Traitor to the Crown The Patriot Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

come calling so late, Bess,” Proctor said, addressing the house slave Thomas Rucke had brought with him from a voyage to the West Indies. “I wondered, if Miss Emily was awake, if I might have a brief word with her.”
    “She right here, be out in a second.” Sleep filled Bess's eyes, and she frowned as somebody behind her nudged her gently aside. It was Emily, in one of her best dresses, despite the hour. More dark curls than usual tumbled out from under the edges of her cap.
    “Well, this is certainly an unexpected visit,” she said. She glanced at his weapons and her face turned cool. “I can't imagine what you're grinning at.”
    Proctor dropped his gaze and his smile. “Might be because I'm looking at the sweetest woman I know.”
    “You only say that because my father is in the sugar trade.”
    “I'd think you were the sweetest woman in the colonies if your father traded lemon rinds.” She still wasn't smiling back. Bess pushed past them, a drowsy-eyed chaperone, shawl over shift, carrying a basket of darning. She grunted as she eased herself into the porch rocker, spreading the work on her lap as the wood creaked rhythmically. Proctor said, “I think I made a good impression on your father.”
    “You did,” she said. “The only thing that concerns him is the militia business.”
    “Emily—”
    A faint voice down the road called, “Brown?”
    Proctor looked over his shoulder. Turning back to Emily, he said in a rush, “You must believe me, there's nothing to fear.”
    “Oh, Proctor,” she said, wringing her hands. “There was another incident in Boston after you left. Father says those rebels, that mob behind that tea party and everything since, they want to start a war.”
    He shook his head. “No, no one wants to start a war.”
    “Brown!” The voice was stronger as the other three militiamen marched around the bend.
    “I have to go, Emily.”
    She stared meaningfully at the yellow ribbon tied to his canteen. “If my affections mean anything to you at all, Proctor Brown, you will not be part of any mob to night.”
    The creaking on the porch had stopped. Bess sat with her chin on her chest, the darning egg naked in her lap. Impulsively, Proctor took Emily's hand and leaned close to her. “You remember how I mentioned magic to you, when we were at the Coffee-House,” he said in low voice.
    “Yes,” she said, more puzzled now than angry.
    “Sometimes I can see a short ways into the future. You might call it scrying.”
    “It sounds like you mean witchcraft.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tight.
    “It's not like that,” he said. “It's like … like the parable of the talents. God gave me this talent, and He meant me to use it, not bury it. I used it to night, and I saw the Redcoats marching back to Boston. So there won't be any shooting, and there won't be any war.”
    Emily yanked her hand away. Her eyes were startled wide.
    “You done courting there, Brown?” Everett Simes's voice said right behind him.
    “Yes, sir, I am,” Proctor said. He straightened up, slid his thumb under his powder-horn strap to readjust it, and gave Emily a firm nod. “I was just telling Miss Rucke here there's nothing for her to worry about.”
    “Good eve, Miss Rucke,” Everett said, squinting toward the east to see if dawn had poked its nose over the horizon.“Or maybe it's good day. It'd be best if your father didn't come out to visit you. With his support for the governor and all, he might find a welcome made of tar and feathers.”
    “It's so pleasant to be threatened on my own front porch. I see the kind of company you've decided to keep, Mister Brown. Be so good as to call on me again when you can come alone.” She went over to the rocker and shook the slave awake. “Come, Bess, we should go inside. It's too dangerous to be out here. Good day, gentlemen.”
    “It won't come to shooting,” Proctor assured her.
    She closed the door behind her without looking