Sarah Bridges - The Salem Witch Trials

August 10, 1692

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Andover Village, Massachusetts

August 10, 1692

I rise early as I always do on peddler days, laying still and patient in my bed though my hands are wringing in anxious excitement. 

 The room I share with my half-sister Hannah is small and so it's easy to hear when her even, sleeping breaths turn to waking sighs as the narrow slats of grey sunlight begin to squeeze through the shutters over the window. Slowly, as if I were just now waking myself, I roll to my side and peer at her over the covers. Her dark hair is fuzzy and sticking to her pillow. It clings with static as she twists, contorts her narrow body in a stretch and finally flops to her side to see me.

Hannah is a year older than I am and she has always excelled at reading me like a book. Even in her half-asleep state she smiles at me under the covers, her dark grey eyes reflecting the grin hidden by her quilts. "It's peddler day, isn't it," she asks, giggling when I nod my head furiously. She sighs and rolls onto her back as if this is such a bother for her, as if she doesn't love it as much as I do. "Oh, all right. Come, Sarah, let's get dressed."

I make a little squeal of delight, much more like a happy four year old than my seventeen years, and leap from my bed. My covers are tossed aside haphazardly and I scramble to my feet, shivering at the coldness of the wooden planks below my feet, then my knees as I drop to the floor and fold my hands in prayer.

I wait for Hannah to join me, practically buzzing in my spot, my head filled with the urge to see Samuel. He always comes to see the peddler.

A second goes by, then another. I frown impatiently and whip my head around to urge her to hurry up. If we waste too much time, we could miss Samuel! However, to my surprise, I find her no where near my bed, looking to have no intentions of joining me in prayer.

My sister is standing by the chest where we keep our clothes folded neatly, inspecting a dress my mother sewed for her only last week. "Hannah," I say. "Come. Pray with me."

She peers over as if I surprised her, like she forgot I was here. "Oh no, you go on," she tells me, smiling pleasantly. "I will dress and save time."

Slowly, I lower my hands. "But..." Something about the way she's smiling makes me uneasy. "We always pray together. We must."

For a moment, Hannah just stands there, holding the dress in her hands, smiling down on me like I'm still just a little, naive girl and she is a big, grown up lady who must suffer to put up with my whims. Except this is hardly a whim. It's morning prayer, which we've knelt together and said in unison since we were babies. Finally, she relents. "Very well," she drawls, setting the dress down. The floorboards squeak under her bare feet as she crosses the room to kneel beside me.