Free Crane Pond by Richard Francis

time to collect his thoughts. ‘Some children have soft and tender souls,’ he explains, ‘others vigorous and resistant ones. Some can be overcome by the blandishments of Satan, others not, just like the rest of us. But of course, being children, there is more chance their innocence and naivety will succumb to evil wiles and wheedling and empty promises than if they had some knowledge of the ways of the world and the mysteries of the spirit.’
    Suddenly there’s a scream and a commotion. It sounds as if it’s coming from one of the bedrooms. Betty’s voice—perhaps she’s in despair again. Given their conversation, the very last thing Sewall wants is for Mr. Mather to conclude she is possessed, or even
resisting
possession
    But Mr. Mather is pulling on his gloves. He seems not to have noticed the scream. Or perhaps he is pretending not to. ‘I must be going,’ he says. ‘I must be back in my study at two o’clock prompt.’ He has a sign on the outside of his study door,
Be Short
. There is always another book to be written.
    The two men go down the stairs together as if the sounds of wailing now filling the house are no more significant than dogs barking or birds singing. As soon as he has gone, Sewall turns and races back up to find out what on earth is going on. The bedroom shared by Betty and Hannah seems to be heaving with people. Betty is sitting on the bed weeping, her face in her hands, being tended to by her mother. Joseph is cowering behind a dresser, being harangued by Sarah. Young Hannah is standing lost and wet-eyed in the middle of the room, biting her thumbnail. ‘What on earth is the matter?’ Sewall asks.
    â€˜Joseph threw a coin at Betty, and it cut her forehead,’ wife Hannah tells him.
    Betty is clutching a bloody cloth to her forehead. Sewall moves her reluctant hands away and inspects the damage. There’s quite a long cut, and he worries that it may leave a scar. Stitching would only make it worse. She’ll need a tight bandage to hold the edges together. The coin must have been spinning like a tiny wheel so that the edge sliced through Betty’s skin. He looks over at the skulking Joseph. Suddenly the room seems to darken. Perhaps a black cloud has covered the sky and dimmed the window.
    The child has his hands flat over his face and is turned towards the wall. His posture puts Sewall in mind of our first parents and their transgression in the Garden of Eden. He recalls Joseph’s attempt at an S in his hornbook, how it took the form of a wriggling serpent. After all, the child went on to transform a gift from a minister of God into a weapon to wound his sister. So much for the innocence of children.
    Sewall gives little Joseph a smacking, the child crying and Sewall sorrowing too, though whether in anguish at his guilt or at the thought that he is just a little boy, and it was only a penny, he isn’t quite sure.
    Â 
    A thaw in early February. For a few days it feels almost springlike. Sam is home for a little break from Mr. Hobart’s, and goes off to visit his best friend Josiah Willard, son of the minister. Darkness falls and still he doesn’t return. Sewall sends Bastian over to Mr. Willard’s house to fetch him but he comes back empty-handed.
    He and Sewall go off into the streets to ask if the watchmen have seen the boys but nobody has. They return to the house and Sewall sits by the fire with Hannah to wait. Little Mary sleeps nearby in her cot, and Joseph is upstairs in bed. The two older girls are talking in the kitchen with Susan, quite oblivious—they’ve grown used to Sam not being at home in any case.
    The minutes pass with deadly slowness. The fire grows dim, as if registering their diminishing hopes. Sewall offers up a prayer for their son’s safety and Hannah mutters amen as if the word sticks in her throat, as if she resents having to ask for an outcome that ought to be freely