Wicked Girls by Stephanie Hemphill Read Free Book Online Page B

and weed.
    Laughter sprinkles
    across the soil
    as Charlotte slips
    in the mud.
    Rebecca
    lifts Charlotte to a stand,
    brushes off her skirt.
    I wish to rush across
    the meadow
    offer my hand,
    and join the row of happy sisters.
    I stare at my hands,
    my horrible filthy hands,
    and run.

ANN DECIDES
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    She knows her little fists
    like cannonballs
    have the power to crumble
    fortress and family.
    She decides that Goodwife Cloyse,
    the sister of Rebecca Nurse,
    will be next accused.
    â€œSister of a witch.
    She must also be a witch,”
    Ann says.
    Abigail’s words jump from her mouth
    so she be the first to say,
    â€œGoodwife Cloyse did flee meeting
    last Sunday right in the middle,
    and she has not been back to the parsonage.”
    Margaret nods. “And she has been speaking out
    against the accusation of her sister.”
    Ann looks to me to add comment,
    but I just stroke Wilson’s head.
    â€œBut I never did see the specter
    of Goodwife Cloyse.
    Did ye all?”
    Elizabeth’s voice be quiet,
    but her words be loud.
    Margaret clasps Elizabeth’s hand.
    She says the words that Ann
    wishes would come from my lips.
    â€œThis matters not.
    Kin what stand up for each other,
    must make their home in jail.”
    Elizabeth rises to leave our table.
    Her uncle enters the ordinary
    and she quickly sits down.
    Her body trembles
    as she tugs upon her sleeves.

KEEP QUIET
    Ann Putnam Jr., 12
    Just before sun’s at mid-sky,
    the meetinghouse stacks with people.
    I grab Abigail outside the courtroom.
    â€œYou best keep quiet sometimes.
    You cannot see everything.”
    Goody Cloyse stands first in the confession box.
    Abigail says, “I saw Goody Cloyse
    and Goody Nurse serve our blood
    at a meeting of the Devil’s
    where forty witches come to my uncle’s pasture,
    congregating till a fine man in white
    scared them away.”
    When Goody Cloyse faints
    and the crowd’s eyes are diverted,
    I kick Abigail hard enough she squeals.
    A second witch appears chained before us.
    When the magistrate asks,
    â€œDoes Goody Proctor hurt you?”
    Mercy and Elizabeth and I cannot form words.
    Abigail opens her mouth wide as a baby bird.
    I stuff it with my bonnet.
    The rest of us flap like geese in a pattern.
    I head the formation,
    and our wings fly all the same speed.
    We girls shake together
    whenever a witch looks our way.
    And the witches become felled birds
    the constables chain and cage in jail.

QUESTIONING OUR POWER
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    I scan around the tavern
    and could pinch myself
    that we girls should sit here
    nearly daily now,
    but as the witches pinch us first
    and so many folk
    be ripe to believe,
    I try to accept my seat.
    Across the street
    some whose family
    stand in the confession box
    or those who never did like
    the selection of Reverend Parris
    as village minister,
    they eye us girls
    with tar and gravel
    as though we ought
    be the ones chained
    to the jailer’s wagon.
    Abigail rattles her mouth,
    the excited babe showing
    off how she has learned to speak.
    â€œI saw the specter of Reverend Burroughs,
    one who was pastor before
    in Salem Village, leading
    a group of witches outside
    the parsonage last night.”
    How names she my old master?
    How knows she what a true wizard he was?
    Margaret laughs. “You cannot know
    â€™twas Minister Burroughs.”
    â€œReverend told me it was so,”
    Abigail nearly shouts. “He said
    that Reverend Burroughs was acting
    the Grand Conjurer, the leader of the witches.”
    â€œWhat matters what your uncle says?”
    Ann thrusts Abigail into the back of the bench.
    â€œI am the one to say!”
    A grand hush ripples across the tavern,
    and all the folk stare on us.
    Even Ann quiets then.
    She nods at me. “Come, Mercy,
    we best be heading home.
    All of you best go home and pray.”

PROBLEM CHILD
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    â€œI just sit there and stitch
    while Abigail screams and runs
    about