Free A Break With Charity: A Story About the Salem Witch Trials by Ann Rinaldi Page A

husband do not subscribe to the theory of witchcraft?"
    "We do not!" Mama said firmly. "We never have. But I fear we will soon be in the minority."
    Elizabeth nodded. "We who believe in kind must give comfort to each other and consult often," she said. Then she smiled at me. "Have you seen my young nephew Johnathan Hathorne lately?"
    "I haven't," I answered.
    "He is much taken with you. Are you sensible of that, Susanna?"
    "No, ma'am." It was the only modest and seemly answer I could give. "He hasn't been around to call."
    "He's been to Boston with his father." She turned back to Mama. "My brother will be one of the magistrates to hear the cases if this witch business comes to trial."
    "Do you think it will come to such?" Mama asked.
    "It will. My brother and Magistrate Corwin are thinking of accepting any mischief that follows quarrels between neighbors as grounds for suspicion of guilt of witchcraft."
    Mama and I just stared at the woman.
    "I don't agree with my brother on that point. There have been too many quarrels in Salem between neighbors."
    No one said anything for a moment as we considered this.
    "Does my nephew capture your fancy, Susanna?" she asked.
    "He's a handsome lad," I admitted. "And quick of mind."
    "He'll be off to Harvard next year. But he needs a push with the fairer sex. I'll speak with him."
    Before I could tell her not to trouble herself, she was off. Mama and I looked at each other and laughed. Then I felt the need for air. Too many thoughts were crowding my mind. So I put my cloak on and walked through town in the sunshine, heading toward the wharf.
    It was a bright day with a brisk breeze. The flags of two countries, Holland and France, were snapping on the masts of two trading vessels bobbing at anchor in the harbor. Likely their captains were delivering needles, nails, and gunpowder for hides, dried beef, salted fish, and whale oil.
    I loved the wharf. Two of my father's shallops were waiting for the outgoing tide so they could carry wheat to Boston. I stood there, a solitary figure apart from the activity, breathing in the fresh salt air. I'd hoped to find my father, but he was nowhere in sight.
    "Ho! Susanna!"
    John Dorich came out of the countinghouse on the end of the wharf. "Some sport!" He laughed. "Have you heard the news?"
    "About what?"
    "What indeed? The only subject on everyone's tongue these days."
    "You mean the cold weather?"
    "I mean the afflicted girls. You take my meaning, Susanna English. Why pretend otherwise?"
    "I'm done to death by the subject."
    "You've livelier subjects to discuss?"
    "I don't consider the matter lively. I consider it dull."
    "Then you don't wish to hear the news?"
    "Stop plaguing me, John. What is it? Or do you want a coin of the realm for your news?"
    "My, we're contentious today, aren't we?"
    "It's just that I'm weary of hearing about the antics of a few girls who have all of Salem in a state of anxiety."
    "Do I sense jealousy for the attention they are receiving? You must admit that no one our age ever got such attention before."
    His brown eyes were merry yet full of wisdom. John always had been a calculating soul. I could see he was not taking the antics of the girls seriously, and that cheered me. He was wise enough, perhaps, to see it all for what it was. Nonetheless, I must be careful in my conversation, I decided, and not give away what I knew.
    "Reverend Lawson visited the parsonage and found Abigail running through the rooms, flapping her arms like a bat, upsetting household objects, and wrestling with a creature that wasn't there," he told me.
    "A sad business," I said.
    "I say it's the greatest sport we've seen hereabouts for years."
    "What meaning am I to take from that, John?"
    He moved closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Would that I were of the fairer sex. I'd be one of their number."
    "John! What a thing to say!"
    "And why not? Consider it, Susanna. I think they carry on so for sport; that they are done to death with life hereabouts.