Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
We watched as Hester poured a mug of ale for her husband—who I supposed must be my many times great grandfather, though I felt no connection to him at all. With Hester it was different. I felt akin to her—I guess was the best way to put it. It was like there was a golden thread tying us together—maybe it was the blood connection we shared, even though she had lived so many hundreds of years before me.
At that point several girls and a boy came in, also clambering for food. They shut up when they saw their father though—clearly they knew better than to disturb John Hatch.
Hester fed them all and ate a little herself. Nobody talked except when John demanded more ale and another slice of rabbit. The only noise was the scraping of the crude metal silverware against the pewter plates.
“As you can see, it wasn’t a very happy home,” Malik murmured in my ear. “I think this might be part of what started Hester wishing for more than her husband was willing to give her. Here—you’ll see what I mean.”
The world swirled around us and the scene changed. Now we were in a bedroom with one of the old-fashioned beds like the kind I’d seen in the museum in Salem. They had ropes instead of a box spring and you tightened them at night to make the straw or feather stuffed mattress firmer. (If you’re interested, this was where the saying “sleep tight” comes from—or anyway, that’s what the museum guide told me.)
Hester was wearing a long white gown and a white nightcap. She was already in bed when her husband came into the room wearing a long nightshirt that showed his pale, hairy legs. It was dark outside and the only light was from the fireplace on the far side of the room.
John got into bed beside Hester and turned to her.
“Spread thy legs, woman. I would take my husbandly due.”
He gestured at her abruptly and I saw Hester’s face go red. But she did as she was told, spreading her legs and raising her nightgown above her hips. Without any kind of foreplay, her husband climbed on top of her and began thrusting.
Hester didn’t say a word but the look on her face nearly broke my heart—it was an expression of pain and longing, as though she was imagining something better—something more and yet knew she was never going to get it.
“The bastard!” Malik’s voice was surprisingly angry in my ear.
I turned to look at him and saw that his handsome face was twisted into a mask of rage and disgust.
“Look at him—he didn’t even try to get her ready,” he growled, nodding at the couple on the bed. I could hear the ropes that served as the base of it creaking as John continued thrusting vigorously. “No wonder she longed for me—called for me, even though she didn’t know she was calling,” Malik went on. “She wished for more than this—she wished for love and pleasure and a man who cared enough to give her both. But she never got it.”
“Then…you didn’t have sex with her?” I asked hesitantly.
He shook his head.
“I wouldn’t be here now if I’d been able to fulfill her longings. As I said, she called for me before she died, but I didn’t arrive in time to save her—or to fulfill her fantasy.”
“What happened then?” I asked. “I mean, why was she hanged?”
“Ah, well that would be because of the gooseberry pie incident,” he murmured mysteriously.
“What? What gooseberry pie incident?” I asked, frowning.
“It was a pie she baked for a church get together,” he explained. “She must have been having lustful thoughts when she baked it because when they served it…well, I’ll let you see.”
He held me tight and the world swirled again to reveal a scene that reminded me a little of the depictions you always see of the “First Thanksgiving.” People in dark, sober clothing were seated on benches on either side of a long wooden table. There were platters of food in the center of the table and a man standing at the end was giving a rather long-winded prayer of thanks as everyone else kept their heads bowed and their eyes shut.
“And we thank thee for thy bounty. Please bless it to our bodies that we may be strengthened and continue to do thy work in this world,” the minister, (at least I assumed it was the minister—he had the biggest hat and the sternest face,) finished at last. He sat down and everyone dug in.
As they ate, I couldn’t help noticing a large juicy looking pie with a flaky brown latticework crust at the far end of the table near Hester. John was sitting beside her and the minister who had said grace wasn’t far from them.