Witch

The sound of hoofbeats were loud in the early hours of the morning. For those first few seconds, through the thick fog of sleep, Tobin Swinton thought he was dreaming the sound of a galloping horse. But, as the sound grew louder, he sat bolt upright. No one ever roused Tobin from his sleep unless they were holding someone in the Witch Jail. 

   It had been years. Years. He had believed this was all over with. He had thought this had all ended years ago. He had prayed the last one was the last one. Until now, it seemed. 

   Tobin Swinton was a man haunted. His past was always present. And how his past did haunt him. Solitude, silence and time itself, however, can provide a very clear perspective. Completely unlike the lens of hysteria and frenzy and emotion, which is loud, heated and strident.

   Sattersfield, Massachusetts 1700

    Tobin Swinton had been a very obedient child, a very good child. No one in his township of Sattersfield would doubt that. Born to be good many would say, a righteous young man. Following the death of his father, he would become a strong right hand for Reverend Williams, the township's fiery passionate Minister. Tobin had been taken into the Reverend's household at an early age, his mother having passed away within a few months of giving birth to Tobin, and his father dying, of a hacking cough, just a few years later. The township had admired the Reverend's generosity to an orphaned boy. They were proud of the way he had raised Tobin. Tobin was a thoughtful child, considerate and kind and profoundly moral. 

    They knew Tobin would inherit the Reverend's pulpit. The Reverend preached powerful sermons every Sunday, Tobin by his side. The Reverend did not neglect his parishioners. He took good care of his devout flock.  

   He was also a witch hunter, and he took his duties-here-very seriously. 

He had chased the Devil out of the township. And the township was very grateful for that. There was no devil in Sattersfield. And under the Reverend's tutelage Tobin had been zealous. He had never shirked from doing what the Reverend told him to do. The Reverend had been a Godly man, to whom Tobin owed much. 

   In the name of God searching out the devil, and saving the souls of so many, was a righteous task, never to be denied. It was a task born of love for humanity. Love of God. The desire to save. And a determination to keep one's flock on the Path of Righteousness. 

   While Tobin felt tremendous loyalty and gratitude to God and to the Reverend, the Reverend's gratitude and loyalty moved along a different track, and he worshipped a very different God. Same God as the town fathers and the town Elders. Their God was wealth, riches. And Tobin's love of God, his desire to protect his flock from evil, his loyalty and gratefulness to the Reverend had proven highly useful and quite lucrative. They had all profited heavily from it. Quietly and heavily. Yes, Tobin was a haunted man. He understood all of it now. He understood he had been used. The Reverend had gone to meet his maker four short years ago. And Tobin had inherited his duties and his pulpit. On Sunday's he preached passionate sermons. He guided his flock and Tobin had prayed--daily--there would be no accusations of witchcraft leveled at anyone.  

   In the past, these accusations had whipped the town into a frenzy. And in his passion and almost blind loyalty Tobin had been whipped into a frenzy, as well. The Reverend holding him by the arm insisting the devil must be driven from the township, and Tobin was perfect for the task. Young, strong and healthy. Accusations of witchcraft took hold of the township of Sattersfield, as they had almost everywhere, it seemed. Accusations thickened the very air, poisoning everything, and everyone. Tobin pursued suspected witches with true zealotry. He had truly believed he was saving souls. Protecting people from great evil. Now he knew better. How blind had he been? How many innocents....how many?

   His thoughts were interrupted by the pounding on his door. Sighing, Tobin looked down at his long underwear and shuffled to the door. As he expected, town Magistrate John Goodman was the visitor. "We have found a witch Tobin! We have found a witch. You must come immediately!"

   "Who?" Asked Tobin. 

    "Goody James's daughter Felicity. Felicity James." The James's, a wealthy family in Sattersfield. Tobin was not surprised. 

He ran through his recollections of the people he knew in Salttersfield, and he vaguely knew who the James' were. "Where is she?" He 

 asked.

     "We're holding her in the Witch

 Jail," said the Magistrate giving Tobin a searching look. "That is where witches are held. Is it not?" 

   Tobin stared off into the distance. He could not return the look. 'There are no witches" he thought. Eyes carefully averted. Expression neutral. 

     " But, of course" is what he said, clasping his hands in front of him..

"Can you come along, then?" asked Goodman.

"Let me get dressed and saddle Old Jack," said Tobin. " I thought we had beaten the Devil back into hell," said Tobin. 

   "Apparently not," said Goodman. A smile on his lips. Tobin did not return the smile.

   "Felicity James".........he mused. No one specific really came to mind. 

   "She is of 12 years and has already been examined."

"That will be helpful," said Tobin. "Makes God's work easier. Ride ahead while I prepare. I will be close behind you." 

   Tobin closed the door and stood quietly for a moment....eyes closed. He already knew he was not going to do this. It made him sick just thinking about this. Too much..too many. Too many... The Reverend, whom he had once loved and trusted with his life, had filled his pockets along with the town Fathers, the Elders. They had stolen from the accused. Land, property, money, and the personal possessions of those, soon to be dead: by his hand, and the Reverend's. 

   It had taken Tobin years to discern the pattern. It had all been so cleverly done. Sattersfield had been a very poor community at one time. Not anymore. Once the hysteria had died down, Tobin had ample time to think. The Reverend had been bedridden at this point, soon to pass. Tobin had ascended to the pulpit, inheriting the Reverend's duties, and in moments of quiet contemplation he realized how badly he had been used. 

   All lies. People abused, tortured, and killed for lies. Burned alive, some of them. For greed. The ghosts were real. They had names, they had faces. 

  Years ago, Tobin had believed in what he considered to be his holy mission. He had truly believed God had given him a purpose. Chosen him for a holy purpose. But with the Reverend gone, in the quiet, Tobin had realized many things. There was a pattern. 

   Properties were seized. Livestock was taken. There was a reason for all of this. Greed. Money, gain, and possessions. Accusing people, sentencing them to death, then stealing from them. Taking everything. All now owned by the township. Lies for personal gain, for personal enrichment. The abuse, the torment. The convictions all based on lies. He sighed as he dressed. His heart was heavy as he tugged on his boots. 'I am not going to do this," he thought. 'But how can I save this child.' 

   He slammed his door and headed to the barn. Old Jack whinnied softly when he saw him. He led Jack out of his stall and saddled him as he had done so many other times. Jack stood quietly...patient as always. Tobin climbed into the saddle and Jack headed toward the township. 

   Luckily, Jack knew the way by heart. Tobin's mind was was not on the trail ahead of him. The past was present. All the faces blended into one. What he clearly remembered was the screams, then the groans, the soft sobbing, moaning, the begging the pleading. The flow of blood, the color, the bones cracking, the gasps, then the silence. The silence. 

"I am not doing this,' Tobin thought. 'And they will turn on me. They will turn on me. But my mind is made up.'

   All too soon...Jack reached the Jail. Tobin climbed down and looped his reins over the rail. Goodman had left the key hanging from the iron hook next to the door. Tobin reached for the key, but he stopped. 

   He leaned his head against the door. He stayed there for a few minutes...thinking. He was coming to a decision. He had the basics of a plan.... He grabbed the key, twisted it in the lock until he heard the click. Upon entering the jail the darkness was complete. He lit the lantern placed on a small wooden table outside the small roughly made door. Iron bars on the top half, wood on the bottom.

    He squatted down to crawl through, lantern held high. There was a small bundle of rags in the corner...shaking, trembling, snuffling, hiccuping sobs rising and falling from the bundle. As Tobin raised the lantern higher he could see bloodstains darkening the material in spots. The material looked expensive, silky. 

   "Look at me child" he said. The rags shifted and a mewling sound rose." I am not going to hurt you. I am going to take you out of here. You are rescued." 

    A small face turned to look at him. It was the face of a terrified, cowering child. Her face was covered with bruises, one eye swollen shut. Blood red and sticky ran down her chin. She stared at Tobin with eyes that were empty, wide, staring.

    Tobin reached down and hefted the child into his arms. In a stooping squat, he carried her out of the jail and into the early dawn. As he placed her on top of Jack, he told her to hang on, praying that she had enough presence of mind to understand. He swung himself quickly up behind her, not wishing to take any chances 

   "You are no witch," he said. I am taking you out of this village. You must never return." Your life now lies elsewhere. Do not return."

   He looked down at her face as he spoke. Her eyes fastened on his face. Tobin breathed a sigh of relief. 

    There was a settlement some miles down the road. That is where he intended to take the child. At least....there...sanity prevailed. Over the years, Tobin had become acquainted with the settlement's Reverend and his wife. They were aware of what had been done to Tobin. How he had been used. In the past, this Reverend had attended many Faith Conferences and his friendship with Tobin had flourished. 

   He considered cries of "witchcraft" to be superstitious nonsense. The accusations harmful and malicious. They quietly educated their Flock every Sunday. And they had educated Tobin as well. Tobin believed the Reverend and his wife would help. 

   They were people who did not approve of this hysteria, this frenzy, this suspecting everyone of witchcraft. 

   Every Sunday their Reverend had preached against this. He worked hard to reach his flock. Tobin knew the child would be safe with these people. They were childless, and good, kind people as well.

   He urged Jack onward. 'The witch simply disappeared, the wagging tongues would say, and she took Tobin Swinton with her! The devil wanted Tobin. He walked in the Reverend's footsteps.' Tobin had made his decision. He knew exactly what he was going to do. The people in Sattersfield would believe for the rest of their lives, that the devil had taken both Tobin Swinton and the "witch."

   Tobin sighed and shifted the child in his arms. There was little he could do about the mentality. He had worked hard at the Reverend's urging to instill this mentality. His conscience would prick him for the rest of his life. He deserved it, he thought. 

   He began to rein Jack in as he approached the Reverend's house. The Reverend and his wife opened the door and came down the steps, helping Tobin hand the child down. Tobin dismounted and placed the child in the Reverend's arms. The Reverend took one look at the child's beaten battered face, and raised hand his eyebrows. "A witch?" he asked. The Reverend's wife clucked in sympathy and whispered to her husband to bring the poor child inside.

   "Can you keep her? Can you hide her? Will you keep her?" asked Tobin. I am leaving. I will not be returning. This is for both our sakes."

   "How can we not?" asked the Reverend, answering a question with a question. "It is our Christian duty." 

 "A good decision Tobin. For her and for you. May you find peace." 

   The Reverend's wife laid her hand gently on the child, and with her other hand she lightly patted Tobin on the shoulder. " You are a good man Tobin. She is safe with us. We will keep her, we will protect her and God speed." 

   Tobin mounted Jack and the last he saw of his friends they were carrying the child into their home. The Reverend's wife gently smoothing the hair away from the small battered face.

   Yes, Tobin Swinton was a good man. A very good man, and in the name of God .