Free The Sacrifice by Kathleen Benner Duble

glances with Dorothy. Had Mama forgotten why Sarah had left their household?She could easily remind everyone of Papa’s fits. And Sarah could mention to the magistrates the day that Mama had sat up so abruptly in her sickbed and cried out. While Abigail now knew it was nothing more than the fever, would Sarah construe it to be the work of the devil?
    “This thing grows worse daily,” Uncle Daniel said. He dropped Mama’s hand and paced the room, running his fingers through his hair. “The trials are most awful to behold, with the accusers moaning and groaning and screaming for the accused to stop tormenting them. There our neighbors stand, wringing their hands in terror, not knowing what to say. They are confused, Hannah. And truly, I am confused too. Have we all gone mad?”
    Mama went and put her arm around Uncle Daniel. “Come sit with me, Daniel. You must rest your mind. These days are troubled, I know. But we work hourly to end this madness and to free Elizabeth. I am certain we will succeed.”
    Dorothy came to Abigail’s side.
    “I fear for Mama, Abby,” Dorothy whispered. “She does not remember what Sarah Phelps witnessed that day. Should we tell her?”
    “Nay, Dorothy,” Abigail said. “Let us not trouble Mama unduly. Instead, let us pray with all our might that Sarah Phelps is accusing someone other than Mama or Papa.”
    Yet in the morning, Constable Ballard and Justice Bradstreet came to their door.
    Abigail stood behind Mama and Papa. Her prayers hadn’t mattered. They had come.
    “We are here,” Justice Bradstreet said, as he stood tall and stern in the warm summer air, “for the two witches that lie within this house.”
    Mama stepped boldly forward. “Witches?” she said scornfully, her back erect. “Come, William. Come, Dudley. We are neighbors. You know my husband and I are not witches.”
    “You have not been accused, Hannah,” Justice Bradstreet replied, “nor your husband.”
    “Well, if not us,” Papa asked, bewildered, “then who?”
    “Abigail Faulkner and Dorothy Faulkner,” Constable Ballard replied. “They have been accused.”

twelve
    Abigail felt as if the ground beneath her were swaying back and forth. Had she heard Constable Ballard correctly? Had he accused her of being a witch?
    Papa laughed. “Pray, what is this, William?” he said. “Surely you jest. Are you but having a bit of sport with us?”
    Constable Ballard shook his head. “I fear not, Francis. Sarah Phelps has accused them.”
    Mama reached out and pulled Abigail and Dorothy to her.
    “Mama?” Franny said in a high, thin voice. “What is happening?”
    “Franny,” Mama said, “stay behind me, child.”
    Papa’s face hardened. He took a step toward Justice Bradstreet, his hands clenched at his sides. Paul moved up beside him, and Abigail saw the anger in her brother’s face.
    “Surely, sir, you don’t mean to suggest that Abigail and Dorothy serve the devil?” Papa’s voice was loud. “They are but children.”
    Abigail stared. Never had she seen her father so angry or firm.
    “’Tis not for me to decide, Francis,” Justice Bradstreet said. “I am simply serving the arrest.”
    “An arrest for
children
!” Mama cried. “
Children
! Think on it, Dudley. Is there not some part of you that knows this to be wrong?”
    “Hannah,” Justice Bradstreet said, “surely you are aware that I do not think your children are witches. But I must do my job.”
    “You will have difficulty, then, sir, doing your job today or on the morrow,” Papa said, his voice strong. “You will not take my children. I forbid it!”
    Dorothy gasped.
    Justice Bradstreet stepped up to Papa and looked him directly in the eye. “They have been accused,Francis,” he said. “They will have their chance to prove their innocence at trial. Unless, of course, you mean to defy the laws of this community.”
    Abigail saw her father look at Justice Bradstreet’s stern face and his fists that were also clenched, as