Saving Marina. Lauri Robinson

persecuted. A sacrifice. The only thing she’d had to offer in exchange for Grace had been her own life.

      “I can’t hush,” Anna insisted. “With Mama in jail, Father is beside himself. He’s insisting upon going to the tree tonight, before they cut down the bodies and push them over the ravine. He’s going to collect Elizabeth and bury her on our farm beside little Daniel and baby Christine.”

      “That would be extremely dangerous,” Marina whispered. “It’s foolish to venture out at night. Sentries are posted everywhere.”

      “I know,” Anna said, “but Papa can’t stand the idea of Elizabeth not having a proper burial. It’s just...” Unable to carry on, her friend clutched Marina, sobbing.

      Thankful the barn hid them from prying eyes, Marina hugged Anna and let her cry. No words of comfort formed and she figured that was just as well—they wouldn’t do Anna much good. Elizabeth had been Anna’s older sister, and Marina knew too well the pain of losing those you loved. Tears still came some nights when she thought of her family.

      Time had helped, but it also left her tired. She was so very tired of death.

      The creak of wagon wheels and thud of hooves forced Marina to release Anna and grasp her friend by the shoulders. “Others are returning home, Anna. You can’t be seen here. It’s far too dangerous.” The reverend had vowed he’d arrest anyone he saw her talking to. Without waiting for Anna to respond or catch her bearings, Marina pulled her to the back of the barn. “Quick now—take the path through the woods and return to your house.”

      Anna was shaking her head, but Marina pushed her toward the small trail hidden by first brush and then taller trees. “Hurry, and talk to your father. Do not let him return to that tree tonight.”

      When Anna acted as if she wasn’t going to leave, Marina said, “Hurry. Reverend Hickman could be in any one of those wagons. Go. And don’t stop until you’re home.”

      Anna shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it was true, but it is. Isn’t it? You’ve changed, Marina. You used to be my friend.”

      “I’m still your friend—”

      “No, you aren’t. You’re—you’re a witch. That’s why you wanted that old crone’s familiar so badly.”

      “Go home, Anna.”

      Anna shook her head as she said accusingly, “You brought her here so you could fill her with your blood, fashion her after the likes of you so—”

      “Anna!” Fury ignited in Marina’s stomach, and withholding it from spewing forth burned. Anna was too full of grief to know what she was saying. In a more normal state of mind, she’d know Gracie wasn’t a familiar. She was just an innocent child. Too innocent to be surrounded by such evil. “Go home, Anna. Go home where you’re safe.”

      “No one’s safe,” Anna said. “Even you.” She spun around then and hurried into the woods.

      Marina watched, making sure her friend had left before she let out a sigh. Her heart was so heavy her stomach ached. She had changed, because she’d had to. Being a witch wasn’t easy.

      “What old crone?”

      She spun around. The storm of reproach on Richard’s face made her legs wobble.

      “Who,” he barked, “is accusing my daughter of such vile things?”

      Marina’s entire being quivered, but she held her head up. “I must go see to—”

      “No.” He stepped forward, blocking her path. “You aren’t going anywhere, not going to see to anything.” Taking a hold of her arm, he added, “Not until you answer my questions.”

      Marina wasn’t afraid of his touch, but she was afraid. Rightfully so. He threatened everything. “My uncle—”

      “Is looking after Grace,” he said. “So start talking.”

      Any mingling hope dissolved. As much as she wished it, he wasn’t going to leave, not without answers. It was only right. She had summoned him here and should tell him the truth, or at least as much as she could. The problem was she had no idea where to start, how to explain things that were unexplainable.

      “I can stand here all day,” he said stoically.

      She shook her head at how she couldn’t stop a wayward grin, one that had wanted out because of the memories his statement had revived. “My brothers used to say that.” Sighing, she admitted, “That seems so long ago.”

      Other than a slight frown, Richard didn’t reply, and she didn’t expect him to. She waved toward the house. “It’s a rather long story. Perhaps we should go inside.”

      “Where you’ll find another task to see to,” he said. “No, we’ll stay right here. There’s no need for me to repeat my numerous questions. I’ll let you decide where to start.”

      That was just as well. People were still on the road. What about this man had made her overlook that? Perhaps it hadn’t been him, but rather the weight hanging heavy around her neck. “I’m not sure where to start,” she answered honestly. “Uncle William believes it all started with the new reverend, but...”

      “You don’t?”

      Marina studied his expression for a moment. Here too she was reminded of her brothers. Tough, stern men and, just like Richard, they’d had wrinkles near the corners of their eyes from laughing on a regular basis. Then again, maybe his came from squinting at the sun while sailing the seas. Though he showed a gentleness around his daughter, it didn’t appear to be commonplace.

      “I haven’t lived here long,” she finally said. The Puritans’ beliefs didn’t align with her own. From what she’d witnessed, no one was interested in performing God’s will by loving one another. What had happened to her hadn’t aligned with her beliefs, either, not until she’d sought a deeper understanding of the scriptures. Seeing the evilness in Reverend Hickman’s eyes had confirmed her path, even though fighting him filled her with fear. “But Reverend Hickman is a powerful man.”

      “Hickman?” Richard’s frown grew. “Reverend Hickman?” he repeated. “What’s his first name?”

      “George.”

      “George Hickman,” he said, drawing the name out as if settling it into his brain. “That’s who your uncle was talking about when he mentioned Barbados and Boston?”

      “Yes.” A queer tickling in her stomach had her asking, “You know him, don’t you?”

      “If it’s the same George Hickman I’m thinking of, then, yes, I know him.”

      Her hands shook. “Are you friends with him?”

      His eyes grew stormier. “Friends? No. When did he become a reverend?”

      Marina twisted her hands together, hoping to hide the shiver rippling her insides. “I don’t know, but I do recall hearing this is his first parish.”

      “When did he arrive here?”

      “A year ago this spring,” she answered. “Shortly after I’d arrived.” Marina had no idea why she chose to add that. Maybe because she wanted to appear innocent, which she wasn’t. In truth, there didn’t appear to be any innocence left in the world. Other than in the smallest of children. That she did still believe in.

      There were other things she believed in, too, and she glanced toward the woods where Anna had disappeared. Just as the scriptures described, brothers were accusing brothers, children were rebelling against adults, accusing them of outlandish acts until they were arrested. “Hickman’s arrival was greatly welcomed,” she said. “People acted as if he was the answers to their prayers. A savior.”

      “But not you?”

      “No.” Prayers were often answered differently than expected, and George Hickman was