Magic Lessons (Practical Magic #0.1)(99)

“I have a daughter of my own,” Maria said. “And you know how to care for Anneke.” She asked if she might meet with the minister before she left for home.

“I’ve told him to give you whatever you ask for,” Hannah told Maria. “I am always indebted to you, no matter what you might need.”

“I might want something he doesn’t expect me to ask for.”

“No matter what it might be, it’s yours,” Hannah assured her.

The women embraced, for they had been through the darkness together and come into the light of day. It was true, when you saved someone, they belonged to you in some small way, but it was also true that you belonged to them. They would stay with you and enter into your dreams and your thoughts, as you would enter into theirs.

Maria found her way downstairs. She had not slept, or washed, or eaten; still she felt elated. She knocked on the door of the library, then ran a hand through her hair before entering when the minister bade her to do so. She thought of the girl she’d been, breathing in smoke, watching everything she had ever known and loved burn, knowing that Hannah Owens had saved her not once, but twice. That was when she’d made a vow that she would never watch another woman burn.

“I’m told I must give you anything you ask for,” Dekker said, gesturing for her to sit across from him. He was grateful to her beyond measure, but also glad that the ordeal was over and that Maria Owens would be leaving. “Name your price.”

Maria placed the letter on his desk. She had lovely handwriting and a fine turn of phrase. “I want this delivered.”

Dekker picked up the letter, but after only a moment, he turned to her, confused. “This is addressed to Governor Phips. Why are you handing it to me?”

“We share the same beliefs. Neither of us wishes for innocent women to hang.”

He gave her a look, then turned back to the letter. Once he’d begun reading in earnest, he could not stop. Maria sat in a velvet chair that had been fashioned in Amsterdam, its feet and arms made of polished wooden claws streaked with a patina of gold leaf. She watched the minister’s increasing concern as he read on. Two hundred people had been arrested, and already nineteen people had been hanged on Gallows Hill and one man had been crushed to death by stones. Maria had heard that Elizabeth Colson and her grandmother were both in jail awaiting their sentences. Essex County had become a truly dangerous place for women and girls.

“I could not have done any better,” Dekker said when he’d finished reading Maria’s letter. “I’m impressed by your logic and your prose. It’s convincing beyond all measure. But what shall I do with this missive?”

“Ask Dr. van der Berg to sign it and present it as his own to the governor of Massachusetts.” When Dekker stared at her, mystified by this request, Maria went on to explain. “He’s your dearest friend, and he believes as we do. I can tell he’s a good man who wishes to do right.” Dekker shook his head, displeased, convinced that to have a man sign a letter he hadn’t composed was trickery, especially if that letter was written by a woman. But Maria was not about to give up. “He would have no trouble signing a letter his scribe had written at his bequest. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you think it’s a wrongdoing. We are beyond that. Your wife said you must grant my wish, whatever it might be. If you won’t help me with the doctor, then I’ll have your daughter.”

“Pardon me?”

Maria stood, as if to leave the room, and the minister followed her into the hall. If he’d been another, less genteel man he might have grabbed her arm.

“You can’t be serious,” Dekker said.

“Anything I want,” Maria reminded him. “Your wife will not deny me. I gave the girl her life and that life now belongs to me. Send her to my house.”

“She’s our daughter,” the minister said, shocked by the turn in the conversation. “I could have you arrested.” He looked into Maria Owens’ gray eyes and saw that she was not alarmed by his response. “My words are not just a threat,” he said.

“You could do many things. But I hope you will choose to speak to Dr. van der Berg. And I wish to go with him when he travels to Boston. I don’t think he’ll mind my presence.”



* * *



Maria went home and packed up everything that mattered to her. Jack Finney would take care of the house, for she might be away for a long time; she might never return. She tossed her clothes into a small satchel so that she could use her trunk for herbs and plant cuttings and bulbs, all wrapped in brown paper. What was most precious was her Grimoire, which she would carry in her purse. She went into Faith’s room, to collect some of her daughter’s clothing, then, overcome by emotion, she sat on the bed. In her hands was the poppet Samuel Dias had made on board the Queen Esther when he thought he would die, even though Maria had vowed that he wouldn’t. Do you believe me? she had asked him once. Should I? he had responded.

She took the poppet downstairs, and as she tucked it into the satchel, the fabric tore. It was sailcloth, strong, but hastily sewn, a crude toy that Samuel Dias had told her she must never lose. She’d kept it for thirteen years. She had been a girl of sixteen then, and was now a woman of nearly thirty. When the poppet split open in her hands, she began to cry, an act she should not be capable of, but again and again, Samuel Dias caused her to weep. Perhaps she had inherited this trait from her father, who could cry on command when he was a player in a tragedy. Maria’s tears were hot; they burned through the sailcloth as the poppet split in two. Inside there was a small blue pouch, embroidered with the letters SD. When she emptied the contents she held seven small diamonds in her hand.