Page 63 of The Witch

“You are a beautiful woman, Caroline,” he says. There is something in his voice that makes his tongue seem thicker than it is.

I hug my chest with one arm to warm myself and conceal my bosom, reaching for the dress again with the other. “May I please get dressed?”

“If I were your husband,” he continues, as if I have not spoken, “I would be in front of the jailhouse at every moment, demanding they let you free.” He pauses. “And yet…where is your husband? Where is Archibald Eldridge?”

His words cause something to break within me. I have grown weary of begging this wretched man for favors. “My husband is twice the man you are,” I retort. “You are nothing compared to him.”

“And yet,” he says with a leer, “I am here and he is not.”

Strickland takes a step toward me and reaches out to touch the curve of my bosom. I cringe and step back, but I hit the wall. There is nowhere to go in this tiny cell. There is nowhere to run. I have but two paths before me: abide by his wishes or stand and fight.

I will fight.

But before I have a chance, I hear a soft thud, and the deputy’s hand instantly drops from my body. Suddenly, he is rubbing the top of his head, a comically confused expression on his face. It takes me a second to realize that Jonas picked up the bowl that had been left on the floor and threw it at him. It sailed through the open door to my cell and struck the deputy in the skull.

“Ah, you are a fair mark to strike, Deputy Strickland!” Jonas flashes Strickland a row of straight teeth. “Tell me: If I hit you thrice, do I earn a token for the maiden?”

Strickland’s normally pale skin turns a shade of deep scarlet. He drops the wool dress on the floor, having forgotten all about me in his rage. Before he can change his mind, I snatch the dress from the floor and throw it over my head. ’Tis just as itchy as I expected, but at least it is warm and conceals my body.

After I pull my head through the neck of the dress, I can see Strickland fumbling with his ring of keys. He locks my cell first and then turns to Jonas’s cell. Yesterday, I believed he feared Jonas, but his bright red face tells me his ire has overtaken any fear.

“Pray come inside.” Jonas is still grinning at him. “You will be an easier mark.”

Jonas’s hands ball into fists as the door swings open. Strickland gets his hand on his baton, and like a flash, he has it in the air. Jonas is quick—he makes a valiant grab for it, and if he were even a split second faster, the baton would have been his and everything would have gone very differently. But he is not quick enough. The baton comes down against Jonas’s shoulder with a sickening crack. The blow is enough to bring Jonas to his knees.

“Not smiling anymore then, are we?” Strickland says. “You vile murderer.”

Strickland is far from done with Jonas. I watch with growing horror as he brings the baton down on Jonas again and again and again. By the end of the beating, Jonas does not move. He simply lies on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. I can scarcely breathe.

And then, when it feels like it will never end, it is quite suddenly over. Strickland spits on Jonas’s body, exits the cell, and locks the door behind him. He casts a look in my direction and smiles to reveal a row of yellow and rotting teeth. “Did you enjoy the show, Mistress Eldridge?”

I shrink back, not wanting to give him any reason to come back into my cell.

Thank the Lord, he seems to have lost interest in me. He replaces the baton back on his belt and jerks his head in the direction of Jonas’s body. “If he ever wakes up, tell him he will go to Boston for his trial on Tuesday.”

Tuesday. The day after my own trial. By then, I shall be free.

Or hanging from the gallows.

Strickland treads heavily up the stairs, forsaking us in our cells. I peer at Jonas by the flicker of the torch. I seek the rise and fall of his chest—I do not see it.

“Jonas?” I whisper. Then a bit louder, “Jonas!”

No answer.

I stare at the still form sprawled on the floor, a heavy melancholy washing over me. I should feel no grief for the demise of this knave. He brought four maidens to their untimely ends. He threatened to do likewise to me. In life, he was an evil man, and surely the devil dwelled within him.

Yet, he risked his own life to save me from the terrible things Strickland meant to do to me. And all I can think is that it does not make sense that an evil person would do such a thing.

45

It is long after the sun goes down and the beads of light peeking through the cracks in the wall have vanished that I hear a groan from the cell next to mine.

I have been lying on my bed of straw, but at the sound, I leap to my feet. I bound over to the bars of my cell, and I press myself against them, trying to get a better look.

“Jonas?” My voice echoes through the room.

I am rewarded with another groan.