Part Two Autumn 1690 – Summer 1691

PART TWO AUTUMN 1690 – SUMMER 16911

I remained with Goody Nurse and her husband Francis for over a week and during that time Parris returned from Andover, but was strangely silent regarding my removal. He didn’t hammer on the Nurse door demanding my return, nor threaten violence and retribution on any of us; he seemed reluctant to approach anyone about me. Betty was even permitted to visit, once bearing a note informing me he was pleased I’d found ‘suitable employment’ and I’d be welcome in church, where I could stand with my cousin as usual. For Parris it was more than an apology; he was afraid of revelation. However, my uncle was fortunate Goody Nurse was universally viewed as an almost saintly creation. She was pious, but not overly so, perennially kind to all her neighbours, tending the sick without complaint or obligation, she had time for everyone, everyone had time for her, even Parris. Goodman Nurse was a skilled craftsman, fashioning the pewter candlesticks which had graced the Meeting House until Parris had decreed that mere pewter would not serve an almost Harvard graduate sufficiently. He’d declared God merited golden candlesticks and pewter could be viewed as a challenge to His authority and reveal a lack of respect. Pewter had always served the community well enough until uncle arrived, but he insisted upon gold and the pewter infidels were cast aside and discarded. 2

Rebecca Nurse was one of three Towne sisters, which included both Mary Easty and Sarah Cloyce. Once an influential and prosperous family, they’d owned a large proportion of Salem farmland until they quarrelled with the more powerful and avaricious Putnams, and their fortunes declined. Relations between the two families were rarely harmonious, but Goody Nurse rose easily above family feuding, even acting as midwife when Goody Ann called. Of the seven babies produced from the unsavoury couplings of Thomas and Ann Putnam six had been brought into the world by the solid hands of Rebecca. No sooner had they been delivered, squealing and mewling, they’d breathed their last and were laid for all eternity in the cold, unforgiving Salem dust. Goody Putnam never tired of bemoaning her ill luck as a mother, her husband also frequently declaring he came from a family of sturdy sons and it seemed unnatural that he was cursed with a lack of sons.3

Goody Nurse cared well for me, movement became easier, and within a day or so I was able to shell peas, mend and even sweep. I didn’t relish domestic drudgery, but was well aware that my life in Proctor would be little more than servitude, but at least I’d be safe. With Parris continually searching beneath my skirts and considering what lay there each day had become fraught with tension, he made me feel dirty and sordid. I always felt the need to cleanse myself, scrub myself raw until his gaze fell into memory.4

Eight days after my arrival an unsmiling Proctor arrived to collect me for my future. I was mending a pair of stockings, my needle skills had improved considerably although I could never hope to match little Betty who was sewing shirts at seven. Now I could mend, darn, and accomplish all that might be required of a competent goodwife. I could even knit simple garments, although I didn’t particularly enjoy it, unlike Mary Walcott, but could produce mufflers, shawls and blankets to help fend off the bitter Salem winter chills. I was glad to see the grim faced John Proctor more than he’d ever know and I presumed he’d told his wife of his decision, but I doubted if he’d consulted or discussed it with her. His judgement would be final and unquestioned, although Proctor was regarded overall as a tolerant and decent employer, with a reputation for honesty. Like many in the Village he was not Salem born and bred, hailing originally from England but he was prosperous with a large farm employing several hands to tend to his seven hundred acres. Betty Hubbard told me he’d married the nondescript Elizabeth a decade ago and he’d contributed frequently to Salem life. His sons stood to inherit a thriving farm of considerable fortune earned mainly through effort and sound business management. A last child, the third, was comparatively sickly, like its mother who often appeared to succumb to the slightest of ailments. Rumours flew that the majority of Goody Proctor’s symptoms originated from the murky depths of her imagination and unfulfilled marriage. It was a result of her current bout of sickness that brought me to Groton, she felt unable to leave her room to tend to her family, apart from her constantly mewling baby who spent his pathetic days attached to his scrawny mother.5

‘Hm,’ greeted Proctor in his typical terse fashion. ‘I’m glad to see you’re busy Abigail. How are you now?’6

‘Much better thank you Mr Proctor,’ I returned, holding his gaze steady to show I was unafraid. ‘My head’s healing, my bruises are shadows and even my hair’s starting to grow. By winter I might present myself in public without causing serious offence to anyone, even your sons.’7

‘Your spirit certainly hasn’t diminished child,’ returned Proctor still unsmiling, but his eyes betrayed a surprising amusement. ‘I’d rather have spirit than a mouse. I think you’ll do for me Abigail Williams.’8

‘Thank you Mr Proctor. I hope I do for you very well. Have you come to collect me?’9

‘Yes. You’re not as ugly as you were. There’s hope for you yet child, as long as you keep that head covered of course. You’re still in pain?’10

‘Not really Mr Proctor. As I said, my hair’s starting to grow, and my cuts are clean and healing. One day I’ll resemble a girl again.’11

‘And have you heard from your esteemed uncle? He’s back from Andover isn’t he? Has he caused any distress to Goody Nurse? You do know I’m not overly fond of the man?’12

Choosing my words carefully, I repeated that Parris had returned from Andover and he had, to my surprise, welcomed my removal and subsequent employment, allowing little Betty to visit.13

‘Your uncle’s a strange man Abigail. I thought he might have been angry towards me for offering you a place, but if he chooses not to cause a quarrel then I’m glad. Come on then, gather your things, thank Goody Nurse for her kindness and we’ll be off. Thank you Rebecca. I’m sure Abigail can be a trial, like all young girls. They’re often wilful and difficult.’14

I started visibly; John Proctor was making ill informed judgements about my character, he didn’t know me, apart from a few exchanged glances in the Meeting House, we’d barely communicated. I felt a strange mix of annoyance, humiliation and confusion unsure how I was meant to react to his remarks.15

We made our farewells to Goody Nurse, and I found myself being assisted aboard Proctor’s cart. The brief touch of his strong narrow fingers on my waist sent a surprising frisson of warmth through me, a sensation I didn’t find unpleasant or even unwelcoming, so different from Parris’ moist palms. I felt almost enthralled to be sharing time with this farmer who smelt of nature and fecundity. Sitting next to him as we trotted briskly along the road to his farm, I shed my Salem skin with each hoof print in the mud.16

Within half an hour I was shaking the memories of the past from my mind and we were approaching Groton, a sprawling edifice comprising a solid homestead and several wooden barns. Once again I felt the touch of his hand as he helped me dismount and smiled in gratitude but he was already looking away, his mind elsewhere. Several fat brown hens scuttled around our feet pecking methodically at the hardened ground, clucking good naturedly, their feathers ruffled against the increasingly bitter wind.17

‘These will become your charges Abigail,’ he remarked as I started when a disgruntled hen pecked around my toes. ‘Don’t be frightened of them child. They won’t do you any harm apart from a sharp peck if you disturb them too quickly. They are fine layers, and when they’re done they serve us well in the pot. These are now yours Abigail, make sure you tend them well.’18

‘I will, Mr Proctor, though I’m not experienced in the ways you require. But I learn quickly. I haven’t cared beasts or birds since I was a child, since before,’ I hesitated, ‘before Mama and Papa were killed. But I always helped on the farm, I used to feed our hens too.’19

‘Do you miss your parents child?’ asked Proctor not unkindly.20

‘I do Mr Proctor, I was only a small child when they died, but I can still recall the evening when they destroyed my world. I was left property but there’s nothing left of it now, thanks to Uncle Parris. I do think about Mama and Papa every day though. I’d much rather they were living than spending my days with Parris. Sometimes I rue the day he brought me to Salem, although little Betty has been a great comfort.’21

‘Yes I’m sure she has. Salem’s been kind to you though, hasn’t it? You have friends, you’re well fed and have a roof over your ungrateful little head. Parris isn’t always the most welcoming of souls is he?’22

‘As I said Mr Proctor, if I could change anything it’d be to have Mama and Papa back again. That’s all, but I was never ungrateful to anyone, everyone’s usually kind.’ What I really wanted to tell him was thoughts of Mama and Papa lying cold in their graves could seldom drift through my imagination without pain.23

‘It still aches you doesn’t it child?’ Proctor’s voice was surprisingly warm and for the first time he looked directly into my face, his eyes searching and kind, they were an unusual green and rimmed with dark lashes. No one would ever call John Proctor a conventionally handsome man; he bore a perennial half beard, and thick unkempt hair resting in a tangled nest upon his shoulders. 24

‘Yes it does. I’ve known little love in my life Mr Proctor, perhaps one day I’ll know love again.’25

‘Perhaps. Well, child, my wife knows you’re expected. Come on; wipe your eyes, I’m sure you’ll settle in quickly, though you’ll have enough to do.’26

The house was cold, no fire kindled in the grate in spite of the chilly October winds, no kettle bubbled, and it was soulless and sterile, much like the Proctor marriage. The boys were still in the fields, and Goody Proctor had obviously not deemed it fit to drag herself away from her sick bed. The floor appeared to have experienced a rudimentary sweeping, although the crumbed remnants of breakfast remained evidential. He was right; I would face a great deal of work in this household until equilibrium had been restored, not a prospect I especially delighted in, but it was that or Parris. Proctor appeared unembarrassed by the state of his home, deftly clearing mugs and platters for me to sit at the table.27

‘I’m not used to keeping house Abigail, this will be your job. You can keep house can’t you? You haven’t grown too used to having Tituba wait on you hand and foot have you?’28

‘Oh no Mr Proctor. Tituba could never manage everything in the Parsonage. Both little Betty and I learned to help from an early age. I didn’t like Tituba near me because I couldn’t stand her smell. I’ve always preferred to help myself as much as I can.’29

‘You’re an independent soul Abigail Williams,’ replied John Proctor, gracing me with one of his rare smiles.30

‘I don’t know about that Mr Proctor, independence of spirit isn’t always desirable in a woman. Men require us to be obedient and good wives, bearing children and tending home. I don’t care to be publicly gagged for insulting a man, or punished for making my views known. Most of the time I’ve learnt to shut my mouth when I should, Parris has seen to that. Ill thought words led to my final beating. If I’d minded what I’d said then I’d probably still have a full head of hair.’31

‘What did you do to deserve that?’ asked Proctor intrigued now. Surprisingly he’d expressed no annoyance at my response but I felt free to speak to this apparently taciturn man. John Proctor’s face was, like his manner, open, if generally fixed in a melancholic expression, I knew his mind wouldn’t be continually searching for what lay beneath my shift. 32

‘I,’ I paused for breath, before determining to continue, ‘I spoke out of turn. Little Betty was brushing my hair when we should have been at prayers,’ I muttered.33

A moment of silence embraced us, before Proctor spoke softly, ‘Abigail, there’s something you’re not telling me. If your uncle beat you for brushing your hair then his actions are definitely unwarranted and extreme. You say you spoke out of turn?’34

‘Yes Mr Proctor. I answered him back but he said I’d blasphemed when I hadn’t. We were mocking him, I admit that, but I didn’t blaspheme. When he chastised us, I, I spoke up, but he took it as a direct challenge to his authority, but I didn’t mean that. Betty and I were dreaming as girls do about wearing fine clothes and jewels even though we know it’s wrong, but it’s harmless, and I, I said,’ I swallowed the lump that had formed itself in the depths of my throat before steeling myself to continue. Now I was on the course of openness and honesty with this man I could see no return. ‘I said our days were tedious, and if uncle heard us he’d send us to burn in the fires of damnation, which made us laugh like the silly girls we were. And then, and then, I admitted to Betty that, that,’ I squeezed my eyes, searching for a measure of courage in the darkness behind my lids before gathering whatever strength of soul I could muster and looked directly into his face. ‘ That I longed to taste a man.’35

He said nothing, but held my gaze, his eyes unwavering before replying, ‘I think it’s time I introduced you to my wife. You’ll begin your duties in an hour or so. Follow me. ‘ He smiled briefly before turning away and I noticed he’d ceased to call me child.36

*37

She was sitting up in a rough wooden chair nursing her infant in an almost careless fashion; her hair disordered, her dress hanging open and loose on her unimpressive frame as the child nuzzled her. Proctor steadily refused to look at her as if embarrassed to acknowledge her physicality, although she made no attempt to cover herself in spite of my presence. Striding to the window, he gazed at the barn rather than addressing her directly, and she, in turn, barely raised her head in acknowledgement.38

‘Elizabeth, Abigail’s here. She starts as maid today. Do you wish anything? Is there anything you want her to do for you?’ his tone was bored as if he expected her to ignore him. 39

‘Abigail Williams. So you’re here?’ her voice surprisingly low pitched as she spoke, still refusing to look at me. ‘My husband,’ she stated the word slowly and with some deliberation, emphasising the pronoun, ‘my husband’s engaged you has he? To alleviate the squalor of our home?’40

I wanted to scream at her, scream that I could keep house better than she had, that I’d love my husband better and she didn’t deserve kindness for her coldness. But instead I simply muttered, ‘Oh yes Goody Proctor, I can keep house. I hope I’ll be satisfactory to you and Mr Proctor?’ I risked a snatched glance in his direction but received nothing in return save the smallest twitch of the lips as he watched our exchanges from the corner of his eye.41

‘Oh I’m sure you’ll prove satisfactory to my husband’s needs.’42

This conversation was proving uncomfortable, and I felt I was playing an unwitting role in a private battle.43

‘Would you join us for supper? The boys will be in soon, and Abigail can show us her worth as a cook,’ invited Proctor indifferently. 44

‘No. I’m tired. Nursing my son is draining.’45

‘Would you like Abigail to bring supper up for you?’46

‘No. I’m not hungry. If I want anything, I’ll do what I always do, fetch it myself. The child’s done now. I must rest.’47

Proctor took that as an open invitation for us to leave and rapidly ushered me from the room. Goody Proctor sat holding her son, her dress still open, but she didn’t seem to notice she was revealing herself to a stranger and her disinterested husband. There was clearly no passion between them, or even any polite communication, not once had she raised her eyes to either of us and not once had she addressed him by name. I wasn’t a fool, and could recognise an angry wife, though my current state would never attract the interest of the most desperate youth, let alone a mature man such as John Proctor. Goody Proctor had been deliberate in her use of the possessive, my husband, our home, she was telling me quite clearly I was unwelcome, my placement being Proctor’s decision alone.48

Briefly he showed me where I would sleep; it was plain enough and the narrow bed was hard but it was away from Parris’ unwelcome attentions and would suffice. Even though I didn’t savour the delights of domestic drudgery, I felt I wanted to prove to this unloved man his home could be a sanctuary from the toils of his day. At least I’d keep his floor swept and ensure he had food on the table.49

‘I hope you’ll settle here Abigail,’ muttered Proctor surprisingly. ‘As you can see, my wife isn’t the most sociable of women. That child’s demanding, and he saps her. Come on, do you feel ready to begin your duties for me? There’s a lot to do.’50

‘Yes Mr Proctor,’ I smiled towards him, ‘I’ve little enough to unpack and what’s there can wait.’51

Within an hour, the floor was swept, the kettle boiling, the table scrubbed and I had the beginnings of a broth. Proctor had fetched vegetables and the carcass of a chicken and he sat, contentedly munching an apple as I chopped and stirred. He seemed amused watching me tend the pot over the fire, offering snatches of advice and tasting it occasionally. I felt he’d been starved of a domestic routine for some time and was enjoying the simplicity of watching me tend his fire and prepare his food. As he sat there, supping his cider and slicing the apple, I wondered who’d fed the family, Goody Proctor appeared glued to her bedroom, a place where there seemed no evidence of her husband’s presence.52

‘Do you enjoy cooking Abigail?’ he asked amusedly as I flew after a stray carrot top that sprang from the chopping board to the floor landing by Proctor’s boot. In my haste I knocked my head hard on the edge of the table and winced as my scalp opened. Tears immediately sparked and I prayed Proctor wouldn’t notice this latest embarrassment as I’d been enjoying the lightened mood, but he’d heard my gasp of pain and the crack of bone on wood.53

‘Abigail? What did you do? Are you hurt?’ 54

‘No, it’s nothing, Mr Proctor. I’ve banged my head after the carrot, that’s all. I’m sorry.’55

‘What are you sorry for? Come on, if you’re finished scrabbling around on the floor, stir the broth, you haven’t touched it for at least two minutes.’ I could hear the slight humour in his voice. 56

Crawling from my ungainly position I gently rubbed my scalp through the linen bonnet and recommenced stirring as Proctor resumed his thoughtful chewing. I hated my uncle for this graceless appearance, longing for the day when my hair would once more fan around my shoulders and men like John Proctor might look at me with more than pity and disgust. In spite of my denials, the table had inflicted a greater injury than I’d initially supposed, I knew I’d drawn blood but didn’t expect the world to swirl as I continued to chop vegetables. Closing my eyes momentarily did little but increase the sensation of falling and the world to spiral even faster. I was walking in an underwater world of shimmering shadows, light and dark shapes flickering into view but I couldn’t focus. The table swelled to gigantic proportions then diminished, and Proctor became a green giant, his knife a sword, swimming in and out of view. Voices echoed, reverberated, each word an eternity then drowned in the rushing gushing deluge in my head. I could see Proctor’s mouth working to form syllables but no sound reached me as I slipped into darkness.57

The drip of ice water dragged me unceremoniously back to the realm of the conscious, John Proctor was shaking me gently by the shoulders and squeezing a damp rag down my neck. It must have been of a shock to him the maid he’d engaged fainting in her first attempt to produce a meal.58

‘Abigail!’ he spluttered. ‘What happened? Are you hurt? What came over you girl?’59

‘I’m sorry Mr Proctor, it’s my head, I think I reopened it on the table. I’m sorry, I’ll carry on with supper. I am so sorry.’ I muttered sheepishly, aware that blood was seeping through my stubbled scalp and praying he wouldn’t notice. He had sharp eyes and little escaped him.60

‘Abigail, you’re bleeding. Come on, take that bonnet off. I can’t have you shedding blood over my supper. Come on. I’ve seen your scalp before, ugly though you may be, I promise I won’t faint at the sight of you.’ Once again I was treated to the rare smile that stretched from his mouth into his eyes and felt the frozen emotions of Elizabeth Proctor would not be echoed in her husband. John Proctor was nearly twice my age; if he’d lived, my own father would have been but a few years older, but I didn’t feel like a dutiful daughter with him. Already I’d confessed the true reasoning behind my beating and he hadn’t been shocked. Little wonder I already disliked his inattentive spouse.61

Reluctantly I peeled away the thin fabric of the bonnet, wincing as the sticky blood pulled, praying for the day when the wounds were healed and my hair grew once more. I detested being considered ugly, especially by a man such as John Proctor. This new state of singular hideousness left me saddened by the fickle nature of man; I knew one day my hair would flow again, my bruises heal flesh and I’d blossom once more, verdant and lithe. Parris was right, I did have too much pride in myself, but I had little enough to occupy my thoughts during the drudge filled days.62

‘Here, take this cloth, wipe your head. The wound’s still seeping. Your uncle should be sorry to see the condition you’re in. I take it you haven’t laid eyes on him since?’63

‘No, I’ve only seen little Betty. I’m sure Parris didn’t mean to do this, Mr Proctor, but I wish he’d left me my hair. As you say, I’m ugly and that hurts,’ I muttered disconsolately as the tears dripped southward. 64

Proctor looked away disconcerted by this emotion; he’d said I was ugly, oblivious to the distress he caused. An awkward silence pervaded the atmosphere as he struggled for words of comfort as I concentrated on dabbing my bloody head. Finally his voice surfaced, rough with alien sentiment.65

‘Come on, Abigail, your hair will soon grow. At least you know your current state’s temporary, you’ll recover your hair, but I’m in a permanent state of ugliness. My youth’s past, there’s no hope for me, come on, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you ugly. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not used to girls, and you’ve seen my wife keeps away. Now, dry your eyes, I’m looking forward to supper and the boys should be here soon. Here, let me,’ he reached over, removed the rag from my sticky fingers and dabbed my still bleeding scalp. He was still patting at my wound when the door flew open and two whirlwinds burst into the room.66

‘Papa! Papa!’ they shouted excitedly. Less than ten years old, the boys were both dark and slender like their father, with the same autumnal colouring and abundant hair tumbling about their shoulders. As their eyes alighted on my disconsolate form they froze and gaped at me in the open manner of children. I wouldn’t receive subtlety from these boys, and neither would I expect it.67

‘Papa! Who’s that ugly girl? What’s she done to her head? And she’s bleeding. Why’s she here Papa? Papa, what are you doing to her?’ 68

‘Boys. This is Abigail. You remember Abigail Williams? Her uncle’s the minister, Reverend Parris. She’s come to be our maid. She’s hurt her head, that’s all, now go away and freshen yourselves before supper, Abigail’s prepared a broth for us. Now hurry up before I whip you!’ he motioned playfully towards them, but not before the younger called out, ‘but Papa she is ugly.’69

‘That’s enough!’ snapped Proctor, his mood like trees in a storm, ‘Abigail’s hurt. She isn’t ugly. I don’t ever want to hear you say such things again. Go before I really do whip you. Out of my sight!’ the boys fearful of their father’s uncertain temper flew up the stairway.70

‘I’m sorry about my sons, Abigail. Like me they know only rough manners, they’re not used to many visitors.’71

‘Mr Proctor,’ I replied, twisting my bloody bonnet in my fingers. ‘I’d rather they were honest with me than pretending I do look acceptable, because you and I both know I don’t. If you don’t mind, I’d like to change my bonnet, this one’s soiled, and I don’t think you’d like me to serve supper with a bloodied head.’72

‘Go, quickly then, that broth certainly smells good. Call the boys when you’re ready.’73

I paused at the foot of the stairwell, ‘do you want me to take anything to Goody Proctor? Will she want supper?’74

‘No.’ His response was blunt. ‘Goody Proctor desires nothing from either of us Abigail Williams. Now quickly, I’m hungry.’75

That first evening as maid is forever seared in my memory because I found myself enjoying their company, once the boys grew accustomed to my unorthodox appearance they relaxed and accepted me into their home. I’d expected them to be unfamiliar, but it seemed their mother’s lack of care had taught them self-reliance and they needed me only to ensure they were fed, their clothes maintained and their lessons taught. At the end of every meal they assisted me in brushing the crumbs from the table and cleared away. In no time I was made to feel more like a sister rather than a paid servant. Their father believed I had sufficient to do without continually running around after the boys when they were old enough to fend for themselves.76

I had little dealing with their mother, she required no help with the infant she continually nursed; when I took a tray, the door was shut to me. She listened for my tread on the step before quietly opening the door again. I soon learnt I was expected to retrieve it after an hour or so when once more the door would open, and I’d hear the rattle of crockery. She didn’t welcome my intrusion into her home, but none of that was my doing. I ensured I didn’t cross her, and barely exchanged a single word with her during my first month of employment.77

It became obvious from that first night onwards the Proctor union was troubled; they didn’t communicate unless it was unavoidable. He didn’t visit her, seldom referring to her at all, to me she barely existed, and it was easy to forget her altogether. I sat by the fire in the growing warmth with John Proctor and the two boys, telling them tales of life in Falmouth and sharing our day, not Goody Proctor. I prepared their meals, washed and mended their clothes, swept after them, laughed with them as they tumbled in the fields, sharing the feeding of the fickle hens and soft cows. I learnt to milk the gentle beasts, although my fingers were initially clumsy and I squirted more milk into my eyes than the pail beneath, leaving not only the boys hooting with unquenched laughter but their father as well. For the first time since my days with Mama and Papa I was settled and happy. My culinary skills expanded as I grew to enjoy creating meals for my new family; my sewing was sufficient, I even started knitting mufflers for the boys. 78

I was so content that my face grew quick to smile as I had in little Betty’s company, my appearance rapidly improved and my hair started to grow beyond stubble. To be fair to John Proctor he didn’t pressure me to attend the Meeting House with him, knowing I’d have to face Parris, and my still ungainly appearance cause public consternation. Only when I felt it right, he said, would he take me into Salem. On the Sabbath, much of my labours were officially forbidden, although Proctor was never a conformist insisting I spend the entire day in contemplation. He stated I could read the Bible if I desired but prayer and meditation wouldn’t milk the cows, feed the hens, sweep the floors, or even prepare a supper, let alone mend a shirt or knit a muffler. He had no intention of spending the entire day idle, his farm would never thrive and he was occasionally found ploughing on the Sabbath if necessary. 79

I’d been at Groton two weeks when I found myself almost alone, the previous Sabbath young William had felt unwell and stayed home from prayers, keeping me busy with clothes and dishes as he vomited the entire day. She kept to her lonely room but I still found myself dreading any encounter with Goody Proctor and her mewling child, whose nightly screaming sessions smashed into whatever dreams I harboured in my stiff bed. It disturbed John Proctor, who, I quickly discovered spent his nights alone in a distant room removed from all others. Why he’d elected this peculiar form of marriage remained a mystery, but it was none of my business. Unlike his wife’s, his door remained open when he was absent and I was encouraged to maintain it, tidying his quilts, sweeping his floor and polishing the furniture. I liked the tang of Proctor’s bedroom; like him it smelt of nature, fresh air, devoid of the cloyingly sweet herbs that permeated her stale atmosphere. I was beginning to find a secret pleasure in thumping the pillows where he lay his head and smooth over the quilt that covered him. I was idling in his room after I’d tidied after the boys, caressing his pillows when I sensed I was no longer alone.80

‘What are you doing in here girl?’ snapped a harsh voice. Hurriedly I turned to face Goody Proctor infant in hand, glaring at me. ‘You have no right in here.’81

I blushed, embarrassed she’d obviously witnessed my tender administrations to his bed, but indignant of her questioning my right to be there.82

‘I’m sorry Goody Proctor, but Mr Proctor asked me to fetch two shirts for mending, and I always tend his room. He likes it kept clean and polished,’ I retorted, barely concealing my contempt for her.83

‘My husband is more than capable of tending to his own bed. He doesn’t require you to do that for him. And why aren’t you at church? It’s the Sabbath, you shouldn’t be mending or smoothing my husband’s bed. Do you know what happens to girls like you?’84

I couldn’t help my response, and once more I heard my acid tongue retort more than I intended. ‘I’ll burn in the pits of hell and face eternal damnation Goody Proctor. My uncle has stated that often enough. He says I’ll never find a place with the angels. Now, if you’ll permit me, I have to mend Mr Proctor’s torn shirts. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any offence but I’m only doing what he wants me to do. He likes me keeping his bed tidy.’85

She goggled at me, the mewling infant impatient and starting up a painful squealing. I didn’t care how she felt, all I was doing was John Proctor’s bidding, and it wasn’t my fault she’d failed as a wife. I heard her spluttering impotently and struggling to form an adequate response to my insolence as I passed but I doubted if she’d complain. He wouldn’t listen to her, she was nothing more than insignificant dust I could easily sweep away into oblivion. 86

I was almost a full month in the sanctuary of the farm before I ventured into Salem again. Messages from little Betty, and some of the girls had been relayed via Proctor himself or the boys, so I wasn’t forgotten. I maintained a distance until I felt at ease appearing again with my ungainly appearance. Parris had given out I’d been taken ill and Tituba’s ineptitude had caused my removal, pathetic, powerless Tituba, the continual scapegoat, a voiceless ghost, had no defences against anyone. Salem was well aware of the enmity between the two men, setting the village fires of gossip aflame with speculation, they wondered why Parris’ niece should choose employment with a man he detested. I wouldn’t reveal the truth behind my new status, Proctor would maintain a confidence and as for Parris, he certainly wouldn’t be offering any vestige of truth in explanation.87

My weeks were eventful and content, I pleased my employer with my diligence as housekeeper and with the boys who were surprisingly eager to learn their letters. In spite of their comfortable status their father had instilled in them the notion the land couldn’t always be relied on to maintain the family fortune and a secure future could depend on a man being able to turn his hand to a range of tasks. They’d acquired the practical skills of husbandry, but they also knew the basics of their lettering which might one day enable them to run a successful business. They were not outstanding or even particularly quick scholars, but eager to please. Like their father they had little contact with their mother; as far as Will and young John were concerned, the woman who locked herself away with that wailing brat was a stranger. It was perplexing, she had no love or liking for my presence in the household, viewing me as a threat, but I didn’t care. She was possibly correct; I was regaining my youthful bloom, whereas she hadn’t recovered from the birth of this last child, her figure scrawny and unbecoming, her hair lank, unwashed and prematurely grey. I prayed she’d keep to her room and avoided any chance of contact with her, remaining either downstairs or out in the barns if I were alone in the house. She hadn’t uttered a syllable to her husband about my behaviour, well aware she’d receive little from him because I maintained his house in a way that pleased him more than she ever had. 88

Even though I was content tending to John Proctor and the boys, I still had a lingering dread tucked at the rear of my thoughts. I’d confessed the reasoning behind my beating but I was still too embarrassed to admit I feared Parris had violated me. Only Betty Hubbard knew, and she was sworn to secrecy. Every night saw me grazing my knees in prayer, craving deliverance for what might become of me if my fears were founded. I prayed fervently for any indication of my bleed rather than the dreaded signs of pregnancy. I wasn’t naïve, we all knew Salem contained secrets. I didn’t desire to become rejected and castigated; to lose my place with Proctor would break my heart.89

As the weeks passed into the month I grew noticeably fretful and the relief when I awoke one night to a stabbing, needle pain surging through my belly, was the sweetest feeling. The familiar wetness and the sight of my soiled nightgown was all I needed that whatever wickedness Parris had visited on me would not have any consequences. Slipping noiselessly from my cot I thanked God for deliverance, the last thing I craved on this earth was a squalling, suckling parasite, especially one conceived in violence. God had heard me, whether I remained a maid was still a matter of speculation, but one I didn’t have to deal with for some time. Never before had I been so grateful to see the sticky brown blood and to suffer the nausea, chronic muscle contraction and swollen abdomen. I was glad to clean myself as best I could and lay with a warm rag clutched between my thighs to staunch the flow. Never before had life seemed sweeter, I was free of that constant, aching anxiety, there’d be no Parris bastard.90

Proctor noticed my change of mood the following morning as I prepared and served breakfast. Despite my pinched face, it was evident my manner was lighter.91

‘You seem happy Abigail,’ he commented dryly. ‘Though you look pale. Are you sick?’92

‘Why no, Mr Proctor, I’m very well, I didn’t sleep very well, that’s all. Would you allow me to go to Salem some time soon? I’d like to see little Betty and my friends if I may?’ I asked shyly. Fortunately my light mood was contagious, and he nodded, pretending gravity to amuse the boys.93

‘Well,’ he paused dramatically, ‘there’s the floor to sweep, stockings to mend, dinner to prepare. I’m not sure if we can allow Abby to go to gallivanting. He looked towards his sons, a mock frown creasing his brow but a smile playing about his lips.94

‘But Papa, Papa!’ William protested, ‘You said you were going to see Goodman Nurse. Oh Papa, please say Abby can come with us today.’95

‘Hm,’ considered Proctor, the corners of his mouth undeniably twitching. ‘Well it is lecture day in the Village and I’m sure Abby certainly needs saving. Your uncle must think I’ve tempted you from the path of God by not sending you to the Village sooner. We can’t have that can we boys?’96

‘Mr Proctor,’ I murmured, slightly unsure of how I was expected to respond to his strange humour. ‘I’m not on the road to Hell, even if Uncle Parris feels I am. I’m my own woman, he can’t tell me how I should feel.’97

‘Brave words, Abigail,’ he nodded sagely. ‘Brave words. Of course you may join us today. It’ll do you good to be away from here for a few hours and to visit your cousin and friends. You spend all of your waking time here and the house is gleaming, I’m growing quite fat on your baking,’ he patted his flat belly contentedly. He smiled warmly towards me, holding the gaze once more in his disconcerting manner.98

‘Thank you, Mr Proctor.’99

‘Papa,’ asked young John. ‘Can Abby sit with us?’100

‘If she wants,’ replied his father still watching my face intently. ‘Abby can do whatever she chooses. Isn’t that so Abby?’101

‘I hope so, Mr Proctor,’ I retorted, returning his gaze with boldness. This was becoming a game between us, although my conscience was gratified the unlooked for Goody Proctor remained safely ensconced in her lonely room, unaware of the unfolding heat in her kitchen. The two boys were too young to discern such confidences and prattled on regardless.102

The prospective road to Salem Village had seldom shone with happiness as I prepared to return. I smoothed my new hair, no wounds remained visible or even painful, my reopened injury was long since healed and falling into memory, and I was finally beginning to resemble the girl I was. Now my appearance no longer caused John Proctor to call me ugly, I knew I was becoming increasingly pleasing and coupled with the knowledge he appeared completely unloved and rejected by his snivelling wife, undoubtedly enhanced my emotions. To me the years between us were irrelevant; Salem contained numerous couples whose relationship might have been more akin to parent and child rather than husband and wife. Our society didn’t frown on age differences, older husbands and young wives were a relatively common occurrence given the high levels of mortality amidst new mothers. Ann Pudeator, one of our midwives and a formidable goodwife had been wed to the late Jacob Pudeator some twenty years her junior and lived happily enough. Ann had even survived her younger husband and benefited greatly from his will.103

Goody Pudeator was now a strong willed woman of means, twice widowed and wealthy, she’d married young Jacob after acting as nurse to his first wife, Isobel. Hardly an unexpected consequence although Salem, in Salem’s way pretended shock and outraged morality as Ann and Jacob were married less than a year after the unfortunate Isobel breathed her last. Whispers grew into outright condemnation and suspicion, many, particularly the Putnams who insisted on playing a chief role in whatever intrigue and malice Salem could brew, openly stated that Isobel had only seemed to worsen and diminish upon the arrival of Ann as nurse. The flames were further fanned following Jacob’s untimely and unexpected death, when it was discovered he’d left his widow a woman of considerable wealth. As a result Ann was a controversial and often unpopular figure, an independent woman competing in a male dominated society. I respected Goody Pudeator although she was acid tongued and had short shrift for those she thought weak and stupid. No fool was ever suffered by that woman, even when I knew her in her later years, her wit remained hatchet sharp and her temper unpredictable. 104

I wasn’t green enough to believe John Proctor would ever have any feelings of softness for me although I knew he had some liking, his unwavering gaze told me that. I realised the clear difference between his openness and the flesh creeping lust of Parris I loathed the thought of his touch and the pallid hue of his eyes bulging in his hated face. In contrast, John Proctor was always open; when he was angered his brow furled, his manner grew rough, and his language even rougher. When he was pleased, his eyes sparkled, and his face warmed with pleasure. Whenever John Proctor laughed I felt a thrill of happiness, when he was angered my heart wept. Occasionally he was saddened, and brooded, silent and grim, his eyes distant; in my mind I could only see one reason behind his melancholia, her unnatural and callous nature. When he was sad like this, I yearned to place my arms about his neck, cradle his heavy haired head as Mama had done to me. I wanted to make him happy and daily my antagonism towards that woman festered, and I knew from her demeanour, Goody Proctor trusted neither her husband nor me.105

As we drove along the boys prattled happily and innocently; I’d ensured they almost shone with my efforts to show Salem I was an able housekeeper. For my own part I wore a freshly laundered bonnet and my change of dress, we were always plain and unadorned, any excess was frowned on. Such were my feelings of repugnance towards Parris I almost felt obliged to mock his authority by adding a decoration, but the simple thought grew as a comfort to me. Anything to rile Parris would guarantee amusement and devilment in my heart, and I convinced myself Proctor felt the same. Reaching Salem my stomach clenched with apprehension, glad my clean bonnet hid my scarred scalp. They could stare all they liked; I knew the Proctors no longer cared how ungainly I appeared. Betty almost squealed with delight when she saw me, only the watchful eye of the elders in the Meeting House held her excitement. I’d missed little Betty although the boys were friendly and considerate but they were no substitute. 106

Groton lay outside the Village boundaries; John Proctor wasn’t a member of Parris’ church although he did worship there upon occasion. His family were affiliated to Salem Town and granted the prestige of the fourth bench. Consequently he wasn’t obliged to sit through the Village lectures, but I wasn’t quite as fortunate. Parris would probably still expect me to attend even if I had to trudge the entire distance from the farm to the Village alone regardless of the climate.107

Our law decreed we couldn’t sit together for fear of temptation and lustful glances, but the clergy had obviously never known the mind of a bored adolescent. All of us were skilled in attracting glances, and knew the power of locked eyes and fragmented smiles. I elected to sit directly opposite the Proctors, only the narrow aisle dividing us, aware of the numerous nodding heads and inquiring gazes, but they’d discover nothing from either my looks or lips. I cared nothing for the gossips, especially the frustrated goodwives who had little else to occupy whatever free time they treasured. Let them view my reappearance as a maid with suspicion and sharp inhalations, I was accompanying my employer and his sons in an act of worship, let them speculate, I was doing nothing wrong, apart from slyly gazing where I shouldn’t.108

Rebecca Nurse smiled towards me before we simultaneously bowed our heads in the ritual contemplation that heralded the moment I’d feared. Maintaining my downcast eyes, I steadfastly refused to acknowledge Parris as he made his way in an absurdly over stately fashion to his pulpit. As ever he launched into the habitual diatribe against loose living, lax morality and the diminishing respect for authority as displayed by contemporary Salem. I heard John Proctor’s angry exhalation as Parris’ voice was raised. Parris rarely celebrated the love of God; he incessantly dwelt on how we were all sinners, bound for eternal damnation. As an ordained minister, Parris was above such fleshly desires; he was a man of God, no victim of earthy temptation. How I yearned to cry out and denounce his hypocrisy, revealing why he was so obsessed with sin. I stole a sly glance towards Proctor, still refusing to acknowledge my uncle, and was neither surprised nor disappointed to note the expression etched on his narrow features. He snatched my gaze and smiled slightly in acknowledgement. I would’ve traded my soul to remain collected, but unlike Elizabeth Proctor, my heart was green and warm, I couldn’t disguise the gratitude I was developing for her unloved spouse. Uncaring of the wet emotion already forming on my face, I raised my head; Salem could decide for itself how I felt about Parris. Staring defiantly towards the pulpit I suddenly realised what an insignificant and insecure man he must be. Above all he craved respect thundering hellfire and bloody damnation on those who crossed him, in spite of this he failed to understand his own shortcomings primarily lay behind the reasons for his unpopularity. Salem Village did not disrespect Parris’ office or the Church, but the majority had little regard or tolerance of their high handed and peevish minister. Heaven alone knew how he’d sired such a sweet natured and docile daughter as little Betty.109

Parris was still raving, the gestures increasingly flamboyant, his words overly dramatic and designed to condemn rather than comfort, when his pallid washed-through eyes finally encountered my unwavering stare. I caught him pause, momentarily nonplussed by such clear defiance from the niece whose previous encounter with him had been so bloodily violent. His words slowed, his ire stuck in his throat and I smiled, safe in the knowledge he would never hurt me again, because I knew John Proctor would protect me. A brief, uneasy silence descended as the congregation waited expectantly for him to continue and I glared at him. A visible lump of discomfort was swallowed, the sermon rapidly terminated and a snatched blessing heralded our freedom. Parris’ lectures frequently lasted over two hours, wed been granted just over an hour today and beside me I heard Proctor’s evident amusement. 110

‘Well Abby, it seems your uncle appears discomforted today. Good. Come on, that saved us a tirade.’111

Betty was anxiously hopping from one foot to another outside the Meeting House awaiting my appearance. The boys flanked me as we emerged into the wan winter light, blinking to shake the gloom of devotion from our souls when she almost fell into my arms, shrieking uncommonly.112

‘Abby! Abby!’ she squealed. ‘How are you? You look so much better. I’ve missed you so much. What’s kept you so long?’113

‘I’m a lot better Betty. How are you? I miss you too, but my new life suits me well,’ I smiled in return, untangling myself from her childish embrace. ‘I’m sure Mr Proctor will let me visit soon.’ I glanced towards him and received a nod of acquiescence.114

‘You’ve made yourself a stranger Abigail, I won’t begrudge you time with your family,’ he stated clearly. ‘Now, I have some, business with Goodman Nurse, I’ll be back here in an hour. Boys, remember an hour.’115

‘Yes Papa,’ they intoned, smiling broadly, aware that whatever they did would be surreptitious. Parris may have intended for us all to spend the entire day on our knees but we were human souls in need of respite.116

Within minutes the girls had gathered around, desperate to hear my news since I’d left them so abruptly. I’d missed their prattle and chatter. There was no sanctuary indoors, in spite of the cold winter chill, so we huddled in our cloaks and bonnets, vainly battling the hardening mud underfoot. All we could do was gather out of sight behind the Meeting House an untidy bundle of youthful gossip, where I found myself the kernel of attention.117

‘So,’ demanded Mercy. ‘How’s life with Proctor? What type of master is he? Does he beat you? Does he work you hard? Have you any dealings with the delightful Goody Proctor yet? Come on Abby, tell us all about it, what’s it like there?’118

‘Questions, questions, questions,’ I laughed at her endless curiosity. She harboured an interest in salacious details, not that I had any to report, and even if I did, I felt my relations with John Proctor were too private to become the topic of gossip.119

‘How’s your head?’ asked Betty Hubbard. 120

‘My hair’s growing thankfully. Mr Proctor’s stopped telling me how ugly I am, so I should imagine I’m almost human again,’ I smiled at the memory of that earlier direct conversation. ‘My cuts are all healed, there’s only a few marks left. But I don’t want to see my uncle again,’ I stated emphatically, aware my words would pain little Betty. ‘What’s Parris said?’121

‘That you were sick, and Tituba was a poor nurse. Nobody thought to question it,’ replied little Betty.122

‘Nobody’d listen to us, you mean’ added Betty Hubbard angrily. ‘Even Rebecca Nurse said it was wiser to say nothing. She said his office should be protected and as long as he didn’t repeat his actions then she for one would respect his authority.’123

‘What!’ I exploded, outraged. ‘Goody Nurse chooses to collude with my uncle because he’s a minister? He beat me senseless, hacked off my hair and left me bloodied. Even little Betty here was injured. And Rebecca Nurse chooses to protect him? I can’t believe it! There’s only one person who cares for the truth, John Proctor knows about Parris. Mr Proctor would have no qualms about shaming him.’ I found myself growing hysterical at the apparent abandoning of truth. 124

‘Abby, calm down. What good would it do to shame Parris? Little Betty’s the one who’d suffer not you. Parris won’t repeat his actions, Goodman Nurse and the others are sufficiently influential to bring him down if they choose, and he knows it. You saw today how discomforted you made him, he could barely complete his sermon, he won’t touch you again. There’s no need to publicly humiliate Parris. Their knowledge alone is a sufficient defence. Don’t you see?’125

‘Betty’s right, Abby,’ added little Betty hesitantly, her face awash with grief, he was, after all, still her Papa, and one who doted on her. ‘Papa’s better tempered now, but the Parsonage is so empty without you. I wish you’d come back to us. Tituba’s always busy and I’m lonely without you.’126

‘I know Betty, I know, but I’m sorry. I can’t leave Mr Proctor, he’s been very good to me. I don’t fear him. I’ve no idea if he even keeps a whip in the house. He’s mild tempered, and always listens to me. He treats me as an adult and he’s grateful for all I do in the house. The little boys are a joy, they even help me with my chores.’127

‘Proctor? Mild tempered?’ goggled Betty Hubbard incredulously. ‘I’ve never heard John Proctor being called mild tempered before. There’s little evidence of mildness in his dealings with the Putnams, wasn’t he in court with them last year? You ask Ann how her Papa feels about John Proctor. How’s his wife?’128

‘I’ve hardly seen her; she keeps to her room with her baby, but I know she doesn’t particularly like me being there. Oh you should’ve seen the state of the kitchen when I arrived, it was a midden, but she’s no time for anyone save herself and the brat she’s continually nursing. I don’t think it’s the happiest of unions, they barely talk to each other and he won’t spend any time with her.’129

‘Then he’s lucky you’re such affable company for him Abby,’ smiled Betty wickedly. ‘Just you be careful. You know what can happen to girls in your position.’130

‘John Proctor’s not like that Betty Hubbard!’ I exclaimed, irritated by her coarse tone. ‘He’s a respectful employer who treats me fairly. It’s not my fault she’s the way she is. She’s been like that for months apparently.’131

‘He’s a man isn’t he? A man of flesh and blood?’132

‘Yes, of course he is. What I mean is, he’s human, but, Betty, he isn’t like that. He’s treated me fairly and with understanding. I can talk to him like no one else, he doesn’t dismiss my opinions and he respects what I do for him and the boys. He’s a kind man and I like to make him happy.’133

‘Oh Abby,’ groaned Betty, ‘listen to yourself; you sound like a lovesick girl. Grow up. Does he still lie with her?’134

‘What?’ I exploded with embarrassment. ‘That’s got nothing to do with you Betty Hubbard or anyone else for that matter.’135

‘He doesn’t, does he?’ insisted Betty with a grin of triumph. ‘Oh Abby, he’s not a saint.’136

‘No, I know he’s not a saint. I don’t expect him to be a saint. He’s my employer. Nothing more.’137

‘For now, but I know you Abigail Williams don’t forget that. We all know you. He’s not an old man either is he? But he still has a wife, even if he doesn’t appear to love her. Oh Abby, just you be careful.’138

I realised for all her teasing Betty Hubbard had my welfare at heart, thrilled as she was by spiced gossip, but it was too late. I did desire to cross the divide and I was sure that John Proctor for all his paternal solicitude wouldn’t prove a man of plaster emotions. As I’d declared to little Betty, I did yearn to taste a man, and the man I craved to taste more than any other was the man I was to meet in less than an hour, wife or no wife.139

‘Betty, I can look after myself, I really can. I’m not a fool you know that. I don’t want to find myself straining with an unwanted bastard in the forest, I really don’t. Now come on, tell me all your news,’ I smiled in a vain hope of diverting the topic of conversation away from my all too obvious interest in John Proctor.140

The minutes melted away in spite of the keening wind swirling around our feet as we swapped gossip particularly regarding matters of the heart, or more likely the extra marital bed. Even little Betty wasn’t spared any salacious details, we learnt about such things early on in Salem, for all our assumptive morality and piety we were merely flesh and desires, most of them wasted. As ever, Betty Hubbard was the principle source of the scurrilous tales thrilling us all with the latest of her aunt and uncle. 141

‘Ah, all Aunt Rachel cares about is food. She has me running around all day, I rarely have a moment,’ sighed Betty. ‘She’s supposed to be my great aunt but she treats me like an unpaid servant, she really does. I just can’t do right for doing wrong sometimes. She half tried to slap me the other day but I ran away from her before she could raise the energy to lift her hand and hurl a jug towards my head. She grows lazier and fatter every day. Honestly the amount of food that woman guzzles is beyond belief, and here am I withering away to skin and bone,’ groaned Betty holding out her narrow wrist.142

‘You should find yourself a saviour, like Abby. Some man to take you away from your troubles,’ put in Ann Putnam slyly. ‘All you need to do is pretend to be sick and perhaps someone will rescue you, it worked for Abigail.’143

‘Ann!’ interrupted Betty hotly, springing to my defence. ‘Abby didn’t ask for anyone to remove her. I fetched Proctor and Goody Nurse and it was Goody Nurse’s idea for Proctor to take Abby away. If you’d seen the state Parris had left the girls in, you would’ve been mortally shocked. I would’ve thought better of you Ann Putnam.’144

‘Well,’ pouted Ann gracelessly. ‘It all seems so easy for Abby doesn’t it. Goody Nurse rescues her, then Proctor offers her employment and he turns out to be perfect. It’s too good to be true. And like you said, John Proctor’s one of the most argumentative men Papa’s ever met. This tolerance and mild temper doesn’t seem like his true nature to me.’145

‘Your Papa would argue with the angels, Ann Putnam,’ I retorted. ‘We all know he’s disputed with half of the farmers in Salem Village over land he’s tried to steal from them. John Proctor’s an honest man who’s shown me some kindness. He’s given me employment and a home, nothing more, why won’t any of you believe me?’ I ended plaintively.146

‘Because your eyes betray you Abigail,’ groaned Betty. ‘Every time one of us mentions his name you give yourself away. You’re forever defending his character and proclaiming what a saviour he is, and you mention his name in virtually every breath you utter. That’s all Abby.’147

‘Well, he has been kind to me. He took me away from Parris, and you know why I had to leave there. I don’t know where’ I’d be if he hadn’t taken me away.’ I felt my voice grow shrill as the conversation deteriorated into a defence. 148

‘Hush, Abby,’ soothed Mercy, aware of my growing emotion. ‘We’re all glad for you, I’m sorry little Betty,’ she motioned to my cousin, still clinging to my hand as if loath to release me. ‘But all of us know how wicked your papa was, neither of you deserved the scars you’ll probably bear for the rest of your days.’149

‘I know, Mercy,’ replied little Betty I’m just glad Abby’s happy with Mr Proctor and his family. You are happy, aren’t you Abby?’150

‘Yes,’ I smiled at her childish insistence. ‘I’m very happy on the farm Betty. I miss you, of course, but Mr Proctor’s said I may visit whenever he drives in. He thinks it’s healthy for me to have friends rather than shut myself away all the time.’151

‘Like his wife does?’ interjected Betty Hubbard mischievously. I glared at her icily before responding, my words carefully chosen.152

‘Mr Proctor doesn’t over work me, I’m no slave like Tituba or even you Betty Hubbard. I’m sure you’d be welcome if you wanted to visit us at Groton. I’ll ask if you like.’153

‘There’s no need for that, Abby. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your haven. I’d feel intrusive,’ smiled Betty sarcastically.154

‘Betty, don’t be like that please. I’m so glad see you all once more. I don’t want any of us to fall out. I know you’re only thinking of me, but I will be careful. I can look after myself, and I know if I can’t, then I have you to help me, haven’t I?’ I entreated in the vain hope of reconciliation. Betty was my closest friend but I didn’t welcome her constant good advice. An uneasy truce ensued, although I felt they were silently judging the wisdom of my situation and I knew that once I’d departed I, like Goody Griggs and the rest of the Salem women, would fall a victim to their gossiping tongues. There was little else to occupy their bored brains, particularly on a cold autumn afternoon. Eventually I heard the tolling of the hour heralding my departure. Still clutching my hand little Betty accompanied me to the Meeting House where I found John Proctor and the boys already waiting. 155

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Proctor. Am I late? I thought I was in good time,’ I apologised hastily, aware Betty Hubbard, Ann and Mercy were probably still watching from somewhere.156

‘We were early. Did you manage to see your friends? How are you Elizabeth?’ he smiled paternally.157

‘I’m well, thank you Mr Proctor, and yourself? Abby was saying she’s very happy at the farm, and you look after her well. Thank you for taking care of her,’ prattled Betty innocently, unaware of my increasingly reddening countenance.158

‘Why thank you, you’ll see her soon,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Abby’s able to visit Salem any time I drive in, you know that don’t you Abby?’159

‘Yes Mr Proctor,’ I muttered still clutching Betty’s hand. ‘Thank you.’160

‘Well, we’d best be off. I for one am hungry and I know there’s a fresh custard waiting. Goodbye Elizabeth.’161

‘Goodbye Mr Proctor. Goodbye Abby, take care, I miss you,’ Betty’s lower lip started to tremble. Life must have been lonely for her with only the rancid Tituba and her coldfish father for company.162

‘Come on Betty, don’t cry, I have to go now. Mr Proctor needs to be home. I’ll see you very soon, I promise.’163

‘Yes Abby,’ she smiled wanly through the tears already trickling steadfastly down her pinched cheeks and enfolding me in her skinny arms until my ribs ached. ‘Take care, and don’t worry about Betty and the rest. They’re just jealous to see you so happy.’ 164

‘Come on, Abby. Here.’ Proctor surprisingly proffered a slender hand to assist me onto the cart beside him, I grasped it with embarrassed gratitude, sensing the burning eyes greedily drinking in his random consideration. Yet sitting by his side, with the two boys behind us, I ceased to care what anyone thought, least of all my friends. They could gossip all they liked but here, aboard our cart, the heat of his thigh discernible even through the fabric of my cloak and gown, I felt like a queen.165

From that Thursday onwards I became John Proctor’s frequent companion whenever he visited Salem. We would drive engaged in easy conversation along the familiar road between Groton and the Village, and I rapidly became enamoured by these shared intimacies He entertained me with tales of his early childhood in England, how his family initially settled in Ipswich, apparently growing prosperous before they discovered Groton. I learnt much of the quarrelsome Putnams and their rivals the Porters. The numerous Putnams were the most cantankerous and rancorous tribe that ever lived; they sued their neighbours, they sued each other, and always for gain. There was hardly a soul in either Salem Town or Village who hadn’t shown his face in court to answer a case against a Putnam, including my employer, although he’d had the case thrown out and won damages. In my time at the farm I’d never found him demanding or my labour onerous and lately he’d begun to delegate small chores to his sons. I was content in my employment, I had little time to spend the coin he paid me, apart from the occasional bolt of cloth, books or paper; John Proctor provided everything I needed. 166

In the dying days of February we drove into the village huddled in our cloaks against the bitter winter winds. Proctor had some business though I’d divined from Betty Hubbard’s hearsay the previous week, Griggs wanted to discuss Goody Proctor’s continuing illness. Apparently, no one from outside the family had seen her since she’d given birth, Proctor himself had little, if any knowledge of the child, I was even unsure of its sex, let alone its name. If Betty Hubbard’s gossipings proved true, the child would bear little resemblance to its dark haired green-eyed brothers. If it chanced to die, and it screamed fit to burst upon occasion, no Christian burial would be accorded to it. I had no love whatsoever for that infant; it squealed continually, at night I could hear it howling like a stuck pig as it demanded sustenance. John Proctor never referred to this child or his wife by name, she would’ve been better with her maker and the child alongside her. Such was our degree of intimacy now I felt emboldened in risking details of her confinement and self-imposed exile.167

‘She’s been sick for months, but it’s more in her head than her body. She’s no time for us, you know that Abby. I’m sorry if she isn’t the mistress you imagined,’ he replied softly, his eyes clear. 168

‘Mr Proctor, I’m very happy at Groton, believe me. I’ve no grounds for complaint whatsoever. I wouldn’t exchange my life for all the gold and jewels in England. I confess Goody Proctor may have spoken unkindly to me on one occasion, but she’s sick. I’m sure she meant nothing by it.’ It was said, the needle driven home, the ember kindled.169

‘When was this?’ he demanded, reigning in the horse so sharply we halted. ‘You haven’t mentioned this. What did she say to you? Why didn’t you tell me Abby? I won’t have her upsetting you.’170

‘I didn’t meant anything, Mr Proctor,’ I faltered deliberately intonating my words with a slight catch to arouse his sympathy. ‘It’s just one day when you and the boys went into Salem; I was cleaning your bedroom as you like me to do. And,’ I paused to wring the utmost from his raw emotion. ‘And Goody Proctor was there in the doorway, just watching me. She chastised me for being in your room and said I had no business near her husband’s bed.’171

‘What were you doing?’ he demanded, but with a new lightness of tone.172

‘Why, Mr Proctor,’ I gazed at him wide eyed and innocent with all the girlish guile I could muster. ‘I was only smoothing your bed as I know you like it. Goody Proctor told me I had no business near your bed. Did I do anything wrong Mr Proctor?’173

‘No, you certainly didn’t Abby. I’m grateful for everything you do for me. Was she severe with you?’ he looked towards me his olive eyes searching my reaction.174

‘Well, not overly, Mr Proctor. Perhaps she doesn’t welcome my intrusion into her household. I’m sorry if I upset Goody Proctor. I didn’t mean any harm….’ I allowed my voice to trail off significantly pausing for him to complete the sentence.175

‘Harm, Abby? What harm could you possibly do? Good lord girl, what were you doing wrong? You were doing nothing more than what I pay you for. Goody Proctor was wrong, she spoke out of turn, she’s no business near my bed, and no business to chide you. Damn it, if she’d ever been a proper wife to me, then, then…..’ he paused, realising at last his true feelings were out.176

Smiling inwardly I decided silence might prove more advantageous than just gazing with polite understanding towards him.177

‘Well, Abby, I’m sure we don’t need to dwell on the shortcomings of my marriage. I’m afraid Goody Proctor doesn’t care for either of us. Still,’ he sighed quietly, having clearly decided upon the path of openness. ‘Perhaps it’s God’s will. We were never well matched it wasn’t ever a question of love. Oh Abby, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this, yet you listen well even if you can’t understand.’178

‘I’m not a child Mr Proctor.’ I stated firmly, pausing deliberately to lock eyes with him. There could be no alternative; now the seeds of division were sown I’d reap the harvest of Elizabeth Proctor’s selfish nature. If she’d shown any consideration towards him I may have paused in my intentions, but wife or no wife, I wanted John Proctor and I would have him. 179

‘No,’ he replied softly and the faintest of smiles was born on the corners of his lips. ‘You’re not a child Abigail Williams. I think I know that more now than ever. You’re far from child.’180

‘Mr Proctor, I’ll let you decide what I am. But at the moment, I’m your maid and you have business in Salem, although I fear we may arrive late if we wait here much longer. Time passes us by Mr Proctor, she won’t wait,’ I replied slowly dragging my eyes from his and gazing demurely at my hands crossed neatly in my lap. If only he knew how I longed to weave those hands around him, smooth his rough cheek, comb his unkempt hair, wash him; more than anything I ached to love him. I knew I could love him more than she ever had or deserved to, he merited a wife who would love him more than life itself. 181

‘Yes.’ He suddenly seemed to find the relaxed conversation a strain and lapsed into a contemplative silence and clicked the mare into movement again. I sat content, safe in the knowledge of my success, smiling serenely and musing.182

As Salem hovered into sight he found voice again; his tone revealing he’d been brooding on our previous conversation and we reined to a halt once more.183

‘Abby?’184

‘Yes Mr Proctor?’185

‘I’ll speak to Goody Proctor about her behaviour. I won’t have her being rude to you, she should know better than that. She knows little of your history and Parris’ behaviour,’ he paused seeing me start in disappointment, ‘she knows no more than he’d beaten you. Don’t worry, I haven’t told a soul why Parris behaved as he did.’186

‘I, I, don’t understand you Mr Proctor. I told you why Parris beat me,’ I paused, genuinely embarrassed now by his increasing frankness.187

‘Yes, yes. I know you told me what you wanted,’ he glanced slyly towards me. ‘But I don’t think you told me everything. Parris beat you for something else, didn’t he? Tell me Abby, how did he hurt you?’188

The hot tears battled against sensibility and emerged victorious. All I could do was gaze at him dumbly, misery tearing my features as he continued.189

‘Abby, I’m sorry. The man’s a vile hypocrite. Salem should know what he is. But you don’t want that do you?’190

‘No, please, Mr Proctor. When I first told you about what happened, I didn’t want you to think I was lax in any way.’ I sniffed, no artifice needed now. ‘In all honesty I don’t know what Parris did to me that night. He beat me, as I said and thankfully I was senseless in minutes. But, but I thought, I remember the look in his eye, I’d seen it before. Oh Mr Proctor, I was afraid he’d known me.’ 191

‘Oh Abigail. Why didn’t you tell me? What have you suffered? Do you, do you know if he did do that to you?’ revulsion was rendering him almost incoherent.192

‘I don’t know,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m sorry Mr Proctor, I just don’t know.’193

‘Oh Abby,’ he turned towards me, his eyes wide with concern, and my heart pounded. Searching his face I barely registered the tips of his slender thumbs brushing the tears from my cheek as he spoke, his voice serious and low. ‘I swear to you that man will never hurt you as long as I have breath in my body. Do you hear me Abby? He’ll never hurt you again. I promise you, I’d kill him if he ever touched you. Do you understand me?’ and with that John clasped my hand in his narrow fingers. Gently I placed my free hand on his, enfolding his one within both of mine. Still seeking my eyes, he pressed it quickly to his lips, the breath warm in a gesture no father would bestow on his child or an employer on his maid.194

I spent the usual hours in needlework and gossip with Betty and the girls but my thoughts were with John. As Salem drew nearer we’d fallen away, our hands reluctantly unclasped replacing our masks of respectability. I knew now that the boundaries were crushed underfoot and a dam of emotion quickly unleashed. Unlike Parris, John did not stare at me with naked lust; his eyes gleamed with affection, the olive green transformed into chips of emeralds. Whatever passion lurked within him was more than simple lust; this man felt. He may have been flesh and blood and like all men slave to his carnal urges and cravings, but he had a huge capacity for love. If I’m honest, and I feel I’m finally committing to honesty, I lusted more than he did, at first. I was never an innocent child, duped into lifting her skirts, I manipulated and contrived most of our initial contact, but I loved him. I loved him as I have never loved anyone before or since. He was my life. Every waking moment John’s name graced my mind; every second of my eyes closing his face filtered into sight; the sound of his voice, the rare, infectious laugh soared through my consciousness. In my final moments prior to the caress of sleep he rose before me, perfect in my mind, the soft smile meeting those verdant eyes till I was brim full of love for John Proctor. I knew I could only love John Proctor, and love him I would. I would love him now; I do love him now, even after the years have wrought their destruction. Not one minute, not one second dies without a thought devoted to him and I can recall each intimate rise and fall of his flesh, every breath, every smile, every gesture. The way his hair tumbled as it flooded down his back, even the stray hairs randomly adorning his chest. The freckles of his cheek, the odd scars of old wounds on his arms, all grew as familiar to me as my own skin. I loved his smell of the earth, his land and fecundity. If I was spring, green, budding and fresh, then John was summer, John will always be summer. His voice, the slight sibilant cadences became as a song of love in my ears; I loved John Proctor, and for a few short months we were happier than I’d imagined possible. 195

Little Betty had been sewing a shift for me; such fripperies and vanities were not permitted in the confines of our rigidly strict society, but she’d craved to create something of beauty with her deft little fingers. Every stitch contained the love and guilt that haunted Betty since my departure and her eyes must surely have grown weary toiling but she’d determined to create the softest of garments.196

‘Abby,’ little Betty murmured gently, after we had greeted each other with our customary affection. ‘How are you? You look well. I still miss you, but when I sew I think of you. Look, it’s nearly done.’197

‘Really?’ I inquired softly, the shift was our secret, the fabric ordered surreptitiously and the labour completed only when we were alone.198

‘I’ve just got to finish an edging and you can take it with you today. My fingers are almost raw, but I swear it’ll be ready I hope you like it.’199

‘Betty, let me see it, please.’200

She shyly held the folded fabric; little Betty was gifted, each minute stitch faultless, perfect, even the buttonholes crafted with intense devotion. It would suit my purposes completely.201

‘Why, Betty,’ I gasped. ‘It’s beautiful. Oh thank you, so much! You’ve worked like an angel and for me. Oh Betty, I love it. You’re so clever.’202

She smiled prettily; proud of her achievement, it made a pleasant and diverting challenge from the habitual shirts and gowns she sewed for her father and various girls. Occasionally she would work a sampler bearing a scripture, but more often than not, her capable fingers would be busy with domesticity.203

‘Thank you, Abby, I’m glad you like it,’ she smiled broadly and with righteous pride. ‘Now, put it away before anyone sees, you know what they’ll say.’ But it was already too late; Betty Hubbard and Mercy had spotted us.204

‘It’s nothing,’ I insisted lamely.205

‘Nothing?’ scoffed Betty Hubbard good-naturedly. ‘If it’s nothing, you won’t mind sharing it will you? You know we don’t have secrets. What is it?’206

Reluctantly little Betty handed the soft bundle into Betty’s fingers where it lay, crumpled and degraded.207

‘Have you made this Betty?’ Betty Hubbard’s eyes were wide with admiration for my cousin’s artistry. ‘Why, it’s beautiful. How long have you spent on it?’208

‘It’s a gift for Abby,’ she smiled. ‘I promised I would sew her something. But it’s a secret, Betty. Please don’t tell the others about it. You know we’re not supposed to have pretty things.’209

‘Ah don’t worry?’ mused Betty, smiling but with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Oh, when does Abby think she’ll wear this? It’s a beautiful shift Betty, one any man might admire, eh Abby?’210

‘Betty, please give it back. I need to finish it,’ implored little Betty. ‘Let me have it back. I’ve promised Abby I’d have it finished today. Please, Betty,’ her large aqua eyes already brimming.211

‘Would you sew me something like this Betty?’ Her voice lowered conspiratorially, and she glanced at me shrewdly, ‘Will he like it Abby?’ she smiled but thankfully returned the shift. Little Betty’s needle immediately reappeared and flew through the remaining fine details.212

‘Betty, whilst you’re busy, would you mind if I left you a moment?’ I could sense the girls were anxious for any gossip.213

‘Not at all,’ she murmured, already lost in her artistry. 214

‘So, demanded Betty Hubbard once we’d removed ourselves. ‘What news?’215

‘Nothing,’ I replied stoutly, desperate to protect the intimacy of my feelings. ‘I’m still content at the farm, that’s all there is to it Betty.’216

‘Oh come on, Abby. I saw the pair of you driving into Salem. You were gazing at him like a moonstruck calf. He must realise.’217

‘Well, does he?’ smiled Mercy, though her tone was impatient. Having decided the course of warning me against John Proctor was futile, they’d obviously opted for salacious detail, but they’d be sorely disappointed. Let them conjecture, but I was never adept at hiding my nature, my eyes revealed my truth no matter what flew from my mouth.218

‘I don’t know what you mean Mercy,’ I retorted primly.219

‘Oh for heaven’s sake Abby! Tell us what’s happened, something has, that’s obvious,’ insisted Betty Hubbard.220

‘There’s nothing. Really, nothing’s happened. I’m his housekeeper, nothing else. He likes my company, that’s all. If he chooses to spend more time with me than anyone else, what can I do?’221

‘Ah, then you do admit you spend a lot of your time with John Proctor!’ laughed Betty Hubbard sensing a victory.222

‘Not that much,’ I snapped peevishly. ‘Look, I admit I enjoy spending time with him because he listens and he talks to me. I’d be lucky to find myself such a husband. She doesn’t know what he’s like. How he puts up with her is beyond me, and she hates both of us.’223

‘Well, what do you expect? How would you feel in her place?’ retorted Betty the voice of reason. ‘Think about it, your husband introduces a young girl into your home, and you’re still sick after your last child. You’re so unattractive to your husband he won’t share your bed.’224

‘That’s not my fault. She doesn’t behave selfishly because John doesn’t show her any affection. It’s her choice. I can’t help it if he won’t sleep with her. She’s an icy snivelling creation and she hates me. I’ve done nothing to justify her attitude, nothing. It’s not my fault I’m warm towards him, and she isn’t.’ I faltered lamely.225

‘Oh it’s John now is it?’ groaned Betty. ‘Didn’t I say this would happen with him? You want that shift for him don’t you? When do you hope he might see it?’226

‘It’s not like that,’ I muttered quietly, crimson with disclosure. ‘I only asked little Betty to sew me something I could wear next to my skin. I didn’t have any other intention when I asked her. I didn’t mean it for anybody else.’ 227

‘Why can’t you tell the truth for once Abigail Williams?’ snapped Betty rapidly losing patience. ‘Why can’t you just admit it? But remember, even if Goody Proctor’s a poor wife, she’s still his wife. And you know the consequences.’228

‘Yes, yes, yes, you don’t need to point it all out. I’ll be damned and not just in the eyes of God. No man would want me and I’d be whipped, wear the scarlet letter, do time in the stocks, I know, I know.’229

‘Has he said anything?’ demanded Mercy. 230

‘Well,’ I mumbled. ‘Not really, but all he says is loaded with meaning. I know he has some liking for me; today he clasped my hand and kissed it. He wiped the tears from my eyes because I was upset and said he’d always protect me, that Parris would never hurt me as long as there was breath in his body.’ 231

‘Oh I’m sure any lecher would say the same to a gullible girl Abigail,’ scoffed Betty completely unconvinced. ‘Yes, he sounds caring, but he’s a man and we know what lies between his thighs.’232

‘Well, not Goody Proctor, that’s for sure,’ giggled Mercy rudely. ‘I’m sorry Abby. I couldn’t help it. But you know what I mean. He’s a man after all and I’m sure he can lust as much as any one.’233

‘Mercy!’ I remonstrated, shocked, although Betty was attempting to stifle her own laughter. ‘Yes, he’s a man, but he doesn’t look at me like that, I swear. He doesn’t lust after me; he’s not like that. He’s decent, he’s a fine man, he really is.’234

‘I swear Abigail Williams,’ smiled Betty Hubbard, ‘if you tell us once more that John Proctor’s a fine man I’ll slap your silliness out of your empty head. We believe you, but he’s still a man and you be careful you don’t let him take advantage of you. The way you’re going it won’t take him long to realise he can take whatever you have and then you’ll soon see how decent he is.’235

I hung my head, she was right. The girls were no fools; few secrets remained unshared within the bored and frustrated confines of our empty lives. Before I went to John, my life, in spite of little Betty and my friends, was intensely dull and repetitive. Our days were little more than domestic drudgery, relieved occasionally by gatherings such as our sewing circle, but primarily we were constantly belittled, facing criticism and condemnation. Salem was riddled with ill thought rules of almost persecutory standards if anyone of us failed to conform. Parris was a prime example of the rank hypocrisy practiced by many; a man of God, an ordained minister, should not have lusted or fallen into such violence. Farmers such as John were forbidden to work their land on a Sabbath, but he and others were frequently forced to ignore such restrictions. Sabbath or no Sabbath, when a crop was ripe, it was imperative someone harvested it lest it spoil. Characteristically Parris angrily denounced such actions but he was rarely critical of the Putnams who were also seen ploughing on a Sunday. They were too powerful, their wealth and ambition guaranteeing them immunity to any condemnation and public denouncement from his judgemental pulpit. Parris was always a bullying coward, eager to abuse any weaker than himself. John was never afraid of Parris; in his eyes, my uncle was a pompous fool who cared more for how people behaved rather than spreading the love of God. I often heard John declare that preaching love should take precedent over complaining of a firewood allowance and the deeds to the parsonage. 236

Eventually the village bell tolled for us to pack our conversations and gather up the workbaskets and pieces. Little Betty, true to her word had completed my shift and had shyly pressed the parcel into my hand with a smile of pride and delight.237

‘I hope it fits you well Abby,’ she whispered softly, ‘and you like it.’238

‘Thank you, Betty,’ I replied, kissing her cheek in honest gratitude and appreciation. ‘It really is stunning, thank you. Now I must go. Mr Proctor will be impatient if I keep him waiting.’239

‘Oh, I’m sure he can wait Abby,’ smiled Betty Hubbard wickedly. ‘He’s held out long enough hasn’t he?’240

‘Hush Betty, not now,’ I chided, ‘I’ve got to go.’241

‘Oh, Abby,’ called Betty as I was half way through the door. ‘Remember we share everything,’ she added with a wicked glint.242

Thankfully I managed to avoid blushing, but her meaning was clear, whatever passed between John Proctor and myself would not remain private for long. I was grateful to escape their unflinching gaze and blink into the wan sunlight of the early February afternoon as John made his way from the direction of Griggs’ sizeable house, his face indicating the visit had angered him.243

‘Mr Proctor?’ I inquired shyly. ‘Are you well? You look a little distracted if I may say.’244

‘What? Oh Abby, don’t worry about me. Come on, it’s time we were home, I’m hungry.’245

I knew him well enough to realise he didn’t care to discuss the meeting with Griggs, barely muttering a word as we trotted away. I hadn’t imagined the affectionate actions of a few hours ago, the soft words and exchange of intimacies; this was John Proctor, the man I cherished above all, who seemed to be responsive to my attentions, not a callow youth unworthy of consideration and fickle as the summer wind. This same John Proctor now seemed preoccupied and oblivious to my company. It was only as we shook the rigours of Salem from the ruts of our way I felt him relax, although his voice was troubled.246

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Abby. My mood’s black. I had to call on Griggs and Goody Rachel. They wouldn’t leave me alone, on and on about my damned wife’s welfare. How I should look after her more, bring her into visit her friends in the village. That’s not a medical opinion; I wish he’d take her to Salem and keep her here; they should try living with her. I swear Abby, I can’t do any more. The woman has ice flowing through her veins, there’s no warmth in her frosted heart. I had no choice you know, I wish to God I had, I would’ve chosen different, believe me.’247

This was confession, an open admission he now deemed his marriage an irredeemable failure; there was no love for the cold woman who preferred the company of a squalling infant.248

‘I’m sorry, Mr Proctor, I am,’ I mumbled.249

‘Of course, Abby,’ he glanced sharply towards me, his green eyes narrowing.250

‘I’m sorry, Mr Proctor,’ I repeated. ‘Have I offended you?’ I queried, terrified of having spoken out of turn. 251

‘Offended me? Why should you offend me Abby? But tell the truth, you’re not sorry, why should you be sorry? The state of my pitiful marriage isn’t your doing. It’s mine.’252

‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘It isn’t, Mr Proctor. I’ve watched you and,’ I paused, selecting my words with thought, ‘and I’ve seen how she is. It’s her doing, not yours, Mr Proctor. It’s her. She’s ungrateful; it’s not your fault. If I were Goody Proctor, I’d never be cold to you.’253

A deep silence ensued as he inhaled the full import of my words. I couldn’t have been more frank, my feelings unfettered. 254

‘Oh you’d be warm wouldn’t you Abby’ he spoke slowly, his eyes never once leaving my face. ‘I don’t think you’d deny me anything would you?’255

‘No, Mr Proctor, I’d never deny you. If I can please you in any way I will. You know that.’256

‘Yes, Abby, I do. You don’t disguise anything, do you? And I’m glad for it. I was right to bring you to my home, in spite of her. Oh Abby, without you, I don’t think I’d know any comfort in my life at all.’257

‘Thank you Mr Proctor,’ I muttered, unable to prevent the smile smearing my face as again I felt his fingers brush my cheek.258

‘Abby, my name’s John,’ he smiled, and the sun burst in my head as his face lit with equal pleasure.259

It was in a daze that I sat atop the cart ambling along, my head now resting lightly on John’s shoulder. Words superfluous, he’d looked into my face, quickly brushed the tip of my nose with a forefinger, a curiously gentle and endearing action, clicked the horse on as if our admissions were everyday conversation and we’d continued homeward. A comfortable state had settled between us, and I was happy to feel the gentle rocking under my head as he drove us ever towards the farm, and her. As we neared home John murmured we ought to remember ourselves, reluctantly I sat up straight, my cheek warm from his heat, ordering my cloak and pulling on the mantle of maid once more.260

‘Abby, let me help you down, then I’ll stow the cart. Come on, give me your hand.’ This time when I felt the strong fingers grasp my hand, I realised the brush of his palm around my waist was no longer accidental. Almost dancing with joy I entered the house expecting to rediscover the scene I’d left; the pot hanging above the still warm ashes of a deadened fire, the plates neatly stacked on the dresser, the newly baked loaves resting on the habitual board and Elizabeth Proctor nursing her perennial brat glaring angrily towards me.261

‘Where’ve you been girl?’ she demanded. ‘Look at this place. You’re a slovenly whore if ever I’ve known one. Why’s that fire out? You can’t keep house, you hear me girl, I want you out of here, you can go back to your uncle.’262

I goggled dumbly at her, outraged, here she was sitting in my kitchen, criticising my housekeeping when she’d barely left her room in a year. The fire was recently cooled, it wouldn’t require more than a minute’s care to reactivate it, the broth wouldn’t be spoiled for a few minutes’ cooling.263

‘And that bread looks stale. There’s so much dust in this house, it’s worse than the barn. You’re a slatternly idle wretch you really are.’264

Fortunately John’s cry stemmed the flow of her diatribe as he stepped into the frost of her welcome. ‘Oh,’ he paused taken aback by her unwelcome appearance. ‘Elizabeth. This is, this is…’ he faltered.265

‘This, this, this,’ she mimicked him, ‘this slut must go John Proctor,’ she shot at me. ‘She can’t keep a decent house, and her bread’s unfit for the beasts. The fire’s dead, this room’s filthy. She can’t remain in this house a moment more. I don’t want her here. You send her back to Salem. Ask her where she’s been, she neglects her duties.’266

‘Elizabeth,’ John spoke carefully, demonstrating commendable patience. ‘Abby’s not leaving this house. She’s a good housekeeper and looks after us very well. If you must know, Abby came into the Village with me, it’s only right she should see her family, do you begrudge her that? There’s nothing amiss with her housekeeping whatsoever. Do I have to remind you I’m master here? And I say Abby will stay. She pleases me. You hear me? She pleases me and the boys are very fond of her. Now,’ he turned to me, ‘Abby, set the fire. I’m hungry.’267

‘I don’t want her here,’ insisted Goody Proctor as I ignored her and continued raking the ashes. I was confident of John, I baked well enough, I cleaned his house and made him feel more content than she ever could.268

‘But I do. I won’t send Abby anywhere, this is her home now.’ His voice low and icy, she could order all she liked, he was resolute.269

‘You listen to me John Proctor, I’m still your wife and I say I do not want that harlot in this house one minute more. I know what she is..’ but he cut her short brusquely.270

‘Abby is an excellent housekeeper, you have no right to insult her. You’ll be pleased to hear Griggs is calling tomorrow; he wants to take you to stay with him, and I know you’ll enjoy that. He thinks you’ll recover better away from me and I daresay he’s right. You’ve always enjoyed the doctor’s attentions haven’t you?’ He glanced viciously at her, uncaring if I saw the hostility between them now.271

‘So that’s how it is John Proctor,’ she snapped, eyes blazing. She knew, I swear she did. ‘You want me out of this house.’272

‘I didn’t say that. All I said was that Griggs wants you with him, and Goody Rachel of course. I’m sure Abby can help you pack your things, or at least the child’s. You’d do that wouldn’t you Abby?’ he smiled somewhat paternally towards me causing my heart to plunge.273

‘Yes, Mr Proctor,’ I mumbled gracelessly.274

‘Don’t you dare send that slut near my chamber. I don’t want her in my house. Why don’t you listen to me?’ her voice rose to a whining pitch. ‘This is my house, I’m still mistress here.’275

‘No, it’s my house,’ repeated John quietly. ‘Well, if you won’t have Abby help you, will you help yourself if she brings you clean linen? Well? I’ve told you, Abby’s going nowhere; she has my supper to make, and if you can do nothing but complain and throw insults I suggest you return upstairs. Your child obviously wants attention and I don’t wish its constant squalling down here. Why can’t it ever be quiet? What do you say?’ he stared hard at her as I busied myself, delighting in his insistence. 276

A weighty silence ensued as she sucked in the full import of his words; her mouth slightly agape and her brat continuing its angry mewling. It must have been the most nursed child, but it was rarely satiated, perhaps its mother’s milk tasted sour in its boneless gums. Heavily she rose, pouting and with a definite sullen tone. ‘So that’s how it is. I know why you don’t want me here John Proctor. But don’t you send your little whore to me; I don’t want her filth. I know what you’re thinking girl,’ she hissed at me.277

‘I don’t think anything of you Goody Proctor,’ I replied equally tersely. ‘I’m not paid to think. I’m paid to keep house and make sure Mr Proctor and the boys are tended to. And I’d thank you not to call me...’278

‘That’s enough Abigail!’ commanded John, angrily interrupting my retort with a freezing glare. ‘Will you shut that wretched brat up! Take it away upstairs for God’s sake!’ he motioned towards her, but she was quicker.279

‘Don’t touch me!’ she spat at him. ‘I don’t want you near me. Leave me alone.’ Gathering the child to her she dashed from the room, crashing up the stairs, slamming her door so violently, plates crashed to the floor. Momentarily dumb, John stared after her, before flying in her wake. I could hear him pounding on the doorway, his voice harsh and coarse.280

‘Woman!’ he roared, ‘I will not have you embarrass me like this in front of Abby. You hear me? You bring shame on me, you really do. Have you no sense woman? No propriety? You’ve never been a wife to me, never. Open this door before I break it down. Open this damned door,’ a volley of repeated blows and obscenities echoed through the house. 281

‘And you’re no husband to me John Proctor. You’re a poor man, a poor husband. You can’t satisfy anyone, can you? You never have. Do you hear me, do you hear me, a poor husband for any woman,’ she screamed in response. ‘You don’t even know this child’s name,’ furious sobbing ensued as the blows doubled in intensity. 282

‘Why should I? If you don’t open this door, I swear I….’ Suddenly I heard the angry footsteps storm into her room, the tirade accompanied by signs of increased violence. But I didn’t care about her; his rough words had bruised my soul. All his fine words a few minutes earlier mattered for nothing. The tempest continued unabated as John’s anger roused beyond control and the child set up its knifing wail, slicing through my sensibilities. Hastily sweeping the chaos of smashed crockery, I left the carnage and outrage above my head and headed for the solace of the barn. 283

The mare was chewing lazily on a bag of straw glad to be free of her tack and the cows were dozing fitfully dreaming of spring. I loved their timid undemanding company, the way their liquid eyes would gaze at me unquestioning, their hides warm and comforting, even their raw, natural odour. Once I’d finished the milking I’d frequently bury my head within the soft flesh and inhale its warmth, listening to the unearthly gurgling of the stomachs. The cows were invaluable, yielding not only the milk we consumed, but also the butter we spread to enliven the dulled taste of stale bread. When their day was over, the cows would provide us with welcome meat and leather, yet I dreaded to see such a quiet, biddable beast killed. Not that I disliked meat, I was more than capable of stripping any game John brought home, but the notion of eating a beast I’d tended remained discomforting.284

The animals seemed drowsy, in spite of the cold outside, even the chickens pecked languidly at the floor of the barn; but when they sensed my presence they gathered as expectantly as ever. I couldn’t deny them. At each handful of grain they crowded avidly until each was able to peck independently without fear of assault and threat. At least they were content, every creature in the barn appeared comforted apart from me. John’s silencing rebuke had cut me deep, the sharp reproof, the slicing dismissal echoed in my head. Not half an hour earlier I’d rested against his shoulder, felt his warmth but now I was alone and without comfort. Huddling into myself, knees drawn to my chin, I began gently rocking as I had the night Mama and Papa had been stolen from me. I was still sobbing uncontrollably when John burst into the barn, scattering the disgruntled birds to an irate squalling. He was dishevelled, his shirt rent, blood oozing from a deep wound in one cheek and the dragged indentations of raked fingernails embedded on his throat. The birds regrouped and doubled their energies as John gazed questioningly at me, oblivious to the blood on his face and the fiery traces of her angry fingers. Within seconds he was on me, hungry and desperate, and I equally avid for him. He didn’t speak, I didn’t desire irrelevant words, all I sought was his flesh, the tang of his bloodied cheek mingling with my tears, smearing both our faces. The beasts ignored us, the birds pecked on, all oblivious to the frenzied coupling before them.285

I can never forget that first moment of naked lust even now, a decade on, I can still recall the harsh scrapings of the straw, the greedy, probing tongue inside my mouth, the brush of his tousled hair and the insistent searching of his rough gentle hands on my thighs. He pushed up my skirts, questing for what Parris had coveted and I prayed John would be the first. A momentary sharp thrust of pain snatched at my breath as I sensed him inside and I gasped with delight and surprise by the surge of overwhelming emotion. As John watched my face, his own creased into one of his rare, genuine smiles. Passion transformed and rejuvenated him, smoothing the creases around his eyes and illuminating his face. His breaths grew heavy, laboured and finally I felt him shudder, gasping, almost choking. An explosion of sensation burst inside my head, a torrent of dizziness besieged my mind and I clasped him to me, sobbing with pure pleasure. We lay as one too briefly, until he gently withdrew and reclined on the straw, drawing me to his chest where I rested, exhausted. Even now we couldn’t escape her, the marks of her hand angry and harsh against his flushed skin and I traced them tenderly with my own fingers. I could discern the pulsating beat of his heart beneath the torn shirt gradually slowing to a regular rhythm as his passion cooled and felt a warm trickling down the inside of my thighs. Brushing my fingers against my still bared skin, I was surprised to see blood and a milky white fluid smearing my palm.286

‘I bleed?’ I asked stupidly.287

‘You bleed the first time,’ John smiled down on me, once again brushing the tip of his finger against my nose, his peculiar sign of affection. ‘Parris hasn’t known you, no man has, apart from me.’288

Bringing my stained fingers to my face I was surprised by the sharp musky aroma adhering to my skin; I would never know John Proctor more intimately, this was his essence. Drawing this to my lips, my long cherished wish was finally granted, and I tasted man.289

I had no desire to move but even euphoria must be curtailed, and much as I would have traded my being to remain locked with John, I knew we must continue with the façade of our existence and play our habitual roles.290

‘Abby,’ he murmured, ‘no one must know. You know what could happen to both of us.’291

‘I won’t tell a soul. This is between us. John, I swear to you, this is too precious to me. You’re too precious to me.’292

‘Oh Abby, your devotion does you credit. You do understand, don’t you?’293

‘John, I swear to you, no one will know, but, please don’t treat me as a child like you did earlier. I didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. I was so confused, I mean, we’d reached some understanding out there and I felt, I felt that now you finally realised how I felt, and you, I know felt the same. And when we were home, she was there and so cruel, and you chided me, I didn’t know what to think. She hates me. I’m sorry, I know she’s your wife, but she’s unfair calling me a slatternly slut and a whore. I’m not a whore. I’m not.’294

‘Oh Abby, of course you’re not, try to ignore all she says. I’m so sorry if I hurt you, but she vexed me so much. I know she’s unreasonable but I can’t feed her ill thoughts. I didn’t mean to speak harshly, you know I’d never hurt you deliberately; I’d rather cut off my hand than hurt you. You can’t know what you mean to me, and Abby,’ he paused.295

‘John?’ 296

‘She’s never been a wife to me. You’ve cared for us more than she ever has, I won’t be parted from you. Now, come on, dry your eyes, we must return before the boys are back. She won’t show her face again downstairs.’297

‘What did she do to you John? Why did she attack you? She needs a doctor to send her to bedlam.’298

‘My face is scratched nothing more. Come on. Dry yourself, here, use this.’ He handed me his kerchief. ‘I promise you, Abigail Williams, this is no tumble for me. I feel for you. I’ve never said this to anyone,’ his voice tailed off, struggling with the raw intensity of his emotions. ‘I’m no master of words, I find it difficult to express how I really feel, but I do feel, you must believe me when I tell you this. I’m not one for flattering you into raising your skirts.’299

‘I know that John. I know what I’m about.’ I raised my head closer to his own and commenced stroking his exposed nipple, his groan of pleasure the only response I needed. ‘You haven’t beguiled me, I’ve yearned for this since you stopped telling me how I ugly I was.’300

‘Oh, Abby, I’ve never called you ugly,’ he laughed, gently brushing my fingers away. ‘Abby, please don’t tempt me further; I won’t be able to control myself.’301

I frowned petulantly, he wasn’t the only one with desires. ‘You did say I was ugly,’ I pouted.302

‘Abby, I may’ve said that in a cruel jest, and again I’m sorry if I did, it was heartless and unthinking. You’ll never be ugly to me. Even with your shaven head and bruised flesh you were never ugly. If you only knew how I’ve longed to enfold you, to be like this with you,’ his green eyes bored into mine and I felt his entire body tense. ‘Now, stop weeping, you’re soaking me with your tears. There, are you done? Let me have that cloth please. It’ll always recall this moment of us. Now, are you done? My cheek hurts and I need your deft fingers,’ he smiled wickedly, sitting up and rearranging his britches decently. I followed suit, smoothing my skirts, retying my bonnet and returning his stained kerchief. I was touched by the strange sentiment to maintain this memory, it seemed to be more the action of a love struck girl than a grown man. But John had almost told me he loved me; John Proctor loved me, sin or no sin, and I loved him more than the breath filtering through my soul.303

‘Now, go, you must leave before I do,’ he stated firmly, pulling me to my feet. ‘Just in case anyone should be watching, and remember, we must be careful even though it’ll be difficult for both of us. Do you hear me? For both of us. Now, go quickly before I’m tempted again,’ he laughed as I scurried away.304

Inside the house all was silence, even the squalling brat was quietened; of that woman herself there was no sign. My broth was bubbling, the loaf in place and my workbasket thankfully untouched. I was stowing the mending when John reappeared, his cheek bleeding again, though his face was serene and a playful smile graced his lips.305

‘Mr Proctor,’ I greeted. ‘What’ve you done to your cheek?’ 306

‘It’s nothing Abby. Can you mend this shirt?’307

‘I’ll try Mr Proctor, but I’ll need to wash it first though, the blood’s stained it. 308

‘Take it then,’ he replied handing me the rent garment and sitting down regardless. ‘Do we have any cider in?’309

‘Yes, here, but Mr Proctor, you can’t sit here like that, you’ll catch your death.’ I passed him a brimming ewer.310

‘Oh hush, I’m not cold. Will you share some with me?’311

‘No, thank you,’ I refused softly. ‘I don’t really care for cider, but I’ll share a mouthful of yours if I may?’312

‘Of course. Well, a future, eh Abigail Williams, our future.’ He raised his mug to me and smiled broadly. Sitting half naked and happy in his kitchen, the blood still oozing down his cheek, the raked fingernails still vivid on his throat, he was a satisfied man.313

‘A future, John Proctor,’ I returned echoing his gesture before stowing his damaged shirt in the mending basket and pouring a dish of water for his face.314

I had never washed a man before, and he sat, eyes half closed, a faint smile curving his lips upward, relaxed and content. The wound upon his cheek was small but deep from a sharp edged item. 315

‘Your wound’s bad, John. What did she fling at you?’316

‘A bible,’ he replied smiling. ‘It must be judgement eh Abby? She flung it at my head then flew at me, I swear she’d have had my heart but I struck out at her. I’m not proud, but I had to silence her. I struck her. I didn’t want to, but she was wild. She’d have bitten me too if I hadn’t struck her first. I hope Griggs takes her away for good.’317

‘Take her away? Do you really think he’ll do that?’318

‘He’s said as much, she needs contact with her family in his view.’319

John had a sharp mind; to the outside world it might appear to be the action of a caring husband, the reality was it left him free to enjoy his nights without fear of discovery. 320

‘Well, she’s certainly marked you. I hope you don’t end up with a scar. You won’t forget this day in a while.’ I prattled.321

‘Abby, please, no more. Remember what I said.’ He indicated with a finger to his lips. I nodded, immediately remorseful. Here I was, smashing my vow within moments of swearing discretion. ‘Oh, Abby, don’t look so sad. Now, is my face done?’ I nodded; there was little I could do. 322

The clatter of boots outside heralded the return of the boys, dirty and full of chatter, John hastily pulled on a clean shirt as they entered laughing and arguing good-naturedly.323

‘Look Will, I could do it,’ young John insisted. ‘I just don’t want to.’324

‘Yes, if you say so,’ laughed William. ‘But I wouldn’t do it.’325

‘What’s this?’ inquired their father joining in the conversation. ‘Arguing even before we have supper? And there we were enjoying some peace and quiet eh Abby?’326

I smiled, playing my part to the full, ‘Oh yes Mr Proctor, such peace. Now, are you hungry boys?’327

‘Papa,’ demanded William curiously, ‘what have you done to your face? It’s bleeding. And your throat’s all red.’ 328

‘I had an accident, I slipped and cut my cheek on a sharp rock, now hush, Abby has supper for us and I’m hungry. Abby, is supper ready now?’ and with that, William had to be content. The news that his mother had flung the holy book at his father and tried to claw his throat would have shocked the child; there were some elements of childish innocence that even I had to respect. 329

The evening passed in satisfaction. I sat with the boys practising their letters and reading, John dozing happily by his fire, his features in repose. In the orange yellow light of the flames his face became unearthly and filled with shadows and hollows he seemed beautiful. Conventionally John Proctor would not be considered a handsome man, past his first youth, his cheeks rarely smooth, but to me, my master, thirty-four years old, a hard working farmer, father of two sturdy sons, was perfect.330

Eventually John yawned, looked towards the boys and indicated that it was time for prayers. He may have detested Parris and his organised religion, but John was a goodly man, he was sincere when he had talked of adultery and sinning. He believed we should say our nightly prayers together, and he had believed in the sanctity of marriage, but her frosty nature had killed any affection and loyalty in him. John was a passionate man who needed warmth and tenderness; at least I could offer him that. Prayers over, the boys kissed their father goodnight, an oddly quaint and affectionate gesture they still maintained, in spite of their growing ages. I didn’t expect them to kiss me, I was only their maid after all, but they were solicitous and always wished me a peaceful night with childish sincerity. 331

‘God bless boys,’ returned John in response to their affections, ‘Goodnight. I don’t want any noise now. Sleep well.’332

‘Goodnight Papa, goodnight Abby. God bless,’ they intoned dutifully and were gone up the stairs, leaving me to their father.333

We waited some minutes as they settled, their footsteps ceasing and the creak of their floorboards indicating they were at last in bed and we were free.334

‘So, Abby. Are you tired?’335

‘No, John. Are you?’336

He looked directly at me, in that curious fashion I always felt could bore right through my soul. 337

‘No, though the prospect of bed is certainly appealing. But, there’s something I’d like to ask you first,’ he replied.338

‘John, you know I’ll do anything for you.’339

‘Oh, Abby, it’s just I’d like to bathe, I want to be clean before,’ he paused. This was becoming a familiar trait, leaving sentences unfinished and loaded. ‘Would you heat water for me? I want to be clean for you.’340

I was startled by his frankness and consideration. I’d told him the story of Tituba’s stink and how it had made me nauseous; I wasn’t particularly sensitive to body odours, but Tituba was simply rank. John’s own scent was of the earth; it was one of the first things I’d noticed about him when we had sat together the first time on the cart bringing me to the farm. My life had changed momentously since that day. My hair was growing; my bruises long faded into the memory of Parris’ lust, only my scarred back remained. 341

‘Abby, would you like to bathe with me?’342

I hesitated somewhat embarrassed, unsure of how I should respond. No man had ever seen me fully naked, I didn’t feel ready to wash myself before the eyes of any man, not even John, he would see my back.343

‘Am I unclean to you?’ my voice betrayed my anxiety. I knew that some men disliked a strong female smell, or so Betty Hubbard, that source of all knowledge regarding the human condition claimed.344

‘No, no,’ he assured me. ‘It’s just I know the dirt is often too ingrained in my fingers, and I don’t want to soil your skin. Will you wash me? Make me clean?’ his voice oddly boyish. 345

The water heated and I filled the basin we all used. It wasn’t always easy to maintain a standard of freshness, frequently we grew accustomed to a personal aroma, but I tried to keep clean as best I could, washing the sleep from my face every day. Full baths were infrequent and impractical; immersion was something I’d rarely experienced. 346

‘Abby. Would you wash me?’ repeated John.347

‘Of course,’ I murmured. ‘If you think it’s safe?’348

‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘It is. They’re all asleep by now. She won’t come downstairs again until Griggs arrives and she’ll probably tell him what a poor husband I am. I don’t even know the name of her last child,’ he smiled grimly. ‘But why should I? He’s nothing to do with me.’ 349

I looked towards him in surprise, perhaps Betty Hubbard’s gossip was true. ‘What do you mean John?’350

‘I’m not his father. Griggs is. I haven’t been anywhere near that wretched woman since Will was conceived I can promise you that. I can’t touch her, I won’t touch her, believe me Abby, this marriage of mine faltered long ago. I have two sons, not three, that brat isn’t mine, I won’t father any more on her. She and Griggs broke their vows years ago. I’m a cuckold Abby, my wife’s unfaithful to me, but I don’t care. I just wish he’d take her away, but of course we know what would happen don’t we? Adultery’s more than a sin isn’t it?’351

‘But why don’t you name her? She’s the one who’s sinned not you.’352

‘And have all of Salem wonder why she seeks satisfaction elsewhere? Have them whisper behind my back I’m not man enough? Besides, I’ve committed adultery now myself, haven’t I? And knowing her she’d have no scruple in counter charging, believe me.’353

‘But how does she know? Surely she didn’t see us? We were so careful.’354

‘She doesn’t, but that wouldn’t stop her inventing lies and ruining you. You heard her call you a whore, and she wouldn’t hesitate repeating that in public. She has no thoughts for anyone but herself and that brat. You must be careful, don’t cross her. Now, enough about her, will you wash me?’355

‘John, if you want me to, you know I will, but please, let me wash myself,’ I hesitated, unsure of how to continue. John was so honest and open with me I didn’t like hiding anything from him.356

‘Why, Abby,’ he replied softly. ‘I wouldn’t ever ask you to do anything against your will. But you will wash me? I’d appreciate it, it’ll make me happier than anything.’357

‘Of course I will. The water’s ready. Are you?’ I looked directly towards him, gauging his reaction.358

‘Yes, I’m ready, or I will be in a moment.’359

I’d never seen a fully naked man before, but it felt completely natural to wash him by the warmth of the fire, each limb sponged and rinsed as gently as I could. As I bathed him, John relaxed into his own thoughts, his skin gleaming red in the dancing flames and his hair bronze. I rinsed that hair until it protested; no mother could have tended to her child with more care but it gave me such pleasure to cleanse him and see him so peaceful. I truly loved John Proctor, and here, unashamed of his nakedness, I loved him more than life itself. John was quite finely muscled, his skin even now indicating he spent much of his time out of doors and frequently stripped of his shirt, uncaring of the disapproval from the likes of Parris. What John did on the privacy of his own land was his business alone, if he wished to tend his farm half naked in the sun, I wouldn’t object. He had a pleasing body, slender and well formed, its image would haunt my dreams long after the worms and insects had picked the flesh clean from the bones. 360

As I washed him I noticed the various changes in the contours of his form, the varying tones of his skin; his face slightly darker than his chest, the brown nipples flaring to a passionate red, hardening into two sharp points and the slender black line stretching downwards from his flat navel. Trickling the water onto his body hair I heard him exhale involuntarily, John was deep in his passion.361

‘Oh, Abby,’ he groaned. ‘I swear I can’t contain myself much longer. Dry me, quickly. You can see how I am for you,’ he stood upright, beginning to wrap a cloth around his waist, the all too obvious strain under his taut belly evident. Smiling broadly he glanced down at himself and laughed softly. ‘Look at me, more eager than a virgin on his wedding night. This is how you make me feel. You can’t know the times I’ve had to turn away because I couldn’t trust my body. Is this proof enough to you? Please, don’t make me wait long.’362

Laughing quietly I placed a finger on his lips, secretly exultant, John was a ready lover, his lack of affection more than apparent. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t been near her in almost ten years, but I was glad, I hated to think of him touching her at all.363

‘John, I’ll be swift, I promise. Now go on, it’d be a shame to waste such a, such a..’ I stopped myself hastily, realising I was falling into bawdiness, this was Betty Hubbard’s doing. ‘I’m sorry John, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.’364

‘Oh hush,’ he laughed, brushing the tip of his forefinger against my nose, ‘what are you apart from honest? Ah, I’m not offended, why should I be? And anyway, you’re right.’ He let the cloth slip momentarily and gazed downwards at himself before meeting my eyes, the lights dancing wickedly in the vivid green of his own. ‘It’d be a travesty to waste, even if I say so myself. Now hurry, I swear I can’t wait much longer.’ The cloth was once more wrapped loosely around his waist, but the desire remained prominent. 365

Alone, I removed my gown and shift and rapidly washed myself, paying particular attention to those areas I knew he would seek out. My belly was smoothly flat, my limbs supple and my hair would soon gleam once I’d washed it. I knew John couldn’t wait long, that much was obvious, but I needed to be rinsed and fresh. Dried I opened my workbasket and shook out Betty’s shift. It felt soft as I slipped it on, my own desire clearly evident as it brushed my flesh, he wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be able to wait long. Dampening down the fire with a douse of the remaining water, I poured the dregs outside, reeling in surprise at the icy blast of wind that hit me as a sharp blade. I’d forgotten how cold it was, so entranced had I been by John’s skin and felt my own tighten and tingle with anticipation as well as with the cold I hastily shut out. 366

A single candle was all I needed to light my way to my cold, empty chamber, and stared at my narrow loveless cot and finding it difficult to imagine John lying there asleep or otherwise, but he’d promised he’d join me. My small room bore more resemblance to a cell than bedchamber and John’s own was not dissimilar, although considerably larger. There were numerous empty rooms in the farmhouse, but most of them were unused, unaired and shut up since his family had died or moved away. If John had his way and Griggs did remove her, I wondered if he’d return to that large room where she slept and where they’d cuckolded him. Silence bathed the sleeping house; the boys were swept in childish dreams, she lay alone and unloved and I sat, waiting. 367

My candle had burned low and still I sat combing my hair distractedly. I couldn’t understand such a delay in John, he’d been so fervent, but still he was absent and I had grown cold and shivering in my thin shift. Wintry in my solitude I felt the inevitable tears of disappointment prick against my lids. Unwelcome thoughts assaulted my senses, he still found me ugly and repulsive; my hair was ungainly; he no longer wanted me because I’d willingly raised my skirts for him; he had decided he preferred her over me; such stupid, stupid thoughts seeped into my head and fed off my fears. 368

Wrapping a shawl over my shift I unlatched the ready door leaving my candle burning alone and pathetic in the gloom. Outside all was hushed and still, each door firmly secure against the outside world, each occupant lost in private dreams. Padding down the corridor, past the sleeping boys, I hurried to his; even in this darkness I knew it and quietly tried the latch, it was unlocked. Swiftly I stepped inside unsure of what might greet my eyes or even if I would find him there. The single candle was virtually extinguished but amid the gloom all was calm, silent save for a regular breathing, he’d simply fallen asleep, in spite of his ardour. The cloth remained loosely wrapped about his waist and he wore nothing else regardless of the cold. His hair was blanketing most of his face but I knew he was restless. Groaning, he stirred slightly as his thoughts filtered through his dreams. 369

Foregoing any sense of propriety I curled myself around his sleeping body, resting my head against his chest. His nipples were soft again, their previous passion abated but I longed to taste them, wrap my lips around their acquiescence and trace him but I knew he’d wake. I would never describe John as overly thin, but in the discerning darkness his flesh faded and I could feel the sternum pushing the taut skin. It was a contour that grew dearly familiar to me, along with his salty tang and the sharpness of his woken flesh. Asleep he was beautiful, from the tumbling hair, dry now and curling softly, to the hard, firm belly and the promise that so clearly lay below. Raising my head to his I stroked his cheeks as the candle finally guttered and died, bathing me in the purity of darkness but what greeted my fingers was unexpected; John had fully shaved his beard. I had never before seen or felt him smooth cheeked, so altered, the years magically melted. He stirred once more, loosening the cloth further, but I couldn’t stop myself now, it was too late. Stealthily I opened it and slipping my hand past his spring of hair I found him, small, soft, warm but immediately hardening as I touched him. Even in sleep he knew what he was about and a slight moan broke the stillness as he shifted again, the pure smoothness of the head thrusting through the protective foreskin and dampening my questing fingers.370

Whether it was the devil filling me with the delight of sin, I do not know, but what I did know was that I would know him as intimately as I could, even though it might be wrong, everything was wrong but I didn’t care. I knew exactly what I should do, make this man and myself happy, it fell as simple as that. Surprisingly he tasted soft as I explored the raw life within him, a pushing surge of energy filling both of us. Neither of us could help ourselves, nature, lust, call it what you will, was leading us along this dance now, all modesty and acceptability long since cast. John would be happy, happier, I hoped than ever before and because of me. As I continued, his narrow hips began to respond rhythmically, a stabbing inhalation finally indicating he was awake. Even though he could barely discern me in this darkness, I lifted my head and smiled up at him, a thread of his moisture uniting us. Urgent questing fingers sought my hair but I was done with that for now, pleased I had savoured him, a hot taste still smearing my lips. ‘Oh Abby,’ he groaned softly, ‘I, I’ve never known that before. Dear God, I need…’371

‘Shh, shh,’ I placed my fingers against his mouth, I didn’t require further words from him, his body was all. ‘John, hush.’372

Eventually spent, we lay as one, both fallen into that state of half waking, half sleeping bordering on intoxication, I knew he was satiated, and I was more content than I thought possible.373

‘John?’ 374

‘Abby?’ his voice husky and lazy. ‘What is it? Why are you calling my name? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you.’375

I looked up into his boyman face with its half open eyes and sleepy smile. ‘John, is this real?’376

‘Oh Abby, of course this is real. Now, we have..’ but his voice had already trailed away as sleep overwhelmed him and I felt the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing grew even, deep, and I knew him to be at peace.377

The first bitter fingers of the grey dawn gradually filtered the darkness, bathing us in a blue grey light and as the morning slowly forced me back to a semblance of reality, I realised where I was. John slept on, his face still in repose. It was not fully light outside; I habitually arose with the second cockerel and the first had yet to greet the day. Rearranging the quilt I settled again to share his heat, we had grown so familiar with each other no further barriers would ever remain. If I could relive a time, it would be this with John asleep and satisfied, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat awarding me a sense of peace and sanity. Eventually he too stirred still half asleep and unfocused. 378

‘Hello,’ he greeted with his slow lazy smile, ‘how did you sleep?’379

‘Like a child. You?’380

‘Hmm, oh yes. Has the cock crowed?’381

‘No, not yet, when he does I must leave you, but I don’t want to.’ 382

‘I know Abby, I know, but there’s always tonight. Is that your shawl?’ He raised his head slightly from the pillow, glancing around him in the ever-lightening morning. 383

‘And my new shift, little Betty made it for me,’ I motioned, manoeuvring my body to a sitting position until his voice cut into me.384

‘Abby, what’s happened to your back?’385

I had forgotten myself and now had no cloak of darkness but it was no longer the time for deception. ‘Oh,’ I mumbled, realising I could maintain no secrets from John. ‘This is old.’386

John raised himself to a sitting position, reaching out and tracing the scars softly. ‘Did Parris do this? Why haven’t you told anybody about his violence?’387

‘Who’d believe me? He’s an ordained minister.’388

‘Why did he do it?’389

‘He whipped me for vomiting on his shoes. It was Tituba’s stink, it turned my stomach, I had cramps and it was just too much. We were at supper and I couldn’t help it, I was sick over his shoes and stockings. He thought I’d done it deliberately.390

‘Oh Abby,’ muttered John incredulous, ‘he beat you for being sick? The man’s worse than any beast.’391

‘Little Betty tried to reason with him but he dragged me outside by my hair and did this. She mended my dress, it was in ribbons, but she did her best. It was over a year ago and it doesn’t hurt now, but I didn’t want you to see it. I’m ugly, that’s why I didn’t want you to see me naked because I’m shamed by it, it reminds me of Parris. John,’ I turned and faced him squarely. ‘I hate him. I hate him.’392

‘Abby,’ he drew me towards him, ‘you know I won’t ever allow that man near you. I swear I’ll always protect you, you know I won’t let you down.’393

I knew he spoke the truth; John would look after me, John would protect me. He stroked my hair, my scarred flesh, uncaring of its welts. 394

‘You don’t find me ugly then John?’ 395

‘You’ll never be ugly to me, Abby. I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say, and I’m sorry for it. Now, don’t go just yet.’396

All too soon the damned bird was greeting the dawn with lusty volume and I knew I had no choice in leaving John alone in his bed before anyone else arose. I loathed parting from him, but this past would easily be created again, making my heart light. Hastily gathering my shift I covered myself once more and wrapped my shawl about my shoulders; the morning chill didn’t bite into me, I was too full of love for this man who lay back smiling amid his pillows.397

‘Abby, listen, I, I swear, if it pleases you I’ll scrape my face every day. But come here, I want to tell you something,’ he motioned me towards him and whispered gently into my ear. I smiled, touched by his unfamiliar words. 398

‘Yes, and do you?’ I replied, trying to contain my explosion of joy.399

‘Yes, you know I do. Now go on, I’ll be down soon,’ he laughed, brushing my cheek.400

Fortunately, the second cock was still crowing as I padded back hurriedly to my cold chamber; I swear I heard a furtive footstep from her room but not even the prospect of her suspicion could dampen my lightened spirits. I hurriedly relocked the door and swiftly dressed myself, replacing my shift with the everyday linen I habitually wore, tying my bonnet demurely and adjusting my apron. I was now the dutiful maidservant, trustworthy and dependable, not his whore.401

Downstairs all remained as I’d left it; the basin lay drained, all signs of our washing eradicated, only the dead ashes in the fire a silent witness of what had passed. Clearing these was always a chore I detested, but without the fire we couldn’t heat our food, our water, or ourselves and until I had a sound blaze in the hearth, the household would freeze. Even though the sun shone hopefully and the birds were greeting the new day, a sure sign of spring, the snows were not long banished, and the temperature remained low. But I didn’t care, I was spring green, ripe and flourishing, but the elation would not remain for long. By the time the ashes were raked and prepared, the kindling laid, my nose was grey with dust and my hands filthy. I was still trying to strike a flame, when John found me on the verge of tears, the sparks refusing to ignite. This wasn’t how I’d envisaged welcoming him, usually the pot was bubbling in anticipation, the kettles heated, the creamy milk brimming in the jug and the loaf already laid awaiting the thick, yellow butter. But this morning, nothing would bend to my will, my hands were clumsy, my patience exhausted and my temper frayed.402

‘Here, let me,’ greeted John amiably from the doorway. ‘You see to breakfast. You won’t ignite a spark in that, come on Abby don’t fret. Here,’ he squatted down beside me, brushing the smudge from my nose. ‘What’s happened to your smile? It doesn’t matter if we eat later than usual. It’s a glorious day, and I am a very happy man. Now, let me sort that fire. Where’s the milk?’403

My hand flew to my mouth, she’d be fractious if I left her too long. 404

‘Oh, John, I’m sorry I’m so behind. This fire wouldn’t light, my hands are clumsy, there’s no breakfast ready yet.’405

‘Abby,’ he replied as the sparks finally ignited the kindling and a tiny, hopeful flame arose. ‘You’ve got smudges on your nose, my kitchen’s cold, and there’s no breakfast, but what do I care? I’ve got you, what else do I need? My belly can wait a few minutes. You’re late because I made you late, we’re changed from today and I’m glad.’406

‘But John, you said we mustn’t seem as if anything’s different…’407

‘Well we mustn’t, but I can’t have you crying because the fire won’t light. Now, being a little late doesn’t matter, nothing can dampen my mood, I swear. Here, let me take those ashes out and I’ll sort the cow; you can collect the eggs when you’re ready. Now come on, the boys need calling, the day’s growing old, and I want to enjoy it as much as I can.’ With that he pressed a finger to my lips, smiled and hastened outside, leaving me bewildered, this was almost a stranger. Gone was my employer, the serious faced farmer, matured and reaching into his middle years, he was displaced by a boyish smooth faced man, whose eyes sparkled as he broke into ready smiles. This wasn’t the John Proctor of even two days past, but he was one I wanted to know intimately.408

With the fire aflame, the kettle was soon singing and the room thawing. Slicing the last of the loaf signalled I needed to bake, a task I loved, if only for the aroma of the newly baked bread. Kneading the soft dough in my fingers always released any frustration as I often imagined it was her face I was pummelling to submission. The smell of freshly baked bread filling the kitchen would always fill me with joy, both John and the boys loved to eat the hot crusts, at times it was a fierce race between them as to who would reach the cooling loaf first. The floor was swept, the table laid, I’d poured cider ready when John reappeared clutching a pail of steaming, creamy milk fresh from the udder. He was right, it would be a glorious day, though I hadn’t collected the eggs, but they could wait. Let the hens roost on, they deserved to slumber for once. We were contented; we should share our happiness with others even if it were only a coup of chickens.409

‘Have you called the boys?’ he asked, smiling at the transformation about him.410

‘I’m just about to.’411

‘Have you heard any signs from above?’ he raised his eyes significantly.412

‘Not a thing, even the child’s quiet.’413

‘That’s a blessing, now, let’s have the boys down, I think we can present ourselves decently can’t we Abigail?’ the man had returned.414

‘Yes, Mr Proctor,’ I replied, falling swiftly into propriety, I hoped I’d always be able to switch roles as easily.415

Griggs was expected before noon and as usual, he ignored me, but why he gave himself such superiority was laughable, his own niece, my gossiping Betty Hubbard had told us more than enough regarding the philandering physician.416

‘Proctor,’ greeted the doctor curtly. ‘How’s Elizabeth this morning?’417

‘Never changing,’ was the muttered response. ‘She threw a bible at me yesterday and cut my face, but I don’t doubt you’ll be made welcome. She always likes your visits, you know that.’418

‘Yes,’ replied the doctor smoothly ignoring the all too obvious implication in John’s words. ‘Is she still in bed?’419

John shrugged nonchalantly, ‘I presume so; I don’t look in on her. We haven’t heard anything so far. I’ll take you up. Abby, fetch me some cider please.’420

‘It’s rather early isn’t it?’ intoned Griggs. 421

‘This way,’ motioned John ignoring the deliberate slight. I was left alone although he’d left the stairwell open and I could clearly hear the strains of the exchange above. Griggs called loudly, the tone of his voice indicative of his thoughts, her reply inaudible, but it was evident dialogue had been established. The rumble of John’s familiar tones filtered through to my eager ears, ‘Well, at least she’s speaking to you, I’ve told her you want to take her away, she won’t recover here I can guarantee you that. You know she chooses not to, and I won’t nurse her, why should I? And neither will Abby, she’s too busy tending to me.’422

Ah, I mused, make of that what you will Doctor Griggs, and thumped the dough happily.423

Moments later John descended, his face full of contempt for Griggs even if he were here to remove her. The relaxed figure of this morning had vanished, his clean cheeks only serving to emphasise a hollowness in his features and I wondered again what made him detest her so much. Silently I handed him a brimming mug of cider he drained in a single draught; he was rarely drunk, I’d never seen him drink more than one beaker in all the months I’d lived there.424

‘Damn woman. Damn doctor. I hope they rot in hell,’ he muttered, still drinking swiftly. I continued with my baking, messily sprinkling flour about the table as I formed the loaves.425

Noisy footfalls from above indicated movement. I hoped she was packing to leave us, when on cue, the brat opened its lungs and bellowed in protest. Surprisingly it had remained silent overnight, but seemed determined to make up for those blissful hours. 426

‘Abby?’427

‘Yes, Mr Proctor?’ I replied, anxious not to endanger us.428

‘Is there any more cider? I need it, the men can do without me today; I’m sure Jacob will see to the boys. Once she’s gone, I intend to celebrate my liberty, will you join me?’429

I didn’t know how to reply; it seemed he was throwing away all our earlier prudence. ‘John,’ I whispered with warning in my voice. ‘Please, think carefully. We can’t afford for anyone, least of all Griggs, to suspect anything. What’s wrong John? Has she upset you? Here, I’ll fetch you more cider, but please, wait at least until they’re out of the house.’430

‘Oh Abby,’ he groaned, his head resting dejectedly in his hands. ‘You’re insufferably correct. But you ask me why she distresses me so much,’ his voice rose alarmingly and I feared what he might say next. ‘I can’t be free of her. I’m chained to her until I’m dead.’431

‘John,’ I pleaded, rushing to him, scattering more flour and enfolding him to me. ‘Hush, they’ll hear you. Please.’432

‘Abby,’ he replied, reaching up and again brushing my nose with his fingertip, ‘what am I going to do? I loathe her so much.’433

‘Hush John, calm yourself. This isn’t the time.’ I murmured, smoothing his hair. ‘Here, I’ll bring you more cider.’ I hated seeing him so grieved.434

When I returned, John was still sitting where I had left him, staring grimly ahead although the loaves were now covered and neatly arranged by the fire. Griggs and the woman were standing impatiently, evidently prepared for a journey with the child still mewling softly to itself.435

‘Proctor,’ muttered Griggs self-righteously. ‘I feel Elizabeth should recover with Rachel’s care and the company of other women, and she agrees with me. I’m sure you’re equally anxious for her health to be restored, and she’s determined to return here as mistress again. It may take some months, but you’ll have your wife once more. Well, we’ll be off. I know you’re often in Salem with your, maid, so you won’t be a stranger. Would you like the girl to carry the child outside Elizabeth?’436

It was my turn to stare stonily ahead and ignore him, making no motion to move until John’s voice rent the tension. ‘Abby will stay here. She’s not going anywhere from me.’ He spoke into the empty air, avoiding her eyes. She in turn glared with naked hatred and her voice cracked with venom. ‘There’s flour in your hair John Proctor,’ and with that she swept out, bearing the child before her like a badge of maternity, Griggs trailing in her wake. Neither of us spoke or made any motion to follow, only the regular fading trotting of the horse’s hooves indicating they’d finally left us. 437

‘John, they’re gone now. Come on, drink your cider.’ But he seemed lost in private reverie. ‘John, do you hear me? What’s wrong? Oh John, please tell me what it is?’ he did not reply, apparently still oblivious to all save his cider. I watched his face, his eyes unfocused and his brow creased. John was free, and he should’ve been glad, but here he was sullenly drinking with deadly intent. Suddenly it appeared that the sun awoke in his face and he returned to me, his green eyes lost their ice and his cheeks their linen look. He was alive again.438

‘Oh Abby, I’m sorry. I was thinking about my days shackled to that woman. I don’t love her, I could never love her, and you know that. But Griggs is full of veiled comments and implications, damn the man, he can keep her for all I care, but he won’t. Our days can only be numbered, she’ll be back and I’m sure she knows about us. Did you hear her? Do I have flour in my hair?’439

‘John, John,’ I reassured him, smiling. ‘You do have flour in your hair, but there’s flour on the table. What about it? Come on, she doesn’t matter. What can she say? Here, let me have some cider with you.’440

‘Abby, you don’t like cider,’ he smiled openly at me, his face gradually relaxing again. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just I know this marriage is such a sham, all these wasted years. But there’s no escape is there? That wretched woman has me for life and what can I do? You heard Griggs, I’ll have my wife once more. My wife? What did he mean by that? She’s never been a wife to me. I don’t want her as my wife. You hear me, Abby? I don’t want her; I don’t want the damn woman. At least I have you Abby, for now.’ He was right, we faced an uncertain and dangerous future. That woman would return, more than likely determined to run the household, but she couldn’t cast me back to Parris like an unwanted and discarded workhorse past her best, I was a more than able housekeeper. John employed me, she didn’t and I looked after the family well, she could have no grounds to be rid of me as long as we remained careful. 441

‘Oh John, forget the future. Come on, you were so happy when we awoke. We should enjoy today.’442

‘Abby,’ he smiled up at me, his eyes large and clear, ‘‘you’re right. We should live for the day, why think about a sterile future when we have each other. Now, will you drink with me?’443

I too smiled, his mood was lightening again, the longer that woman remained distant, the more he relaxed, ‘of course I will,’ I replied. ‘Only a mouthful though, I don’t want to forget myself.’ I handed him a brimming mug of the golden liquid; it smelt of honeyed temptation.444

‘Well,’ proposed John, raising his mug to me, ‘here’s to us, Abigail Williams.’ We clashed our mugs together, draining each in a single draught. The amber liquid was as intoxicating as any nectar; I inhaled the succulent aroma immediately experiencing a heady rush.445

‘Hmmm,’ I exhaled, feeling the surge assaulting my senses ‘heavenly. That’s not like any cider I’ve tasted before. That’s, delicious.’ This was a day of new experiences; I’d awoken with the sun and John asleep beside me and now I was drinking readily like any common whore, but I didn’t care. I had John, I was teeming with the caress of love and cider, and truly happy.446

‘Oh dear lord’ laughed John. ‘ I think you’ve had enough for now Abby. I don’t want you falling asleep on me. Now we’re alone I suddenly feel a sense of exhilaration and freedom. We will enjoy today.’447

‘But first,’ I hiccoughed slightly, the cider making me giddy, ‘I must clear away the table, put the bread to bake. And you need to..’448

‘Need to what? Oh come on Abby, the loaves aren’t ready yet. Leave the table, Come on.’ He stood, holding out his hand. The excited boy had returned with a vengeance, easing the melancholic man into the realms of memory. ‘Is that door locked?’ 449

I nodded.450

‘Good, we won’t be disturbed.’451

There was no need for silence or restraint; the table remained unwashed, the loaves were baked late, the floor went unswept but neither of us cared. All we craved was each other, washed in the pallid early afternoon sunlight and our own lust.452

Those months with John are the happiest I’ve ever known. That woman rapidly fell into memory, unloved and disregarded. Our lives quickly formed into a regular pattern; they’d grown so used to their motherless condition I sometimes felt if they’d discovered us they wouldn’t have cared. I enjoyed their company, reading and simply talking to them, our evenings became restful; without the threat of their mother and the constant wailing of their supposed sibling, our nights were peaceful and we thrived. John grew lighter, his smile no longer a stranger, his brow rarely creased, his voice infrequently raised in anger, even the farmhands were happier with their master’s cheerfulness. The farm seemed idyllic without the melancholia cast by the shadow of that infernal woman and the unhappiness she brought.453

Two weeks passed before we ventured into Salem once more; the girls must have been wondering what had become of me. I could imagine what Betty Hubbard’s fertile imagination would have fallen into if her guest hadn’t worn her out. Not only did she spend the majority of her days running around after her fat Aunt Rachel, now she had that woman and her brat to attend to. Poor Betty’s life was not the happiest, unlike mine, John was making me happier than I would have imagined possible. I was loved and loved in return; I had a family to care for and a man who made me feel like a woman, not a girl. Little wonder I didn’t crave a return to the idle gossip my friends loved to indulge in.454

‘Abby,’ remarked John as I was clearing away the usual debris of our breakfast. ‘I’m going into Salem today. Would you like to come with me? I know you haven’t seen your friends in a while, and Jacob can tend to the boys.’455

‘Yes,’ I nodded, considering his words. We hadn’t graced Salem since she’d left us; even missing Sabbath prayers, the memory of how we’d spent the last Sabbath morning made me blush. ‘ Yes, I should see my friends, and I do have a pile of mending, perhaps little Betty might help me.’ I didn’t tell him I was planning to ask her to sew him a shirt. 456

Nearing Salem John’s tone was quiet, ‘Abby, you know I can’t avoid visiting Griggs this morning? I have to. How would it seem if I didn’t? I’m sorry I have to waste time there, but I have no choice. You do understand that? This changes nothing. I hope Griggs keeps her, I don’t want her, I don’t want her back.’457

‘John,’ I smiled reassuringly upwards at him, ‘I understand. You must go, we can’t change the fact she exists.’458

‘More’s the pity,’ sighed John, brushing my cheek gently.459

All of the Salem houses contained prying eyes and gossiping tongues. I could imagine how the Putnams especially, might have viewed her arrival with a single child, and how John had remained absent a solid fortnight. Heaven alone knows what they were whispering about me, but no one would find any trace of guilt in our behaviour. To the outside world he must always remain the unattainable Mr Proctor, and I his housekeeper.460

We parted formally outside Griggs’ home, John swiftly squeezed my hand as there was no sign of life about, and I headed towards the Meeting House. 461

‘Abby!’ hailed a familiar voice. ‘Where’ve you been all this time? What’s kept you from us? You well?’462

‘Betty, I’m well, thank you. Yourself?’ 463

She smiled wickedly at me, motioning towards the tethered cart. ‘So he’s decided to visit has he? What’s kept him a stranger from his wife?’464

‘I don’t know what you mean Betty,’ I replied primly, but Betty was sharp, she missed nothing.465

‘Oh come on Abby. Now tell me what’s happened. Goody Proctor arrives without warning, complete with brat and I’m told to tend on them. Does that child ever shut its noise? You mind her Abby, she’s no love for you. She tells anyone and everyone you’re a slatternly whore who can’t tend house. She thinks something’s going on, you know. You haven’t given her grounds have you?’466

I examined my feet, and began to walk on until she roughly caught my shoulder. ‘Oh you have, haven’t you? Don’t you have any sense girl? Not John Proctor?’ 467

‘Betty, I don’t know what you mean. I’m just his housekeeper, nothing else. Just ignore all she says, she’s only jealous but that’s not my fault.’468

‘Oh Abby,’ she scoffed. ‘We all know you’ve been dreaming and mooning over him for months, and now his wife’s sent here for the good of her health. Whose idea was that, eh? Hers? My uncle’s? You should be grateful for Aunt Rachel, she wouldn’t see naked lust unless she could eat it, fat lazy bitch she is. But I see it Abby, they forget I have eyes and ears, as they’ve forgotten we were family. They happily took my money and now they treat me like a slave, they promised to adopt me as a daughter and but I’m no more than Tituba. But I hear them talking, and I know what she says about you Abby. About you and him. Don’t give her grounds, you hear me? For your own sake, please.’ 469

‘Oh Betty, you’re a good, dear friend, but just ignore her. What does she say?’470

‘That you lift your skirts and roll with him like beasts in the barn.’ Betty didn’t see any need for fine, shallow words.471

‘What?‘ I was aghast. We’d been so careful, leaving the barn separately, and so quiet that first night. John swiftly placing his hand over my mouth when I almost screamed his name, and I’d learnt caution. ‘How does she know?’472

‘It’s true then? You have, haven’t you?’473

I nodded dumbly, unable to meet her gaze.474

‘Oh Abigail,’ Betty clasped my hands. ‘Be careful. She’s a dangerous woman and they know Rachel won’t stay ignorant. Goody Proctor will have to go back some day.’475

‘Even when he doesn’t want her,’ I muttered. ‘Betty, he loathes her. He’s never loved her. How can anyone love such a cold woman, and he, he’s so passionate.’476

‘Hmm,’ Betty was sceptical. ‘I’m sure he is. But Abby, see sense, you mustn’t let him use you, especially in that way.’477

‘He doesn’t Betty,’ I insisted. ‘Oh promise me you won’t tell anyone. He doesn’t use me, he really doesn’t. I’m not a green girl, I tempted him, I really did, and he loves me, and I love him. But please, don’t tell a soul about this, not even Mercy.’ I gazed beseechingly into her wide, open face.478

‘Oh dear Lord, Abby, I’ve no need. You give yourself away every time you look at him. Everyone in Salem will know if you carry on like this, and that woman’s no fool. She doesn’t care two pennies for your good name or his for that matter. I’ve already heard her berating him to anyone who visits. Be careful. You’re my friend, but I can’t always protect you. And Abby,’ she smiled directly into my face. ‘You are a green girl. We all are.’ Uncharacteristically she kissed me lightly on the cheek and I knew I could trust her.479

Mercy and little Betty were delighted to see me again, but today, I really wasn’t in the mood for their girlish gossip. I didn’t care about their empty days and idle dreams when my own were so filled. Unfortunately Mary Warren had shown her ratty face, failing to realise how unwelcome her company really was. 480

‘How long’s Goody Proctor staying with your uncle and aunt, Betty?’ she inquired in her habitual whining tones, but her eyes were aimed at me. 481

‘No idea Mary Warren,’ replied Betty shortly. ‘I’m sure Aunt Rachel will tell you when you call later. You mind you behave yourself, I have to live in that house, it’s not easy, and the last thing I want is you making it harder. If Aunt Rachel’s stupid enough to engage you, you’ll do your fair share or I will whip you. I won’t have your sly sneaking ways casting suspicion on me, you hear me? You steal anything from that house and I’ll whip you raw. You can tend on Goody Proctor and her brat, I don’t want to. But just you mark my words, you keep your hands and nasty mind to yourself.’482

Mary nodded meekly. Betty’s were no idle threats; if she did misbehave Mary Warren would swiftly pay for it. 483

‘You’re quiet Abby,’ prattled my cousin, concern evident in her voice. ‘I’ve missed you so much. What’s kept you away?’484

I looked up startled, feeling Betty and Mercy’s eyes. ‘Oh, we’re busy on the farm. Time passes so quickly. I’m sorry I’ve been stranger, but Mr Proctor takes a lot of my time.’ A strange explosive sound suddenly emitted from Betty Hubbard, her shoulders shook and her eyes watered. Mercy’s head snapped around suspiciously.485

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ spluttered Betty, her cheeks reddening. ‘I must’ve had something stuck in my throat.’486

‘Really? And all those hours since breakfast,’ muttered Mercy a glint appearing in her eyes. 487

‘Oh, it must be that repeating then,’ stated Betty blithely, but I bit my tongue praying Mercy would let it lie.488

‘You’ll have to stomach the food in our house if Aunt Rachel takes you in Mary Warren,’ remarked Betty successfully diverting the topic of conversation. 489

‘I won’t mind,’ retorted Mary quietly. ‘We’re cramped at home.’ No one wanted Mary Warren, not even her parents, if she had a sweeter nature I might have pitied her more, but I never trusted her. No one could, now I wish I’d strangled her.490

‘Nobody wants you, do they, Mary Warren?’ interjected Mercy sharply. ‘Now, why’s that, I wonder? Is it because you can’t keep your fingers to yourself? Or perhaps you’re too ready with your sly nips and scratches? You used to torment Abby when she first arrived, didn’t you? There she was, an orphan, just lost her mama and papa, and you pulled her hair, scratching her face and pinching her red raw. But you denied and denied it. It was only when Abby broke your ratty nose you stopped. But you mind, Mary Warren, and think on. I’m sure you don’t want another broken nose, though I’d find it quite pleasurable to rearrange your face.’491

‘Are you threatening me Mercy Lewis?’ demanded Mary irately.’ What’ve I done to deserve this? Anyhow, she’s far too busy now with John Proctor these days aren’t you Abby?’492

I glared at her, livid with embarrassment, my fingers tingling to slap her sly little face scarlet. But before I could stir, Betty’s solid fingers had embedded themselves into the soft flesh of the rat’s skinny arm, her voice deathly.493

‘Now you mind me, Mary Warren. You’ve heard Mercy, now it’s my turn. You mind me good now. I don’t want you in my house, but I’ve no choice, so listen, you’ll probably end up waiting on Goody Proctor and her brat. But, and you hear me, I won’t say this again. If you breathe a word of your grubby gossip about Abby and John Proctor to anyone, but particularly to his wife, I personally will snap your scrawny little neck. You have an over active imagination Mary Warren, Do you hear me now? Lies can hurt people and I won’t have it, Abby’s our friend, you’re not. You understand me Mary Warren?’ The fingers dug further, the nails imprinting themselves into the pallid pink skin. 494

‘Well, Mary Warren?’ repeated Betty, her fingers curling in deeper.495

‘Yes, I hear you. Leave me alone Betty,’ she squeaked, the pain and indentations evident, but none of us moved. At least with Betty Hubbard’s threat ringing in her ears, the rat should remain silent, and from that moment, she moved among us a silent ghost, her subservient manner a mask but still I didn’t trust her. 496

As I gathered my mending about me I sensed both Mercy and Betty motioning me towards them.497

‘Betty, please, would you wait for me a while outside? I think Mercy and Betty want to tell me something.’498

‘And it’s not fit for my ears,’ replied my cousin sighing audibly. ‘Oh don’t worry, Abby, I’m used to it, you and all your secrets, but you can trust me you know. You can trust me with your life.’ Her wide eyes filled with glimmering tears, how I loved little Betty’s simple blind faith. ‘But I’ll wait for you outside, don’t be long though.’499

‘Oh, Betty, I do love you.’ I kissed her lightly, ‘ and I want to ask you a favour. Now, I won’t be more than a few minutes I promise.’ Little Betty trudged away, a grimy sleeve wiping her eyes impatiently.500

‘Abby,’ stated Mercy decisively. ‘Look, before you say anything, Betty hasn’t said a word, but I know what’s going on, I can see it in your face. We won’t tell anyone, you know that, but just you mind yourself. For your own good, be careful. You can’t allow his wife to blacken your name, even if her suspicions are well founded. And they are, aren’t they?’501

‘Mercy, what do you want me to say?’ I snapped. ‘That John loves me? Well? Is that it? That every night he takes me to his bed? Well it’s true, and I’m not ashamed of it. Is that plain enough for you?’ I glared defiantly at them both, bored with pretence. Betty gaped at me before her face cracked with rampant chuckles.502

‘Oh Lord help us all Abigail Williams, you can’t be more honest than that can you? But you must be more careful now,’ warned Betty although she was still smiling.503

‘Abby,’ grinned Mercy conspiratorially, motioning me closer to her.504

‘What?’ 505

‘What’s he like?’506

‘What do you mean, what’s he like? Oh Mercy that’s private, I can’t tell you that,’ I returned, stunned by her directness.507

‘Why not? We’ve no secrets, come on, tell us. We’re not all as, as fortunate as you, but it’s going happen to us one day and I want to know what to expect. Is he tender? What does he do? Does it hurt?’508

‘No it doesn’t hurt, but being with John is like being in heaven, that’s all. Simply heaven.’509

‘Oh good lord, listen to the moonstruck calf,’ Betty shook her head despairingly, ‘Grow up Abigail. He’s only a man.’510

‘Well, you asked, so I told you. He’s, he’s, oh, I don’t care what you think. Now, I really must go.’ I smiled at them once more, and flounced out. 511

Little Betty was picking at a thread on her skirt, her small face smeared.512

‘Abby, when are you coming home? It’s so quiet without you. I miss you,’513

‘I know Betty,’ I replied, drawing her close, she was thinner than ever. ‘But you know I can’t come back Mr Proctor needs me. My place is with him now. But Betty, would you do something for me?’514

‘What is it?’515

‘Would you sew me a shirt for Mr Proctor?’516

‘A shirt for Mr Proctor? I can’t sew a shirt for Mr Proctor, it wouldn’t be good enough.’517

‘Why not Betty? For me? I’d really like to give Mr Proctor a present, and you know I can’t sew like you. I’d appreciate it so much, and he’s a good man, he’s always kind to me.’518

‘I know, Abby. Mary Warren said he was very kind to you.’ 519

‘Now you forget everything Mary Warren says. You know she’s a liar and a filthy gossip. Keep away from Mary Warren. You mind me now Betty. She’s no friend to us.’ Betty was startled by the violence of my words, but nodded obediently. 520

‘Yes, Abby, I don’t like her.’521

‘And you’ll sew me a shirt?’522

‘Of course I will, if you think it’ll be good enough. It won’t take me long. When are you coming back?’523

‘Soon Betty, I promise. Now, do you want to walk with me to Betty’s house? Mr Proctor’ll be waiting if I delay any longer.’524

But John was already sitting on the cart, his face set. I quickly hugged Betty and climbed aboard, grasping the proffered hand; aware he wouldn’t speak fully until we were far from Salem’s slanderous tongues. Once we were safe, I rested my head upon his shoulder, and sensed the physical tension begin to thaw. 525

‘Oh Abby,’ he slowed the horse to an amiable trot. ‘I’m sorry, my mood’s foul, it’s how that damn woman makes me feel. But you know I have to visit her if only to keep up appearances.’526

‘I know John.’527

‘I detest having to be the dutiful husband when she’s no wife to me. I wish Griggs would take her tomorrow. Agh.’ He spat noisily into the dry earth ‘I’m sorry, I should remember my manners.’528

‘John, please, I know I’m being forward, but,’ I hesitated 529

‘Oh, Abby,’ he interrupted me again, once more brushing my nose with his fingertip in that so personal gesture. ‘You can ask me anything. You know how I feel.’530

I smiled, my eyes quickly wet with stupid sentiment, ‘why did you marry her if you abhor her so much?’531

‘Oh Abby,’ he repeated, spitting loudly once more. ‘I had no choice, now come on let’s go home. There’s lumber to gather and the house won’t clean itself.’532

Our days passed peacefully, punctuated by weekly visits into Salem; I was happy, and we thrived, the only black spot remained John’s obligatory visits. 533

Mercy and Betty kept their word, they didn’t seek any further detail of my relationship with John and I didn’t provide any. Mary Warren was quickly established in Griggs’ home as maid, relieving Betty and astoundingly managed to stay honest. By all accounts the child had finally stopped spending every breathing minute yelling and screeching, and its mother had been transformed from a milk sow. According to Betty, she retained her scrawny stature but her hair had met soap and water though her tongue was sharper than ever, particularly concerning me. 534

Caught up in ourselves we were sometimes remiss in attending the Sabbath, although John ensured we prayed regularly; we might have indulged our bodies almost nightly, but we still prayed for the deliverance of our souls. Many in Salem attended prayers more for the social opportunities it afforded than the spiritual and John always saw through the duplicity of many of our neighbours. Our absences did not, however, go unrecorded and it was hardly surprising after we’d missed two repeated Sundays, we had a visitor, or rather two, Rebecca Nurse and the former minister George Burroughs. Years before my arrival he’d faced witchcraft accusations but confronted his accusers with typical arrogance, and was eventually cleared. 535

‘How are you John?’ greeted Goody Nurse as kindly as ever.536

‘I’m well, thank you Rebecca. Yourself? What brings you all the way out here? We don’t have many visitors. And Mr Burroughs, I didn’t realise you were back in the village. Cider?’ he offered a seat for both of them and I noticed that neither had acknowledged me. 537

‘Thank you,’ replied Burroughs gruffly. ‘I’ll have a glass of cider with you Proctor, but I won’t delay in telling you why we’ve called.’538

‘Ah, I didn’t think it was just a social visit.’539

‘You’re missed at prayers Proctor,’ snapped Burroughs bluntly.540

‘Oh, am I?’ John spoke with a steely edge to his voice, always a dangerous sign. ‘Abby, fetch the cider please. Would you like some Rebecca?’541

‘Thank you, no,’ answered the old woman softly. ‘But John, Mr Burroughs is correct; you’ve been missed on the Sabbath, both you and the boys. They must receive a Christian upbringing, you know that, especially now their mother is away.’542

‘Ah, their mother, my good wife.’ John’s voice was harder now; I could sense the palpable tension in the air. ‘What of it? You all know she’s staying with Griggs and Goody Rachel. I hear she’s thriving away from me.’543

‘Yes John, she is and the child,’ smiled Goody Rebecca, but finding no reaction, continued, ‘You must miss them greatly.’544

‘You haven’t been to Town either,’ repeated Burroughs. ‘Your boys need a proper Christian education, you know the penalty for avoiding worship, and you, all you seem to care about is, is..’ His unfinished sentence was loaded.545

‘Is what Burroughs? I visit my wife most times I’m in Salem Village. I’m sure every soul sees me, there must be plenty who can easily report on my visits. I’ve no secrets from anyone. I’m not ungodly, we pray as often as any family in Massachusetts.’546

‘Peace John,’ reassured the old woman smoothly. ‘You’re a good man, nobody disputes that, but there comes a time when your face is missed. Mr Parris has noted your absence in his register, and I know you haven’t been seen in Salem Town for some weeks either. Surely you wish to avoid public condemnation don’t you?’547

‘Public condemnation? For what? Oh come on Rebecca, we’ve missed prayers twice in a fortnight, that’s all. What sin have I committed? I may have been sick for all anyone knows, or the boys, or Abby for that matter. And Parris chooses to criticise me publicly for that? Missing two weeks? No one came to question my dear wife’s continual absence.’548

‘Everyone knew Goody Elizabeth was sick, but it’s not just that John,’ she continued. ‘Even when you do worship in the Village it’s not as if you remain all day is it? Your name appears in the morning roll but rarely in the afternoon. And we’ve hardly seen you at the Thursday lecture lately. You’ll be lucky to avoid castigation if you continue to be so ungodly.’549

‘As I said Rebecca, that is my business isn’t it? Well, if it pleases your precious Parris, we’ll all attend prayers in the Village this Sabbath. And you needn’t fret about the boys, Abby ensures they’re well schooled.’550

‘That’s another matter, Proctor,’ Burroughs’ tone was contemptuous. ‘Is it appropriate for that girl to school your sons? What can she know? She’s a mere maid, and a poorly educated one.’551

‘She most certainly is not poorly educated, that’s one thing Parris ensured. I’ll have you know Abby reads and writes far better than I do. For a mere maid, I’ll wager she can match anyone in Salem for learning. I can’t raise her head out of the Bible some nights.’552

‘Really child?’ smiled the old woman kindly.553

‘Yes Goody Nurse, I enjoy reading from the good book.’554

‘I’m glad to hear that Abigail. I hope you continue. You’re a good girl, you have a good heart.’ Poor Goody Rebecca, if only she knew the truth.555

‘Thank you, Goody Nurse, I do try my best to please Mr Proctor and the boys,’ I replied piously ignoring the stifled laughter beside me. 556

‘Is there any more cider Abby? I’m dry.’ 557

‘Certainly Mr Proctor,’ I glared at him, ‘but I’ll have to refresh the ewer from the press. Excuse me Goody Nurse, Mr Burroughs.’558

‘Abigail,’ nodded Goodwife Nurse as I departed for the outhouse, but within seconds the sounds of raised male voices filtered through. When I returned, both Burroughs and Goody Nurse were on their feet, but John was still seated, draining his mug.559

‘You’ll mind what we say now, won’t you John?’ Goodwife Nurse’s tone was mild mannered but her words were loaded. ‘You’ve been missed.’560

‘Make sure you attend prayers from now onwards Proctor. We tell you this for your own good,’ added Burroughs sanctimoniously. ‘You bring those boys to prayer this Sabbath, make your face known again. Your minister’s missed you.’561

‘If you mean Parris, he’s a damned fool who can’t control himself. Do you forget how he mistreated Abby, eh Rebecca?’562

‘Proctor,’ growled Burroughs, ‘all of Salem knows that girl’s wilful and strong-minded. Parris says she’d never do anything he asked of her. Now your wife echoes his sentiments. It seems no one has a good word to say for the girl. Why do you keep her on?’563

A slow exhalation of breath signalled that Burroughs had finally lifted the floodgates on John’s temper. I glowered at the former minister with open dislike, outraged by his unfounded criticism. 564

‘Burroughs,’ John spoke with slow deliberation, his eyes boring into the contemptuous little man with his devilish beard and sleek black hair. ‘You ask me why I keep Abby; well just take a look around you. My home is spotless; my food’s ready when I desire, my clothes are fresh and mended, and my boys are thriving. Damn it man, I’m happy, my sons are happy. They’re taught their letters, they read the Bible every day. And you ask me why I keep Abby? Isn’t it evident? I keep Abby because she pleases me. She tends to me, she cares for me, and my sons. She pleases me, that’s all there is to it. I give you my word, we’ll attend prayers this Sabbath. Now if you’ll forgive me, I have beasts to attend to. My farm doesn’t run itself.’565

‘You’re so rarely seen in your fields these days,’ muttered Burroughs spitefully. ‘It’s a wonder you can still call yourself a farmer.’566

‘What I chose to do on my farm is my business and no one else’s, or has a minister suddenly decided otherwise? Good day Burroughs,’ hissed John. ‘And I tell you this, don’t call here again. Good day to you Rebecca, I’m sorry you’re involved in this ridiculous nonsense.’567

‘Good day, John, I’ll pray for you and see you this Sabbath. I daresay Elizabeth will be glad to see you at prayers once more.’ 568

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that Rebecca. Burroughs, you mind me, you’re not welcome here again.’569

When they’d finally driven off, John refilled his mug, almost throwing its contents down his throat before thumping the tumbler down heavily. 570

‘Damn them all! Why can’t they leave us alone?’ again the mug was drained as his voice rose. ‘What have I done, missed prayers twice? We pray every night, but that’s not good enough is it. God’s not in Parris’ house, God’s in our hearts, or he should be. Oh Abby, why can’t they leave us alone? All I want to do is carry on as we are.’ He looked up at me, his eyes red rimmed and wet, this was unlike the strong willed John I so dearly loved, this was a raw, vulnerable man. ‘Why do they want my life so ordered? I don’t. Damn them all! What does Parris care if we’re absent? He doesn’t care about our souls, all he cares about are golden candlesticks. How would his fine friends the Putnams feel if they knew the truth about their sainted minister? How would he stand in society then eh? I should tell them shouldn’t I? Oh Abby, I should tell them all.’ The cider had ensnared him and tears were flowing fast. 571

‘No, please John don’t. Please, don’t put me through that. I don’t want anyone to know about that night. Please John, I couldn’t bear the shame. If you told the truth he’d counter it I’m sure, and we’re vulnerable. It’s enough your wife slanders me every chance she has, but I don’t care, she can call me a whore all she likes. You and I know the truth.’ My tears were mingling with his now. 572

‘You’re never that. If I hear her, I’ll make her answer to,’ he began.573

‘No John! Please, no. How would it seem if you so much as breathed my name to her?’574

‘If you say so Abby,’ he sighed. ‘But the world should know the truth about Parris. Who knows what might have happened? Damn it, you said yourself Abby, you thought he’d known you. I couldn’t live with myself if he ever touched you.’575

‘He won’t, I’d kill him first.’576

‘Oh Abby, I’d kill him for you. Promise me, you won’t be lost to me.’577

‘Oh John,’ I was sobbing uncontrollably now; I loved him with all of my soul, but the future hung heavy on our shoulders.578

Dutifully we trailed into Salem the following Sabbath, all four of us clean and scoured, John had newly shaved his beard, the boys fair shone and I had scrubbed and rinsed my hair until it gleamed. Pointedly John tethered the cart directly opposite the Meeting House and we presented such a picture of piety, no one could possibly dream that little more than two hours since I had woken with him a warm, satisfied man. The girls had all arrived with their families apart from Betty Hubbard and I wondered if they would all troop in late because fat, lazy Rachel was still guzzling her gargantuan breakfast. She was growing enormous, her appetite boundless, small wonder the doctor’s piggy eyes had strayed so frequently. Minutes before the service was due to begin, Griggs and his party hurried in, clearly embarrassed by their tardiness and out of breath. They made a strange group, Griggs with his wire rimmed spectacles and soft blond hair lending him the air of a surprised baby; fat Rachel waddling and rolling, her endless chins rarely still and her cheeks almost permanently rouged with the exertion of walking; Betty trudging behind them all with a scowl and obviously bored of their company; Mary Warren scrawny and ratlike, and finally that woman and her brat, much grown and clearly thriving. Its removal from the farm and the warring adults was obviously proving advantageous, its cheeks appled, blond curls poking from under its bonnet, and for the first time since I laid eyes upon it, it was no longer screaming. Mary Warren bore it in her arms as its mother took her place opposite to Griggs, how anyone could fail to notice the obvious relationship was incomprehensible, but as Betty so frequently remarked, unless Rachel could stuff it inside her red wet mouth, she wouldn’t notice. John stared straight ahead of him not even acknowledging her presence and I felt the tiniest of pressure in my chest, wishing his hand could brush my fingers. Numerous eyes bored into him, gauging his reaction, but they’d receive nothing more than a stony face.579

On the customary hour Parris appeared, swept up towards his pulpit and the service began. I was so bored, bored by the constant whispers, the narrow-minded eyes seeking immorality, I was spotless, my bonnet and apron clean, the boys immaculate and John rejuvenated. Whatever doubts that woman cast upon my housekeeping skills, our physical appearance alone belied her harsh and unforgiving words. With Psalms sung Parris commenced his sermon, concentrating as ever on damnation and hellfire. He didn’t believe in redemption, but he was such a pathetic misfortune of a man, petrified of losing face or respect. Few people in the Village had any regard for him, if they did they would have paid his salary regularly and yet here he was lambasting all with his hypocrisy. 580

‘Oh shut up,’ I muttered and a hundred heads immediately snapped round, their accusing eyes drilling into me. Even John gaped with incredulity, this was a travesty of convention, one that could see me put out for disrespect. Swiftly I hung my head, my cheeks scarlet enduring the pained silence as Parris deliberately delayed, palpably enjoying my discomfort. The remainder of the sermon was lost to me, all I could do was hang my head and permit the hot, salty tears to roll untrammelled down my stupid, stupid cheeks, where they splashed on to the dusty floor in small pools. Within the hour Parris had finally ceased his ranting, further psalms were sung, but I had no heart for singing and felt nauseous with shame. 581

‘Oh dear God no, not now.’ I mumbled as Parris swept by.582

‘Hush, Abby,’ warned John softly. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I glanced up at him, unaware I’d even spoken, my face filmed with sweat.583

‘I, I, I feel sick Mr Proctor, and light headed. I’m sorry, but I really need some fresh air. Please, I need to be outside.’584

‘Of course, Abigail, you look dreadful. You wait for us.’585

‘Yes, Mr Proctor, I’ll be with little Betty. Now, I’m sorry, I really must get out of here.’586

I fled in haste and desperation, my stomach contracted into hard knots, my head flying, I could barely see my way out of the Meeting House, and my legs had turned to liquid. Oblivious to all, I stumbled blindly to drink in the cool morning and late spring sunshine, banging into skirts and aprons, elbows and breeches. I was almost crawling by the time I reached the thankfully open doorway and felt the first waves of excruciating nausea overwhelm my body until I was retching in relief, the contents of my stomach spattering my previously pristine apron. I knew I was the object of complete condemnation; I’d laughed aloud at prayers and was now vomiting in public. Surely all I could do now to complete my disgrace would be to strip naked and dance upon the steps of the building singing bawdy songs, if I knew any.587

Bent double, I retched until my stomach was empty, my throat rasping and my eyes streaming, desperately heaving my guts from my mouth. This was no normal stomach cramp; I’d grown used to those and endured their spiteful ache as we all did, but a sharp, stabbing hot fire of pain. The spontaneous spasming of my body continued until I slumped exhausted and my mouth was foul with the acid taste of bile and shame.588

Small, attentive hands wrapped themselves around my shoulders and cool water was gently pressed to my lips. I felt myself guided to a sitting position, still coughing my heart into the ground. 589

‘What’s wrong with you girl?’ demanded Betty Hubbard, her face close in spite of the obvious stink staining my breath and clothes. ‘That was certainly spectacular, and you can’t blame Tituba this time.’ 590

I smiled wanly in return, unable to articulate myself beyond a mumble, saliva beginning to dribble from my lips. 591

‘Dear lord Abby, what’ve you eaten? Here, drink the water little Betty’s brought you, come on, sip it, slowly now,’ soothed Mercy, but no sooner had I swallowed the cool, refreshing liquid then I heaved again. Even water couldn’t bring me relief from the clenching burning ache.592

‘Mercy,’ the strong male voice scattered the girls. ‘What’s happened?’ In spite of himself he failed to completely mask his concern. ‘Is Abby sick?’593

‘I don’t know, Mr Proctor. But it seems she can’t keep anything in her stomach and she’s flushed. She can’t go back yet Mr Proctor. Give her some time, please.’594

‘Hmm,’ sighed John, reverting slowly to his role as master, but his eyes revealed the truth. ‘Do you need the doctor Abby? Shall I fetch him for you? I don’t want you sick.’595

Frantically I shook my head, the thought of Griggs’ clammy hands almost making me heave once more.596

‘Well, see to her girls please, we’ll have to be off soon though Abigail.’597

‘Yes, Mr Proctor,’ I nodded weakly, the fire in my guts finally abating and my temperature diminishing. ‘I’ll be fine, I really will. I just need fresh air. I’m sorry.’598

‘Well, Abigail, the boys need to visit their mother, but I assure you we won’t be long.’ Will and young John smiled sympathetically, and I felt sorry for them having to waste precious time on her. John led them away, pausing once to glance back as I sat slumped against a tree, still sweating profusely, vomit stained and reeking of my own bile. I was not an attractive sight and didn’t relish John seeing me like this.599

‘Hmph, he’s not very subtle is he?’ muttered Betty quietly, ‘come on, Abby, let me take you home and clean you up. You can have one of my dresses if I can find one to fit you.’600

‘Betty, I can’t go home with you, she’s there isn’t she? Heaven alone knows what she’ll say after this. Don’t fret; I just need to change my apron. This one stinks.’601

‘Hush your noise, she won’t know if we’re in the kitchen, Rachel won’t lower herself to visit, you needn’t worry about that. Now come on,’ the girls helped me to my feet and led me gently away. 602

Betty’s kitchen was peaceful as she fetched me a clean apron, rinsed my stained one free of sick, and although a vivid yellow patch refused to clear, at least the reek diminished. I sat by the table, sipping more water and being fussed over. Slowly the energy began to seep through my veins, the sharp pains melting as swiftly as their assault had been vicious.603

‘What came over you Abby?’ enquired Betty.604

‘I’ve no idea Betty, honestly. I know I shouldn’t have laughed during prayers, but I was just thinking how ridiculous he is, full of damnation and hellfire. Why can’t he talk about the love of God and the light of Jesus? All he cares about is telling us we’ll all burn in hell. I don’t want to burn in hell; I want to live my life with the man I love. What’s wrong with that?605

‘Abby, you can’t, not when that man’s married to someone else,’ put in Betty incisively.606

‘Do you think I don’t know that Betty? I didn’t realise my thoughts just flew into my mouth. The next minute everyone’s glaring at me as if I were standing there stark naked. Then I felt my head swimming and I couldn’t focus. I think I was almost blinded and my guts were in my mouth, I’ve never felt such pain. Thank you Betty, I’ll take that apron home to wash and return yours when I see you.’607

‘Oh don’t fret yourself with that, it can wait. You haven’t stained your dress have you?’608

I shook my head, suddenly anxious to leave, but Betty’s mind was evidently calculating.609

‘And you’ve not been sick like this before?’610

‘No, never, I’m always healthy, you know that, perhaps it was something I’d eaten, after all. I’m fine now, I should go, Mr Proctor will be waiting for me, he’ll want his dinner and I mustn’t keep him waiting.’611

‘Oh dear lord,’ snorted Betty. ‘Why the formality girl? He wasn’t exactly hiding his feelings earlier was he? Is he always like that? You know you don’t have to pretend with us Abby. Mind he doesn’t work you too hard now,’ she winked slyly at me.612

‘Hmm,’ I replied, not wishing to join in with her bawdy humour. ‘I must go. I feel better now; my stomach’s eased a lot. How do I look?’613

‘Oh Abby, vanity, vanity. You know what your uncle would say,’ smiled Mercy.614

‘Damn my uncle to hell!’ I retorted, unthinking of little Betty, who gazed at me sadly, her lip already beginning to quiver. ‘Oh Betty, I’m sorry, but I can’t forget what he did, to both of us. None of that was right Betty, you know that.’615

‘I know Abby, but he’s changed, he really has. He wanted to know if you were happy at the farm.’616

This was news, but I didn’t want Parris’ apparent consideration. 617

‘He said you shouldn’t be a stranger at home,’ continued little Betty, her eyes shining with childish hope.618

‘That’s very generous of Uncle Parris. I will visit soon, Betty I promise.’619

‘Walk with me now?’ whispered little Betty conspiratorially. ‘I’ve finished it. I know Mr Proctor won’t be kept waiting, but you can have it now if you want.’ Her pinched face was earnest, I truly loved my small cousin and her unshakeable devotion, I could trust the girls with my life. We walked swiftly through the sunshine towards the Parsonage, my former home. This was the first time I’d set foot within its walls since that distant day in September, it seemed a lifetime past, so much had changed.620

‘I can’t stay long Betty, I’m sorry, but I can’t, Mr Proctor will be waiting. Whenever he has to visit that woman, it puts him in a temper for a while, even with the boys.’621

‘I know Abby, you often tell me Goody Proctor’s a disagreeable woman. But here,’ she handed me a soft white bundle, John’s shirt was complete. The sleeves delicately crafted with invisible stitches and the entire design stunning in its simplicity. Betty was truly gifted, at barely thirteen she could create anything, but she’d been producing clothes almost since she could hold a needle. 622

‘Oh Betty, it’s superb! Thank you so, so much. He’ll love it. He’s been so good to me, you know. Thank you,’ words seemed inadequate. ‘But now I really must go, I can’t keep him waiting. I won’t be a stranger, I promise you.’ I hugged her tightly to me, kissing her warm cheek in gratitude as she whispered into my ear. ‘Abby, you do love Mr Proctor don’t you? And I don’t mean like a papa.’ She gazed at me seriously.623

There was little point in pretending, even though I’d always sought to shield her innocent ears from the salacious gossip I indulged in with Mercy and Betty Hubbard. My small cousin was no fool, she could read people and she understood me so very, very well.624

‘Yes Betty, I do. But you must promise not to say a word, only Mercy and Betty know. You know I’d be ruined if anyone found out, least of all, least of all,’ I paused.625

‘I promise Abby,’ Betty interrupted me. ‘You know my lips are strong,’ she smiled, releasing me. ‘And he’s kind to you too, isn’t he?’626

I nodded, ‘yes he is, he’s very special.’627

‘Well, he’s not here yet. I’ll wait with you.’628

I was fondling the mare’s soft head when the boys reappeared, laughing and relaxed to be leaving their mother.629

‘Abby!’ they greeted virtually in unison. ‘Are you better? Papa was worried about you,’ smiled young John.630

‘And so were we,’ added his smaller brother swiftly.631

‘I’m well now thank you boys. Where’s your papa?’ I inquired trying to sound nonchalant. It was unlike John to allow the boys to leave without him, they were his excuse to quit their mother.632

‘Oh Dr Griggs said he wanted to speak to him, so he sent us on to find you,’ replied Will. ‘Abby I’m hungry, I wish Papa would hurry up.’633

‘Oh hush your noise,’ chided his brother. ‘He’s here now.’ For John had appeared, striding purposefully towards us, his gaze direct.634

‘Abigail, Betty,’ he acknowledged formally.635

‘Hello Mr Proctor,’ we replied equally proper.636

‘Are your wits recovered now? What was wrong with you?’637

‘My wits are fine Mr Proctor,’ I retorted probably too sharply. ‘It was my belly that rebelled, I’m well recovered now thank you.’ His words seemed insensitive, even though I knew he was reluctantly wearing his public face 638

‘Hmm, I’m glad to see it. Well, it can’t be anything you cooked, we’re all well, aren’t we boys? Have you eaten anything else?’639

‘No, Mr Proctor, but I’m well now. Perhaps it was the air inside the Meeting House. I don’t know.’640

‘Well at least you seem yourself again. Come on, let’s go home, my belly tells me it’s time to eat, and Griggs is a poor host. His ale’s weaker than piss.’ The boys laughed at their father’s coarse humour, but Griggs was notoriously parsimonious in his hospitality. Little Betty hugged me once more and waved us away with whispered hopes for the shirt’s approval.641

As we trotted homewards behind us the boys chattered innocently but John again seemed reluctant to talk. I thought he was still be displeased with me until finally goaded I snatched my courage to provoke a thaw in him.642

‘How was your visit? They seem to be thriving.’ 643

‘Yes, they are. At least that child’s ceased its constant squalling,’ he responded gruffly, not even glancing at me. Thankfully the boys prattled on, oblivious to John’s icy demeanour, far removed from the warm, tender man I’d awoken to.644

‘I’m glad to hear that Mr Proctor,’ I replied vaguely, but to no avail, for he leaned in and hissed directly into my ear so the boys wouldn’t hear. ‘Don’t lie, Abby. It’s the last thing you want to hear. Tell the truth. I’m sick of lies.’645

Again I was stung by the bitterness of his tone and hastily looked away so he’d miss my discomfort and burgeoning grief. I seemed to be constantly crying these days, or on the precipice of emotion. Usually John loathed seeing me upset, but this time he merely clicked the horse on, staring ahead as if he’d seen our future. Eventually Will’s voice cracked the tension, and I cursed his childish concern. ‘Abby, are you sick again? Papa, Abby’s weeping.’646

The cart was reined in with a jolt and I lurched forward clumsily and John simply raised his voice, his tone blunt. ‘Boys, walk ahead, I need to speak with Abby, now. Hurry up.’647

‘Yes, Papa,’ replied young John looking keenly first at me then his father. 648

‘Didn’t you hear me?’649

‘Yes Papa.’ Swiftly they scampered down glancing backwards in confusion but they knew better than to argue. An unforgiving silence lay heavy between us and I feared for the tirade if John kept in this mood.650

‘For God’s sake Abby, will you stop crying. Every time I speak to you today you’re either spewing up your guts or weeping. What is wrong with you? What’ve I said this time?’651

But I couldn’t form words to articulate my response, a great lump of emotion lodged in my throat, all I could do was snivel pathetically, leaving John baffled and frustrated.652

‘Oh Abby, I’m sorry if I sound harsh, but we can’t afford any public spectacle, you know that, particularly when Elizabeth’s present. You know her eyes are as sharp as her tongue. She misses nothing and she’ll blacken your name throughout Salem if you’re not careful, then where’ll you be? She’s dangerous, believe me.’653

Still sobbing and gulping I turned my blotched face towards him; how undignified must I have appeared, swollen eyed, snot nosed, still reeking of vomit in spite of Betty Hubbard’s efforts. ‘I, I, I’m sorry John. It won’t happen again. I was sick. My guts felt like they were on fire. I’m sorry I drew attention, I didn’t mean to. But, but, I won’t do it again. I was only thinking how ridiculous Parris is, and my thoughts flew to my lips.’654

‘Oh Abby, what would’ve happened if you’d been thinking about how we spend our nights eh?’655

‘I’m sorry John, I didn’t meant to upset you. I’m not stupid, I’ll be more careful in future. It won’t happen again.’ I hung my head pathetically mumbling my apologies, feeling John’s sharp olive eyes boring into me. He may have been irritated but he had a human heart, he didn’t bear grudges, and moments later I felt his strong fingers raising my chin as he lifted my face towards his own.656

‘Oh, Abby, I’m sorry; I know I seem unsympathetic but you know we can’t risk anything. I’m not upset, it’s just I don’t want to lose you, I swear you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever known, but if we’re discovered we’re both undone. I might survive scandal, but not you, Abby, what would become of you? I couldn’t bear to see you disgraced and Elizabeth would ruin you if she could. Do you understand me? If we’re careless we’ll be parted and I don’t want to lose you. I’d rather lose my life.’657

‘And what’ll happen when she returns John? She calls me a common whore as it is. I can’t creep to your bed knowing she may discover us at any moment and we prove her words true. But I can’t spend my nights without you. I can’t, I can’t. Oh John, what’ll become of us?’ 658

‘Hush, Abby, hush now,’ finally he comforted me and I rested my head upon his shoulder until his coat was soaked through. ‘Hush now. I didn’t mean to be so pitiless, I didn’t, but it worries me too. Oh Abby rest assured, she won’t touch you while I remain in the house, I swear to you Abby, we won’t be parted while I have breath in my body. Now come on, dry your eyes, the boys’ll be wondering what’s become of us. There, that’s better, a smile?’659

But I didn’t feel like smiling, all I wanted was for John to love me as I loved him. I didn’t care for the gossiping goodwives of Salem and their evil narrow minds, they couldn’t hurt us when we were safe on our farm. If I could have my life over again, I wish we’d fled the confines of that wretched village, damned the consequences and revelled in our sin. In a new town, even a new land, and with new names we could have settled and raised our children. They’d have forgotten us in time, we could have survived, all we really needed was each other, we didn’t care for anyone else. But we were too bound in convention, too trusting in God’s will, too naïve, we didn’t realise what evil stalked among us, how hypocrisy ruled the minds of Salem, but what could I do? I was eighteen years of age and John was my life. I miss him, I miss him, I miss him. We should’ve had a future, but that woman decided otherwise. I hate her today as much as I did ten dead years past. How could she love him? He was barely cold when she and Griggs married, and John was food for worms. That’s not how I would’ve served the warm, passionate man who loved me more than life itself, but I didn’t have that granted me, she saw to that.660

Days melted into weeks, late spring caressed us with her warm, fertile winds, and we thrived. John was a happy man, he had been moved by little Betty’s shirt and wore it proudly to Sabbath prayers, a silent reminder of our union, uncaring of that woman’s all searching eyes. We couldn’t forget, however, that her inevitable homecoming loomed ever nearer. Griggs claimed she was well rested but I wondered if Rachel had finally realised the truth. John and I still shared our nights, although at times we were happy to simply lie enfolded in our heat. I was more content during those times than I could have imagined possible, my head nestling against John’s chest, stroking his skin, listening to the rhythm of his heart beneath my fingers. 661

But there was still a shadow, and not just the prospect of her return; my sickness seemed unrelenting, but I grew accustomed to the first signs of nausea, fleeing outside to heave my guts into the ground. In spite of my perceived naivety, I knew what ailed me, it had been inevitable, I’d had no idea how to prevent it, and John had made no effort on his part. Within weeks I became adept at disguising how I felt, and I know I should’ve told John the truth, but I was petrified. I knew he loved me but I feared I’d place him in a treacherous position, a position from which neither of us could emerge safely. It’s not to my credit I deceived him that summer, but I had little choice. In my heart I knew I should have told him the truth, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t. No one need ever have known if I’d been honest with him then. Lies became my downfall, lies ruined all hope and our future, and lies sewed the seeds of our destruction.662

My bleed had ceased some three months but at least the almost daily sickness and savage twist in my stomach was finally easing. I thanked God my belly was barely swollen, but I knew within weeks it could become all too obvious I was carrying John’s bastard. That woman had gimlet eyes; my secret would quickly be revealed if I didn’t disguise it carefully and I’d have to tell the girls at least. Little Betty’s clever fingers could help but I still often woke crying in the early hours leaving John confused and helpless.663

We were mending as ever, the boys’ clothes were starting to contain more patches than original cloth, as they grew swiftly. I’d mentioned this to John, who’d smiled at my solicitude and ordered bales of cloth, leaving me to feel I was their mother now in all but name. Mary Walcott was knitting placidly as ever, she always seemed at peace with her needles clicking busily away, habitually producing socks and mufflers. It was thanks to Mary’s industry many of us were warmed during the harsh winter snows that blanketed us for months once the autumnal fall was done. Betty and Mercy were gossiping and little Betty was sewing yet another shirt, probably for Parris, when I arrived last as usual. I never knew any other man demand such fine linen, but he was vain and conscious of how others perceived him. 664

‘You look awful,’ commented Betty Hubbard bluntly. ‘You still sick? Your cheeks are pale and you look exhausted girl. What’s that man doing to you?’665

I brindled immediately, ‘he isn’t doing anything, Betty. Why do you have to criticise him all the time?’666

But Betty wouldn’t be silenced. ‘Oh Abby, just look at the state of you, even your hair looks dull, and you look sallow. You’re still sick aren’t you? I can smell it on your breath.’ 667

‘What? Well I was a little sick earlier but I’m fine now, just tired that’s all. It’ll pass, you know how it is.’ Vainly I tried to smile at her, but Betty’s eyes drilled into me.668

‘In God’s name Abby, how many months is it?’ she demanded, as I shook my head defensively, unwilling to acknowledge the existence of the life that was beginning to grow within me. As one the girls fell silent, their thoughts leaping to the inevitable. As ever Betty voiced what was on every mind.669

‘Oh Abby, tell the truth. For once in your life tell the damned truth. How many months is it?’670

But even now I couldn’t meet their relentless gaze until I felt my small cousin’s hands curl about my own. 671

‘Well?’ Betty spoke quietly; concern evident in her voice as the girls watched for a response. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’672

I nodded, tears beginning to trickle treacherously as ever.673

‘How far gone are you?’674

‘About three months. Please Betty you mustn’t tell anyone, I’ve got to keep it secret.’675

‘Oh Abby,’ sighed Mercy. ‘How can you disguise a baby? Anyone will notice a swollen belly on a body like yours.’676

‘I’ll manage,’ I insisted lamely. ‘I can hide it if I wear loose clothes, and the sickness will stop soon. You’ve said yourself Betty, no one notices us. When I’m wrapped in a shawl, no one will know, I’ll be fine.’ I was babbling nonsense and the girls knew it.677

‘Listen to yourself girl won’t you,’ admonished Betty severely. ‘You’re not just his maid are you? Everyone can see how it is. And you forget, Goody Proctor’s bound to go home soon. I’m sure Rachel’s had enough of their carrying on, they’re hardly speaking as it is. What’ll happen when his wife discovers the truth? She’ll put you out; you know what she says about you. And have you told him yet? No, of course you haven’t. Do you intend to?’678

I couldn’t reply, the words were glued to my throat but Betty was remorseless. ‘You must Abby. You really must. You’re always telling us how much he loves you, so let him prove it, let him prove how much you mean to him. Tell him, he’ll have to find a way then, won’t he?’679

‘He would, I know he would, but I can’t tell him. I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair.’680

‘Fair Abby?’ scoffed Betty relentlessly. ‘You wouldn’t be in this state if it wasn’t for him would you? If he cares so much for you, he’ll find a way and damn every one else. We all know this, this, business,’ she almost spat the inappropriate word, ‘with Proctor has been going on for months now. If he wanted you just for what lies beneath your skirts he’d have cast you off once you gave in, but he hasn’t has he? I’ve seen you together. Oh you can pretend with all that yes Mr Proctor, no Mr Proctor rubbish, but you don’t fool any one. You can’t look at him without giving yourself away and he’s as bad, I’ve seen how he watches you all the time. Do you wonder his wife calls you a whore? She knows, Abby, she knows. All she needs is proof and now you’ve given it to her. She won’t allow you and her husband’s bastard to remain on that farm.’681

‘But any fool can see that baby of hers is Griggs’ bastard. How can she criticise me when she’s adulterous?’682

‘At least she and Griggs are tolerably discrete. Everyone knows you and Proctor are together on his farm and that’s not respectable.’683

‘But we’re not alone. The boys are with us, and when we’re here we’re always careful to speak formally. No one could possibly suspect.’684

‘Grow up Abby; you can barely keep your hands apart on that cart. You’re lucky it’s only his wife who blackens your name at the moment. Oh look Abby, you were sick in public, and you know how Salem talks. What’s going to happen once your belly begins to swell? You can’t hope to avoid scandal, really you can’t. Think about it, if anyone sees you pregnant, it’s not going to take a great leap of the imagination to realise who the father is. What are we going to do with you, Abby? Didn’t you realise this might happen? Didn’t you ever think of the consequences of raising your skirts for John Proctor? You’re not a fool Abby, nor a child, and he should’ve know better he really should, he’s a grown man for God’s sake.’685

‘Oh Betty, hush,’ chided Mercy gently. ‘It’s no good telling her now, it’s far too late for that. She needs help, not a scolding. She knows she’s not a child, and telling her she’s a fool won’t do any good. We’ve got to help her, she’s our friend, but you’re right in one thing Betty, Proctor should be told. It’s only fair.’686

‘No, Mercy,’ I begged pathetically. I can’t tell him. Not yet, anyway.’687

‘Oh come on Abby, dry your eyes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ replied Betty more softly now. ‘I know how you feel about him, and as you say he didn’t seduce you. I’m sorry. Now, as Mercy says, we’ll help you. We’ll look after you, you know we won’t let you down, even if he does.’688

‘He won’t Betty,’ I replied, ‘but thank you, I’ll need you all, I know I will.’ In spite of Betty’s reservations, she spoke the truth, they would never let me fall alone.689

‘So, what are we going to do?’ pondered Mercy. ‘First thing is to hide your belly.’690

‘Abby, Betty, Mercy,’ my small cousin spoke aloud for the first time. We’d forgotten her silent presence in our fevered exchanges. ‘I can help, I can. I know you think I’m just a child, but I’m not stupid. I know how Abby feels about John Proctor and she’s pregnant by him, it was obvious that day she was sick. Can you find some of your aunt Rachel’s cast-offs Betty? She’s easily twice your size Abby; it’s just a matter of adjusting the seams. I can easily do that and that’ll help hide your belly as the baby grows. I won’t let you down Abby, you know that,’ she squeezed my hand affectionately. ‘Now could you fetch me one of Goody Rachel’s old gowns Betty?’691

‘I’m sure I can find something, they usually end up for me anyway. She’s got more clothes than she needs,’ replied Betty thoughtfully. 692

‘Oh thank you!’ I exclaimed, turning to my young cousin, teeming with love for her. ‘I am sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t know what you’d say. I thought you’d be ashamed of me.’693

‘Why would I be ashamed of you? You’re my family,’ little Betty gazed solemnly at me, her large aqua eyes glistening. 694

So our conspiracy was born, and in all truth I felt relieved to share my fears with the girls. I wish I’d told John, but I couldn’t. I was falling further into deceit, and once ensnared I would rarely be able to find the path to truth again. Swiftly, our plans were set, Betty brought me two of Rachel’s old dresses, they were enormous, but little Betty declared happily they were ideal. Sceptically I allowed her to stitch and tug until one of the dresses fitted, but even so I doubted how long I could maintain the deception. The girls nodded maternally as the swathes of cloth enveloped me but I could only scowl sullenly in return until Betty Hubbard lost patience and slapped me. If it hadn’t been for Mercy’s intervention I think I might have yanked her hair from its roots in retaliation.695

I sulked all the way home, barely civil even to John who left me alone, once I’d replied monosyllabically to his attempts at conversation. He probably thought I was sick again and we made a fine pair, dour and unsmiling. Later with supper over, we sat up, John gazing into the dying fire lost in his thoughts and I curled between his knees failing to read the pages beneath my fingers. 696

‘Abigail,’ his tone was serious and immediately I felt a sense of alarm. ‘Abby, I have something to tell you.’697

I looked up at him, but before I could respond he continued, ‘Elizabeth will be back tomorrow. I’m sorry, I really am, I nearly rammed my fist down his neck when Griggs took great delight in telling me today. No, don’t say anything, I know it’s bad for both of us, but we can’t avoid it. It doesn’t change anything between us. Nothing, you must know that. You do, don’t you?’ his eyes were wide, searching mine, his hands brushing my face. All I could do was stare stupidly at him, muted, and praying the tears wouldn’t betray me, weeping was the last thing I needed.698

‘No words Abby? I’m sorry about this, I really am, but we knew she wouldn’t stay with Griggs forever didn’t we? We’ll find a way Abby, we will. I’m not losing this, I’ve told you often enough how I feel. You do believe me, don’t you?’699

‘I do John, I do believe you,’ I replied softly, just conquering my tears and rising panic. ‘But what will happen to us? How can we go on praying no one will discover us? That’s not the future I want John, much as I love you. I can’t walk round you when she’s here. I can’t watch everything I do, feeling her eyes on me. I can’t, my body will betray me. I won’t be able to touch you, talk to you, hold you, and I can’t live like that. You’re my life. How can I live my life when I can’t even hold you?’700

‘Oh Abby, I’ll look after you, I swear I will. I promise you on my life you needn’t fear her. We’ll just have to be cautious and if she complains about you, I’ll expose her and Griggs.’701

‘And risk public humiliation? Oh John, you know what the goodwives of Salem will say. They’ll blame you; she’ll claim you couldn’t satisfy her so she looked elsewhere. How will you be viewed if you’re not man enough to satisfy even your wife? And what she’ll say? You seduced me?’702

‘I suppose I did,’ he sighed.703

‘But you didn’t, you know it was never like that. If she says anything, I swear I’ll tell her the truth, I can’t let you blame yourself for something you certainly didn’t do.’704

‘Hush Abby, it won’t come to that. Don’t worry, all that changes is I’ll come to you. She can’t question my right to be wandering, she wouldn’t dare. Nothing will part us, I promise. I don’t care about her or what she thinks. She won’t part us Abby, I swear she won’t, nothing will.’705

We spent our final night wrapped in the heat of desperation. I knew in the morning I’d have to prepare her room, remaining at home, as John drove to the Village. For once I would be the loyal maidservant, sweeping, baking, mending, and ensuring she could find no fault with my housekeeping. She might doubt my morality and rightly so, I conceded as I felt her husband thrust inside me, gasping with pleasure, but I was a solid housekeeper, even she couldn’t deny that.706

Our coupling was frenzied and ardent, John seemed unwilling to let me go, his fingers grasping skin, hair, bruising my mouth with his urgency, his greedy tongue constantly seeking relief. This was reminiscent of our first lust, frantic, and desperate, neither of us seeking the relief of sleep. When we were done I lay as ever against his chest, tracing the prominent collarbones, allowing my fingers to encircle his reddened nipples, listening to his heartbeat and his unwitting moans. Lazily I felt him caress the rounded shape of my abdomen, grateful for the dark and prayed he couldn’t discern any changes although my stomach was gradually becoming softly thickened. Now should have been the moment to tell him as I felt his fingers soft on my belly, tracing the form that held his child. I wondered if he would feel the life awaken beneath his fingers and realise the truth, saving my telling him. John stirred, raising himself on to one elbow to watch the shadows of my face, ‘Abby,’ he murmured, still stroking my belly. ‘Are you so worried about her coming back? Don’t be, you know you can trust me; we’ll always have each other. You’re not sick again are you?’707

‘No, John, I’m well,’ I replied. ‘But I am worried, and our future troubles me. I hate to think of us parted.’708

The night passed all too quickly, John loved like he would not greet another night and we knew I wouldn’t be lying here with him again. He’d said he’d come to me, but our nights could be limited, there would be fewer mornings wrapped in each other, idling in the early sunlight or those rare afternoons when we were alone. I cherished those snatched moments when caution and silence were forgotten. Her return would change all that, she’d never leave us alone, always mistrusting and suspicious, we’d rarely know happiness again.709

After breakfast I watched the boys scamper away, unexcited by the prospect of their mother’s imminent return, they’d grown so used to her physical absence in their lives her homecoming meant little. John was still brooding over the last crumbs of his breakfast as I cleared and swept the debris of our meal into oblivion. I still had much to do, but at least by the time she scowled through the doorway, she’d find freshly baked bread, a scrubbed table and a spotless house. 710

‘Abby, you look pale,’ he commented. John would never dissemble, he didn’t believe in false flattery. ‘Your eyes are black and the shadow of night lies heavily on you.’711

‘I’m not surprised, we had little sleep,’ I retorted tartly, but he merely smiled ruefully. 712

‘Are my eyes gaunt hollows too?’713

‘No, John, you look rested. Your face doesn’t betray you. Now, forgive me, but I have to get on, and you, you mustn’t delay so long with me.’714

John again smiled sadly, his eyes were purple bruised, but I didn’t tell him, the green irises were dark and flecked and the lines about his eyes deeper. He hadn’t shaved his beard, allowing the imminent dark hair to surface, the serious, occasionally dour farmer would swiftly return. He would change within hours, his hair uncombed, tousled and heavy on his shoulders and the age evident in his face. 715

‘I suppose you’re right. Are you sure everything’ll be ready? You’ve aired upstairs haven’t you? And you’d better make sure you have something cooking for when she arrives. Have you collected the eggs? And there’s milk, butter and cheese in?’ he was clearly my master again. My John had fled.716

Goaded beyond endurance I heard myself snap. ‘Yes, Mr Proctor, she won’t find any fault in my housekeeping. I’ve done it all. This house will be more than ready for anyone, even your precious wife. You needn’t worry about that.’ I glared at him angry now, my eyes mutinous and tongue sharpened. Instantly the flare of fury rose in him and he was on me, fingers snatching at my wrist, pinioning me to the wall. His face so close I could smell the cider on his warm breath and his spittle spattered my cheek.717

‘Stop that Abby! I can’t have temper. You know I don’t want her back, I’d give anything to stay here with you now the boys are out, but I can’t.’ I felt his left hand push me further, and I feared for the crockery balanced on the dresser as my back arched and we were touching. That was sufficient, ‘you see how I feel? You see how you have me?’ His right hand hungrily fumbled beneath my skirts. ‘What can I do Abby? I can’t win. I’m shackled to a wife I loathe, and I love you, but I can’t love you unless it’s like this. What am I to do? Tell me. I can’t help myself, you tell me what I can do,’ and grabbing my free hand he drove it angrily towards him.718

‘Oh John, I don’t know,’ I muttered, uncaring now of his questing grasping fingers and fervid breath, his teeth sharp and raw as he pushed further into me.719

Eventually he shuddered and broke away, a look of incredulity soiling his features. I remained frozen, feeling the familiar warm trickle; my skirts disordered, my bodice gaping, and my hair tumbling about my ears. John too was dishevelled, his shirt pulled out of his breeches and half falling from his shoulders. Speechlessly I began to reorganize my bodice, wiping away scarlet blood, my flesh livid, the purple, yellow and red discolouration would soon spread around the pallid skin. My skirts were rapidly rearranged as I dabbed at the wet between my thighs with my petticoats. Another stain wouldn’t matter, I couldn’t launder all the time, but I’d always keep John clean. I accepted my role as housekeeper, drudge and maid, but I didn’t relish that of his whore.720

He was still staring at me, his lips bloodied, smearing onto the fresh stubble he would probably nurture to a full beard. His mouth opened slightly as if he were about to speak, until he snapped his lips shut and stood, uncertain, one hand combing distractedly through his hair. 721

‘Oh dear God, Abby,’ wiping his mouth he stared, fascinated by the red on his fingers. ‘Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t help myself,’ but his eyes were dead. ‘What have I done to you? Can’t you see how low I’ve become? I’ve bitten you.’722

‘It was only your passion, it doesn’t matter,’ I mumbled fighting to keep the disgust from my voice, but he was quick to note it.723

‘Abby, I’m so, so, sorry. I’ve bloodied you haven’t I? Show me where I’ve bitten you.’724

I shook my head, ‘it doesn’t matter. It’ll be fine.’ But still the blood was seeping through the thin shift, a tiny crimson-pooled witness to his violence. Fleetingly my John was back as he gently pulled the thin fabric from my bloodied flesh. ‘Dear lord, I can’t believe I’ve done this to you. Here, let me,’ he dabbed at the small wound with his kerchief until the ooze was a pinhead. ‘You’ll have to keep that covered,’ he whispered, pressing his lips to my throat, but I couldn’t respond. ‘You’re angry with me, aren’t you Abby?’ Wearily I shook my head, but I was tired of deception, of the imminent dread.725

‘No, John, I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with you. Not angry, no.’726

‘If you’re sure?’ he held his hand out and brushed my nose in his old, familiar gesture, this was my John, not Mr Proctor, farmer and husband, but my John was already fading into a different place, and he, with his smoothed cheeks, quick smile and ready laugh would rarely return. Mr Proctor did not behave in such a manner, it did not become him, yet, I reminded myself, and I still do, I had initially loved Mr Proctor, not the boyish John who grew out of happiness and a desire to satisfy me. This Mr Proctor was all I had now, John was gone.727

Too soon he knew he must drive to Salem, and I watched him leave with a brimming heart, neither of us caring if any saw us part. Only when silence engulfed me did I feel abandoned and buried my head in my hands to weep bitter, angry tears, I was losing John. He could make all the promises he liked, but once it was known I was carrying his bastard, we wouldn’t continue. Feeling the blackness of my future surround me, I sensed the faintest movement in my belly flinging me back to consciousness. Our child would have a future, no one would prevent that, this child represented our love, and it was love, not lust, John and I did love each other.728

Minutes later I’d gathered myself and set to my chores with a renewed sense of urgency. He didn’t love her, he’d told me often enough and I believed him. Let her return, she wouldn’t find fault in the house. The kettle would be singing on the fire, I’d prepare a hearty stew, there was fresh bread, the house was swept; let her criticise my morals all she liked but she wouldn’t find me wanting as a maid.729

I was seasoning the pot with herbs when I heard the slow, familiar trot of the mare, and waited anxiously for his reaction. There was no sound of voices, as he dismounted, leaving her stranded with the child, evidently waiting for him to help her, but he didn’t even look at her. Unceremoniously she clambered down alone, precariously balancing the child and slipped gracelessly to the ground as he busied himself with the horse. 730

‘Am I to wait on myself?’ she demanded angrily as her belongings remained aboard the cart. He merely shrugged and pointedly led the horse into the stable leaving her to struggle alone again.731

Returning to my mending I waited for the tempest to unleash, determined to ignore her as the latch of the door was raised and she peered inside, the gimlet eyes already searching. I knew I looked tired, my eyes great shadows, but at least I was cleaned and decent. I yearned to tell her not two hours earlier her husband had taken me against the wall of this kitchen. 732

‘Oh,’ her voice was dull. ‘You’re still here.’733

I looked away, not wanting any form of conversation with her when a grim faced John appeared, clearly aware he’d never live comfortably with two prowling she cats.734

‘Of course Abby’s still here,’ he retorted brusquely, watching my face. ‘Why shouldn’t she be?’735

‘Hello Mr Proctor,’ I greeted still ignoring the woman and her equally sullen child.736

‘Abby,’ he returned, ‘what’s that stew? It smells rich.’737

‘Thank you, Mr Proctor, it’s well seasoned and the flesh is tender.’738

‘Would you like some of Abby’s stew, Elizabeth? She’s a fine cook and there’s new bread. The boys should be here shortly, will you eat with them?’739

His effort to accommodate her made me ill at ease, though he never met her eyes. 740

‘I’ll eat when I’m ready. I’ll eat what I want. But first I must change the child. When does she launder?’ I didn’t possess a name.741

‘I was going to launder Mr Proctor’s shirts this afternoon, it’s a fine day, anything will dry quickly in the sun.’ I’d show her how proficient I was.742

‘Then you can clean yourself up as well, can’t you see your apron’s stained?’ she retorted. I bit my tongue, a sarcastic response dying on my lips as John glanced warningly towards me.743

‘What do you expect? Abby’s been cleaning and preparing for you all morning. She works hard in this house, it’s no wonder her apron’s stained. She’s a fine maid.’744

‘Yes,’ she glared at him, her words cutting. ‘I’ve heard she’s a fine maid. Take my bags girl,’ she began before John interrupted her.745

‘I’ll take them Abby, you carry on with your stew.’ She glared angrily at him before stamping angrily after him, the child toddling in her wake. I followed surreptitiously, pausing at the foot of the stairs, desperate to catch any conversation.746

‘So where does she sleep then?’ her voice began sharply.747

‘If you mean Abby, she sleeps where she’s always slept. What’s it to you? Nothing’s changed. You chose to return, but I tell you we’re used to life without you. I won’t change my habits, they’re far too well set by now. And I don’t want your brat disturbing me.’ 748

‘You can’t cast me off John Proctor; I’m your lawful wife. I know what you are, and her, I know what she is.’749

‘If you mean Abigail,’ his voice grew dangerously low, the words barely audible. ‘Abby’s a good housekeeper and she cares very well for us. You can’t fault her and the boys love her. She gives me everything I need.’750

‘Ha! I’m sure she does, John Proctor,’ she hissed. ‘ But I don’t want her near me. I want Mary Warren in her place. She’s fond of my son, and he likes her. I will have Mary Warren and not that slatternly whore.’751

I heard John laugh harshly, scorning her stupid opinion. ‘Mary Warren? Good God, woman, are you mad? Mary Warren has the lightest fingers in Salem Village, just you ask Mary Easty about that. Abby’s not slatternly and she’s certainly no whore. Don’t you ever speak of her like that again. She’s honest, hard working and she stays. That’s my word. And this is still my house, remember that, I’m master here, and you don’t forget that. Abby pleases me.’752

‘Oh yes, that’s clear John Proctor.’ The chamber door was rudely slammed and I heard John’s angry tread turn towards the stairs.753

‘Cider, Mr Proctor?’ I inquired, determined to continue with the façade in case she was already listening, but he shook his head, sitting heavily down by the table. I continued slicing the loaf into slabs for the boys, testing the stew and savouring its pungent aroma. 754

‘Abby,’ John spoke eventually, I raised my head from the heat of the fire, reeling slightly, my face flushed, the bouquet of the stew turning from enticing perfume to nauseating reek. The familiar symptoms rising in my throat told me I had to flee, to gulp down the warm fresh air. Frantically I shook my head, the blood draining from my cheeks and lips, rushing outside in time to heave my guts into the familiar ground as my belly clenched in spasm. John gently raised me, ‘Oh Abby, what’s wrong? Is it her?’755

‘No,’ I muttered shaking my head, the taste of bile still clinging to my breath. ‘I’m sorry, John, it’s just, oh, you know. I’m sorry, John, I’m fine I really am.’756

‘If you’re sure? Look Abby, we don’t have much time, come with me to the barn. Quickly, whilst there’s no one about.’757

Barring the door behind us, John grasped my hands urgently, ‘I told her plainly Abby, I told her nothing’s changed, that I didn’t want her back, but she’s determined. Watch yourself, her comments are loaded, watch your eyes, what you say, she’ll hurt you if she can. This is my farm, I’m master here, it’s my home, and I swear, I won’t let you go, but she wants Mary Warren in your place.’758

I smiled sourly. ‘Mary Warren? What can she do, apart from lie and thieve? Nobody trusts Mary Warren.’759

‘Maybe Abby, but we must be careful. She suspects, but I don’t care. Now, are you sure you feel better?’760

‘Yes, John. I think I must have inhaled the fire smoke or perhaps my stew was too rich for me, I hope it tastes better than it smells.’761

‘It smells tasty enough to me. Now, come on, give me your hand. Feel my heart. While you’re here, it beats.’ He released me as I stared foolishly at him, such dramatic acts were not the John I knew, but desperation makes us strange creatures. ‘Now, let’s return to your stew.’ He brushed his roughened cheek against mine before unbarring the door, and we stepped into the warm sun of an uncertain future.762

The remainder of that first day passed without incident; the boys returned briefly barely acknowledging their mother before again vanishing to the fields. John remained near the barn leaving me with my mountain of mending and washing. With the sun shining hopefully I finished the laundry then took my sewing outside where I could watch him as I heeled stockings and darned rent shirts. 763

Night gradually enfolded us, but a night like none other. Tonight I wouldn’t sit up late watching his face as he stared, lost in thoughts into his fire. He was clearly unsettled by the palpable tension in the house until finally he stood, stretching.764

‘I need some air; it’s a warm night. I’ll just make sure I’ve secured the barn properly. Goodnight Abby.’765

‘Goodnight Mr Proctor,’ I replied formally. She was silent, concentrating on her cup of hot cider. The door had barely closed behind him before her voice caught me, her eyes baleful.766

‘Don’t think I don’t know about you Abigail Williams, about you and him, and when I have proof, I swear I’ll bring you down girl. That husband of mine is worth nothing. He’s a fool.’767

But I simply looked through her, stood up and slowly trudged the stairs to my cold, loveless chamber, wondering if I’d see him before the morning.768

Within minutes I heard John return, and pushed open my door to catch his words. ‘Where’s Abby?’ he demanded immediately.769

‘Gone to bed. Shouldn’t you be joining her?’ she snapped sarcastically. There was a crash of splintering crockery and once again a door slammed, setting the brat’s cries to slice the air. The boys knew better than to show their faces and as the howls increased I heard her mount the stair impatiently, locking my door until she passed by. My room seemed oppressive, I’d rarely slept there in months, but now I had no choice. 770

Wearily I undressed, the bite still scarlet as the blood stretched through my ashen skin; the girls were right, I didn’t have the bloom of most pregnant women. I was still slender, though my belly was starting to become softly rounded now in place of the firm flatness I had always known. I was drained, so tired I almost missed him treading wearily upstairs; I counted his footsteps as they continued without pause on towards his own room. All I could do was silently unlock my door, climb beneath my meagre quilt and wait as my eyes drifted unhappily into oblivion. Starting suddenly from the borders of consciousness I saw John, bare-chested and barefooted, his finger to his lips as he silently locked the door behind him and stepped swiftly from his britches.771

He was silent until he was in bed, then whispered softly, ‘I’ve locked my door against her as well, I wish to God she’d stayed with Griggs. Did she say anything to you?’772

Too tired to really concentrate on conversation I placated him, craving sleep, even though he’d risked much to be here with me, all I wanted to do was rest. 773

‘Nothing really, but I heard you, what did you throw at her? You shouldn’t you know.’774

‘Ah it was only a pot, I missed her, but she angers me so much. Sometimes I think she does it deliberately. Tell me what she said to you.’775

I shrugged, settling to him, ‘oh just the usual insults, I’ve heard it all before.’776

‘Did you respond?’777

‘No, there’s no point, though she did say she’d ruin me when she had proof, she knows doesn’t she?’778

‘Let her. I don’t care; as long as we’re careful she won’t have any proof, will she?’779

Brave words, but we’d never been careful, if we had, I wouldn’t have spent mornings heaving up my guts and watching my belly begin to swell. Eventually sleep enveloped us, we were content to wrap limbs as she was too near for anything else. Even with the dawn of morning’s fingers we slumbered until the cock crowed and John slipped away silently.780

So we continued, John visited me every night. The darkness thankfully disguised me, and I often thought of Mama during those dark hours, how she’d swelled only in her very last months, and I prayed I’d follow her. I didn’t trust that woman one iota, but we were fastidious in our role playing, never giving her grounds. Every Sabbath we dutifully attended prayers, she taking my place next to John in the cart, leaving me to squeeze next to the boys, watching the muscles of his arms and back as he worked the reins. I never saw him place hands on her or offer to carry her son, it was torment enough to appear with her in public, but he wouldn’t touch her.781

Griggs rarely saw his son apart from at prayers although occasionally she would spend an afternoon with him and Rachel, details of which were passed to me by the all-seeing Betty Hubbard. They didn’t expect John to join her; he had the excuse of the boys and his own nature. Salem didn’t always relish their boisterous company and John could be curmudgeonly and downright awkward when he wanted. I relished those few, snatched hours of normality; during the warm afternoon hours the four of us would walk the farm. I was happy playing family with the man I loved, carrying his child and watching his sons scampering ahead, uncaring, no one could see or hear us, we were private, this was John’s own kingdom, and one he was proud of. One day, he’d tell the boys, all this will be yours, tend the land well and it’ll look after you, care for it and it’ll reward you, we owe our lives to this land, cherish it. The boys didn’t notice or care if we touched, held hands or sat too close together; they were too busy playing the role of small savages. She ceased to exist and I was living a dream that would soon implode. 782

John and I still drove into Salem regularly, I visited the girls and we’d spend our usual hours of gossip and mending. She couldn’t prevent me from seeing my family or friends; I was no slave, I earned a respectable wage, and I was entitled to free time. She couldn’t stop John’s business dealings and if that happened to coincide with my planned time in Salem, he was more than happy to accompany me. In short of physically sitting next to him with a disgruntled infant and waiting in the cart whilst he did went about his business, she had to remain alone on the farm. I was sure that during our absence she snooped amongst my belongings searching for proof, but I had little of interest in my chamber, save a bible, some clothes and a locked chest that had once belonged to Mama. I kept my dearest possessions in there, including Mama’s bible, her wedding band, a cloth she had worked for me, Betty’s shift, and several locks of hair. Before Mama and Papa had been laid together in the cold, hard earth of our homestead, I’d been given locks of their hair and intertwined them, Mama’s raven looped with the lighter brown of Papa. I also had another, an unruly loose curl tinged with a faintest trace of bronze.783

John ensured his own chamber always remained locked to her officious eyes, even though we spent little time in there to feed her suspicions. I could not be seen to lock my door to her, she was still mistress and maintained keys to all the rooms save John’s, he carried that himself. I knew she pried; frequently my bed was disordered and my few visible possessions moved about.784

I was glad to escape to the sanctuary of the girls, who often fussed over me, Betty’s clever fingers adapting Rachel’s old dresses to hide the small bulge I was now beginning to develop. Little Betty was already sewing infant gowns and Mercy and Betty Hubbard were piecing a quilt, they grew quite excited at the prospect of a baby. Mary Walcott had also been drafted in, under pain of castigation, her needles busy with bonnets and blankets. In spite of their growing anticipation, we still had to think of what might become of the child. I could hardly hand it to John and tell him this was his child, he may have homed Griggs’ bastard for appearances sake, but I was different. He would risk disgrace and scandal by admitting our child’s existence; I trusted John, but I couldn’t place him in such a position. Typically, Betty Hubbard decided matters, we would do what many other girls in my position had done, make a foundling of the child to a childless couple on one of the outlaying farms. I wept and I railed at the suggestion, but knew Betty was right, I didn’t have a choice.785

‘You’re looking better, Abby,’ remarked Mercy as I took my place next to my small cousin and received her skinny embrace. ‘You’ve finally got some colour in your cheeks, and you’ve put weight on at last.’786

‘Yes,’ I smiled at my friends, Mercy was right. I was less anxious, the sickness had diminished, John still visited me, and now with the girls’ help we had a solution.787

‘You’re lucky Abby, you’re still small, if we didn’t know the truth we wouldn’t suspect at all. Betty’s skill has helped to disguise you, and you’re lucky Rachel’s the size she is,’ replied Mercy, inspecting my belly. ‘I can’t believe he still doesn’t know though.’ 788

‘She suspects something, I know she does, but we’re careful. He’s told her bluntly he doesn’t want her and he barely speaks to her, unless he has to. And he still comes to me every night.’789

‘Then why on earth haven’t you told him?’ demanded Betty Hubbard incredulously. ‘He clearly has feelings for you, do you think he’ll abandon you? He suffers her bastard doesn’t he, why wouldn’t be able to raise his own?’790

‘Because she’s a cold, unfeeling cow of a wife who has a stone for a heart. Besides, she’d probably claim that John’s the father, even though he isn’t and he hasn’t slept with her in years, but it’d be his word over hers, and he doesn’t want the gossips to know his business. And I know he cares too much for me to risk my exposure to scandal. You know how Salem treats girls like me, I’d have no future, or prospects.’791

‘But what’s going to happen to you?’ Betty was relentless. ‘You can’t go on as his housekeeper and not tell him. And if you carry on as you are he’ll make you pregnant again, have you thought about that? You should be honest with him, you really should. If he loves you as you say, he should take care of you.’792

‘He will take care of me, but there’s the farm and the boys to consider as well. He can’t leave them, much as I would love him to, but we can’t, we can’t. We can’t live a dream.’793

‘Oh Abby, you are living in a dream. What’ll happen to you? Best thing you could do is find yourself a young man, marry him, forget John Proctor, breed your own sons and daughters, let Goody Proctor rot in her unholy marriage. Forget him.’794

I glared at her, Betty may have been one of my dearest friends, but her open honesty was sometimes too much for me and I was quick to flare. ‘Betty, I know you’re speaking for my own good, and I’m grateful for all you do, but I love John, I love him, I don’t want to be parted from him. I don’t want any young man, I want John, and I will have him.’795

‘Then you’re a fool Abigail Williams; you’re a deluded fool. Listen to yourself, what hope of a future do you have if you continue? John Proctor can never be rid of his wife, she’s a healthy woman, and you’ll wither and fade with frustration, a paid drudge until he loses interest, and he will. How can you hope to continue if she works you to a shade, when your waist thickens, and your face creases? Will John Proctor still crave you then? You’re replaceable, she isn’t.’796

More than anything I desired this uncomfortable conversation to cease, Betty was blunt but correct; I was deluded my future would be happy and content with John. Not even his love could save me, that woman would see to that.797

Summer was well upon us, we’d maintained our deception and life was seeping slowly towards the autumn. The farm was thriving, the boys growing, and that woman still nursed a callous heart. Even though I’d been fortunate in the first months it seemed the child was suddenly determined to grow rapidly. As August grew hot and dusty, sharing my cot with John and my increasing belly became uncomfortable, but a discomfort I enjoyed rather than endured. He still risked discovery every night, occasionally we would hear her door open and wait for her to pass, desperately silent. My door remained locked, as I feigned sleep; she had no right to demand my attention after we were all in bed, as I didn’t tend directly to her or her son. John was always vigilant in ensuring he left before full daylight, and even if she rose with the cockerel he’d be ready to face her. We were deceitful, we knew, and it was not the way, but we had no choice, we just wanted to be together.798

John lay on top of my quilt, drowsy and bathed in the perspiration of the sultry night unashamed of his natural state. In spite of the intolerable heat I curled beneath the covers discomforted every time one of us shifted. 799

‘Abby, I have something to tell you.’800

Dear lord, I thought, if only you knew what I could tell you, but my courage had fled and I waited for him to continue. 801

‘I must go away tomorrow. I’ve business in Boston with Giles Corey, I’m, sorry but I can’t avoid it. The boys will look after you, and I’ll be back in three days.’802

‘Three days?’ I gasped, John and I hadn’t been parted since I’d arrived almost twelve months ago. The prospect of three hours without him was intolerable enough to set my already straining emotions bursting.803

‘Hush, Abby, don’t cry, I’m sorry, but I have to go. What’s three days? Nothing, now come on, dry your eyes. It won’t be long I promise you.’804

‘I know John, I know, but I just feel that without you she’ll do something, something to, to, to ruin us, I just feel it.’805

‘Abby, if she so much as raises her voice to you I’ll make her regret it. I’ve promised you I’ll always protect you, and you know I won’t break my word to you.’ I believed him, although the dread remained.806

‘When do you have to go?’807

‘Straight after breakfast, we have a lot to do. Giles has some dealings he needs my help with. But I’ll bring you back a token, something to remind you how I feel; besides I haven’t bought you anything before. Now, come on, let’s try to get some sleep, I’ll be back here again in two nights, there’s no need to worry.’808

But sleep would not caress me, and I lay open-eyed listening to the rhythm of John’s heartbeat, drinking in his regular breath. When we were alone he became a shadow of my boyman once more, although he still wore the remains of his beard and his hair need cutting, but his mood always lightened even though we knew she lay within yards. With the dawn I felt him stir and watched as he slowly roused himself. 809

‘You haven’t slept have you Abby? Your eyes are dark. You’re not still fretting are you? Come on,’ he stroked my face, ‘it’s only three days, surely you can wait for me?’810

I nodded mutely. 811

‘Good, now I must go before she wakes. I won’t be able to say this before I leave, but, I love you Abigail Williams, always remember that.’ He smiled openly at me, holding my face in his hands, my hair spilling through his fingers and brushed his lips deeply against mine one final time.812

‘And I love you John Proctor, but I wish you didn’t have to leave me.’813

‘Oh Abby I wish I could stay, you know that. Now come on, don’t cry.’814

He departed following breakfast and I watched him from the barn where I was collecting the eggs, the tears flowing freely and my belly beginning to strain. In Rachel’s oversized gown I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, neck and stomach, but bending was becoming more of an effort. She remained indoors, uncaring but the boys waved frantically until he vanished. I craved sleep but the house wouldn’t tend to itself, she’d sew for her son, watching me as I toiled, preparing to unleash her venom. The boys seemed to sense John’s absence might herald some form of catastrophe, uncharacteristically lounging around the barn and the house openly defying her instructions not to disturb the brat. I dreaded their leaving me alone with her, but as the hours grew, even the boys needed to sleep.815

‘You two,’ she instructed as their customary time approached. ‘Get to bed. Now.’ 816

‘But we’re not tired,’ muttered young John unusually rebellious. ‘Are we Will?’ he glanced at his younger brother conspiratorially.817

‘No. Not at all, I need to finish this mama.’818

‘You will go to bed now. Say your prayers and then I don’t want to hear from you at all. You hear me?’819

‘No mama, not yet. We’ll go with Abby, like we always do,’ replied young John, staring sullenly at her, a fragment of his father in his face.820

‘Go to bed!’ she snapped, furiously. ‘I swear I’ll whip you if you continue to defy me,’ she threatened reaching for a switch she kept behind the door, but the boys stood their ground.821

‘We’re not going without Abby,’ added Will, his voice tight.822

‘John, Will, listen, I’ll be up in a minute. Go to bed as your mama says, please.’ I stood half facing her; the boys gathered about my skirts.823

‘If you’re sure, Abby?’ young John’s eyes blazed wide, and again I saw John in the child’s tone and defiance. I nodded, feeling her hatred knife me. ‘Come on, say your prayers then off you go.’824

The nightly prayers were muttered perfunctorily, and significantly they ended requesting the All Mighty watch over their absent papa and send him home quickly.825

There were no goodnight embraces for the cold creature who had given birth to them, just a mumbled ‘goodnight,’ before they turned to me. Both boys reached up and kissed my cheek softly. ‘God bless you Abby, sleep well. We’ll look after you,’ whispered young John. 826

‘Papa would say the same,’ added Will in an undertone. ‘He’ll miss you tonight won’t he? But you’ll be in his thoughts. Goodnight now.’ I gaped incredulously at them as their shy smiles revealed how they felt about us.827

She was furious, her face set and her voice like steel. ‘Get up those stairs this instant,’ she commanded. ‘I don’t want to hear you so much as breathe, if I do I’ll whip you. Get out of my sight.’ 828

They both glared at her before slowly mounting the stairs, their expressions mutinous. I could hear Will hissing furiously, ‘but we promised Papa, you know we did. We gave our word.’ His elder brother replying, ‘I know we did, and we won’t let him down. Now hush.’829

Livid she turned, her voice low and controlled. ‘You think you’re so clever don’t you Abigail Williams? My husband not enough for you? You’ve turned my sons against me now have you? What are you? You bewitch them don’t you?’830

‘I’ll go to bed now Goody Proctor,’ I replied evenly, keeping my word to John and avoiding confrontation but she lunged for my arm.831

‘You’re going nowhere girl. You leave this room and I’ll snap your wrist. You must think I’m such a fool. Do you think I don’t know how you spend your miserable nights? What does he do, sneak in when he thinks I’m asleep? I hear you, the pair of you. But he’s not here to protect you now, is he? Or that bastard you carry in your belly.’832

My hand flew to my mouth.833

‘Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?’ she continued. ‘He may be blind, but I’m not. I know the signs of a pregnant woman, just look at you in that oversized dress, my husband’s little whore.’834

Finally I found my voice, I may have been pregnant with her husband’s bastard but it was about time she heard the truth.835

‘I’m not a whore Goody Proctor, John loves me, and now I’m going to bed.’ I motioned to leave, but she was swifter, twisting my wrist painfully against my back.836

‘You’ll stay where you are,’ she hissed into my face, her spittle spattering my cheek. ‘Don’t think I won’t hurt you girl. Now sit down,’ roughly she pushed me down into a chair, I felt the child stir, irritated by the sudden movement. A clatter of hooves outside diverted her attention momentarily and I prayed it was John returned early, he’d kill her for this. But it was Griggs; he strode straight in, comfortable and familiar in his surroundings as if he’d spent much time here. 837

‘William,’ she smiled and kissed him openly. ‘How delightful to see a friendly face.’838

‘Has she admitted it Elizabeth?’ he replied glaring at me.839

She nodded, ‘but we need proof. I must have proof. Will you examine her?’840

‘No!’ I cried, half rising, ‘you will not examine me; I’m going to bed. John’ll kill you both for this,’ I began, but his whip flicked against my cheek forcing me down, the blood trickling through my fingers. 841

‘Sit still,’ she sneered. ‘William is going to examine you. I knew what was going on months ago, but you’ve given us proof now and don’t think Proctor will save you. Take that dress off.’842

‘No. I won’t take it off. Leave me alone.’ I repeated pathetically.843

The whip flicked once more, striking the arm of the chair and her voice was pure poison. ‘It’s a shame you weren’t so modest with my husband, lifting your skirts for him when you thought I wasn’t looking. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the pair of you sneaking into the barn? How you must have rolled when I was away. Take it off.’844

‘That’s my wife’s isn’t it?’ leered Griggs, grabbing my sleeve. ‘Now do as Elizabeth says, take it off. Don’t think I’ll be seduced by your flesh, I’m not John Proctor.’845

‘No, thank God you’re not,’ I snapped. ‘Leave me alone. Can you blame John for seeking comfort when you’re no wife to him? He loves me, and you know he does. You were probably still here Goody Proctor when our child was conceived.’ I glared furiously at both of them, but they remained impassive. 846

‘You’re such a fool Abigail Williams, you really are. Do you think I care about that man’s feelings? He’s always been a poor husband to me, but you’re the first he’s bedded, and look at the state of you. He doesn’t know does he? Well rest assured girl, he won’t, and don’t think he’ll run after you. Goodman John Proctor can’t be seen to run after a common little whore like you. Now take off that gown before I tear it from your back. And don’t think I won’t.’ She approached me menacingly, her eyes burning.847

Determined not to weep, I began to loosen the oversized gown, wrapping my shift about me.848

‘Now stand up, William will examine you. Stand up,’ she commanded, her voice cold. I did as I was told, shivering in spite of the heat of the night and the low fire still flickering in the grate. Griggs approached, wet lipped, placing his clammy hands about me and running them around my belly and breasts, as the nausea began rising in my stomach. He may have claimed to be used to female flesh but there was no doubt his fingers brushed against me too slowly for any medical examination, he was relishing this. 849

‘Raise your arms,’ his breath rank from ale and strong food. ‘When did you last bleed?’850

‘I’m five months gone. I know my own body.’851

But he ignored me, nodding to her, ‘she’s probably right. And you’re certain it’s Proctor’s?’ 852

She laughed harshly. ‘For God’s sake William, she’s never away from him, he creeps to her every night, they think I don’t hear their pathetic mutterings. Now, will you write when you feel his bastard will be born.’853

‘I can’t say for certain Elizabeth, but I think Proctor’s bastard should be born in the winter.’854

‘God damn you both, you’re evil, woman. No wonder he hates you,’ I spat at her, pulling my gown around me as Griggs moved away to the table. 855

‘You think I have any tender feeling for him? You’re such a stupid fool; this farm is what matters, not John Proctor, but you won’t have my place. No Proctor bastard will inherit this farm. Do you think Proctor will acknowledge it? I warn you girl, you set one foot back on this land with your bastard and I swear I’ll ruin you. I’ll drag your name through shame and scandal, and William will make it known you’re nothing more than a whore. Who’d believe the word of a dirty slut like you against a respectable goodwife and the doctor?’ she laughed harshly, and I knew she was right. Goody Proctor was no dolt, that much was evident, I wondered how long it had taken John to discover what he’d married.856

‘Now. Dress yourself, you’re going to leave my house, and you won’t see my husband or his brats here again.’857

I stared sullenly at her; betrayed John wasn’t here to protect me. 858

‘You’re out on the high road. What you choose to do with yourself is entirely up to you after that. You’re no concern of mine. Now stay there, and don’t worry, William’s more than capable of cutting you if you move.’859

I had little to gather, and she reappeared within minutes. 860

‘Get up, and don’t think those boys will save you, I’ve locked them in their room. William, are you ready? Let’s rid ourselves of this, filth.’ 861

She opened the door and as she did the hot night air poured in. The sounds of the night creatures filling my ears, there were wolves in the woods and all sorts of beasts roaming the lands between the farm and my uncle’s house. Griggs went before her, climbing aboard his cart and I followed, my head bowed but still I determined not to weep in front of her. Hauling my unwilling body beside the foul doctor, I kept as far from him as possible, the reek of alcohol stronger now. Finally she emerged, locking the door behind her, abandoning her sons to the terrors of the night. Gazing up at the farm, I felt the hot salty tears finally break free and tumble from my bruised eyes, my heart brimming. Framed in the smallest window I saw two pinched faces, their hands raised in silent farewells and their expressions of such infinite sadness I was filled with the unbearable knowledge of what I had lost.862