Page 51 of The Witch

I gawk at him. “How did you…?”

“I see it sometimes too.” His voice drops to a quavering whisper as he confides in me. “Sometimes it looks like the tree is on fire. One night, I ran out with a fire extinguisher, but when I got here, there was nothing there.”

I hug my arms to my chest, suddenly feeling cold and exposed in my pajamas. I wish I took the time to put on a bra.

“It’s Caroline,” he says matter-of-factly. “She’s always been here, ever since I’ve been working here. But you know that.”

I’m not sure what to say. As terrifying as it was last night to see that rope hanging from the tree, I still want to believe there is some other logical explanation, like Henry said the other night. There must be.

“It’s different now though,” Mick says. “She’s always been around, but it’s never been like this. This is much more active than she’s ever been. It’s like she’s…”

“Like she’s what?” I prompt him.

His bony fingers clutching the mower turn white. “She seems angry.”

“Has…has that ever happened before?”

“Not like this.” His bushy white eyebrows bunch together. “Usually we see signs of her from time to time, but not every night.”

He’s quiet then—quiet enough that we can both hear the rustling of leaves.

“Do you think there’s any chance that…?” I shift between my slippers. “Could she be dangerous?”

Mick takes a long time to answer. Too long. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

38

1692

CAROLINE

My sleep is restless.

The pallet of straw is uncomfortable compared to my bedstead at home. I toss and turn, the straw scratching my skin with each movement, creating angry red lines along my arms. The wool blanket is little protection from the chill that runs through the room.

Deputy Strickland comes in the next morn with a bowl of cold pottage that tastes like it was cooked days ago. I choke it down, even though it turns my stomach. I must keep up my strength for the battle that lies ahead.

Since last night, Jonas has not said another word to me. He broke his own fast sitting on his bed, his eyes cast down at the bowl. The cellar is a bit brighter during the day, although not much, since it contains no windows. The only light comes from cracks in the timber near the ceiling. Yet the light reveals that Jonas is younger than I thought. I believed he was closer to Archie’s age, but now I see that his face is unlined under his black beard. He is likely closer to my own age, perhaps three and twenty.

After we finish eating, Deputy Strickland returns to the cellar, this time with Sheriff Bixby. The two of them stride up to my cell and cast calculating looks at me. After a minute of this, I demand to know, “What do you seek from me?”

Sheriff Bixby ignores me, instead turning his attention to his deputy. “We must do it forthwith. Putman asked for a report.”

Strickland gives me that appraising look again. “Verily, it will not be as disagreeable as it was with Atkins.”

I do not know what they are referring to, but I do not appreciate the way they are looking at me or the snide comment about my friend. I take a step back, trying to make myself invisible in this tiny space.

“Mistress Eldridge,” the sheriff says. “I have to ask you to cast off your garments.”

My mouth drops open. “Pray pardon me?”

“We need to search you,” Strickland says.

“Search me?”

“We must seek your witch’s teat,” he clarifies.

“Witch’s teat?” I stammer.