Page 73 of The Witch

Of all the people in the courtroom, Molly’s testimony is the one that I have dreaded the most. As damning as all the others have been, hers will be the worst.

Because she despises me.

Molly makes her way to the front, clothed in one of my finest dresses. I want to jump out of my seat and rip it from her back. Or perhaps I could hex her and have her strip it off on her own, as if such a thing were possible! But of course, none of this can happen. I must sit here, my wrists shackled together, staring at this detestable woman who may have the power to seal my fate.

“Molly Howe,” Magistrate Putman addresses my former servant, “how are you acquainted with the accused?”

She smiles prettily. “I work in her household.”

“Have you observed any behavior from the accused that you would describe as witchcraft?”

“Oh yes!” Molly replies, her face somber but her tone gleeful. “Her acquaintance with the devil is well known. She has even hosted him in our own home!”

How can she say such a thing? I bite my tongue to keep from crying out that she is a liar. I will get my turn. And even before that, Archie will defend me.

“Can you describe what you have witnessed?” Putman asks her.

“Mistress Eldridge feeds the devil in our kitchen every morn,” Molly says. “She calls him by the name Gideon.”

I can take no more of this. “’Tis but a cat!” I burst out.

“Mistress Eldridge,” Putman says in a warning voice.

“He takes the form of a cat,” Molly agrees. “And Mistress Eldridge feeds him from her teat. But I have seen the creature take his true form.”

“And what is that, Molly?”

She shudders. “’Twas a terrifying hairy creature. It had the face of a man, the body of a monkey, and the legs of a rooster.”

I look around the room, astonished at the rapt expressions of my townsfolk. How could they truly believe that I am hosting the devil in my kitchen in the form of a man-monkey-rooster?

“And then,” she adds, “Mistress Eldridge and the devil creature tried to entice me to sign the devil’s book of laws. But I refused, because I am a woman of God!”

“You are very brave,” Putman says sympathetically.

Molly reaches into her bosom and pulls out a handkerchief—my handkerchief with my initials embroidered on it—and dabs delicately at her eyes. “I was so frightened, Your Honor.”

The buzzing in the courtroom has become almost deafening. Putman has to bang his gavel to regain control of the room. I can only sit there, stunned. Surely, they cannot convict me of witchcraft based on these outlandish lies. I will have my chance to tell them what happened. And Archie will defend me as well—he will come to my defense and tell the whole courtroom that Molly Howe’s words are all lies. I glance in the direction of my husband, hoping for a reassuring look, but he is staring straight ahead.

Putman goes on to inquire about the fits that Judith Hatch was having. Molly confirms Dr. Shaylor’s account, adding that she saw me give Judith Hatch the evil eye and mumble chants just before the fits began. It was only through the tireless efforts of Dr. Shaylor that Judith was nursed back to health.

By the time Molly is done, I feel fortunate that Magistrate Putman has control over the room, because if he did not, the townspeople would seize me and hang me at the gallows themselves. But thankfully, Molly is the last of my accusers.

It is over.

When Putman dismisses Molly, she stands from her seat, and for a moment, the shawl around her shoulders slips. I am not sure if anyone else noticed, but I am very familiar with that dress; I can see clearly that there is a thickening in the midsection where the fabric strains.

That makes no sense to me. Molly is a fine-boned girl, slender and delicate. Her waist has always been tiny. So why would the fabric strain against her belly?

Molly returns to the pews but this time takes a seat next to my husband. She slides in close to him and they exchange brief, meaningful looks. And then I catch a glimpse of his hand resting briefly on her knee. Why is she sitting so close to him? What is that smile on his lips as he turns his head in her direction?

No. No. It cannot be.

It cannot be.

“We have heard from the last of the accusers of Mistress Caroline Eldridge,” Putman says. He rests his gaze on my husband. “Archibald Eldridge, would you like to speak words in favor of the character of your wife?”

This is what I have been waiting for. I have been waiting for Archie to sit at the front of the room and tell everybody that I am not a witch and that their accusations are preposterous. People might not listen to me, but everyone listens to Archie. I lean forward, eager for his words in my defense.