A Salem Awakening

Chapter 22

Abigail spent the entire afternoon sobbing, even though her body was no longer capable of generating tears. Her eyes swelled, almost to the point of being shut, and the reddening of her eyelids equaled the red in her bloodshot eyes. She had not eaten all day and was weak, but not hungry. Samuel prepared some soup for her and urged her to eat because he feared she would faint at the ceremony. That would only add to the speculation about Willa and would force people to look deeper at Abigail, potentially accusing her as well. No matter what else happened, Samuel could not allow Abigail to be accused, or even suspected.

All afternoon, Samuel was deep in thought about Abigail's future. He thought she still was not ready, but circumstances forced him to rethink his schedule. As Abigail was sipping her hot soup, Samuel sat at the table next to her.

"I know we need to leave in a few minutes. We don't have time to get into it now, but I've decided when we return this evening, no matter how we are feeling about your mother, we need to have a discussion about your future. There are many things I need to explain to you. I'll need you to prepare yourself to open your mind and take in a lot of information you may not understand. Can you do this for me?"

Abigail nodded, but was completely confused. Her father never spoke with her in such a serious tone, but she understood these were serious times. Even though she did not know what her father was talking about specifically, she innately understood he was going through a lot of pain and difficult emotions, as was she, and the best thing Abigail could do for her father was to be there for him and help in any way she could. "Of course, Father. Anything you want."

"Good... good." Samuel placed his left hand on the table and stood. "I need to explain my special book and my special candle to you, and show you their meaning to me, to each other, and to you. It will be a lot to take in, but I think you're ready." He said this even though he was anything but certain she was. As he was talking, Samuel looked over at his candle, the one Abigail watched him stare at for hours on end. He also motioned to a mysterious old book conspicuously wedged into the back of one of their bookshelves. Abigail tried to read it once. It was in Latin. She could read and understand Latin, she learned the language in church and Mr. Putnam taught it, but this book used Latin words she did not understand, nor could she read. And when Samuel caught her looking through the pages years earlier, he became irate with her – one of the few times he became angry and yelled at his daughter. She never got near the book again. It intrigued her that finally her father wanted to share the mysterious book.

After the soup was gone, they both quietly washed their hands and changed their clothes. One doesn't know what is appropriate apparel when attending the burning of a close family member. Without discussion, they put on different sets of Sunday clothes, not very different from the clothes they had on for church that morning. At about five forty, they silently left the house and headed for the town square, holding hands. Neither spoke a word on their way.