Wicked Girls by Stephanie Hemphill Read Free Book Online Page A

nods.
    Doctor Griggs adds, “Were our girls
    to do that, their aches would leave them too.”
    â€œBut their souls be blackened.”
    Reverend Parris’s voice shakes the trees.
    Abigail steps in the center
    of the churchyard
    and wilts onto the ground,
    falling like a leaf blown down
    in a rustle of wind,
    her face red as the Devil’s book.
    â€œWhat be she doing?” I say
    to the other girls. Ann’s eyes boil.
    Reverend Parris clasps his scaly hand
    on my shoulder. “Be you brave, Margaret Walcott?”
    He looks at Mercy and Ann and Elizabeth and me.
    â€œDo not sign that book of blood.
    Push away Satan’s quill.”
    We all nod our heads.
    Reverend tears down
    the note Ruth Warren tacked
    to the meetinghouse door.
    He rips down her recant
    of seeing witches,
    her attempt to cast
    the rest of us liars.
    Soon as he be gone
    my step-cousin says,
    â€œFive of us. One of her.
    Ruth Warren will face regret.”

BAG OF WOOL
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    All look on Abigail,
    fainting skirts upon the ground,
    but one.
    I feel him once again
    wrap gaze around my shoulders
    like a shawl, a woolen cloak I need not
    on this steam-hot day.
    I turn my back to Isaac
    though I wish to turn round.
    Ann pulls me aside.
    â€œMercy.” She sounds
    as though she holds stones
    on her tongue. “Ruth Warren,
    how shall we make her pay her trouble?”
    I whisper to Ann,
    â€œDoes any yet look on us?”
    â€œNone.” Ann taps her foot
    as though she has somewhere else to be.
    When I draw up my eyes,
    his look is still roped upon our group.
    I point Ann with my glancing,
    â€œBut what of that one with your uncle?”
    â€œNone stands by Uncle and Father,
    save Isaac Farrar, Margaret’s betrothed,”
    Ann says. “And he always be staring this way.”
    â€œYour cousin will be wed?”
    I choke out the words.
    Ann nods, then insists,
    â€œWhat of Ruth Warren?”
    â€œCall her a witch,” I say.

BEWARE
    May 1692
    Ruffle the goose
    and she’ll snap at your tail,
    kick you to stream
    and bar you
    from the row of ducks.
    The water muddies.
    â€™Tis hard to know
    where next
    to dunk your head
    and bite the new fish
    when you be
    scouting the sea
    alone.

UNEXPECTED EXPECTATION
    Margaret Walcott, 17
    I be weeding the garden
    and mending the fence round it
    to keep the vermin out
    when a large shadow falls
    over the seedlings.
    Isaac bends to my ear.
    â€œFollow me, fair Margaret.”
    I can’t protest, for as I stand
    he be already to the stream
    beyond our house.
    The sun squints my eyes.
    I wipe my hands ’pon my apron
    and dash into the woods
    past the barn till I find
    my sweet one lying in the clearing
    flooded in sparkling light
    looking more handsome
    than Christ himself.
    He pats the ground, says,
    â€œâ€™Tis a fine day.”
    I nod and lie beside him.
    He curves me against him
    like a belt drawn into a loop.
    His kisses tender but brutal,
    I wish them never to end.
    He begins then at unlacing
    my dress. I shake my head.
    â€œBut we are betrothed,” he says,
    and slides a hand beneath
    my petticoat.
    I feel cold with fright
    as though the day be winter ice.
    I skirt away from him.
    â€œI think I hear Father call me,” I say.
    Isaac’s eyes roll
    and he blows out
    an angry sigh
    as he places my hand
    in that same unholy place
    beneath his clothes
    he did afore in the woods.
    â€œNot all be as cloistered
    in their stockings as thou,” he says.
    I pretend not to know
    what he does imply,
    close my eyes
    and set to work
    while whirling high above us
    the wind screams
    wild lashings
    across the leaves.

THREE SISTERS
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    The breeze smart
    against my neck,
    dewy leaves and grass
    tickle my nose.
    Wilson and I wander
    a new route
    this morning
    on the way to Ingersoll’s.
    Across the field
    out in their garden
    they praise the day
    like three smiling
    blossoms.
    Rebecca Nurse
    and her two sisters
    plant