Frank Longbottom, Judge Danforth, peered at Mary. “She’s not hearty, I see.”
James looked up. “No, she’s not, sir.” He bent down to Mary. “Now remember what the angel Raphael said to the boy Tobias. Remember it.”
In a whisper one could hardly hear, Mary answered. “Aye.”
“Do that which is good, and no harm shall come to you.”
She nodded again. “Aye.”
Danforth rapped the judges’ table with his knuckes. “Come, man, we wait you.”
Giles Corey nodded to James. “Give him my deposition, John.”
This deposition stated that Thomas Putnam told his daughter to cry out on his neighbors so that he could buy their land when they were dead, and then Giles was told to give the name of the man that witnessed it, and Giles refused. He had gotten his wife into jail by mentioning that she read books in secret; he refused to let this man hang also by his fault. They arrested Giles in contempt of the court, and then James stepped forward.
“Forgive him, sir, for his old age. Peace, Giles, we’ll prove it all now.” He lifted up Mary’s chin. “You cannot weep, Mary. Remember the angel, what he say to the boy. Hold to it, now; there is your rock.” Mary quieted, and James took out a paper from inside his cloak, presenting it to Danforth. “This is Mary Warren’s deposition. I—I would ask you remember, sir, while you read it, that until two week ago she were no different than the other children are today.”
He was speaking reasonably, restraining with force his anger, guilt, fear, and anxiety. “You saw her scream, she howled, she swore familiar spirits choked her; she even testified that Satan, in the form of women now in jail, tried to win her soul away, and then when she refused—“
Frank interrupted. “We know all this.”
“Aye, sir.” James licked his lips nervously. “She swears now that she never saw Satan; nor any spirit, vague or clear, that Satan may have sent to hurt her. And she declares her friends are lying now.”
The judges started. Flurried, they questioned Mary to the point of tears, including, in their requests, a wish to know whether she was in her natural mind and whether Mr. Proctor had threatened her for the deposition. Danforth finally frowned when they had finished; he sent the court clerk to bring in the other girls.
”I will tell you this—you are either lying now, or you were lying in the court, and in either case you have committed perjury and you will go to jail for it. You cannot lightly say you lied, Mary. Do you know that?”
Breaking into sobs, she answered. “I cannot lie no more. I am with God, I am with God.”
The other girls filed in, Lily at their head. Her hair was braided in a knot, coiled around her head and mostly hidden by the Puritan cap. Her eyes flashed around the court; they hardened as they fell on Mary and James. Deliberately, she averted her eyes and stared fixedly at Danforth.
Danforth informed the girls of the reason for their presence. He ended by pointing out Lily.
“Abigail Williams, rise.”
She did so, slowly.
“Is there any truth in this?”
”No, sir.” She shook her head determinedly.
Danforth sighed; turned to Lily. They questioned the girls on the presence of ‘poppets’ in the Proctor farmhouse, they asked about Abigail’s motive if she could be lying, and they dwelt on the topic of dancing in the woods. Finally, they settled upon one point: that if she had been pretending to make her skin icy cold and to faint while accusing others of witchcraft, that she could do so now, and they asked her to.
She couldn’t, it was the atmosphere, and—“I cannot tell how, but I did. I—I heard the other girls screaming, and you, Your Honor, you seemed to believe them, and I—It were only sport in the beginning, sir, but then the whole world cried spirits, spirits, and I—I promise you, Mr. Danforth, I only thought I saw them but I did not.”
Parris, his upper lip turning wet, made an attempt at a laugh. “Surely your Excellency is not taken by this simple lie.”
Danforth took no notice of him; he turned to Lily, whose mind had been hurriedly flailing for an escape during the questioning. “Abigail, I bid you now search your heart and tell me this—and beware of it, child, to God every soul is precious and His vengeance is terrible on them that take life without cause. Is it possible, child, that the spirits you have seen are illusion only, some deception that may cross your mind when—“
Indignant, Lily interrupted. “Why, this—this—is a base question, sir.”
“Child, I would have you consider it—“
She snapped. Leaning on his desk, she cried out her lines. “I have been hurt, Mr. Danforth; I have seen my blood runnin’ out! I have been near to murdered every day because I do my duty pointing out the Devil’s people, and this is my reward? To be mistrusted, denied, questioned like a—“
Danforth weakened. “Child, I do not mistrust you—“
She stepped back, threatening openly. “Let you beware, Mr. Danforth. Think you to be so mighty that the power of Hell may not turn your wits? Beware of it! There is—“
Her accusing stance changed; she turned her face to the ceiling, the rafters, the air above; she was truly frightened, and the audience was captured with the spell of the lying, sniveling girl only out for what she wanted, not caring for anyone else.
Danforth half-stood. “What is it, child?”
She managed to shake her head, clasping her arms around her as if she were shivering. “I—I know not. A wind, a cold wind, had come.” Her eyes fell on Mary, who started to shake with fear.
“Abby!”
Mercy Lewis cried out from the bench, “Your Honor, I freeze!”
James could hardly contain himself. “They’re pretending!”
Judge Hathorne rushed to Lily, feeling her hand and pulse. “She’s cold, Your Honor; touch her!”
With chattering teeth, Mercy pointed to Mary. “Mary, do you send this shadow on me?”
Another girl, Susannah Walcott, yelped in some sort of agony. “I freeze, I freeze!”
Mary sank to her knees. “Lord, save me!”
Lily was visibly shivering. “It is a wind, a wind!”
Hysterical, Mary stamped her foot. “Abby, don’t do that!”
Danforth regained his energy. “Mary Warren, do you witch her? I say to you, do you send your spirit out?”
Her hysteria mounted to a sharp cry, and she tried to run out of the court; James caught her around the waist, and she almost fell; he caught her before she hit the floor.
She was almost collapsing. “Let me go, Mr. Proctor, I cannot, I cannot—“
Lily was pushed off of the bench by something; she raised her hands in prayer. “Oh, Heavenly Father, take away this shadow!”
Without warning or hesitation, James leaped at her, and, grabbing her by the hair, pulled her to her feet.
“How do you call Heaven? Whore! Whore!”
She screamed in pain, and Danforth, Parris, and Hathorne were thrown into astonishment.
”What are you about?”
“Take your hands off her!”
Herrick tore James away from her. “John!”
Danforth was pulling his other arm. “Man! Man, what do you—“
Breathless and in agony, he shouted out, “It is a wh ore!”
Danforth was dumbfounded; he sat back down at his table. “You charge—“
Lily screamed at him, a helpless, amazed, pleading scream. “Mr. Danforth, he is lying!”
“Mark her!” James cried. “Now she’ll suck a scream to stab me with, but—“
“You will prove this,” Danforth thundered. “This will not pass!”
James was trembling now; his life was collapsing around him. “I have known her, sir. I have known her.”
“You—you are a lecher?” Danforth, and everyone in the courtroom for that matter, was amazed.
Francis Nurse plucked at James’ sleeve. “John, you cannot say such a—“
Desperately, James cried, “Oh, Francis, I wish you had some evil in you that you might know me!” He turned to Danforth. “A man will not cast away his good name. You surely know that.”
“In—in what time? In what place?” He spoke from a dead throat; his good opinion of a prominent citizen was crushed.
James’ voice was about to break, and his shame was obvious as he answered. “In the proper place—where my beasts are bedded. On the last night of my joy, some eight months past. She used to serve me in my house, sir.” He had to clamp his jaw to keep from weeping. “A man may think God sleeps, but God sees everything. I know it now. I beg you sir, I beg you—see her what she is. My wife, my dear good wife, took this girl soon after, sir, and put her out on the highroad. And being what she is, a lump of vanity, sir—“ He was overcome. “Excellency, forgive me.” He turned away for a moment, then whirled back, his voice strengthened. “She thinks to dance with me on my wife’s grave! And well she might, for I thought of her softly. God help me, I lusted, and there is a promise in such sweat. But it is a whore’s vengeance, and you must see it; I set myself entirely in your hands. I know you must see it now.”
Danforth blanched in horror, and he turned to Abigail. “You deny every scrap and tittle of this?”
Lily stood up, glaring at the court, the judges, the crumpled mass of Mary Warren sobbing on the floor, and James standing, his head bowed in shame. “If I must answer that, I will leave and I will not come back again!”
Danforth seemed unsteady about whom to believe, and James rejoined the proceedings. “I have made a bell of my honor! I have rung the doom of my good name—you will believe me, Mr. Danforth! My wife is innocent, except she knew a wh ore when she saw one!”
Lily caught the glance Danforth gave her, and she stamped angrily. “What look do you give me? I’ll not have such looks!” She turned and went for the door.
Like a thundering mass of black suit, Danforth raised his hand. “You will remain where you are!” Herrick stepped into her path, and she came up short, fire in her eyes. “Mr. Parris, go into the court and bring Goodwife Proctor out.”
Elizabeth was duly presented; Lily and James were requested to turn their backs to her. Finally, Danforth asked her whether her husband was a lecher. Thinking only to save her husband’s good name, and believing that Lily had told the court so, she answered in the negative. She was borne away, with James crying after her, “Elizabeth, I have confessed it!”
With finality, Danforth brought his hand down upon the table. “She spoke nothing of lechery, and this man has lied!”
“I believe him!” Hale cried. He pointed at Abigail. “This girl has always struck me false! She has—“
He was interrupted by a weird, wild, bone-chilling cry from Lily, who was screaming at the ceiling. “You will not! Begone! Begone, I say!”
Danforth’s tone became gentle. “What is it, child?”
Lily paid him no mind; transfixed with fear, she stared up at the ceiling. She was pointing at the rafters, and her terrified eyes and awed face were impressing everyone that watched with an odd sense of insanity, of something chilling running down their spine. The girls mimicked her, and everyone else in the courtroom followed their eyes.
“Child! Girls! Why do you—“
Mercy Lewis pointed. “It’s on the beam! Behind the beam!”
Danforth looked up. “Where?”
Lily gulped. “Why--? Why do you come, yellow bird?”
James scoffed. “Where’s a bird? I see no bird.”
“My face? My face?” Lily was talking to something she saw, or pretended to see.
“Mr. Hale—“ James tried to intervene.
“Be quiet!” Danforth spoke with finality.
More quietly, James pulled Hale aside. “Do you see a bird?”
“Be quiet!” Danforth thundered.
Mary started to cry again. “Abby, you musn’t!”
The girls repeated her words. “Abby, you musn’t!”
Stamping her foot, Mary was raging in frustration. “I’m here, I’m here!”
Transfixed, the girls stamped their feet, staring at the ceiling. “I’m here, I’m here!”
Danforth was horrified. “Mary Warren! Draw back your spirit out of them!”
Mary fought back tears. “Mr. Danforth!”
The girls cut her off. “Mr. Danforth!”
Pandemonium raged for some time, the girls mimicking Mary’s speech, and finally, when Danforth accused Mary of putting her spirit into their bodies, she broke down. Sobbing, she regained the group of girls, pointing at James. “You’re the Devil’s man!”
Clasping his hands together, Parris cried out “Praise God!”
The girls repeated his statement, sinking to his knees, but in Lily’s eyes were battling fear for herself and for James. “Praise God!”
James was numbed; he could not move, so shocked was he. “Mary, how—“
“I’ll not hang with you!” Mary shrieked. “I love God, I love God!”
Danforth turned to Mary, triumphant destruction in his fibers. “He bid you do the Devil’s work?”
Hysterically, Mary related a wonderfully improbable tale—according to her, James had come to her every night and made her sign the Devil’s book. Hale and James tried fervently to protest, but Danforth was won over by Mary who was screaming shrilly as she crawled back over to Lily and the other girls.
“No, I love God; I go your way no more. I love God, I bless God.” Sobbing, she rushed to Lily, who, seemingly, out of infinite charity, drew Mary to her, and, helplessly, pleading, looked up at Danforth, who boomed out his accusation against James.
“What say you, mister?”
Breathless, his mind wild, driven beyond the point of endurance in hatred and desperation, James threw his head back and shouted jarringly, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. “I say—I say—God is dead!”
Closing out Mary’s sobbings and Hale’s protestations, the court bore James away, bore him to the jail, and the curtain fell.
The next act took place in the fall; in the courtroom. Parris was telling Danforth that Hale was begging the prisoners, among them Rebecca Nurse and John Proctor, to confess anything and save their lives. Danforth sensed something else.
“Mr. Parris, be plain, what troubles you?”
Parris sighed. “There is news, sir, that the court—the court must reckon with. My niece, sir, my niece—I believe she has vanished. I found my strongbox broke into—and thirty-one pound are gone, and my daughter tells me she have heard them speaking of ships last week. I am penniless!”
Hale entered, telling Danforth he must pardon those that were still alive; they were refusing to ‘confess’ and lie, though it would save their lives. Danforth ordered that Proctor be confronted with Elizabeth, the sight of her might make him reconsider his stubbornness against lying. They brought him to her, and they unbound them so that they could talk freely.
She sat down; she had to; three months pregnant. James smiled as he looked at her. “The child?”
”It grows.”
“None—have yet confessed?”
“There be many confessed. A hundred or more, they say. There be many.”
“Rebecca?” James queried.
“Not Rebecca.” The Ravenclaw shook her head. “She is one foot in heaven now; naught may hurt her more.”
“And Giles?”
“Giles is dead,” she intoned, keeping her tears back. “He would not answer aye or nay to the indictment; for if he denied the charge they’d hang him surely, and auction out his property. So he stand mute, and die Christian under the law. And so his sons will have his farm. It is the law, for he could not be condemned a wizard without he answer the indictment, aye or nay.”
“Then how did he die?”
Gently, she replied. “They press him, John.”
”Press?”
“Great stones they lay upon his chest until he plead aye or nay. They say he give them but two words. ‘More weight,’ he says. And died.”
He was numbed. “’More weight.’”
There was a pause.
“I have been thinking I would confess to them, Elizabeth. What say you? If I give them that?”
She shook her head. “I cannot judge you, John.”
”What would you have me do?”
“As you will, I would have it. I want you living, John. That’s sure.”
He wrestled with his conscience a while, begged her to say that she forgave him, but she kept repeating that she could not judge him; he must do so. “Do what you will. But let none be your judge. There be no higher judge under Heaven than Proctor is! Forgive me, John, forgive me—I never knew such goodness in the world!” She turned away, crying.
With a hollow sounding voice, James turned to Hathorne. “I want my life.”
Electrified, Hathorne jumped up. “You’ll confess yourself?
“I will have my life.”
Hathorne practically ran out of the courtroom, crying that Proctor would confess. He returned with the other judges, Rebecca Nurse and Martha Corey, for them to witness his confession so that they might also confess.
“Say on, Mr. Proctor. Did you bind yourself to the Devil’s service?”
Rebecca gasped. “Why, John!”
He turned his face away. “I did.”
They questioned him further, writing down his answers, but he never told them that he saw anyone with the Devil. In a sort of agony, he signed his name to the ‘confession’ the court had written down; it was a record of what he had just said. Then, in a fit of boundless anger, he snatched it up.
Danforth held up his hand. “If you please, sir.”
”No.”
“Mr. Proctor, I must have—“
“No, no! I have signed it. You have seen me. It is done! You have no need for this!”
Parris intervened. “Proctor, the village must have proof that—“
”Damn the village!” he cried. “I confess to God, and God has seen my name on this! It is enough! You are the high court, your word is good enough. Tell them I confessed myself; say Proctor broke his knees and wept like a woman; say what you will, but my name cannot—“
Danforth rose. “It is the same, is it not? If I report it or you sign to it?”
“No, it is not the same!” he shrieked. “What others say and what I sign to is not the same!”
“Then explain to me,” Danforth roared, “why you will not let—“
”Because it is my name!” James cried, a cry of his whole soul. “Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of those that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!” His breast heaving, he picked up his confession and tore it in half, weeping madly.
Parris cried out. “Proctor, Proctor!”
“Man, you will hang!” Hale cried. “You cannot!”
His eyes full of tears, he scornfully threw his words at them. “I can. And there’s your first marvel, that I can. You have made your magic now, for now I do think that I see some shred of goodness in John Proctor. Not enough to weave a banner with, but white enough to keep it from such dogs!”
In a burst of terror, Elizabeth fled to him, weeping against his hand.
“Give them no tear, Elizabeth! Tears pleasure them! Show honor now, show a stony heart and sink them with it!” He raised her up and kissed her, while Danforth returned with the marshal.
“Hang them high over the town! Who weeps for these, weeps for corruption!”
Hale was still pleading with Elizabeth as James and the rest swept out. “Woman! It is pride, it is vanity. Be his helper!—What profit him to bleed? Shall the dust praise him? Shall the worms declare his truth? Go to him, take his shame away!”
Supporting herself against a collapse, Elizabeth was gripping the bars of the window. “He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him.”
Amid thunderous applause, as light poured onto her face, the curtain fell.
They lined up for their curtain call quickly; the accusers and the accused were the first to take their bows. Then the judges came forward; then Mary Warren and Elizabeth Proctor. Both of them were blushing furiously as they cleared the path for John and Abigail, who, almost visibly reveling in the storms of clapping, came forward and bowed, twice. Lily could have resisted the second time, but James had pulled her down in a second bow.
Quickly, they hurried offstage. They were to send a representative of each cast back on in several minutes so that the winning group could be chosen. Everyone was looking at Lora; after all, she was the stage manager. Instead, she held the pale white dress robes Mrs. Potter had brought out to Lily, who stared at them in astonishment.
“What?”
“Take them.”
“Lora, are you nuts?”
“That was confirmed the day I was created. Take them,” she insisted.
Lily was nervously backing away. “Lora, no!”
“You’re the best one out of all of us, you go!”
She couldn’t say no after that, especially since she had backed into Frank Longbottom and James, and they were agreeing with Lora, threatening to dress her themselves if she didn’t do it.
Fifteen minutes later, her face scrubbed clean and her hair taken down from the knot it had been in; her feet in fitted white shoes, she was walking onstage with thirteen other girls and boys; women and men.
The director and judges met them at center stage. Three golden cups sat there, all different in size, and with a dark purple velvet bag filled with something beside each one, the largest cup had everyone’s attention. The director cleared his throat, effectively causing the theatre to fall silent.
“I have here in my hand the winner of the first International Dramatic Tournament. In a few minutes I shall give it to you—but first, let us have a round hand of applause for every one of our participants!”
They were tempted to cover their ears, such a loud, glass-shattering noise resounded from the walls.
Finally, it dwindled down to a few polite coughs, and the director put an opera-glass to his eye.
“In third place,” he announced, “the cast and crew of the Merchant of Venice!”
A shy lady with dark skin, robes, and hair tripped forward, blushing, at the amount of clapping coming to her ears, as she was presented with the smallest cup and the bag that went with it; it contained twenty-five Galleons.
“The second place,” he continued, “will be taken by the Greenwood Dramatists, performers of Robin Hood; The Legend!”
A tall, blonde young man actively strode forward, somewhat disappointed but still pleased. He looked much more different than he had during the performance; without his green doublet and tunic, he looked more like the active eighteen-year-old he was, rather than the outlaw he had seemed. Mostly satisfied, he accepted his prize—one hundred Galleons—and retreated to downstage left, where the dark lady had already taken her place.
The tension could have been cut with the tip of a pin as the director flourished his bit of parchment once more; all eyes were again on the glittering, shining, delicately sculptured piece of work on its small pedestal.
“The first place—hold your breath—“
Lily could have killed him.
“The greatest honor for beginning actors, the winning of this tournament, has been chosen to be borne by—“ He paused.
Lily wasn’t the only one that wanted to kill him.
“The actors and crew of Arthur Miller’s award-winning The Crucible!”
Instead of feeling suddenly happy and ecstatic, Lily felt as if her breath had been snatched out of her lungs. She had wished for this; she had hoped this would happen, but she had never expected it to, like the arrogant Robin Hood had expected to win the first prize.
She almost had to be pushed forward, and when she did, it was almost in a dream that she heard the thundering, stone-felling applause and the excited shriekings and yells from backstage; the heavy cup that she almost dropped was unreal, and the velvet bag hanging from her arm was a figment of a dream.
The next hour passed in a blaze. Her hand was almost numb from the continued shakings it received from the enthusiastic rich wizards and witches that lined up in front of the stage; she and the other thirteen had been handed a bouquet of so many roses they could hardly hold them all; the cup sat beside Lily on the stage, though the purple bag, the one that contained two thousand Galleons, was tucked away inside her robes, the weight of it was splitting the seams of her pocket.
Orchids the color of which she had never dreamed of littered the bouquet that dangled about her wrist; black and purple and blue; a silvery color, golden, forest-green, and dark red. It seemed that magical orchids had many more varieties of color than Muggle ones did, but Lily didn’t bother to dwell on that.
When she finally returned backstage, her friends were all waiting for her with aeons of hugs and squeals, with excited snatchings of the flowers and tugging at the purple velvet bag that was hard to lift. They had already changed; there was a sort of dinner downstairs that everyone was attending; though it wasn’t really a dinner; it was more of a small buffet, with cookies, chocolates, and punch on tables.
They had already changed into dress robes that they had been surprised with; Mrs. Doylen and Mrs. Potter, after checking their costume measurements, had gone out and ordered dress robes for them all. They were all different colored, too—Eva’s were light blue; Lora’s a light slivery grey, matching her eyes. Lily had been given a choice between a pearly white, similar to the ones she already wore, but more elegant, and a deep purple; she spun around several times and picked the one she landed in front of; the dark ones had been slipped on and a magnificent purple orchid pinned to them by the time they joined the throng downstairs.
She tried to keep to the wall as much as possible; it was harder than would be expected, since there were so many people there that were trying to wring her wrist to pieces. Managing to slip behind a table, she bumped into someone in a twilight-blue shade of robes. Hurriedly, she whirled around, apologies on the tip of her tongue.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right!”
James stood in front of her, grinning broadly, a cup of punch in one hand and several chocolates stamped with the theatre’s crest placed on a napkin in the other hand. He held them out to her.
“Have some. There’re plenty.”
She smiled as she accepted one. “Thank you. You--you did wonderfully.”
”Not as good as you did.”
Lily dropped her head somewhat shamefacedly. “Thank you.”
He looked her up and down. “You look nice.”
“You, too.” He did, too. His hair was, for once, halfway behaving, and although one piece insisted on covering one of his eyes, he looked rather handsome.
They returned to Hogwarts that night; they were piled onto the globe, and, as they were sleeping in their compartments, it took off; they left it in the morning when they woke up. It wasn’t nearly as nice for baths or changing clothes, since the beds with the shields down were so cramped, but they had to; an icy blizzard was swirling outside, and they couldn’t simply slip into shoes and a coat.
They were all yawning dreadfully by the time the adults routed them out of bed and into the Great Hall for breakfast, and Sirius and James had to be forcefully prevented from decorating Lora’s hair with little bits of crumbled bacon, milk, and syrup; she hadn’t even filled her plate, as she was using it as a pillow. As it was, though, she had to be content with a smudge of strawberry juice on her nose she didn’t notice till that night when she was washing her face.
