Chapter Five
I had never been more frightened. I was on the verge of running away – an act that would embarrass my family, and perhaps, if I were to be caught, even endanger my life. Life with the Whittier family in Salem was bad enough. I’d rather have killed myself than be captured and forced to return like some kind of runaway slave.
That was when I knew I had to do everything Henrik ordered. It was very strange to think that my only alliance in the world was a foreign man – maybe even a foreign man who worshipped the devil. It was curious. Even though only six months had passed since I’d left Ipswich, Henrik looked exactly the same, perhaps even younger. His grizzled white hair and face belied the appearance of an old man, but there was something in his eyes – a look that I’ll never forget – that seemed almost youthful.
Still, foreign or not, Henrik was my only hope to escape a life of abuse and assault at the hands of the men around me. Much as Thomas delighted in telling me of the horror that would come to pass once we were wed, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to escape his father, James, either. They were sadists.
And I was starting to realize that my family was equally sadistic. How could they have surrendered me to such cruelties without being evil themselves?
I was starting to realize that no matter how godly the people of Ipswich and Salem thought themselves to be, they were, in truth, the exact opposite.
The sky darkened as Ligeia ran home from the market, the fish clutched in her hands. She kept glancing down; the dead, glassy eyes reminded her of her own. Whenever she looked in the glass (and often when she was polishing it, by Joy’s order), Ligeia didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Her blue eyes were cold and hard, and her pale face was creased with worry and sadness. ‘Why, I don’t look four and ten at all,’ Ligeia had thought in horror. ‘I look like an old crone!’
Thunder boomed overhead, and pellets of rain stung Ligeia’s face as she hurried quickly back to the Whittier home. Her feet slipped in the mud, and twice, she almost risked losing the precious fish. But she arrived intact, and just as she began wiping her boots on the rushes at the front hall, the rain began to fall in earnest.
A painful set of fingers grabbed Ligeia’s ear and pulled. She cried out, pulling away and whirling around. The cook, Mary, stood there. She looked absolutely enraged.
“You stupid child,” Mary hissed. “Where the devil have you been?”
Ligeia held out the fish. “You sent me to market,” she said. “There was many a man more than I was expecting. The stall was busy.”
Mary tutted. She grabbed the fish from Ligeia’s hands and frowned. “Where are the coins?”
“I spent them,” Ligeia said. “On the fish.”
“You stupid child!” Mary repeated. “Six shillings, for this?” She waved the fish in the air. “‘Tis not worth half a farthing!”
“I am sorry,” Ligeia said. She hung her head.
“Dumb child,” Mary muttered under her breath. She shook her head. “Never the mind,” she said. “There is no time for anger now. Quick!” She barked at Ligeia. “Over to the stove. Help with supper!”
Ligeia nodded. She rinsed her hands in a bucket by the door, then hung her cloak. Her heart was thudding fast inside of her chest, and she couldn’t believe the encounter she’d had at the market. Why had Henrik agreed to help? And what kind of magic had he performed that made Ligeia invisible at the fish stall?
“Child, stop dawdling!” Mary growled. She was scaling the fish with her large, calloused hands as efficiently as a man. When she finished, she filleted and deboned the fish before tossing the raw chunks in a kettle filled with the leftovers from the middle meal.
The Whittiers were extraordinarily wealthy, even in the town of Salem which was far grander than Ipswich had been. Most colonists ate a single, large meal in the middle of the day, but James Whittier ordered a large supper – something that had been more common back at home, in England. When Ligeia thought of England, her heart ached. More than anything, she wanted to return.
‘And mayhap I will have the chance,’ she thought as she peeled potatoes on the stone counter. ‘Mayhap, with Henrik, I can do everything that I’ve ever dreamed of.’
“Child!” Mary snapped her fingers. “Are you dumb?” She chuckled at her own joke. “Potatoes and carrots in the stew, now!”
Ligeia nodded. She dumped the potatoes on top of the fish, inhaling the rich, salty fragrance coming from the cauldron. When she was finished, she hastily peeled a few carrots and tossed them in, admiring the way the rich, brown gravy looked as it coated white chunks of fish and vegetables.
“Has Master Thomas spoken with you?” Mary raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest. Despite her brash, bossy manner, Mary loved household gossip.
Ligeia bit her lip. “No,” she said shortly. “Aside from taunting me in the middle of the day and ruining my floors.”
Mary’s eyes went wide. “Oh, child,” she said. “Master Thomas has told his father that he wishes to be wed immediately.”
Ligeia’s heart sank, and panic welled inside of her chest. ‘No!’ She thought. ‘Now I won’t be able to escape! What if he knows what I’ve done? What if he had me followed?’
“Child, don’t worry,” Mary said kindly. “It won’t be as bad as all of that.”
‘Yes, you think that because you’re too fat and too old to be a target of lechery,’ Ligeia thought angrily. ‘You think that no one can touch you because you’re at the head of all the servants!’
“I think it will,” Ligeia said grimly. “I can’t help but think it will.”
“Master Thomas is a godly young man,” Mary said. “He is proud, that is all. He will calm with age.”
‘Yes,’ Ligeia thought. She glared down at her hands folded in her lap. ‘Once he is old, well, then he’ll be fine. And it won’t matter because I’ll likely be dead from constant pregnancy and childbirth.’
“You are dismissed, child,” Mary said curtly when it became clear that Ligeia wouldn’t divulge anything else. “Upstairs. Now!”
She spooned a small portion of the fish stew into an earthenware bowl and passed it to Ligeia.
“Your supper,” she added.
When Ligeia was almost out of the kitchen, Mary whistled. Ligeia stopped and turned around, looking at the older woman expectantly.
“Go,” Mary hissed. “And do not let anyone see you with that!” She pointed to the bowl. “We are not supposed to eat before the family; you know that!”
Ligeia felt a sudden surge of affection for the old cook. ‘With any hope, I will never see you again,’ she thought as she scampered up the back staircase. ‘With any hope, this will be the last meal I consume in the Whittier household.’
Upstairs, alone in the small attic room, Ligeia drank the soup and then reclined on her straw mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sneaking out to meet Henrik at three in the morning wouldn’t be an easy feat. Often, other servants woke as early as four. And in order to make it out of town and into the woods, Ligeia knew she would have to watch the moon to figure out the time.
Soon, sounds from below filled the attic. Ligeia shivered – she could practically hear Thomas’ booming voice all the way from downstairs. ‘I will not marry him,’ she thought. ‘I will refuse. Even if Henrik is attempting to trick me, I will run away. I’d rather die than become Thomas’ wife!’
Ligeia knew there was inherent risk in her plan. Henrik could be lying. He could have plotted a fantasy in Ligeia’s head. What would he do with her? Kidnap her and keep her as his own slave? Sell her?
Ligeia shivered. ‘Just a few more hours,’ she thought. ‘Just a few more hours, and then I will have my freedom.’
The hours and minutes crept by. Ligeia dozed fitfully, waking up with a start and then falling asleep again. She kept the window open despite the winter chill in the air. The rain had stopped and Salem was filled with the hazy, humid smell of moisture.
When she guessed that it was about a quarter past two in the morning, Ligeia pulled on her heaviest boots and cloak. She took the small leather purse that Father had given her before she left Ipswich. It was empty, but she planned to stop in the kitchen and grab whatever she could carry.
The house was silent as Ligeia crept down the stairs, holding a candle in one hand. When she reached the main floor, she was dismayed to hear that the fire was still crackling and burning. ‘They must have stayed up later than usual,’ she thought. ‘Normally, the fire would be all ashes at this time of night.’ Holding her breath, she snuck quietly across the floor.
“What cheer, Ligeia?”
Ligeia froze. Thomas stood in front of her, swaying with drunkenness. He was grinning like a fool, and his eyes glittered with savage lust.
“Pardon me, Thomas,” Ligeia said delicately. “I was just on my way to the kitchen for a drink of water.”
Thomas stuck out his foot and tripped Ligeia. She crashed to the floor, extinguishing the candle with the palm of her hand and screaming as the flame burned her skin.
“I dare say you will not be going anywhere for quite some time,” Thomas said. He squatted, toppling over from lack of balance. It was almost comical, but Ligeia couldn’t laugh. Her heart was in her throat as she tried to climb to her feet.
But despite his drunken behavior, Thomas was still strong and fast. He grabbed Ligeia’s wrists and pinned her to the floorboards, climbing on top of her. She kicked and struggled, but the heavy cloak made her as weak as a kitten, and soon, she found herself trapped completely beneath Thomas’ muscular bulk.
“I have waited long enough,” Thomas growled in Ligeia’s ear. “I have waited for you, and now you shall be mine. Tomorrow, we wed.” He snickered. “But tonight, we lie together as man and wife.” He grinned as he reached under Ligeia’s dress, ripping the petticoats away from her bare legs.
Ligeia shrieked with fright as Thomas pulled the cloth away from her bare body. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to fend off his advances as he kept her firmly in place. His breath reeked of onions and ale, and Ligeia shuddered each time Thomas tried pressing his damp mouth to hers.
“Stop!” Ligeia shrieked. “Thomas, stop it!” She yanked her arm free and cracked him over the head. The blow seemed to fall at just the right place, and for a moment, Thomas was too stunned to move. Ligeia grabbed his arm and pulled him off of her body, throwing him to the side and scrambling to her feet. Her heart thudded, and she glanced wildly around the room, looking for anything to use as a weapon.
Spotting the iron poker leaning against the hearth, Ligeia darted toward it. She grabbed it and swung it through the air, enjoying the feel of the iron gripped tightly in her sweaty hands.
“Oh, no,” Thomas said blearily. He got to his feet and reached for Ligeia, missing her and swearing under his breath. “You little wench, you can’t get away from me!” His menacing smile returned as he advanced on the girl, stumbling across the room.
“Stay away!” Ligeia shrieked. She swung the poker through the air, narrowly grazing the side of Thomas’ head. He cried out in pain, and she swung it again, bringing it down with a satisfying thwack!
Thomas crumpled to the floor.
“Thomas?” Ligeia stepped closer. Her heart skipped a beat, and a cold sweat broke out over her limbs. “Thomas?”
Thomas didn’t reply. His eyes were half-open, his lips parted. Spit bubbled at his mouth, and Ligeia gasped when she saw a dark pool of blood spreading from Thomas’ head over the wooden floorboards.
‘I’ve killed him,’ Ligeia realized. She was still gripping the poker in her hands, and without thinking about what to do next, she ran down the stairs and out of the Whittier home.
The sky was an inky, starless black as the clouds raced back and forth over the moon, providing minimal light for Ligeia’s escape. She ran as fast as she could, still gripping the fire poker in both of her small hands.
The town of Salem looked haunting and dangerous at night. Ligeia held her breath as she ran through the dark town, keeping to the quieter streets and alleys whenever she could.
Twice, Ligeia thought she heard footsteps from behind her. She quickened her pace, slipping and sliding in the mud and nearly falling more than once. She kept a firm hold of the fire poker the whole time, refusing to let go of the weapon that had likely saved her life.
Thoughts of Thomas lying dead on the floor filled Ligeia’s head as she ran and ran. Despite the fact that she’d committed one of the worst sins of all – taking another human life – she felt only relief…and a burning sense of shame that came from the relief itself.
Entering the woods felt like entering a different world. Ligeia gripped the poker and darted through the trees, crying out whenever a branch or twig snapped beneath her feet. After only a few moments, she saw an unearthly white glow fading through the trees.
“Henrik!” Ligeia yelled. “Henrik! ‘Tis I, Ligeia!”
Henrik appeared as if conjured from the darkness. His pale skin and white hair practically glowed in the forest light, and Ligeia gasped.
Henrik looked at the iron poker in Ligeia’s hands and chuckled.
“Have you come to kill me?”
Ligeia shook her head quickly, dropping the poker into the twigs below. Henrik tutted.
“You shan’t do that, child, if I have any clue as to what you used it for,” Henrik said.
Ligeia blushed. She grabbed the poker and held it behind her back.
“So, you’ve killed a man,” Henrik stated. “How does it feel?” His calm voice infuriated Ligeia.
“Are you teasing me?” Ligeia asked sharply. “Have you come to punish me, to bring me back to Salem in chains?”
Henrik threw his head back and laughed. “No, child,” he said. “Hush. No more of that talk!”
Tears filled Ligeia’s, eyes and she crumpled to the ground. Forgetting about the poker, she wrapped her skinny arms around her legs.
“The Whittier family will have me thrown in jail and hanged or burned,” she sniffled. “I killed their son!”
“Hush, child,” Henrik said. “There is no time for tears. You know that.” He reached down and gently but firmly pulled Ligeia upright to a standing position. “You are free,” he said. “And no harm shall come to you.”
Ligeia sniffled again. The guilt was still there, but it was starting to fade. She wondered if Henrik was using his spell craft again; she almost hoped that he was because it was quite ungodly to feel relief after committing such a heinous crime.
“You’re a witch,” Ligeia said softly.
Henrik shook his head. “A warlock,” he said.
Ligeia was full of strange feelings and conflict. She knew she should run from Henrik. He was evil, and not a godly man. But he had saved her. He seemed to have some kind of affinity for her – an affinity she could not understand, considering how infrequently they had actually exchanged words.
“Why are you helping me?”
Henrik laughed. “Because you are in need of help,” he said. “A blind man could see that.” He paused and looked at Ligeia until the hair on the back of her neck stood up. “And because you are a witch,” he said softly. “I have known since the first time I saw you.”
Ligeia shook her head. “No, that cannot be true! I cannot be evil!”
Henrik laughed again. “‘Tis not evil to be a witch,” he said. “Think, child. Haven’t you ever had experiences unlike any other? Visions? Dreams?”
Ligeia remembered the visions from years ago – the bucket filled with blood, the group of chanting men and women. She shivered.
“Dreams,” she said. “Mere dreams meant to tempt me away from the Lord.”
Henrik shook his head. “Visions,” he said. “Meant to alert you of your own power.”
Ligeia’s mouth grew dry. “Earlier, at the market…” She trailed off. “After you took my money, I realized I still had not purchased fish. I knew I could not possibly return to the Whittier home without it. They would punish me, and I would not be able to escape.”
“And you stole the fish, did you not?”
Ligeia nodded. Oddly, she felt more shame over the petty theft than over the murder of Thomas Whittier.
“Yes,” she said. “But the fishmonger…no one seemed to notice me. I just took it and walked away.”
“Your powers,” Henrik said. “You did that yourself.”
“No!” Ligeia cried. “I couldn’t have!”
“You did,” Henrik said seriously. “You are quite strong, child. And if you agree to come with me, you will find out just how strong for yourself.”
“I don’t believe in magic,” Ligeia said uncertainly. “It isn’t godly!”
Henrik laughed. “There are many great things in life,” he said. “Many of them are wonderful, and a great many of them are ungodly.”
Ligeia trembled in fear, but she didn’t run. She couldn’t help it. She was intrigued by Henrik and the stories he managed to weave with just words.
“I come from Sweden,” Henrik said. “From a powerful family, with ancient Viking ties.”
“Is…is your whole family witches?” Ligeia trembled. Something about the idea seemed awful to her.
Henrik looked grave. “No,” he said shortly. “My parents were killed at Mora years ago. They were not witches. They were merely suspected,” he said slowly. “‘Twas then that I fled Sweden for the New World, hoping to find a place of tolerance.”
The idea of tolerating witchcraft was so absurd that Ligeia laughed.
“Watch, child,” Henrik said. He waved his hand through the air. “Close your eyes and listen to your senses. Listen to what they tell you!”
Ligeia obediently closed her eyes. A warm gust of air blew over her body, and she gasped. She saw herself and Henrik standing together, hand in hand, over a stone ground etched with odd markings. They were wearing white robes and wearing stern but peaceful looks. Men and women danced around them, dressed all in black. The chant was haunting and strange, but somehow familiar.
Ligeia gasped when she recognized the sounds. It was the same sounds of the Latin chanting she’d heard years ago as a girl when she was still in Ipswich.
Ligeia opened her eyes. Henrik was giving her a kindly – if faintly sardonic – smile.
“Do you believe me now, child? Will you join me and embrace freedom?”
“Aye,” Ligeia whispered. “I will.”