Page 30 of The Witch

The stench is so bad up here, I can smell it even when I’m breathing through my mouth. My eyes water as I reach for the doorknob. My fingers close around the cold metal, and a voice in the back of my head is screaming at me to turn around and go back to my room. But how can I go back to my room? I’ll just lie awake wondering what’s in the attic, and if it’s going to come out the second I turn my head.

Slowly, I turn the doorknob.

This time, it doesn’t turn under my hand. It takes me a second to realize that the door leading to the attic has been locked.

“Mick?” I call out, hoping he went up to the attic for tools or other supplies. “Ethel?” I pause. “Gram?”

Nobody answers. My shoulders sag with a combination of disappointment and relief. Whatever is in the attic, I’m not going to figure it out tonight. Now that the decision is out of my hands, I feel a lot calmer.

Maybe I’ll be able to fall asleep again. And tomorrow, I’m getting into that attic.

22

1692

CAROLINE

The town jail is adjacent to Town Square, only a stone’s throw from the gallows.

I make haste on my journey to the jail. I considered asking Archie to accompany me, but he is so busy at the dock, and I fear he is already convinced of Hitty’s guilt. While I ride on Lucky’s back, I try to think of what I shall say to Sheriff Bixby when I arrive. What could I tell him to convince him of Hitty’s innocence? I could say that she is a fine person who knows more about medicine than Dr. Shaylor. I could tell him that she grows the finest herbs in Woodhaven.

But I fear none of it will be enough.

The Woodhaven jail is a small facility that is one story high with a cellar beneath, which is where the prisoners are incarcerated. Like most of the houses, it is constructed of wood, but it is clear that this is a jail based on the crisscross of bars lining all the narrow windows. The door is made of wood, but the heavy strap hinges were constructed by the local blacksmith. I try to ignore the trembling in my right hand as I knock, still uncertain what I will do to convince them of Hitty’s innocence.

Presently, the door swings open, and Deputy Sheriff Oliver Strickland stands before me. Strickland is the husband of Sheriff Bixby’s daughter and came to lend his services only recently, when the Night Reaper began terrorizing our town. He is a slight man, possessing features delicate and almost comely. His hair, as blond as snow, is wispy as feathers such that I glimpse his scalp peeking through.

Although he appears gentle, I have heard tales of Oliver Strickland’s fierce temper. He metes out punishments as if they were sweets—just the other eve, he confined a lad of ten in the stockades overnight for the minor transgression of breaking a window, while the boy wept for his mother.

I hold no fondness for Deputy Strickland. But I manage to plaster a smile on my face.

“Hello, Deputy,” I say. “My name is Mistress Eldridge.” When there is no flicker of recognition in his eyes, I add, “I am Archibald Eldridge’s wife.”

He looks at me appraisingly, his gaze crawling from my throat down to my bosom. “I was not aware that Mistress Temperance Eldridge was so lovely.”

“Temperance passed,” I say quietly. “I am Caroline.”

“I see.” He smiles at me, but I sense cruelty in his curled lips. “Pray, what service can I do for you, Mistress Caroline Eldridge?”

“I am here,” I say, “to inquire about Hitty Atkins.”

The smile widens on Deputy Strickland’s lips, as if he is remembering something particularly pleasant. “Do not worry, fair maid. That servant of the devil will hang tomorrow at noon.”

“But Hitty is innocent,” I protest. “She is no witch. I would swear on my life.”

Strickland’s smile falters as he narrows his eyes at me. “She was tried in a court of law and was found guilty.”

“But you must see how silly this is,” I insist. “Hitty is just a harmless old woman. She is no more harmful than you or I.”

“Is that so?” There is something almost wicked in his stare that makes me squirm with unease. “And how do you know such a thing?”

“She is my friend.”

The deputy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your friend? What activities did you undertake together, Mistress Eldridge?”

His appraisal of me seems to have shifted. His beady eyes creep over me like a shadow. I am beginning to think that I have erred greatly by coming here. I worry that Deputy Strickland might not allow me to leave.

Strickland opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, we are interrupted by a commotion from behind me. The deputy’s attention has shifted from my face, and his eyes widen as his entire body goes rigid. I finally turn to see what is happening, and I catch a glimpse of Sheriff Bixby leading a man through Town Square with shackles on his wrists. All the townspeople have stepped aside to gawk at the spectacle, and it is only when they are halfway across the square, nearly at the jail, that I finally recognize the man in shackles.