Saving Marina Page 7

  “There he is,” Hickman shouted. “Arrest that man and the one conversing with him.”

  Richard slammed his tankard upon the table, not caring how the wood split and ale sloshed across the table. “Arrest me for what?”

  Hickman didn’t answer; instead, he shouted at the others. “That man is the devil! The devil, I say! Arrest him!”

  Bounding across the room in little more than a single step, Richard grabbed Hickman by the white ruff around his neck. He twisted the material until it was tight enough to block the man’s airway. “I’m not the devil,” he seethed. “But you will soon wish I was. The devil would take your life swiftly, but I shall see you suffer.”

  With eyes bulging and his face bloodred, Hickman clawed at his ruff with both hands. Richard rendered another twist before he shoved the man backward while releasing his hold. Hickman fell to the floor, gasping for air. The men who’d so gallantly rushed through the door moments ago were now cautiously backing out over the threshold.

  Narrowing his gaze upon those men, Richard stepped forward. “There will be no arrests made here today,” he announced. “I don’t believe in your Puritan blasphemes, but I do believe in an eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. That is what you shall soon see.”

  The men scattered. Sensing someone at his back, Richard spun, expecting to see Hickman. The reverend was still on the floor. It was his table companion standing behind him.

  John Griggs quivered like a mouse in a corner before he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple got hung up on his shirt collar. “I’ll follow ye out,” he squeaked, “if ye don’t mind.”

  Richard gave him a nod before casting a glare of loathing toward Hickman, who was being assisted to his feet by the barkeep and another man. Hickman didn’t have a single redeeming quality, and the fact he’d befuddled the people of Salem Village soured Richard’s throat worse than the stale ale.

  “We best be leaving,” Griggs whispered near his shoulder.

  Stepping over the threshold into the bright sunlight did nothing to wash away the darkness that had settled upon him while inside the tavern. Richard wanted to twist his shoulders and shake like a horse might upon being assaulted by flies but withheld the desire. It wouldn’t do any good. The evilness of this place filled the air heavier than a storm.

  “Which direction are ye headed?” Griggs asked as Richard walked to his horse.

  “Why?”

  “I thought I might tag along.” Glancing over his shoulder, the young man added, “I’m sure to be arrested if I stay here.”

  The air that built in his lungs had to be released. Richard did so, letting the sigh linger as he untied the reins of his horse. John Griggs was right. He would be arrested for associating with him as soon as Hickman caught his bearings. “I’ll be going to Boston in a few days,” Richard answered, quiet enough for only John to hear.

  “They’ll have ye convicted and hanged in a few days,” John said solemnly. “Ye best head that way now.”

  “I have things to see to first,” Richard answered, stepping up to mount his beast.

  Griggs hung his head and shook it sadly. “It’s all over for me.”

  From the saddle, Richard pulled a foot out of the stirrup and held out an arm. John looked younger in the light of day than he had in the darkness of the tavern. A lost soul if there ever had been one. “Climb up,” Richard said. “I put your life in danger. I’ll now protect it.”

  “I—”

  “Grab my arm, John.”

  After a moment of hesitation, John grabbed his arm and swung onto the horse behind him. “Where are we going?”

  Richard steered the animal onto the road leading out of the village. “To Marina Lindqvist’s home.”

  “You know Marina?” John sounded astonished.

  “The child she saved is my daughter,” Richard said.

  He couldn’t be sure but thought the mumbling he now heard was John praying.

  Chapter Six

  Marina stood at the table in the front room, holding the large Bible and flipping through the pages. She’d tried to read the passages but found no reassurance in the words. Richard Tarr was to blame. His arrival had put her at his mercy. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Nor could she get his image out of her mind. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why couldn’t he have been an amicable, agreeable man?

  A new thought had her closing the Bible. If he wasn’t who he was, she wouldn’t have needed to rescue Gracie and therefore would never have discovered why she’d been transformed into a witch.

  “Sounds like your captain is back,” Uncle William said from his chair.

  “He’s not my captain,” Marina said. Twisting in order to peer out the window over William’s balding head, her heart fluttered upon seeing two people riding the beast.

  “Who’s that with him?”

  “It looks like John Griggs,” she whispered. “His mother was scheduled to hang today, along with the others.”

  Uncle William shook his head. “Poor lad.”

  Marina nodded—the burning of her throat wouldn’t allow more. John was sure to be distraught, and the anger she’d felt moments ago at Richard Tarr transferred back to Reverend Hickman. He’d destroyed so many lives, torn apart so many families.

  The Puritan religion had once been based upon her very own Protestant beliefs, but instead of hope and love, fear and hatred had become the basis of their daily living. Hickman’s sermons decreed the devil roamed the earth and sought entrance into every home. Rather than seeking salvation in the presence of God, he preached of procuring life based on the absence of Satan, who he claimed was behind every misdeed or calamity. Even something as irrelevant as a toothache. Not even the smallest of children were given a margin of error, and every infraction, no matter how slight, was publicly disapproved.

  She’d witnessed all this with her own eyes and found it so difficult to believe. So hard to accept. It saddened her and was far harder to understand than even her own circumstance. Anger mounted inside her. She’d been returned to the living and brought to this place in order to put an end to all this debauchery and, by God, she would, despite Richard Tarr’s interference. Spinning about, she marched across the room.

  “Invite that young Griggs lad to eat with us,” Uncle William said. “He’ll need a friend or two about now.”

  “I will,” Marina assured him, already heading up the hallway and toward the back door. The mumble of voices could be heard as she crossed the yard, but the tones were too subtle to make out actual words. That made her increase her speed. Although close to her age of twenty years, John seemed much younger. He’d been a devoted and dedicated son to his mother and must be mourning her loss immensely.

  Both men turned as she entered the barn. She purposefully kept from looking toward Richard but noted when he stepped away, leading the horse into a stall.

  John shifted his feet as if unsure what to do. The way his bottom lip trembled brought Marina closer. There were repercussions for displaying emotions in front of others, but she truly didn’t care what Richard thought and knew full well the pain filling John. Wrapping her arms around his slender shoulders, she hugged him close. “Your mother was a chosen one,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m sure of it. God called her home to heaven so she would no longer need to suffer here on earth.”

  His body shook against hers. No one—no man, woman or child—was immune to bereavement and she sent up a silent prayer, asking the God she knew to be good and kind, to offer his comfort to John. To settle his weary and confused mind.

  A moment later, with a sniffle, John lifted his head and took a step back. Without a word to her, he turned to Richard. “I’ll see to the horse, Captain. Unsaddle and brush him down. I’ll feed him, too.”

  Richard glanced at her, and for a moment her breath stalled. There was profound understanding in his eyes, as if he too felt compassion for John and his loss. A completely different kind of softness formed in her chest—one she couldn’t quite explain bu
t also couldn’t ignore.

  “Thank you, John,” Richard said, walking out of the stall. “I appreciate that.” His long legs had him at her side within a few steps. “Marina and I will be inside the house.”

  A tremble rippled up her arm as Richard’s hand folded around her elbow, and her anger returned. Once they’d exited the barn and were out of earshot, she demanded, “Why did you bring him here?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Why? What happened?” She wanted to believe John hadn’t been accused of being a witch but knew that was a very real possibility. So was the fact that if he hadn’t been already accused, he would be now.

  “I’ll answer your questions as soon as you answer mine,” Richard said, pushing open the back door of the house.

  He hadn’t shrunk in his absence, yet his size no longer concerned her, nor did his dark complexion and long black hair. When she looked at him now, she was reminded of how he’d rolled up Gracie’s sleeve at the table and broken a piece of bread into pieces for the little girl to eat. None of that said she could trust him, not completely, and she almost wished it did. That fact twisted the anger inside her a bit tighter. “I thought you left in order to get your questions answered.”

  “I did. And that produced more questions.” He let go of her arm in order to close the door before he scanned the room.

  “Uncle William is in the front room, and Gracie is still asleep.” Marina crossed the room, needing to put space between them as badly as she needed time to settle the turmoil rising inside her.

  Requiring something to keep her busy during his absence, she’d melted down a supply of beeswax and poured it into candle molds after she’d cleaned the kitchen and set a pot of beans to soften for the evening meal. There was always so much to do, and each task she embarked on made her miss her family. With her mother and the wives of her brothers, there had always been ample hands completing the necessities a household required. Here, it was just she and Uncle William, but the tasks were the same. It just meant they didn’t need as many candles, loaves of bread, casks of cider, cords of wood and the endless other things needed to survive.

  She shifted the candle molds sitting upon the table. It may have been foolish, a waste to make so many. Soon this house would be empty. The idea of that, of Reverend Hickman scavenging through the household, made her clench her hands into fists. She couldn’t stop him while taking care of Uncle William and Gracie and now John. Her uncle and John would interfere, be imprisoned and probably killed. She spun around to face Richard.

  He’d pulled a chair out from the other end of the table and flipped it around to sit upon as one would a saddle. Crossing both arms over the back of the chair, he asked, “Who was the old woman taking care of Grace?”

  There was no way for her to know with whom he may have spoken in the village. It could have been any number of people. The tavern was sure to be full of people, namely those who’d recently returned from attending the hangings in Salem Towne. She was certain that was where he’d gone. The tavern. That was the gathering place for all men. It had been that way in Maine, too. He could have met John on the road, but she doubted it, and she knew the young man could have shared far more than anyone else.

  Maybe the truth was exactly what he needed to hear. Let him know he’d now put them all in danger. “The Widow Holcomb. She took care of your wife and her parents when they grew ill. They were the first to die and some claimed the widow killed them with her herbs. She disappeared afterward. Because the disease is so contagious, the Westbrook home, your wife’s family home, was burned with the bodies still inside. It wasn’t until Mrs. Holcomb was arrested that—” Marina had to pause to swallow. The image of Gracie inside the shack built of sticks, covered with old blankets and too weak to lift her head, was still fresh in her mind.

  “That you went in search of Grace,” Richard said.

  He knew. Knew far more than she’d wanted him to. Marina swallowed and licked her lips. “If you already know—”

  “I want to know if what I heard is true,” he said. “Did you go in search of Grace when no one else would?”

  She held no regrets in rescuing Gracie. “Yes. Anna Pullman told me the widow had pleaded for someone to go get the baby in the woods, but no one would listen or dared to. Anna’s sister had been arrested at the same time, her mother a few days later.” Empathy once again washed over her. Mrs. Pullman was still imprisoned and must be grieving deeply over Elizabeth’s death.

  “Why did you?”

  “I had given Widow Holcomb milk and eggs and other such things over the past few months, so it was easy for me to believe she’d been feeding a child.” Marina shook her head. “Several had been left orphans after the epidemic had played itself out. I had no idea it was Gracie until I found her.”

  “Where?”

  “In a shack in the woods.”

  “What happened then?”

  Marina swallowed and attempted to use the act of moving to the hearth to check the beans to cover up how her hands had started to shake. “Someone was watching the shack,” she said. “I know I wasn’t followed, yet when I carried Gracie out, they were there and tried to take her from me.”

  “‘They’ meaning the reverend,” he said. “Who claimed Grace was a witch or a witch’s familiar.”

  “Yes and no,” she said, returning the lid to the pot.

  “Please explain.”

  She hung the spoon on its hook before turning around. “Yes, he is who claimed such things about Gracie. He’d tried to make her recite a prayer, but she was too weak. He hadn’t been in the woods. Those men forced—took us to Reverend Hickman’s home, where he questioned me privately.”

  “Concerning what?”

  The dark storm had returned to his eyes, a sign she’d already learned meant his anger was rising. She’d also witnessed how he was able to control it. Something she had yet to conquer at times. Sighing, in hopes of containing her own temper, she admitted, “My powers.”

  His lips drew into a tight line as he repeated, “Powers.” He said the word as if it disgusted him.

  “Yes, powers.” She’d been foolish to think he wouldn’t learn of her secret when in fact it was no longer a secret. Lifting her chin, she said, “I was deemed an outsider from the moment I arrived. Uncle William had already achieved that status, but only as someone who didn’t believe in the Puritan ways. He was accepted, though, because of the goods and supplies he purchased from the villagers. They gladly took his money, and for that fact alone I wasn’t sent away upon my arrival.”

  “Because you had money to spend? William’s money.”

  “Yes.” At first she’d thought no one would learn of what had happened in Maine and had sincerely tried to befriend others, to fit in despite the differences between them.

  “You didn’t mind being an outcast?”

  Marina didn’t need to contemplate that. “No.”

  “Most people do.”

  She let her eyes wander over him. Even sitting down, his bulk filled the room. A man his size, with his confidence and pride, wouldn’t know about being an outcast.

  “Size and gender have little to do with it. I’ve been considered an outcast many times,” he said.

  Marina dropped her gaze to her candle molds once again. Her insides had started to churn. She hadn’t cared what the community members thought of her. There was no room for that. She’d been ousted by people far more important to her than the villagers. Back in Maine it had been friends, people she’d known since moving there as an infant, who had turned on her. Blamed her for things beyond her control. It had taken time before she’d accepted that, and even though she finally had, the pain still lingered. Thinking Richard might have experienced that same kind of pain seemed impossible. He was too strong. Too powerful.

  “Why didn’t you let them take Gracie from you?”

  Marina blinked and questioned her hearing. “Why?”

  He nodded.

  “She’s a child. Any de
cent human being would have wanted to help her.”

  He didn’t so much as blink. “Not if they believed in witchcraft, believed she was possessed—a familiar.”

  “Hogwash.” Nothing would ever allow her to believe any child was cursed. “Children are treasures in God’s eyes. They know no evil, except that thrust upon them by misguided adults.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something a witch would say.” Eyeing her steadily, he asked, “Yet you admit to being a witch. Threatened to put a hex on the reverend.”

  Her stomach sank. So did she. Without the will to stop herself, she dropped onto the chair beside her. She hadn’t thought Hickman would tell anyone about that. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She’d been so full of pain, anger and contempt that day she’d have done whatever was needed to save Grace. Still would. She’d watched a child die before and wouldn’t do that again. Holding tears at bay stung the backs of her eyes. “Because I couldn’t think of anything else. Grace had been in the woods for over a week, alone. I was afraid she might die in my arms.” Her chest was burning as fiercely as her eyes, and air caught in her throat as she breathed it in. Not telling him about what she’d seen in Hickman was growing harder by the minute. Richard was so strong and powerful, she wished he was her ally instead of an obstacle in her path.

  He stood and walked around the table, approaching her. Unsure as to why, she wrung her trembling hands together but couldn’t seem to pull her eyes from his.

  Arriving before her, he knelt down. “I am greatly indebted to you, Marina, beholden for how you saved my daughter from certain death.”

  Marina was startled by such a heartfelt confession.

  A slight smile appeared briefly on his face. “But I don’t believe you are a witch. I’ve known George Hickman for years. The man has a penchant for angering people. And deceiving them.”

  Realization hit her like the heat of an oven. “But I am a witch,” she whispered. “You being here is proof.” The curse she’d threatened the reverend with was coming true, whether she wanted it to or not.