Page 12 of Damnation (Gallows Hill)

Chapter Ten

Thomas

“ W hat are you doing?” Edward screams in my face.

I reel back at the anger in his tone.

“What am I doing? What are you? Why did you send her off with Walcott of all people? The man is an arse!”

“Why are you concerned where or with whom a witch goes?”

My eyes narrow at him as I lower my tone.

“She is not a witch.”

“Then what is she, brother? Is she your whore? The bed too cold with Ann at nights, so you took a fancy with the beggar woman. Please tell me she parts her legs better than her lazy husband work?—”

He does not get to finish his sentence before my fist is driving into his face. He staggers backwards, blood beginning to run down his face as I take hold of his jacket, pulling him close to my face.

“Speak ill of her again, and I shall slit your throat myself. Mention her body in any such way, and I shall shoot you dead. Do not try my patience, brother, if I must choose between her or you, it shall be her. Every. Time.”

Edward looks speechless, whether from shock or rage, I cannot be sure.

I imagine he was throwing guesses, but did not think I would confess to my feelings.

What do I have to lose in the name of things at the moment?

My world is falling apart, the woman I love, pregnant with my child, has been arrested for witchcraft, and I am unsure how I will free her from such a situation.

One thing is true. I must get to the bottom of this, speak with her, do anything and everything I am able to set us both free. ‘Tis the only way.

Moving away from Edward, I take to my horse across the way. I ready her for the ride as Edward shouts at me from across town.

“So that is it? Thou follows her like a good servant? Is she your master?”

Yes. Master of my heart, of my happiness, of my world. I do not wish to care how that makes me sound. How backwards that may be. I love her, and I will live for her until my dying breath.

I pay no mind to my infuriating brother as I ride in the direction to Ipswich. I cannot take a full breath until I see her once more, until I sort this matter. I have never come upon an issue that money or influence could not resolve. I anticipate this matter to be just the same.

I made the ride to Ipswich in good time. Good enough that as I was arriving, Walcott and Lewis were leaving back to Salem. Both exchanged curious glances with each other before casting their looks my way, but, nevertheless, they rode on.

I jump down to my feet, securing my horse, and step inside the jail. ‘Tis as if I can already feel her presence here. Like the uncertainty inside me settles when I am near her. The jailor looks upon me with irritation.

“What business does thou have?”

“I shall first require you to adjust your tone when you speak to me in such a manner,” I snarl.

The young lad who ought not be older than twenty rights himself but looks to me with unease as I continue.

“My name is Thomas Putnam, I am one of the most prominent members of Salem Village, and I will be treated as such, or it shall be your job, perhaps even your head, if you wish to continue.”

‘Tis arrogant of me to expect such treatment from someone who hath never met me. Perhaps even more so to assume he knows of me, though my reputation appears to not have let me down just yet. At the sound of my name, the young jailor seems to pale and swallow.

“Mr. Putnam, apologies. I did not know.”

“And now you do. Forget your hollow words and listen carefully as I speak. I am here on urgent business. I must speak with one of the accused you have in your custody. Sarah Good.”

He nods, moving to guide me down to the jail cells.

I must admit, I did not think it would be that easy.

When he reaches the end of the cells, I see Sarah sitting upon the dirt covered floor in the corner. Beside her sits Sarah Osborne, though neither gazes upon one another. My love looks to me, hope blooming in her tear filled eyes as the jailor nods to her.

“This be the one, sir?”

“Aye,” I agree as I look down at her, doing my best to mask my desire. “Does thou possess an interrogation room here?”

“No, sir. Not as of yet.”

I purse my lips. I really ought to have wished for privacy, especially from Osborne.

“The nature of which I speak has no business for prying ears,” I say to him, gesturing to Osborne.

She shoots me a dirty look that I barely acknowledge. The jailor nods as he unlocks the door and steps inside, grabbing Osborne’s shackled hands before dragging her to her feet.

“This one could use a bucket of water. Not even in her cell for an hour and already stunk up the place.”

I nod, not giving a damn what he does with her as long as he takes her away.

I do not move an inch till I hear the sound of the door shutting before stepping into the cell, dropping to my knees beside Sarah.

Her arms embrace me, and I press my lips to her own before I can take my next breath.

Finally. Peace. It washes over me like a fresh wave, breathing life into my starved soul.

I hold us in place for what feels like eternity, and yet, not at all long enough.

When we break apart, a sadness fills me as I take in the conditions in which she endures.

“Why have you come? Will others not talk?” Sarah asks.

“Allow them to do so. I shall not care for their hollow words. I need only hear the truth in thine.”

She frowns at me and shakes her head.

“What do you speak of?”

I swallow, not wanting to speak my thoughts aloud.

Once I do, they are out there for good, and I am too fearful of the answer.

I love the woman before me, there be no doubt of that, I also have come to know her well during our courtship.

Well, enough to know when there is more to a story, more that she has yet to share, and I fear that is the case.

“The nonsense Osborne spoke of…about you. Give me the words I need to defend you. Speak the truth, they were falsities, yes?”

Understanding comes upon her face, twisting my stomach with nerves.

“Thomas…” she speaks softly.

My name. Not a yes. Not an explanation. A plea.

Slowly, I withdraw my hands from hers as I stand to my feet. I pace in place for several moments before turning to look down upon her.

“‘Tis true? You are a witch?”

“NO! No,” she says as she climbs to her feet, attempting to convince me. “I am not what they say, nor have I done what I am accused of. I…” She pauses for a moment, rubbing her lips together as if they will do the speaking for her.

“I am no witch, Thomas. I love God and reject the Devil. I love you. I would never lie to you, about anything.”

“But you certainly withheld this for the duration of our courtship, did you not?” I snap, fury and betrayal coursing through my veins as I look upon the woman I thought I knew better than myself.

She looks hurt, in response to my words or maybe my tone, as she shakes her head.

“I’ve never spoken aloud of what I practice.

I knew how the Church would see it, how people would talk.

I am not evil. I only try to bring good.

I harness the energy and gifts God has provided me to do good.

Tonics, supplements, healing stones. I do not channel dark, only light.

I have never afflicted anyone nor harmed in any way. Thomas, please, you know me,” she begs.

I shake my head, staring at the cement wall as I mull over her words.

They pull at my heart the way all her words do.

I want so badly to believe her, to trust her.

How can what she say be true? A good witch?

A light witch? There be no such thing. Though if there ever would be, I imagine she would look something like my Sarah. Kind, warm, giving.

“Speak true to me now, did you harm Abigail or Betty?”

“No!” she insists. “I never cross paths with the girls. When would I have the time nor desire to do such things?”

I watch her closely, searching for a hint of insincerity in her words, but I come up shy.

She seems to be speaking the truth, and I want to believe her, so.

There is a small voice in the back of my head that screams for me to tread with caution.

Whether it be the little angel or devil on either shoulder, I cannot speak on which calls to me now.

Shaking my head, I look to the ground as I speak, not having the gall to do it eye to eye.

“I think ‘tis best you stay here till evidence can be collected.”

“As if I had a choice,” she scoffs. “Say what you truly mean, Thomas. You believe me not, and now you are turning thy back upon me. Upon us,” she says, resting her shackled hands upon her belly.

That stirs something inside me, and I close the distance between us, placing my hands on top of hers.

“Never. I just…I am worried if they speak the truth, my love. I have faith in you, but others will not. Maybe…maybe you ought confess to witchcraft as Tituba did. She is being gifted pardon in exchange.”

“No. I will not allow them to depict me for something I am not.”

I attempt to reason with her. “Sarah, thee will not stand a fair trial! If thou tries to explain you are a good sort of witch, they will remain unbelieving and you will hang!”

“Do not forsake my intelligence, Thomas. They will hang me either way.”

“No,” I say, clenching my teeth together. “No. I will not allow it. We will…will find a way. I will break thee out of here. I shall head back to Salem Village, collect provisions, and will return for you in a fortnight.”

“What of Dorothy?” she argues.

“My concern is getting you away from danger first. We will fetch Dorothy at a later time. Stay safe. I will return soon.”

She blinks up at me with uncertainty when the sound of the door echoes through the jail. Hurriedly, I press a kiss to her lips as she whispers.

“Do not forget me.”

“Never,” I vow as I slip out of the cell, attempting to mask my emotions as the jailor brings in a dripping wet Osborne.

He tosses her into the cell, locking it behind her as he looks to me.

“Is thy business concluded?”