of fasting and quoted from Psalms, “Sit thou at my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool.” And with those words I had pleasant thoughts of propping my shoes up on Phoebe Chandler’s backside. My eyes wandered to the gallery above and I spied sitting there the little black slave boy. He was looking at me as though he had been waiting only for my gaze to meet his. The orbs of his eyes crossed and he stuck out his tongue, the tip of it passing beyond his chin. I smiled at his antics and he started mimicking the Reverend as he preached his sermon, exaggerating every movement of his face and body. Just as the Reverend would lean into the pulpit and point to some member of the congregation, so would the boy lean forward and point his finger at me. And when the Reverend’s eyes gazed heavenward to invoke the Almighty, the boy rolled his eyes upwards in the thrall of a palsied fit. And so I laughed.
The silence following my exhaled breath built slowly, every member following the gaze of every other until finally resting their eyes on me. They were like a den of foxes so surprised at finding a hen dropped into their midst that they were stunned into motionless waiting. It would take the rumbled growling of their leader to bring them round to their true natures. I looked up at my mother holding a sleeping Hannah but her expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between caution and disbelief. I looked back at the pastor and his eyes had narrowed, his face set into satisfied indignation. He shifted his weight slightly, setting his feet as though approaching a battle, and started drumming the text with his fingers, stabbing the words, prompting them to leap from the page and flood over my head like rain from the sky. And though his voice raked the whole of the congregation, his words were meant for me.
“The Church is separated from the world and the Devil’s main purpose is to pull down the Church. In the world the Devil comes in many forms. He comes with disease and pestilence. He comes in the allure of carnal desires. He comes in spells and incantations. In unseemly conduct such as pridefulness and hot rebelliousness” — here he looked briefly at my mother before returning to me — “and, sometimes, sometimes in the form of a child. The Devil preys on the weak both as his victim and as his instrument. It is therefore left to all of us to watch for these instruments. To root them out where necessary and purify them with prayer, with punishment, and, when necessary, with the fire of the Word. . .” His voice had reached such a pitch that had I not been holding to the bench where I sat, I would have crawled over twenty matrons to escape.
There came a loud and prolonged clearing of the throat from the men’s pews. Scrutiny lifted from me at the rasping sound, like a vast shifting of stones, and men and women turned in their seats to stare at my father. He sat with his long legs pulled up at sharp angles, his eyes calmly regarding the prayer book made tiny in the giant splay of his fingers. He continued to read, his lips moving slightly, turning the pages as though he was alone at home, deep in spiritual contemplation, undisturbed even by a bothersome clot of phlegm in his throat. The fox had lost the scent and the Reverend continued his planned sermon, but I did not hear any of it for I was blinded to everything but my hands twisting in my lap.
When I followed Mother out, I hung my head and let the cape cover my face lest I see the censuring looks. I had no doubt that this day, the 28th day of February, would prove to be very black and that Iron Bessie would have her say against my thighs once we had returned home. I could see Father and Robert Russell standing close to the cart, deep in talk, but they stopped their speaking as we approached. Mother passed Hannah to me and was mounting the wheel step when something in their manner made her pause.
“Robert, your face is very long. Has Reverend Barnard’s strong message curdled your breakfast?” she asked.
He smiled slightly but his brow knitted together and he said, “There is very bad business in Salem Village