CHAPTER 4

When Mother spoke again, Adira could hear tears in her voice as well. "Adira, listen to me. You must listen."

Adira tried to quieten herself, to do as her mother wished, but she vowed to herself, that she would somehow save her. She would not let her mother die tomorrow.

"When it is over," her mother continued, "you must return to our cottage in the village. But do so by night, and be very careful. You must not be seen. Do not wait too long, my dear child, lest they burn the house in their vengeance or award it to your Aunt Maria's family in return for her testimony against us. You must go back secretly. Gather only what you will need for your journey. Then go to the fireplace. There is a loose stone there. Take what you find hidden beyond that stone."

"But, Mother..."

"And take the horse, if she is still there. You may sell the horse in some other village. But take care. Should you meet anyone, do not tell them your true name. And as soon as you can, book passage on a ship to the New World. Now promise me you will do these things, Adira."

"I will not let them kill you, Mother."

"There is nothing you can do to prevent it, child. I will have your promise, though, and I will die in peace because of it. Promise me, Adira."

Sniffling, she muttered, "I promise, Mother."

"Good." Her mother sighed so deeply, it seemed as if some great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "Good," she whispered once more, and then she kept quiet. Slept, perhaps. Adira could not be sure. She cried in silence from then on, not wishing to trouble her Mother with her tears. But Adira thought that her mother somehow knew.

When dawn came, it brought with it the magistrate, and beside him a woman, looking agitated with red-rimmed eyes. Behind them walked a man who wore the robes of a priest. He had an aged face, thin and harsh, with a hooked nose that made Adira think of a hawk or some other hungering bird of prey. He was pale as if he were ill, or weak. And then they came closer, and Adira could see only their feet, for she could not tip her head back enough to see more.

"Beth John Thompson," the Magistrate said, "you and your daughter are charged with the crime of witchcraft. Will you confess to your crimes?"

Her mother's voice was weaker now, and Adira could hear the pain in it. "I will confess only if you release my daughter. She is guilty of nothing."

"No," the woman said in a shrill voice. "You must execute them now, Magistrate. Both of them!"

"But the law..." he began.

"The law! What care do you have for the law when our own child has become ill overnight? What more proof do you need?" the woman said.

At her words, Adira's heart fell. That woman was blaming them for her child's illness, just as her Aunt had done. No one could save them now.

Adira heard footsteps then and sensed the magistrate had gone closer to her mother. Leaning over her, he said, "Lift this curse, woman. Lift it now, I beg of you."

"I have brought no curse upon you nor your family, Sir," her mother told the magistrate. "Were it in my power to help your child, I would gladly do so. As I would have for my own husband and my nephew. But I cannot."

"Execute them!" his wife shouted. "Our son Mark was fine until you arrested these two. They brought this curse on him, made him ill out of pure revenge, I tell you, and if they live long enough to kill him, they will. Execute them, my husband. It is the only way to save our son!" the Magistrate's wife said.

The priest stepped forward then, his black robes hanging heavily about his feet and dragging through the wet snow. His steps were slow as if they cost him a great effort. He went first to her mother, saying nothing, and Adira could not see what he did. But he came seconds later to her and closed his hand briefly around her hand.

A surge of something, a crackling, shocking sensation, like a current jolted Adira's hand and sizzled into her forearm, startling her so that she cried out.

"Do not harm my daughter!" her mother shouted.

The priest took his hand away, and the odd sensation vanished with his touch, leaving Adira shaken and confused. What had it been?

"I fear you are right," the priest said to the magistrate and his wife. "They must die, or your son surely will. And I fear there is no time for a trial. But I know, God will forgive you for that."

Pacing away, his back to them, the magistrate muttered, "Then I have little choice, left." And then the three of them left Adira and her mother alone again. But it was only for a few brief moments.

"Mother," Adira whispered. "I am so afraid."

"You have nothing to fear from them, Adira," her mother replied.

But Adira did fear. She had never felt such fear grip her as she felt then, for within a few minutes the priest had returned, and he brought several others with him. Large, strong men. People filled the streets as Adira and her mother were taken from the stocks. The people shouted and called them murderers and more. They threw things at them, as also refuse, and rotten food, even as the men bound their hands behind their backs and tossed them onto a rickety wagon, pulled by a single horse. She crawled close to her mother, where she sat straight and proud in that wagon, and she leaned against her mother, her head on her mother's shoulder, her arms straining at their bonds, but unable to embrace her.

"Be strong," her mother told her. "Be brave, Adira. Do not let them see you tremble in fear before them."

"I am trying Mother," Adira whispered.

The wagon drew to a stop, and the ride had been all too short. Adira looked up to see a gallows, one used so often it looked to be a permanent fixture here. She was dragged from the wagon and her mother behind her. But her mother did not fight as Adira did. Her mother got to her feet and held her head high, and no one needed to force her up the wood steps to the platform. On the other hand, Adira kicked and bit and thrashed against the hands of her captors.

Adira's mother paused on those steps and looked back at her, and caught her gaze, and sent a silent message to her. 'Dignity.' She mouthed the words, then. And Adira stopped fighting and tried to emulate her mother's courage, her dignity, as she was marched up the steps to stand beside her, beneath a dangling noose.