Read Online Susannah Morrow by Megan Chance - Free Book Online
Authors: Megan Chance
Tags: Historical
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stretching my toes toward the bed warmer below. I kept the Bible hard against my chest, lying there
stiffly when Susannah crawled in beside me.
She blew out the candle, and as the room snapped into darkness, I tried to relax into the bed, into the safety of blindness.
I closed my eyes and prayed, though the words got lost in my head, and my feelings were a muddle. I stayed awake long after
Susannah went limp and quiet beside me, and when her breathing came soft and even, keeping time with Jude’s from the trundle
bed below, I lay there thinking about the things she’d said, the things she knew. I thought it would be my fear of her that
kept me spinning into the night, almost till dawn, but it was not. It was something else instead, the simple question that
sparked my memory:
Tell me, Charity, what was your mother afraid of?
The answer so filled my heart I was afraid she would hear it.
My mother had been afraid of me.
Chapter 5
I WOKE TO THE SOUND OF MY NAME, A QUICK CALL THAT CAME TO me through a dream I could not remember.
Charity. Charity.
I jerked awake to see that it was early still, with dawn breaking in a gray light beyond the windows, the shadows in the
room blue and ghostly. Jude was fast asleep, and there were no noises from downstairs; my father was not awake. There was
no one calling me, no one near, but I couldn’t go back to sleep.
Then I heard it again, not in my head this time, but beside me. I turned in bed, and…She was there beside me, facing me, and
her expression was sad and loving. I felt her warmth; I felt the weight of her body on the feather bed.
“Mama…” I meant to stay still, though I couldn’t help myself; I reached out slowly, as if she were a skittish wild bird, and
touched her hair, and for that one moment, it was hers—thin and wiry, bouncing beneath my fingertips—
Then she was gone, and it was Susannah I was looking at, Susannah’s hair beneath my hand, thick and soft and brown, not gray
at all. My aunt’s eyes opened, and suddenly she was looking at me in sleepy question, and I could not bear it.
I jerked away, turning my I back to her. My disappointment gathered in tears. I thought she would touch me, she would say
something, and I waited.
She did nothing. I was so tight and still I thought I could feel even the movement of the air. I heard her sigh, and then
she relaxed again into the bed, and before long I heard her soft breathing again in sleep.
It was a long time before I relaxed as well. I saw my mother’s face again, and then the quickness of the change—her face on
Susannah’s body, her spirit in Susannah’s heart—but this time I understood what the spirit was trying to tell me. ’Twas a
warning. My aunt Susannah was wicked; she would guide me only closer to Satan’s arms.
Your heart is an open door, Charity. Do not let the Devil in.
I pushed aside the blankets and dressed hurriedly, then went downstairs into the darkness. I heard my father moving around
in the parlor, up early, as I was. I built up the fire and put breakfast on, and when he finally came into the hall, looking
haggard and sleepless, his eyes red-rimmed, he sat beside me at the table and said gently, “Good day, child” while we ate
and waited for Susannah and Jude. I thought of telling him what I’d seen, of the things about Susannah that I knew now, but
he seemed so distracted and distant I could not bring myself to do it. I kept my thoughts to myself as my sister and aunt
came down, and we made our way to meeting.
The meetinghouse stood in the middle of a big clearing, with forest behind it, and Ingersoll’s Ordinary next door. The watch-house
loomed across the street, its thick walls manned always by one of the village militia, flintlock at the ready. The meetinghouse
was one place I always felt safe. If Salem Village had a heart, this building was it, though there were those—including my
father—who said it was the rotten
stiffly when Susannah crawled in beside me.
She blew out the candle, and as the room snapped into darkness, I tried to relax into the bed, into the safety of blindness.
I closed my eyes and prayed, though the words got lost in my head, and my feelings were a muddle. I stayed awake long after
Susannah went limp and quiet beside me, and when her breathing came soft and even, keeping time with Jude’s from the trundle
bed below, I lay there thinking about the things she’d said, the things she knew. I thought it would be my fear of her that
kept me spinning into the night, almost till dawn, but it was not. It was something else instead, the simple question that
sparked my memory:
Tell me, Charity, what was your mother afraid of?
The answer so filled my heart I was afraid she would hear it.
My mother had been afraid of me.
Chapter 5
I WOKE TO THE SOUND OF MY NAME, A QUICK CALL THAT CAME TO me through a dream I could not remember.
Charity. Charity.
I jerked awake to see that it was early still, with dawn breaking in a gray light beyond the windows, the shadows in the
room blue and ghostly. Jude was fast asleep, and there were no noises from downstairs; my father was not awake. There was
no one calling me, no one near, but I couldn’t go back to sleep.
Then I heard it again, not in my head this time, but beside me. I turned in bed, and…She was there beside me, facing me, and
her expression was sad and loving. I felt her warmth; I felt the weight of her body on the feather bed.
“Mama…” I meant to stay still, though I couldn’t help myself; I reached out slowly, as if she were a skittish wild bird, and
touched her hair, and for that one moment, it was hers—thin and wiry, bouncing beneath my fingertips—
Then she was gone, and it was Susannah I was looking at, Susannah’s hair beneath my hand, thick and soft and brown, not gray
at all. My aunt’s eyes opened, and suddenly she was looking at me in sleepy question, and I could not bear it.
I jerked away, turning my I back to her. My disappointment gathered in tears. I thought she would touch me, she would say
something, and I waited.
She did nothing. I was so tight and still I thought I could feel even the movement of the air. I heard her sigh, and then
she relaxed again into the bed, and before long I heard her soft breathing again in sleep.
It was a long time before I relaxed as well. I saw my mother’s face again, and then the quickness of the change—her face on
Susannah’s body, her spirit in Susannah’s heart—but this time I understood what the spirit was trying to tell me. ’Twas a
warning. My aunt Susannah was wicked; she would guide me only closer to Satan’s arms.
Your heart is an open door, Charity. Do not let the Devil in.
I pushed aside the blankets and dressed hurriedly, then went downstairs into the darkness. I heard my father moving around
in the parlor, up early, as I was. I built up the fire and put breakfast on, and when he finally came into the hall, looking
haggard and sleepless, his eyes red-rimmed, he sat beside me at the table and said gently, “Good day, child” while we ate
and waited for Susannah and Jude. I thought of telling him what I’d seen, of the things about Susannah that I knew now, but
he seemed so distracted and distant I could not bring myself to do it. I kept my thoughts to myself as my sister and aunt
came down, and we made our way to meeting.
The meetinghouse stood in the middle of a big clearing, with forest behind it, and Ingersoll’s Ordinary next door. The watch-house
loomed across the street, its thick walls manned always by one of the village militia, flintlock at the ready. The meetinghouse
was one place I always felt safe. If Salem Village had a heart, this building was it, though there were those—including my
father—who said it was the rotten
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