Chapter 27

No one came to visit the next day. The cell was small, and Mary read her Bible. Constable Eaton retrieved it from her house and gave it to her.

“You have made a fine home,” he told her. “The house has never been cared for so well.”

“Pity I shall never get to make it better,” she said.

“Mary,” he said, “you seem not to fear what is to come.”

“I do not,” she said. “The accusations against me are false. What have I to fear? God knows my heart.”

She did not tell him what she knew of the existence of a plane between life and death. Neither did she tell him she had the power necessary to travel the path in between.

In her case, going to the in-between world was not a sure thing. She knew she had to remain focused while suffocating at the end of a rope. There would be no gallows, nor would they push her from the end of a cart. Hers would be a death by strangulation.

“What is it like?” she asked Constable Eaton.

“I do not know,” he said. “I have never witnessed an execution. Thus, I have enlisted William Underwood.”

“Captain Underwood,” Mary nodded. “You told me he knows of such things.”

Constable Eaton watched her. As he spoke to her, he came to admire her courage and lack of fear. In four days, she would have a rope placed around her neck. Several men would hold the other end and, at his command, they would raise her a foot above the ground, tie off the rope on the tree, and watch her strangle.

“He does,” Eaton said. “I have discussed it with him, but there is not much he can do. The way it is done is written. He cannot change it.”

“I will choke to death,” she said. Her comment was so matter-of-fact that Constable Eaton was nonplussed.

“Do not be shocked,” she continued. “Is it not how it will happen?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I fail to understand, how do you manage not to be concerned or frightened?”

She managed a thin smile. “Do you not study your Bible?”

“I do,” he said.

“Then you know death is not an end, but a beginning.”

She again did not tell him about the path between worlds. The knowledge was not for him, and he would not understand. It was why Mary did not fear death. It was also why she wanted to know more about what happened during hanging. Though it seemed obvious, there were certain to be details of which she should be aware.

She was concerned about maintaining her composure at the moment the men lifted her from the ground. The body’s natural reaction was to struggle for air. She had to overcome the normal reflex and her brain’s panic at being starved of its fuel. She had to time it right so, at the instant of death, she could go to the path.

Frank Jackson listened to Mary Bradbury talk about her coming death. He could not keep silent. Mary sighed and stopped the story for his question.

“So, going to the path isn’t a sure thing,” he said.

“Sometimes, it is,” Marjorie answered. “In this case, no. I think it would be even more difficult if, say, they used a guillotine. There’s no time to make the jump.”

He frowned, trying to understand. Every time the two women explained traveling the path, new questions arose. A few months earlier, it had sounded to him as if they just made the choice. Now, he was hearing it wasn’t as cut and dried as he thought.

“You mean,” Gail Collins asked, “you can’t just go there? Like, leave right now?”

“No,” Mary said. “You cannot.”

Gail turned to Marjorie. “So you died?”

“Of an illness,” Marjorie said. “I was about thirty and married. I’ve been here almost twelve years.”

“You’re lucky,” Frank said. “If I understand, had you been unconscious you couldn’t have gone there?”

“And you would be right,” Marjorie answered. “Life would have ended for me.”

“The others all over New England,” Gail said. “They all died back then.”

“All of them, and there were as many more who couldn’t make it, because death was quick. They were unable, or maybe some weren't aware of the choice, or they chose not to continue.”

“When this life is over,” Gail continued, “you can do the same thing?”

“I suppose we could,” Mary said, “if we wanted to go on as old women. We would be the age and condition we were at death. If I am debilitated here, I do not wish to go to a past time and be the same.” She glanced at Gail and Frank. “May I continue my story now? Where was I? Oh, yes.”

When Constable Eaton left, Mary was again alone with her thoughts and the Bible. She read from it, then paced the cell back and forth, thinking of her end. An hour later, she thought she had everything in place. It would take an iron will, but she was sure she could do it.

At supper Eaton’s wife, Abigail, brought her a plate. Mary took it and sat to eat.

“May I visit, Mary?” Abigail asked.

“Of course. I am most pleased to talk with you.”

“You are aware we cannot help you in this,” Abigail said.

“Let it not trouble you,” Mary told her. “If I must live my life in fear, I have no life. You will be spared what is to come.”

Abigail didn’t understand, but chose not to dwell on it.

“Goody Walcott is furious at her husband,” Abigail said. “I think he will sleep in the barn for some time.”

“His greed will be his undoing,” Mary said.

“There is much he will have to answer for,” Abigail said. “You are not the first. In Andover, he did the same.”

“I did not know this?”

“My good husband and I are from Andover. We witnessed it. Walcott accused a fine man and woman,” Abigail said. “They succumbed to the threat and sold their home to him. He dropped the charges and paid half the worth.”

Her comment didn’t surprise Mary. Walcott wanted property, but he also wanted profit. She likened him to the rich man in the Bible, who valued wealth more than his soul.

“There are many like him,” Mary said. “Do you think the trials in Salem were about who was a witch?”

“I do not,” Abigail said. “If the ravings of young girls deluded them, we here were not blinded by their actions. What do you think?”

Mary put down her fork. “The trials were to remove the unwanted from their midst. Some women were widows left with nothing, forced to beg for a scrap of food. They thought the poor women to be a nuisance. Other men and women conflicted with their neighbors. Many accusations resulted from disputes over land and property. Thomas Putnam was a force behind it. He desired what others had, and if they refused to sell, he used his daughter to accuse them. He will have little time to enjoy the fruits of his terrible labor.”

“How do you know this?” Abigail asked.

“It is the way people are. The Putnams put greed before all else. God will enact justice in His time.”

“You are wise.”

“If I were wise, I would not sit here sentenced to die in three days.”

“Were it not for Thomas Walcott, you would not be here,” Abigail said.

“Perhaps not,” Mary replied. “We shall never know.”

When Mary finished, she handed the plate to Abigail. They talked for another minute. When Abigail was gone, Mary picked up her Bible and began to read.