Recrimination

DAY ONE – TUESDAY1

The morning of our departure saw me greatly disturbed, my stomach knotted with apprehension recalling memories of mornings ahead of the trials. I knew I wouldn’t face a furnace of welcome once memories were kindled, but I was immune now.2

‘If you don’t eat Abigail, you’ll suffer on the journey,’ Hale chided gently, concern wrapping his kindly features. ‘You know this won’t be easy. Now come on, at least try a little before we set off.’3

He was right of course, fortitude would sustain us, Salem was a considerable ride in a laden cart. The will clearly stipulated the farmhouse was mine and the estate was divided equally between all of John’s children, he’d specified this, aware of any potential challenge she might attempt. I prayed one day the boys might farm the land as their father envisaged and I’d gladly share my legacy with them, but that woman could burn.4

John Hale must have been the living embodiment of patience itself, not one murmur of complaint did I hear as I fussed and fretted about the loading of the cart. He watched amusedly, arms crossed and an expression of patient endurance failing to disguise the half smile curling about his lips. We’d decided to bring primarily clothing, aware Thomas could organise anything else we might need. Above all we were taking three horses; two belonging to Hale and the same black mare who’d brought me here. She was still a comparatively young horse, even though I’d always considered her a nag, I should have remembered John was always an skilful farmer, he’d never tolerate a broken beast and in reality she was only a filly when he rode her. Nothing on this earth would ever induce me to sell her, and it was time she went home too. I had no love of horses, refusing all John’s attempts to teach me to ride although I had learnt the rudiments of driving. I found most horses daunting, their hooves too threatening and their temperaments unreliable, but John’s mare was different.5

The days were already drawing colder and shorter, although we should arrive before the daylight finally dwindled. I was glad to wrap myself in John’s heavy cloak against the keening winds and biting temperatures. Enfolded in its rich cloth I could almost feel him, and occasionally I fancied I could just discern the faintest tang of his flesh. It was at least six inches too long for me, and flapped about my ankles but I didn’t care. Along with my ring, a twist of hair and a heart full of memories, little remained of John Proctor. As far as I knew, no artist had recreated his face, he was never a vain man although he frequently liked to draw himself. I knew a portrait of his father existed, it hung on the walls of Groton all the time I was there, it glowered down at us as we lay in the firelight wrapt and uncaring. Proctor senior had been a striking man, the abundant black hair tumbling richly about his shoulders and a gaze of steely determination evident in his sharp green eyes. The son had inherited these traits although slighter in stature and narrower in features. John had never been regarded as conventionally handsome, that woman frequently described him as an unkempt disgrace, and even Betty Hubbard claimed he’d benefit from a good hair cut once in a while. Perhaps the old man had hoped to found a prosperous dynasty by uniting his only son with the well connected Carr family, how was he to know he’d brought nothing more than malice and spiteful vengeance into his household. I would have loved any representation of John’s physical image to hold in my hands although I could easily recall every feature, freckle, scar or imperfection, but sometimes I fought to maintain my image of John as I loved him, not the skeletal ruin they created.6

‘Well?’ smiled Hale, ‘are you sure you have all you need for now Abigail? Thomas can always bring anything else, you know that. Now, are we ready? Well, Thomas, I do believe we are,’ he chuckled good naturedly, the fine lines creasing around his eyes.7

‘Oh I’m sorry Mr Hale. I know I’m fussing, it’s just, I just…’ I faltered.8

‘Hush, I quite understand. But Thomas I think we are ready at last. There’s certainly a journey ahead of us isn’t there?’9

I nodded in return as Hobbs clicked the horses to life and we trotted away.10

My heart grew increasingly discordant as the miles vanished and the memories burned livid. Hale was wise enough not to force conversation, he clearly knew how I felt and was content to leave me in contemplation. The air was bitter and winter already biting in the air as we continued, the familiar buildings of prosperous Boston swiftly vanishing. I wondered if Salem would be much altered since I’d vanished and if any of those I’d once known or considered friends even remained. There’d definitely be plenty of unwelcoming glances, much like those hollow eyed girls who’d silently witnessed my first arrival in Salem, grimly clutching the sides of Parris’ cart. 11

Thomas and Hale occasionally chatted as I sank into the folds of my cloak, watching the scenery grow surprisingly familiar. There was a definite increase in traffic, at times a single rider or cart greeted us civilly, few passed on without acknowledgement. As the miles melted I prayed no one would recognise us, but with Hale little altered I knew we wouldn’t escape for long. Padding along at a comfortable enough rate, it seemed we swiftly reached the outskirts of Salem woods, scene of childish games and our first steps to damnation. 12

‘Mr Hale,’ I started, ‘would you mind asking Thomas to stop a while?’ I entreated. ‘I feel really sick.’13

‘Abigail, it’s only your nerves. Try not to give in to them,’ he replied softly. ‘Stop worrying, I’ll be with you, no one will hurt you.’ His words echoing those of another, whispered in the heat of night. ‘Are you sure you really need to be sick? I mean, physically sick?’14

I nodded, feeling the sensation rising in my throat. Relieved I wiped my damp forehead, vowing to combat the physical manifestation of my emotions, and we continued on our way. Hale smiled paternally, patting my hand briefly and I wondered if this man ever showed more than the rudiments of emotion. He’d been truly grieved when telling me of John’s death but since then he’d rarely diverted from a serene smile. I’d never heard him raise his voice in any form of passion, unlike John, who could never disguise his feelings or temper. Hale was calmness personified, he’d been a popular figure in Salem in spite of his infernal role.15

Nearing the outskirts of Salem, my guts tightened again but I determined Salem wouldn’t find me on my knees heaving up my guts, I’d face them all with my head drawn high. Hale turned towards me, offering a reassuring smile, he must have been equally apprehensive but unlike me, hid it successfully. 16

‘We’re almost there now,’ he commented, ‘I shouldn’t wonder if we find Salem’s changed over the years.’17

‘Yes, but I can’t imagine they’ll have forgotten, they’ll still damn me and rightly so. That’s what really pains me Mr Hale.’18

‘I’m sure it does Abigail. You know what you did, but you didn’t act alone, always remember that. There are others who should do well to remember their own parts in what happened here. I’m sure Ann Putnam’s conscience is no clearer than yours.’19

‘I know Mr Hale, but I just feel so responsible. You know I started it all with my craving for vengeance because I couldn’t have John. I really loved him so much, I’d have done anything for him, and if it hadn’t been for me, John would probably still be farming Groton himself, not rotting in unconsecrated ground. Oh Mr Hale, I don’t think I can do this.’20

‘Now come on,’ Hale spoke crisply, he was probably sick of my whining by now. ‘You know John Proctor didn’t blame you for anything, he wouldn’t have bequeathed his farm to you if he had. Of all he’s ensured you’ll have a home and independent means. Doesn’t that tell you anything? Let’s have no more of this nonsense, do you hear me? What do you want? Solitude in Boston or a life on Groton Farm? I haven’t come this far today to simply turn around again, and anyway, the horses are too tired for that. We can at least stay overnight in Salem. If you don’t face up to what you did here Abigail Williams then you never will, and you’ll spend the remainder of your days riddled with guilt and regret. Is that what you really want?’21

I gaped open mouthed at the usually soft-spoken cleric; I’d never heard him so severe and definite apart from the earliest examinations, but he was right, if I lost heart and fled back to Boston I’d spend whatever was left to me in misery.22

‘I’m sorry, you’re right Mr Hale, I really appreciate your kindness, you can’t know how grateful I am to you. I’m just frightened. Frightened of the future, I suppose.’23

‘It’s understandable Abigail, but listen to me, you’ve done nothing wrong in ten years. Now dry your eyes and calm down.’24

I nodded, finding scant comfort in his words. Thomas clicked the horses on and we continued. Suddenly Salem faced us, grown larger than I recalled, beginning to sprawl from its former boundaries, more homesteads had been erected, but the Meeting House remained grimly imposing. I hadn’t set foot inside it or any of its kind since August 5 1692 and I doubted if I’d willingly take my place again. The windows seemed narrower; I remembered it as the building where I’d spent such a great portion of my days, sewing, gossiping, listening to the interminable sermons of hellfire and damnation beloved by my wretched uncle but my last memories were of condemnation and damnation. Little seemed to have changed in its façade although I knew my uncle was long gone and disgraced. The Meeting House stood empty although it seemed relatively freshly painted. John had helped hang the doors on the grim edifice and already with memories of his physicality jostling around my brain I knew in spite of my physical cowardice, I’d done right in returning.25

I recalled Salem as a deeply divided society, factions of dissent frequently disputing with Parris and his allies. For the months of our madness my uncle had seemingly attained the upper hand but the executions and increasingly fantastic charges quickly revealed the malicious intent behind the afflictions. Parris had clung on, his scant popularity rapidly waning, as Salem was slow to forget the innocence of those such as Rebecca Nurse and John. Eventually four years had proved too much even for my thick-skinned uncle and he too fled into obscurity. Hale told me a young cleric called Green had replaced him and fought to bring a modicum of peace, I prayed he’d managed to succeed although I very much doubted if the divisions were only hidden better. I’m sure Salem was the final parish any clergyman would care to settle himself. Even before the infamy of the trials and our disgrace, we’d seen off three ministers in as many years. I certainly didn’t envy any cleric who was instructed to lead the godly folk of Salem to salvation, even if attitudes towards sin and Satan had apparently changed.26

Fortunately few idlers were walking along the surprisingly familiar streets. One or two stopped to watch Thomas deftly steer the laden cart, undoubtedly wondering who we were, but I kept my hood about my shoulders and Hale’s low pulled wide brimmed hat hid his features. Neither of us really desired anyone to recognise us, not yet. Occasionally I stared if a small girl, especially if she were dark haired, appeared.27

The parsonage too seemed dark and lifeless as we trotted past and my throat constricted as memories of Parris, his violence and my final disgrace flooded back. The front garden was beginning to grow wild, someone cared less than we did, Tituba was never idle, she’d probably followed Parris when he left and been sold for her pains. I hoped her wretched husband had ended miserably; I’d never forgive his gossiping tales.28

‘Well, Abigail, there it is, your old home. We saw much life there didn’t we eh? I’ve been in contact with Mr Green, he’s expecting me to call once we’re settled,’ smiled Hale.29

‘What?’ I rounded on him sharply. ‘Mr Hale, you can’t expect me to revisit the parsonage after all that’s happened.’ 30

‘Listen Abigail, your uncle’s long gone, but Mr Green might be able to help you locate your cousin and you know that clergymen hear all sorts. And this man isn’t like Parris, I hear he’s popular and respected. He knows a little of your history I daresay, who in Salem wouldn’t, but he’s in no position to judge or condemn you. besides, he might be useful to me.’31

‘Who else knows of my return Mr Hale?’ I was shocked he’d contacted this Reverend Green without telling me, I’d always thought him open. 32

‘No one Abigail, but Mr Green may prove a valuable ally to both of us. You know not everyone will greet you with open arms and pleasant words.’33

‘Of course I do, Mr Hale, I’m not stupid, it’s just I hadn’t thought of visiting the parsonage again,’ I pouted sulkily.34

‘I know you’re not stupid Abigail,’ he placated. ‘I was merely trying to help. If I haven’t then I’m sorry.’ The apology brittle and unnecessary.35

‘Mr Hale,’ Thomas interrupted before I could retort, ‘I presume this is the tavern ahead of us?’ He indicated with his whip towards the entrance of a large two-storey dwelling.36

‘What? Oh yes. We’re here at last. Well Abigail, leave your baggage, Thomas will see to it.’37

Inside, the air was golden with candlelight and the cheerful roar of a great fire. Huddles of dark clothed men sat about gossiping, their voices loud and accents familiar, little had changed and I could still picture Danforth and his entourage heads bent conspiratorially, Parris scribbling testimonies and Hale himself painstakingly organising depositions, evidence and lies. I maintained my hood and bonnet even though I noticed some of the women were bare headed, Salem was changing. The tavern keeper was a newcomer to me a tall, well built man, and I wondered what had happened to the previous occupant, a distant relative of Mary Walcott. His presumed wife a finely dressed spare woman, stared openly towards us, her brow creased.38

‘I presume you are Mr Hale of Boston sir?’ he greeted us civilly, apparently oblivious to the silence that swiftly descended as we entered. ‘Your rooms are ready for you. Have you had a pleasant journey?’39

‘Yes thank you,’ replied Hale formally, ignoring the penetrating glances and inquisitive stares. ‘We’re tired, I wonder if we might be served supper in our rooms tonight? We’ve had a lengthy journey. Could we trouble you for some hot water too’40

‘Of course sir, that’ll be no trouble. Do you have much baggage Mr Hale?’41

Hale nodded, ‘enough. My companion means to settle here.’42

‘And where might that be, if you don’t mind my asking?’ smiled the man affably, playing the role of genial host as his wife continued to scrutinise us. Her sharp little eyes noting every feature and detail, she was probably calculating how much we were worth.43

‘Groton Farm,’ I replied before Hale could open his mouth and watched the man’s reaction.44

‘Groton Farm? Wasn’t that the Proctor place?’45

‘So I gather,’ intervened Hale shortly, glaring at me to be silent. ‘But that’s all in the past isn’t it? I’m sure Salem’s greatly altered since those dark days. Times change don’t they?’ 46

‘Yes of course,’ replied the man smoothly, ‘I wasn’t here then, but I can tell you one thing Mr Hale, they have long memories here and there are still Proctors in the village.’47

‘Young John and Will?’ in spite of Hale’s warning I found myself immediately curious.48

‘Yes, the two brothers, do you know them?’49

‘I, I knew them when they were children,’ I replied hesitantly.50

‘Well,’ Hale was firm, insistent. ‘We can’t spend all our time gossiping, come along.’ He hurried me away, a firm hand placed insistently on my arm as a dozen pairs of eyes followed our exit and the whispering commenced.51

Thomas was swift in stowing the cart and bringing my luggage, Hale watching him from the doorway.52

‘Thank you Thomas,’ he instructed. ‘I hope your room’s comfortable; you’ve had a busy day. I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you.’53

‘Very well Mr Hale, goodnight to you sir.’54

‘Goodnight,’ I replied politely, ‘thank you.’55

‘Well Abigail, that wasn’t the wisest of introductions now was it? well, I’d hoped you’d decided upon some discretion. Now everyone knows the new owner of Groton has a connection with the Proctors, it won’t take them long. Are you sure you’re ready for that?’56

‘I know, but at least now I know the boys are still here. I’m sure they won’t have forgotten me.’57

‘Don’t be so sure they’ll welcome you fondly. They’ve had ten years to dwell on what happened to their father and don’t forget they’ve probably spent much of that time with their mother, and heaven knows what she may have said to them. Remember they were small children when you left and they’re young men now. They may blame you for his death, be prepared for that.’58

‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of it Mr Hale,’ I replied sulkily. ‘All of Salem probably blames me for what happened, let them. It’s about time Salem faced up to what we did.’59

‘My conscience is less than crystal too Abigail,’ retorted Hale quietly, ‘or have you forgotten that? I doubt I’ll have such a favourable welcome either. You saw their reaction when the landlord mentioned my name, I could have sliced that silence. Both of us are connected with the past, but I have no ties here and I can always go home, but you’ve decided on Groton and no one can dispute the veracity of that will. He most certainly knew what he was doing.’60

‘John was always clear about his business Mr Hale. He always knew what he was doing, Groton thrived even though he hardly needed to work the land himself. His men were always loyal, most of them put their names to that petition, if you remember. The one they read out in court, it didn’t do him much good though did it? Not after she opened her mouth, she and Mary Warren,’ I paused. ‘Mary Warren. I wonder what’s become of that rat? Dead, I hope,’ I muttered, half to myself but Hale’s ears were sharp. 61

‘Now Abigail,’ his tone was quiet, serious. ‘Please, for me, put all thoughts of vengeance out of your mind. What good will you do if you set out to hurt anybody? Even Mary Warren and Elizabeth Proctor. You won’t achieve anything by hurting others. It won’t bring John Proctor back and you’ll probably hurt yourself more. I’m sure they’ve known remorse too, they know what their lies have done. Do you hear me Abigail?’62

Slowly I nodded, but my thoughts remained mutinous. If I saw Mary Warren I couldn’t account for what I might do or say without Hale’s temperate nature. I blamed her for so much, but I hadn’t done anything different. ‘Well Abigail?’ Hale motioned towards the door of my chamber, ‘when you’re ready, would you care to dine with me or would you rather be alone? I won’t be offended if you don’t want to.’63

‘Thank you Mr Hale, I’ll gladly join you, if you like. I’m sure I’ll have enough time alone with my thoughts later. You don’t mind dining with me? You know what Salem is for gossip.’64

‘Ah, I wouldn’t worry,’ he glanced at his bands, smiling. ‘I’m an ordained minister.’65

‘So was my wretched uncle, Mr Hale,’ I replied seriously.66

We dined amicably, I found myself surprisingly hungry and swiftly filled my belly with the variety of meats and vegetables provided for us. Hale watched me with some amusement, aware that all too frequently food and I were more adversaries than allies.67

‘Well, now you’re done, I suggest we spend some time deciding on your plans. I’m sure you really don’t want to spend more time than necessary here. I can imagine the gossip’s already igniting. They know my name and it won’t take a huge leap of imagination to discern your identity.’68

‘You don’t think anybody recognised me do you?’69

‘I doubt if anyone who knew you will have forgotten you, besides you’re not greatly altered. I knew you immediately, I’m sure others will too, but that’s for tomorrow.’70

We decided Thomas would drive us to Groton in the morning. The keys were apparently held by a local land agent and the lawyers had already contacted him to release them. I needed respectability and Hale determined his man could preside over the recruitment of suitable household, stating I could trust the servant’s judgment implicitly. Even though I was anxious to see the house again my stomach contracted unsure as to what I might discover. For hours I lay awake and fretful, wide eyed, staring into the increasing gloom and listening to the dying revelries of the tavern as Salem finally put itself to bed. Our fellows were late in retiring, their noisy chatter and ablutions echoing deep into the small hours. Every time a footfall paused by the door I half expected a firm knock and voice demanding an explanation for my presence. Parris in particular seemed all pervasive, even though I hadn’t seen him in ten years and had no desire to ever lay eyes on his damned form again. He’d robbed me of so much when I realised what lay beyond those watery grey eyes as he beat me senseless. Eventually he’d destroyed us; thanks to Parris I’d faced castigation as an adulterous whore, only flight saving me the inhumanity of watching John die. Hardly surprising I had little regard for any family connections I might yet retain, even my cousin, grown now to womanhood wouldn’t so easily have forgotten or forgiven being abandoned to Salem’s righteous indignation. As a child Betty could probably claim we’d influenced her, and her enforced absence did mean she hadn’t contributed to the full venom of the trials. 71