that this was all not true, all just a fantastical nightmare, and that everything would be back to normal soon. But the more she learned, the more she was overcome by a feeling of dread. The more she realized that things would never go back to normal for her.
“Here it is,” Caleb said, from the other side of the room.
Caitlin hurried over.
“The list. The 133 accused.”
They both slowly looked over the long list of people, handwritten in an antique scrawl. It was hard to decipher the handwriting, and it was slow-going.
But at some point, close to the end of the list, Caitlin suddenly froze. She reached out with her finger and pointed at the glass.
There was her last name. Paine. Spelled exactly like hers. On the list of the “Accused.”
“Elizabeth Paine. Accused of witchcraft. 1692.”
Elizabeth? A woman?
“I knew it,” Caleb said. “I knew there was a connection.”
“But…” Caitlin began, so confused, “… Elizabeth . That’s a woman. I thought we were looking for my Dad?”
“It is not so simple. Remember, we are dealing with generations. It could be that we are looking for Elizabeth. Or it could be that we are looking for her father. Or husband. We don’t know where your ancestry begins or ends. But we do know there is a connection.”
“Look at this!” Caitlin said excitedly, hurrying a few feet away, to a different exhibit.
They both stood and stared. It was incredible. An entire exhibit devoted to Elizabeth Paine.
Caitlin read aloud: “Elizabeth Paine was unique among those on the Accused list. She would go on to great notoriety, immortalized in The Scarlet Letter . It is widely accepted that its famous heroine, Hester Prynne, was actually based on the life of Elizabeth Paine. She was the centerpiece of the greatest work of a longtime Salem resident, Nathaniel Hawthorne.”
Caitlin suddenly looked at Caleb, her eyes open wide in excitement.
“That’s it,” she said, breathlessly. She was hardly able to contain her excitement.
“What?” he asked. He still didn’t see it.
“Don’t you see?” she said. “The riddle. It’s a play on words. Hawthorne. The rose and the thorn . The thorn is Haw thorne . And the rose is scarlet. As in, The Scarlet Letter . In other words, it’s about Hawthorne. And Paine.”
At that moment, the old woman entered the room again, seemingly coming back to her senses. She looked at them both, and said, “I’m sorry, but I really do need to close up now –”
Caitlin hurried over to her, grabbing her arm. “Where did Hawthorne live?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nathaniel Hawthorne,” she said excitedly. “It says he once lived in Salem.”
“Young lady, we know exactly where he lived. Thanks to our historic trust, his house was preserved. In fact, it still stands here, to this day. Perfectly intact.”
Caitlin and Caleb looked at each other.
They both knew where they had to go to next.
TEN
The sun was setting as Caitlin and Caleb approached Hawthorne’s house. The simple, red house was set back about 50 feet from the sidewalk, with its walkway and bushes, looked like any other small, suburban house. With its dark red paint and shutters, it had an antique simplicity about it. It was modest.
Still, one could tell it was different. It exuded history.
They both stood there, looking at it, and a silence fell over them.
“I thought it would be bigger,” Caitlin said.
Caleb stood there, furrowing his brows.
“What’s wrong?”
“I remember this house,” Caleb said. “I’m not sure from when. But I seem to remember it being somewhere else.”
Caitlin looked at him, at his perfectly sculpted features, and marveled at how much he remembered. She wondered what it was like to remember so much. Hundreds of years—thousands. He was carrying around things, experiences, that she could never even dream of. She wondered if it was a blessing or a curse, and she wondered if she would even want that for herself.
She took a
“Here it is,” Caleb said, from the other side of the room.
Caitlin hurried over.
“The list. The 133 accused.”
They both slowly looked over the long list of people, handwritten in an antique scrawl. It was hard to decipher the handwriting, and it was slow-going.
But at some point, close to the end of the list, Caitlin suddenly froze. She reached out with her finger and pointed at the glass.
There was her last name. Paine. Spelled exactly like hers. On the list of the “Accused.”
“Elizabeth Paine. Accused of witchcraft. 1692.”
Elizabeth? A woman?
“I knew it,” Caleb said. “I knew there was a connection.”
“But…” Caitlin began, so confused, “… Elizabeth . That’s a woman. I thought we were looking for my Dad?”
“It is not so simple. Remember, we are dealing with generations. It could be that we are looking for Elizabeth. Or it could be that we are looking for her father. Or husband. We don’t know where your ancestry begins or ends. But we do know there is a connection.”
“Look at this!” Caitlin said excitedly, hurrying a few feet away, to a different exhibit.
They both stood and stared. It was incredible. An entire exhibit devoted to Elizabeth Paine.
Caitlin read aloud: “Elizabeth Paine was unique among those on the Accused list. She would go on to great notoriety, immortalized in The Scarlet Letter . It is widely accepted that its famous heroine, Hester Prynne, was actually based on the life of Elizabeth Paine. She was the centerpiece of the greatest work of a longtime Salem resident, Nathaniel Hawthorne.”
Caitlin suddenly looked at Caleb, her eyes open wide in excitement.
“That’s it,” she said, breathlessly. She was hardly able to contain her excitement.
“What?” he asked. He still didn’t see it.
“Don’t you see?” she said. “The riddle. It’s a play on words. Hawthorne. The rose and the thorn . The thorn is Haw thorne . And the rose is scarlet. As in, The Scarlet Letter . In other words, it’s about Hawthorne. And Paine.”
At that moment, the old woman entered the room again, seemingly coming back to her senses. She looked at them both, and said, “I’m sorry, but I really do need to close up now –”
Caitlin hurried over to her, grabbing her arm. “Where did Hawthorne live?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nathaniel Hawthorne,” she said excitedly. “It says he once lived in Salem.”
“Young lady, we know exactly where he lived. Thanks to our historic trust, his house was preserved. In fact, it still stands here, to this day. Perfectly intact.”
Caitlin and Caleb looked at each other.
They both knew where they had to go to next.
TEN
The sun was setting as Caitlin and Caleb approached Hawthorne’s house. The simple, red house was set back about 50 feet from the sidewalk, with its walkway and bushes, looked like any other small, suburban house. With its dark red paint and shutters, it had an antique simplicity about it. It was modest.
Still, one could tell it was different. It exuded history.
They both stood there, looking at it, and a silence fell over them.
“I thought it would be bigger,” Caitlin said.
Caleb stood there, furrowing his brows.
“What’s wrong?”
“I remember this house,” Caleb said. “I’m not sure from when. But I seem to remember it being somewhere else.”
Caitlin looked at him, at his perfectly sculpted features, and marveled at how much he remembered. She wondered what it was like to remember so much. Hundreds of years—thousands. He was carrying around things, experiences, that she could never even dream of. She wondered if it was a blessing or a curse, and she wondered if she would even want that for herself.
She took a
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