[short story] Rosemarie's Fate

Her dark clothes and the marks on her skin made others fear her, especially since they learned that she is a witch. What they did not notice, are the good fortune spells she cast on strangers under her breath, or how she dropped protection charms on street corners, or the stray cat she fed as if it were her own. Thirty-year-old Rosemarie Milton was born a happy soul. After her husband’s death in the war, she was the lone caretaker of her two children, whom she fed by working as an agricultural labourer in the nearby farms. She did not, however, complain. When Rosemarie’s mother had sat down her ten-year-old daughter and explained to her about their ancestral powers of witchcraft, she also made her promise to never use them unethically.

But recently, Rosemarie was finding it difficult to keep up her promise. The villagers in her block, most of whom previously adored her for her grit and simplicity, now either feared her or bullied her. It all started with Bridget Bishop, the kind old woman who lived across the block, who she later learnt was a fellow witch. During her sentencing, a jury of women had found a third nipple upon Bishop - everybody knew that a third nipple was a sure sign of a witch. She had been executed soon after the discovery. Rosemarie wondered why she did not have a third nipple. When she had asked her mother that as a child, she had received a chastising stare. She never brought it up again. Rosemarie now feared for her life. And what would her children do without her, if she was prosecuted and taken away for her witchcraft?

Bishop's Trial

As Rosemarie stepped out int the cold dawn, the sun was still hiding behind the clouds. She had begun leaving early for work and returning late to avoid the eye of the public. She kept to herself in the farms, avoiding any conversation or attention. She had once saved a dying crop using a charm when she thought she was alone, but a farmboy had noticed it and spread the word that Rosemarie was a witch. Now, it seemed like she was the talk of the town, and it was only a matter of time before she was called on for trial. With these thoughts in mind, Rosemarie threw herself into her work in an attempt to earn as much as possible to leave for her children after she was gone. She had accepted her incoming fate. While she could have easily obtained as much money as she wanted using her powers, the promise to her mother held her back. 

As Rosemarie immersed herself in ploughing the land away from the other women, she heard footsteps. She looked up and could not believe her eyes. She saw the figure of Bridget Bishop. For a second, she wondered whether she had returned as a ghost, until the figure spoke out her name. “Dear Good Rosemarie, you seem to have become frailer since I last saw you!”, said she. Rosemarie did not hide her surprise, “You...you are not dead?”, questioned dear old Rosemarie. Bridget gave a sweet laugh and went on “Yes dear, I am very much alive. I used the Body-Double charm. It was my lifeless clone that was hanged. I thought that you, being a witch, would have figured that out, but apparently not! Oh dear, you thought I was really dead!” Rosemarie realized how foolish she had been. She had not thought of that. Using magic for self-defence was not unethical, was it? Laughing at Rosemarie’s flustered look, Bridget took control of the conversation. She explained how the witch community had come up with a contingency plan - they were all leaving the next morning, along with their families, to Davenport, a town far away from Salem, and Bridget was here to invite Rosemarie to join them. Rosemarie could have heard sweeter words. A witch community? She did not know that existed! Now she was going to be a part of it and there were others like her! And her children would not be motherless! She looked at Bridget wide-eyed and nodded a yes.

As Rosemarie walked back home with a smile in her eyes, imagining her new life in Davenport, she felt content. Suddenly, she heard a loud noise behind her. It was the farmboy. He had slipped and fallen on the footpath. As soon as he saw Rosemarie, he began screaming, “Witch! Witch! She is a witch! She is trying to kill me for outing her!”. Rosemarie was dumbstruck. Did he really think that she was the reason he fell or was he pretending? She suddenly realised that a crowd was closing in on her. In a few seconds, she was brutally bruised and could not breathe. In the front porch a few hundred metres from this spot, two children waited eagerly for their mother to come home. They would wait forever.

This is a fictional story set in the very real village of Salem, Massachusetts, where several local women were convicted of witchcraft, causing a wave of hysteria in colonial Massachusetts.  Nineteen people were hanged, while more than a hundred men, women and children were accused. If you are interested in more historical fiction on this subject, do check out The Heretic’s Daughter written by Kathleen Kent, a tenth generation descendant of Martha Carrier - one of the women convicted of witchcraft and consequently executed in Salem.