Witch of the Plague

Witch of the Plague - Day 8

The 8th of August made me realise how much I loved my Mama, but ‘twas too late…

Early the next morning, when Robert’s buboes were making him scream so hard he had a sore throat, a man came knocking.

“I am looking for Miss Marshall,” he stated.

“’Tis me, sir. How may I help you?” I asked curiously. He frowned, then shook his head.

“Or are you looking for me, sir, I am Miss Marshall as well!” Mama laughed coldly. Her hair was all frizzy, she was wearing a black dress, Thomas was by her feet, and to top that, she held one of her herbal potions. She fitted the description if a witch- which was what she was accused of.

Mama was sent for a trial down by the river. Grandmamma and I debated who should stay to look after Robert and John, but when I burst out sobbing, she insisted I must go.

“Nay, nay, ‘tis not that! ‘Tis that you have buboes about your neck!” I wailed, and Grandmamma closed her eyes.

“Save yourself, dear child. Do not return, for I will surely die as well,” Grandmamma told me. I almost threw myself against the wall in pure anger that I was being punished this way. It hurt, so, so badly.

“What about Mama?” I suddenly wondered.

“There is no hope for Annie,” Grandmamma shook her head sadly. I said goodbye with a lump in my throat. It was the last time we would ever say goodbye to each other, the last time I would ever see them all, my own dear family.

She was right. There was no hope. When I reached the river, a small gathering was watching silently, apart from each other, a sign that the Black Death had ripped apart the village. Before we would have all yelled and gasped, packed together in big groups, throwing apples at the accused witches. Well, I did not, for I thought ‘twas unkindly.

I pushed forward to the front of the group, watching Mama sink down to the riverbed.  I pressed my hand to my mouth, shaking. She tried to reach up to me, seeing my tear-stained, heartbroken face, but she could not because the judges had tied her thumbs to her toes. She produced a mangled scream. Bubbles escaped from her mouth as she struggled. Her dress billowed out, weighing her down, rising up until her face was covered and she had sunk into the murkiness. I sobbed silently; if only I had run faster, I could have saved her. That was the last time I saw her, drowning. I did not think of it then, but to drown meant you were not a witch. The fourth sentence in my story is wrong.

Afterwards, scared of also being put on trial, and what I would find if I went home, I began to look for a place to hide. The Black Death had definitely changed me, for even if my Mama did not love me, I deeply loved her and forgave her for all the times she slapped me and went out-a-drinking at a tavern. I loved Grandmamma for rescuing me, for bringing me up as a good Christian.  The Black Death had taught me to love, and to respect what God has given us.

The first thing I saw when I got back to Henwick was the stately manor house, with all its elegant, curving beams, spires, and turrets, so I decided to hide in the cupboard there, where all the fresh sheets were kept. There was no-one to search me at the gates for Black Death signs that day. The silence upon the town was eerie and somewhat disturbing. There was no clattering of hooves on the cobbles, and even the cows and sheep had their heads down, ceasing their mooing and bleating.

I went round the back to the servant’s door and climbed down the thick stone slabs that resembled a set of stairs.  Before going into the cupboard, I checked for buboes about my body, and stole a loaf of bread and some milk from the kitchen, for the house was deserted. I began to think of going upstairs and endorsing myself in the richness of Lady Broughton’s four-poster velvet-quilted bed, but I heard voices and hastened to the cupboard. It was dark, a little damp, and musty-smelling, but at least I could steal a couple of sheets to make myself comfy with. I felt guilty when I thought of my family suffering, and thought I had been spared because I was the witch, not my Mama.