Page 70 of The Witch

“If it’s Caroline’s skeleton,” I say, “then what do we do?”

As a museum curator, Henry seems more comfortable with this question. “Then we can give her a proper gravestone at the town cemetery. It’s what she deserves.”

“That would be nice.”

It makes me wonder if a proper gravestone might soothe Caroline Eldridge’s angry spirit after what my ancestor Molly did to her. I can’t say anything like that to Henry though, because if he had any idea that Alistair Dixon visited our house, he would be furious.

“How long will it take?” I ask.

“Not that long,” he says. “A week. Maybe two. You can give me a call next week.”

His words make me think of how he wrote down his phone number for me. He didn’t give it to me so that I could twist his arm to get him to commit a felony on my behalf. But I appreciate that he’s being a good guy about the whole thing. He could reasonably call the police and turn it over to them, but he isn’t threatening to do that.

Although to be fair, this isn’t entirely him being a good guy. Henry Ziegler doesn’t want my backyard to turn into a crime scene any more than I do.

51

1692

CAROLINE

Hiram Hatch is next to testify.

I allow myself to feel a swell of hope when the older man makes his way to the front of the room. I saved Hiram’s wife when Dr. Shaylor abandoned him. He will surely tell Magistrate Putman that I am not a witch.

“Goodman Hatch,” Putman addresses him, “I am told you recently had acquaintance with Mistress Eldridge when your wife took ill.”

“Yes,” Hiram says. He glances at me quickly, then looks away.

“And what took place on that eve?”

“Mistress Eldridge nursed Judith while she had a fever,” he says. “’Tis all.”

Putman raises his bushy white eyebrows. “So your wife did not have a fit while Mistress Eldridge was in the room?”

Hiram hesitates.

“Goodman Hatch,” Putman says in a stern voice, “I remind you that you must tell the truth in this courtroom. We must verify if the accused is consorting with the devil. Now, did your wife have a fit in the presence of Mistress Eldridge?”

A long silence ensues. It is finally broken by Hiram’s hoarse voice: “Yes.”

“And what did Dr. Shaylor say when he saw the fit?”

Hiram is quiet.

“Goodman Hatch, pray answer the question.”

“He…” Hiram winces. “He said that ’twas the work of the devil.”

At his words, I squeeze handfuls of my wool dress with my fist. Yes, Judith Hatch had a fit. But I was certainly not the cause of it.

Was I?

Magistrate Putman releases him then, and the look Hiram gives me is pitiful. But it is not the fault of Hiram Hatch. At least he took no joy in his accusations, unlike all the others.

It is no surprise that Dr. Shaylor takes the stand next. While I sit in my dirty frock and uncombed hair, he is dressed in his finest clothes. He smiles charmingly at the magistrate and the townsfolk as he takes his seat at the front of the room.

“Dr. Shaylor,” Putman addresses him, “can you please state for us your occupation?”