up the very next day, and we will be married as soon as his
father lets us. We will have this baby together!” Crying just a little, she
added “I didn’t know how to tell you, Momma. He’s the only one who’d touch me,
knowing we are witches. I was just so lonely before I met him…”
It was then that I knew for whom the death beetle
was calling. There would be no wedding. There would only be a child born with
the curse of knowing that any man she loved would be doomed.
We heard about the accident the next day. Peter fell
from the roof of his father’s house while trying to repair it. He broke his
neck when he hit the ground. Thankfully, he died painlessly. Now Millicent’s
heart was numb too. We both cried when her daughter was born. We still had each
other, and we raised her daughter together. We hoped together that she would
find love instead of misery, and break the curse we called down upon ourselves…