Page 9 of Damnation (Gallows Hill)

Chapter Seven

Sarah

I await for the guard to take his break before I attempt to slip into the jailhouse. Thankful to God, the sheriff has his attention on the reverend, who is still hollering and raising a commotion out front.

My feet tread carefully across the dirt floor, avoiding small puddles of water where yesterday’s rain had come through the roof.

The odor is repugnant in the air, stale and smelling of death.

I pull my bonnet over my face, attempting to conceal my identity as I pass by a few men who are no doubt in here for various crimes, before I stop at the furthest cell around the corner.

There, Tituba sits on the floor, drawing patterns into the dirt with her finger as she murmurs something under her breath. Slowly, I lower myself to her level, tipping back my bonnet enough to allow her to see me.

“Why have you come?” she asks, her thick Caribbean accent coating her words as she keeps her eyes on the floor.

“I heard of what has happened. Tituba, you did not really bewitch those girls, I know it to be true…right?”

“Maybe. Though a little sleeping potion from time to time to calm Betty’s fits.

I cannot understand why the girls would turn on me so.

When I have cared for them in the way their own mother cannot.

Why is it so simple for them to forsake me, cast me away as if I am a danger to all?

” she asks, her deep brown eyes coming to my own.

“So, you have not harmed?” I ask, making sure her intentions are pure. If they be true, there shall be no reason for this level of treatment.

A hardened look passes upon her face as she looks away and speaks.

“Perhaps a few stomach aches have been given to Elizabeth when she has treated me or the girls less than. She’s a vile woman, vile things to occur to her are the least of what she deserves.”

The sleep aid could be viewed as helping, though the Church and townsfolk would no doubt consider it to be witchcraft, I would like to hope they would see it for the good it is.

Every time little Betty shakes, she gets slower, duller.

Her body cannot take many more years of it, so I ought see nothing wrong with aiding that.

‘Tis a gift if anything, but the stomach pain?

Causing intentional hurt and harm? ‘Tis where Tituba and I do not see eye to eye or heart to heart.

She not only practices the same healing as I, she plays in the darkness.

We have not yet spoken of it deeply. For when she spoke of dolls she creates to emulate others, I insisted she stop.

My mother warned me of such things as a child.

A dangerous kind of power, a dark one. One that I ought not even listen to for risk spending my eternity rotting in hell with the Devil himself.

She urged me to stay to the light, stay connected to God and harness the power and energy he gifted not only this world, but me with, and I have done as she so told.

“Tituba…” I trail off. “Reverend Parris is out for your head! You must stop all talk of such things,” I urge as I lower my voice, fearful of the others locked away listening in.

“My head has been on his chopping block for a great long while,” she says numbly, as if she has accepted the fate to come.

I roll my lips together, attempting to put into words my fears before she speaks.

“Why have you come? I know for certain, ‘tis not out of concern for me.”

Frowning at that, I shake my head.

“‘Tis not true. I did come to see you, to discover what may have happened. To?—”

“Find out if I have let on there may be more witches in Salem that they not know of yet?” she asks, a sharp glint in her eye as she speaks.

The way she says witches, like a hissing sound that echoes in this damp jail cell, sends chills up my back. I do not think of myself as a witch, not in the slightest. I’m a healer, a harnesser of nature. I help. I don’t cast spells on people. None of that really is the point, though, is it?

“Please, Tituba. I’m begging. I have a child. I…I’m with child,” I say a little softer.

That appears to grip hold of her attention.

Her head turns up with haste as she looks at me curiously before her dirt covered hand reaches through the jail bars, landing right onto my stomach.

She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply before she pulls away.

Her eyes open, and her hand leaves behind a near perfect handprint onto my dress as a sinister smile spreads across her face.

“And ‘tis not your husband’s child.”

She tuts at me as if I am a misbehaving child as she shakes her head.

“You have been a naughty witch, Miss Sarah.”

“I am not a witch,” I hiss under my breath. “You ought not be spreading lies of good people! What have I ever done to deserve that kind of betrayal? I have aided you when you have asked of it. I have created tonics, fetched herbs when you could not. We were…we are friends, are we not?”

Tituba sits back, resting her head against the cement wall.

“Only in namesake. I hath not spoken your name or others out of loyalty. Yet.”

“What do you mean, yet?” I ask, fear shaking through my voice as I lean in closer. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, Miss Sarah…but in these times…I will do what is necessary for my survival.”

Fear clenches inside me as I stand, covering my face once more as I run out of the jailhouse, slipping out the back as I did in.

I do not stop running till I am all the way home.

Once I arrive, I have every intention of packing anything I can carry for myself and Dorothy and running.

Where, I cannot be sure, but…anywhere. Then I think on what will cross Thomas’s mind when he discovers I’ve run away, with his baby.

He will come for me, chase me, and bring the Church right along with him.

Closing my eyes, I make a plan. I will find him tomorrow.

I will convince him of my terror with the whispers of witches, with the danger to Dorothy and our baby.

I will urge us to make the journey now. Winter or not, if I do not leave Salem soon, I fear I will not live to see the next.