The Witch’s Awakening

MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY, 1692.

Arianna O’Sullivan stared at the bleak, grey sky as she struggled against the confines of the Puritans’ unforgiving pillory. The bitter wind and rain worsened an already wretched day. Her drenched garments clung to her shivering body; water irritatingly streamed down her face from her long strands of scarlet hair, with no means to wipe them away.

Her shoulders ached and her wrists were raw where the swollen wood bit into her flesh. Being restrained always unnerved her. She’d come to despise this village and its suspicious people, but she knew what might occur if she allowed her anger to surface.

At least the rain dispersed the crowd; even the most curious onlookers sought shelter. However, Reverend Thomas Smythe, the man who’d issued her time in the pillory, watched warm and dry inside the nearby inn. She noticed the curtains move at the window. She was aware he enjoyed her misery. Closing her eyes, she whispered to herself, hoping to evade the cold, the pain and the fury brewing within her.

Darius Wyndham fastened his overcoat and held tight to his felt hat. The previously sunny, pleasant day peculiarly changed. The coastal wind turned frigid and wholly unexpected rain fell. The weathered signpost for Wyndham Village loomed ahead. Despite the unfavorable weather, he wasn’t stopping, not after his previous dealings with the Puritans there.

It disturbed him the disagreeable practices he’d witnessed in England were occurring in the colonies, too. There’d been persecutions in Europe for centuries and occasionally it happened here. But now there was an alarming level of hysteria. Nearly every colonial jail was filled with women, some men, and even young children suspected of witchcraft. It began last winter in Salem but the madness soon took hold throughout the colony. Darius was shaken from his dismal thoughts when his horse came to an abrupt halt.

“What is it, King? Are you tired, boy, or simply unhappy with this turn in the weather?”

Weary himself, Darius nudged his steed on, but was startled when he heard a female voice. He looked around, but seeing no one, presumed it was only the wind. He’d hoped to make it to Patrick and Bessie’s farm. The thought of a hot meal, warm bed and an evening with friends lightened his heart.

He’d been unsettled lately and found himself questioning his return to Massachusetts Bay Colony. Away on a merchant ship, he’d felt beckoned home, but he’d been back a year and hadn’t found a relevant reason. In truth, he hadn’t felt impassioned about anything in a long while.

In Wickshire getting horseshoes last night, he’d even considered visiting a brothel. Maybe seeing his base needs met might partly appease his growing discontent. Instead, he spent the entire night drinking with sailors, then walked the shoreline and watched the sunrise.

Darius was roughly jolted when his usually calm horse reared wildly. He braced his knees and held tight to the reins as he heard the disconcerting voice again, but still saw no one. The drizzle worsened; the bitter wind howled. Now chilled, Darius pulled up his collar. Could fatigue make him imagine the voice? But King heard it, too. Now the stubborn animal refused to move forward, instead turned toward Wyndham Village.

“Clearly, you don’t know how difficult Puritans can be! The farm has a lovely barn for you.”

Darius was determined to push on when a gust of wind whipped off his hat. He cussed, dismounted, and then raced after it. As he bent to retrieve it, the skin on his neck prickled, for he heard the mysterious voice again, now clearer.

“You must take this fated path, Guardian. From this day forward it’ll never be you alone to consider. Yer souls are paired for eternity!”

The eerie prophetess spoke with a thick Irish accent. Darius’s mother had been Irish; this might have been comforting if the message hadn’t been so profound.

“Who are you? Why don’t you show yourself?”

The summoning words spoken, a female specter with fiery auburn hair appeared. Darius’s heart thudded as the rain pelleted down.

“I’m someone you’ll never know…here to ensure you follow your destiny. My dearest treasure will become yours. I entrust her to you. As her sovereign guardian you must protect her when you can, comfort her when you cannot, but love her always. Mark my words, you’ll not regret it, Darius Wyndham!”

“How do you know who I am?” he asked, but the entity vanished as quickly as she’d appeared. Darius shook his head expecting to awake from a bizarre dream.

“For the love of God, King,” he said climbing upon the horse again. “Am I losin’ my mind? Alas, the day grows late and the weather fiercer. It appears we’ve little choice but to spend the bloody night in Wyndham Village. Nothin’ but bad luck could be responsible for that. Destiny my eye!”

Arianna stirred as men approached. One was the objectionable Reverend Smythe. She didn’t recognize the other, but felt inexplicably drawn to the man’s voice. The tone was authoritative, but strangely comforting and he didn’t speak like a Puritan. It was evident the men weren’t friends, but Arianna was surprised to discover she was the source of their disagreement. She opened her eyes just a sliver.

“The matter is of no concern to thee, Mr. Wyndham!”

“I disagree, Reverend Smythe. The first sight I met upon entering the village was this young woman in your barbaric pillory, clearly left here amid a miserable rainfall that now turns to snow. That’s a cruel punishment!”

Arianna commended him for standing up to Reverend Smythe; for few openly opposed him.

“Perhaps thou hast not heard of all the recent happenings?”

“If you’re asking if I’m aware of people being held in jails accused of witchcraft by their friends and neighbors for absurd, unwarranted reasons, aye, I’ve heard. I’ve also learned someone’s been hanged in Salem. This widespread lunacy surely won’t end well for many.”

“Why art thou here, Mr. Wyndham? I heard thee journeyed to England after thy wife…”

He didn’t allow Smythe to finish.

“I’ve returned to my land, but I’m not here to discuss me. I demand you release this woman!”

“Thou know’st nothing of this evildoer.”

“Aye, well unless you’ve proof she’s killed someone or is likely to, her actions couldn’t warrant this punishment. It’s bloody cold. Her garments are soaked; she’s sure to catch her death or die from the chill. My God, man, have you no decency?”

Smythe huffed indignantly. “Thou da rest speak such blasphemy! I could see thee flogged!”

“Your threats don’t intimidate me. I’ll not back down like your terrified villagers, Smythe. Do you actually believe God condones your ill treatment of this woman or the others? If I didn’t think she’d be hurt, I’d smash your confounded pillory. Release her or I’ll dismantle it,” he said examining the structure.

“Mr. Wyndham, thou hast no authority here. Much has changed since thy father lived here.”

“That’s certainly true. My father wouldn’t abide jailing people…putting them through ludicrous methods to determine if they’re witches. What did this woman do to deserve such heartless treatment?”

“The devil’s within her. She’s beguiled most every man who’s drawn near her. She controls animals and the weather.”

Mr. Wyndham shook his head. “Have you actual proof of anything and truly no notion how preposterous that sounds?”

“The witch is clever. No one dares speak against her; women fear her and men are bewitched by her.”

“Why’s she in the pillory?”

“It’s proved more effective than floggings.”

“She’s been flogged as well?” That evidently infuriated Mr. Wyndham, for his voice rose. “You claim she controls the weather. If that were so, wouldn’t she’d stop this bitter wind and sleet as she stands in drenched garments?”

Smythe cast a nervous glance at Arianna.

“Thou art already bewitched. Didst thou look into her evil eyes?”

“Her eyes are closed, you daft fool; she’s likely near death. I’ve heard quite enough! Hand over the keys; I’ll not stand by while she expires.”

Reverend Smythe must have feared the large, powerful-looking, determined man. He passed him the keys and stepped away. The man unlocked the padlock and lifted the wooden bar, holding her neck and wrists. Cold, hungry and weak, without the post to steady her, Arianna collapsed. Smythe gasped when Mr. Wyndham caught her and lifted her into his arms.

“Don’t touch her. Never gaze into her eyes, for thou shalt fall under her spell!”

He ignored the reverend and walked toward the nearby inn, calling over his shoulder.

“What’s the woman’s name? Where’s her husband or family?”

“I have paid no attention to the witch’s given name. She has no husband or family bar the devil…” Reverend Smythe continued spewing absurdities. Arianna shivered uncontrollably as the man opened the door to the inn.

The innkeeper and his wife backed against the wall.

“She can’t be here,” the innkeeper said.

“I need a room for the night,” Darius said, ignoring the man. “I have ample coin and will aptly reward you. We’ll require food and lodging.”

Next he addressed the innkeeper’s wife.

“Good mother, might I ask you to see this lass dryly attired, perhaps given warm broth and put to bed?”

The woman shook her head and the innkeeper spoke.

“What if she’s a witch? If we assist her we’ll be judged with her.”

“What, good sir, if she’s innocent? If you send her away, perhaps contribute to her death, could you live with that?”

With another glance at the young woman, the innkeeper and his wife nodded.

“Use the back stairs, but be quick. If word spreads we’re harboring a witch, we’ll be ruined or persecuted ourselves!”

“Thank you both. I’ll make certain Reverend Smythe knows I gave you no choice.”

As he carried her up the stairs, she awakened and Darius gazed into the eyes he’d been warned not to view…the most unusual, breathtakingly beautiful green eyes he’d ever beheld. If eyes were the mirror to the soul, he must be looking upon an angel. She seemed to radiate goodness and he felt an overpowering need to protect her.

Awaking warm in a bed, Arianna sat up. The door ajar, she saw the silhouette of the man who’d brought her here. He glanced in.

“Go back to sleep, lass. I’ll not permit anyone to harm you.”

She nodded appreciatively and fell into a deep slumber. When next she stirred, sunlight peered through the window. The ache in her shoulders was gone although her wrists remained raw. She felt rested but her stomach rumbled. She was startled to see the innkeeper’s wife standing by the bed.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Aye. Thank you for your courtesy.”

“I’ve a gown that might do for you.”

“Why do you show me kindness? You know what the reverend thinks of me.”

“I don’t believe you’re a witch,” she whispered. “Mary Proctor said you didn’t harm her son or anyone.”

Arianna nodded.

“Your name is O’Sullivan?”

“Aye, I’m Arianna O’Sullivan.”

“I’d like you to accept these garments, Arianna. My daughter was surely near thine age when the fever took her.”

“I remember your daughter and her lovely smile. I was saddened to hear she’d passed.”

“She was a precious child,” the woman said. She began to weep and hastened away leaving the garments.

Arianna reluctantly left the bed. With water in the basin, soap and towels there too, she washed and donned the long shift, black gown and apron the considerate woman left. She attempted to ignore how the gown hugged her body. Reverend Smythe and his Puritan followers disapproved of any garment that revealed tempting sinful womanly endowments. She hoped the large collar partially concealed her breasts.

Finding a comb with the garments, she tamed her tangled curls, twisted and wrapped her hair under the white close-fitting coif she was expected to wear. Puritans considered it unseemly for a woman’s hair to be seen.

The smell of food wafted from below and Arianna was reminded of her renewed appetite. About to open the door, she backed away startled by quarreling. Reverend Smythe had clearly attempted to get inside and the kind stranger prevented it. She heard scuffling and the voices faded. Soon sturdy footfalls ascended the stairs followed by a rap upon the door. She opened it a crack to see the man who’d rescued her from the pillory.

Arianna was surprised at how tall he was. She was of average womanly height, but he towered over her. He boasted strong arms, broad shoulders and a muscular chest. His face was unquestionably handsome; his dark blond hair was a mass of loose curls pulled free from his surely once-neat plait. His eyes were strikingly blue.

He stepped in but left the door fully open no doubt to alleviate suspicion of impropriety. Unmarried men and women weren’t to be alone together, certainly not in a bedchamber.

“I’d like to speak with you. I’m Darius Wyndham. Mrs. Kent says your name is Arianna O’Sullivan? Is that so?” he asked.

“Why would I give a false name?” she replied.

“I wasn’t suggestin’ that, but simply making conversation, lass.”

“I fear I’ve become defensive,” Arianna said.

“I shouldn’t wonder with all Smythe’s put you through.”

His empathy put her at ease.

“You’re one of the Wyndhams of which this village bears the name?”

“Aye, my father founded the village some time ago,” he said. “Now, I trust you’re somewhat recovered from your ordeal? Your wrists were badly bruised.”

He reached for her arm. Unaccustomed to physical contact, she pulled away. His touch was gentle, but the sensation extraordinary. She’d once nearly been struck by lightning; her hair stood on end and her skin tingled. His touch was like that and she drew in her breath.

“Forgive me if I’ve hurt you. I could perhaps find snow; ice or snow on injuries can be soothing.”

“Are you a healer?” she asked.

He chuckled and she liked the sound of his laugh. “No, I’ve simply had enough bruises of my own to learn from experience.”

“I heal quickly, Mr. Wyndham. Thank you for your concern and for persuading Reverend Smythe to release me from the pillory.”

There was a spark of mischief in his alluring blue eyes. “Persuading mightn’t be precisely how it was done, but I accept your thanks. I regret you suffered with no one willing to assist you.”

“I don’t fault them. Punishment for aiding suspected witches is severe. I hope you won’t suffer because you freed me.”

“It wasn’t the first time I’ve disagreed with Reverend Smythe.”

Arianna felt his gaze. The undeniable attraction completely unsettled her. She’d never been attracted to a man and always ignored their attention or discouraged any advances.

She thought she’d been too distressed to remember much from yesterday, yet she could vividly recall him carrying her. She remembered his muscularity and the inexplicable familiarity of his appealing masculine scent as her head rested against him. She longed to feel his protective arms around her again and doubted mere gratitude would cause such yearning. Her heart beat faster as she looked at his engaging mouth wondering what it would be like if he kissed her. She recalled her mother’s words.

“You’ll feel a deeper love and passion than most, my darlin’ Arianna. It’s usually sudden and intense. Witches of our line always recognize their soul’s eternal match. There’ll be no sense opposin’ it. What is destined to be, will be, my girl.”

She’d been young then, not much older when her mother died, yet she remembered her words. Arianna hadn’t truly comprehended the message till now. As she stood beside this man increasingly aware of the powerful attraction, she understood. Her heart raced and her stomach fluttered. It occurred to her: she could fall in love with Darius Wyndham. If she remained in his company, she would fall in love with him.

That frightened her to the core. Well aware of the misfortune others often experienced when associated with her, Arianna didn’t want him to suffer. She was about to tell him she’d be setting off straightaway, when a woman brought a tray with delicious-smelling food. Arianna’s mouth watered; she couldn’t recall when she’d last eaten.

“Thank you. You may inform the Kents I’ll settle my account soon,” Darius said.

The woman smiled at him, curtsied, and then left.

“You must break fast with me. Mrs. Kent said you were too weak to eat last evening.”

It would seem ungracious to refuse. Arianna was hungry and uncertain when she’d eat again. He set the tray down and pulled out a chair for her. She nodded and finally sat. He propped a footstool against the open door, clearly reassuring her he had no dishonorable intentions.

The warm biscuits, smoked ham and cheese were delicious. Being mindful to eat in a ladylike manner was a feat, for she was ravenous. When the silence became awkward, he finally spoke.

“Do you have any family here?” he asked.

“I’ve no family to speak of…anywhere.”

He appeared deep in thought.

“Your family’s here in the colonies, Mr. Wyndham?”

“I have three brothers at a settlement a day’s ride from here, two married with children,” he said.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked.

“I was away for some time and was educated in England but I was born and lived most of my life here.”

Arianna had never met anyone born in the colonies. Like her, almost everyone was European. Mr. Wyndham sounded English, but sometimes she detected charming Irish tones. His next question effectually stirred her from her thoughts.

“Why aren’t you married?” he asked.

She pointedly stared at him. “Why would you presume I should be married or even that I’d want to be?”

He smiled at that. “If you had a husband to protect you, you mightn’t suffer so much.”

“Married women are also accused of witchcraft.”

“Aye, but widows and unmarried women often suffer more harshly. If you were my wife, I’d do everything I could to protect you.” He grinned then. “That wasn’t a marriage proposal, although I’m certain there’ve been many men who longed to wed you. You’re very beautiful.”

She attempted to ignore how his compliment pleased her but her cheeks grew warm and surely rosy.

“In England a man asked me to marry him, but I declined. I hope to have some say in whom I marry, if I should ever choose to do so.”

“I understand that.”

“I believe I heard Reverend Smythe mention your wife,” Arianna finally said.

He looked away and cleared his throat. “Aye, I was married. My wife…died.”

“Forgive me; I didn’t intend to pry.”

“It was some time ago.” He stood and pulled his hand through his hair. “You said you were in England, yet your name and accent suggest you’re Irish,” he said.

“I was born in Ireland, but lived half my life in England.”

“When did you come to the colonies?”

“It’s been a year,” she replied.

“As long as I’ve been back.” He now appeared deep in thought. “What month did you arrive?”

“September.”

“What day?” he asked.

“I never knew the precise date,” she said. “The crossing was unpleasant, for the sea was rough and there was sickness on the ship. I was simply relieved to reach land.”

“You weren’t on The Charles, the ship I sailed on,” he said.

“No, but that ship approached as those on our ship disembarked.”

“That’s odd we’d arrive the same day, then meet a year to the day later?” he said sitting down again.

“Coincidence, I suppose,” she said, though she doubted anything in her life happened by coincidence.

“You’ve lived with this scrutiny all that time?” he asked.

“I was in Salem. When the disturbing unpleasantness began there, I traveled to Andover, then Wyndham Village. Each location seems filled with suspicious, fearful people.”

“Aye, unfortunately that’s true. What made you come to the colonies if you’ve no family here?”

“I’d heard the New World held opportunity. I was to journey with a man…”

She stopped, uncertain how much to explain.

“You intended to make that lengthy journey with a man who was not your husband?”

“Does that affront your morality, Mr. Wyndham?” she said.

“It’s clearly not for me to judge. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” he quoted.

“Yet men are often afforded indulgence of their sins,” she said.

“Aye. It’s true, women are more harshly judged.”

“The man who was to accompany me was my aunt’s friend and a vicar.” Arianna wasn’t certain why she felt she must explain, but thought he seemed relieved. “He died just days before we were to sail.”

“It sounds like you haven’t had it easy,” he said.

He held his hand over his mouth, yawned and stretched. He shook his head; his eyelids drooping.

“You’re weary. I’ll go so you can rest,” she said as she stood. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Wyndham. I regret I’ve no means to repay your kindness much less the food and lodging.”

“I don’t expect payment,” he replied. “Where do you intend to go; where will stay?”

“I was staying with the Proctor family, working for my room and provisions. They won’t want me back after listening to Reverend Smythe and his son.”

“Exactly what do they believe…?”

Their conversation was interrupted when a man barged into the room.

“Yes, witch, inform the troublemaking Mr. Wyndham why the Proctors won’t welcome thy return.”

Johnathan Smythe stared at her, arrogantly awaiting her reply.

“I’ve truly no notion, but I’m sure you’ll be glad to relate whatever fabrication you’ve devised this time,” Arianna stated.