Aiwa's last link to her mother, to England, the only home she had ever known, was sailing away.
Not that it had been much of a link. The boat had been dark and cold, covered with dirt and disease. Aiwa was almost glad it was leaving. The week it had been standing there in the harbor of Salem Village, the tall, scraggly trees above it looking dead and hopeless, had been too much. She could hear her mother's words ringing across the sea: "It's only seven years, my darling. It ain't gonna be easy but it's your only chance for freedom. Do you want to stay in England all your life? The Donnengans will be good to you. Do this for your ma, will you?"
Aiwa regretted the "Yes, mama" that had come to her lips. I hate it here, she thought. I don't want to be with these people.

Downstairs, Nora was staring out her window at Gallows Hill. Oh Lord, she prayed, Speak to thee through thy inner light. I pray that Salem is a far better place than England, for I am scared. Those girls that talked today, they were talkin' of witchcraft. There's no such thing, though. And when I spoke the truth of witchcraft, they looked at me and there was hatred in their eyes. Why must Mother cause such scenes? She was almost killed at the gallows in England. Everywhere we go, from Ireland to England and now to Salem, we are frowned upon. I wish, God, that my family and I could live in one world with peace. None of the girls at school will trust thee anymore, when they find out that I do not listen to a Reverend. I am embarrassed to tell them, God. Oh God, I pray things will not be as they once were.

*****

Whispers filled the town throughout the next few months.
Did ya hear, the Donnengans are Quakers -- they didn't come to Church... What, not come to Church! They're works of the devil, that's what... Don't go to Mr. Donnengans tailor shop... That family's got an indentured servant girl working for ïem- black, she is... They treat her like any one of us...That family's all got red hair -- devils they are... They swim, they must be witches... It's not right Reverend Parrish. They didn't come to Sunday Sermon. I tell ya, that family is danger, danger to this town...
"Nora, just take it."
Nora woke up from her daze. She blinked and then remembered: the girls. "Just take it," Abby Williams was holding out a small sprig of patchouli, "It'll ward off evil."
"What evil do I need warding from?" asked Nora, puzzled.
"Your mother. She's a witch. All her preaching. She'll kill us all."
"No she won't!" Nora exclaimed, her hair redder than ever. "She'll do no such thing. Good-bye, Abby Williams!" she yelled, running away.
"It's witches like her that killed my mother! I'm sure of it!" shouted Abby "Your mother's going to be sorry she ever came to Salem!"

*****

Months passed and Salem Village became a place of fear and hatred. As winter turned to spring, Aiwa watched with the eyes of an outsider and saw the happy family she lived with turn quiet and afraid. Mrs. Donnengan continued to preach, but Aiwa saw the fear in her face, etched into the newly made wrinkles. Nora grew quiet and Peter said nothing. The hole of longing in Aiwa's heart for her mother was slowly filling with the sorrow she felt for this family. Together, she and Nora would stich shirts quietly in the evening by the fire, the only light coming from the small candle and the burning embers at their feet. Nora would show Aiwa the alphabet, Aiwa forming the letters on Nora's slate. Nora might mention trouble at school while they talked, like the time Abby poured out all of Nora's ink onto the floor and blamed it on Nora. Aiwa would nod, but inside she was full of undecidment about what she should do to help the only friend she had.

The meal that night was scarce and Aiwa could hear her stomach growling, but she said nothing. She knew how badly the family was doing for money, so badly that they barely had enough to eat. The Donnengans are good to me, Mama, Aiwa thought. I know it's not their fault no one will go to their shop.
"Nora, what do you mean you don't want to go to school," Aiwa heard Mrs. Donnengan say, "You love school."
Nora's lips were pursed tight as she scraped the last morsel of food off her plate, looking for more. "None of the girls at school like me, Mama. They all say that I don't worship God if I don't go to Church. Why can't we go to Church?"
Mrs. Donnengan's face was bright red and her eyes snapped. In a calm, steady voice, she said "We came to this land so we wouldn't have to listen to a Reverend. Remember my good friend Mary Dyr? She had come here for that, too. That is why we came, to try to see if it was true, that we could worship the way we wanted. You know God speaks to each of us through our inner light. Why do you need someone like Reverend Parrish to tell you what God says if you can hear God already?"
Before Nora could reply, there was a knock on the door. Aiwa slid out of her seat and went to answer it.
Standing in front of her was Matthew Hopkins, the town witch hunter, and Reverend Parrish.
"Yes?" said Aiwa, so sure of what was coming that she felt like slamming the door in their faces.
"We're here to arrest the witch, Mrs. Greta Donnengan," said Mr. Hopkins. "Tell her we're here, girl." There was hatred in his face as he looked at Aiwa. Aiwa was aware of the stillness of the room behind her. Before she could say anything, Mrs. Donnengan walked up to the door. "Excuse me, gentlemen. How can I help you?"
"You're to come with us. Don't argue, you witch. There's time a plenty for that in court. Until your trial, you're to be held in jail."
Mrs. Donnengan turned white and her hands on Aiwa's shoulders were cold. She took a deep breath. "Won't you come in?"
Peter laid out a blanket. Into it, he folded an extra pair of breeches, a small bag of coins and several sheets of parchment, a quill and berry ink. He grasped the bundle tightly and began to tiptoe down the hall.
Creak. The stairs were old and noisy and Peter held his breath as he walked over to the door. It was only the memory of Nora's face crying silent tears for the mother that she was sure was gone forever that made him grasp the handle and walk out the door.
Peter took one last look at the house and at quiet Salem Village, before he disappeared into the forest. He did not notice the figure watching him from the window above.

*****

"Silence! The court will now come to order. Will the defendant, Ms. Abigail Williams, please rise."
Aiwa focused her attention on the front of the Meeting House, where Abby Williams was beginning to speak.
"Mrs. Donnengan's spirit came to me while I was sleeping and began to pinch, scratch and hit me. Then she made me sign the devil's book -- with my blood! I can show you the mark that she made cutting into my skin."
"Does that conclude your testimony?" asked Judge Samuel Sewall.
Abby nodded.
"Mrs. Donnengan," said Judge Sewall, "Does thee have anything to say for thyself?" "You are all insane,'' replied Mrs. Donnengan, "If you are going to kill me, God will make you pay, for I have done nothing. I am allowed to speak the truth. You're going to have to do away with God to get rid of people who are doing good." "That is all, Mrs. Donnengan," said Judge Sewall sharply.
Abby walked toward the back pew of the Meeting house. In order to pass, she had to get passed Aiwa, who stared at her with pure hatred.
"Move out of the way," said Abby, not placing her eyes on Aiwa's face.
"She hasn't done nothin'," Aiwa whispered so quietly that no one but Abby could hear "And you know it. Nora's goin' to lose her mama because of you. This is like torture for her. Look at her, Abby. Are you afraid to see the sorrow you will cause?" Her voice was strong and steady and all she could think of was the girl in front of her, the look of supieriorness that was on her face.
Abby stiffened. "Don't talk to me like that, you servant. Why should she have her mother when I don't have mine? You have no authority to tell me what I am causing. I am doing God's bidding."
"I don't have my mama either," said Aiwa "And I'll probably never see her again. But that doesn't mean that I am going to blame it on someone else. I'm just going to try to be happy without her. You have to learn to do that too."
Meanwhile, the jurors were filing back into the Meeting house. Each one had an equally solemn look on their face as they took their seats in front of the pews. "Will the court now come to order," the Judge said. "Jury, have you come to a verdict?"
Mr. Hiram Kingsburgh stood up. There was a long pause as he looked at the other jurors, who nodded. He then looked at Mrs. Donnengan, who had a strong, proud look on her face. He gulped, then nodded, as if to reassure himself of something and said, "On behalf of the Jury, I pronounce Mrs. Greta Donnengan innocent of witchcraft. There is not enough evidence to prove to the court that this women is a witch." The Meeting House was silent. One girl whispered, "Thou shalt not let her get away with this!" Another girl rose to her feet. Abby started to follow, but then she looked at Aiwa. Their eyes met. Abby was staring forward like she remembered something. She then scowled to herself, and, with a sharp tug, pulled the girl down before she started yelling. Then, she slumped in her seat, talking to no one and ignoring the looks from the girls around her. Her face looked like it was chiseled from stone and her mouth could have been wax. All eyes were on her. But she said nothing.
So the girls said nothing.

The trees were a deep shade of red, the color of Nora's hair. The cart was full, and Aiwa brought the last bundle of clothes down the stairs. She was just about to go through the door when she saw the letter on the table. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Aiwa began to read.
Dear Mother, Father and Nora, October 7, 1692
I am in Philadelphia. Here, Quakers are not treated as outcasts - - everyone is expected to live peacefully. I have no idea if mother is still with you and I am sorry for my quick departure. But my need to help the family could only be satisfied through leaving.
Enclosed is some money. I am apprenticed as a print maker. I live with a kind family, but I hope that soon you will come and join me in Philadelphia. All are welcome here that choose to be equal to all kinds, even Negro's. This is the land we have always dreamed of! Please, no matter who is still alive, come to Philadelphia. Your loving son,
Peter Donnengan
Aiwa folded the letter up and rose from her seat. She heard Nora come clattering through the door.
"Come, Aiwa. Mama and Papa are ready to leave." Nora's face was pink and her eyes twinkled bright blue.
"Wait, before we go," said Aiwa, "I have something for you." Reaching inside her apron pocket, she pulled out a small handkerchief. Embroidered on it in the finest tiny stitches was Nora.
"Oh, Aiwa," said Nora "It's..."
"The cart's ready," said Aiwa " Come on."
Nora followed Aiwa to the cart. As she tucked the handkerchief into her pocket, she realized something else was inside.
She pulled the item out. It was the sprig of patchouli Abby had given her weeks ago. Nora dropped the sprig on the ground as the cart began to move. Then, she smiled at Aiwa with that broad smile of hers. She didn't even turn around to watch Salem Village disappear behind her. She didn't see the patchouli crushed by the wagon wheel. All she absorbed was the clear blue sky, her mother's laugh ringing through the air, the way her father gripped the worn leather of the bridle, Aiwa's soft voice whispering to her and the slight breeze that suggested fall was coming.

Epilogue
I stayed with the Donnengans for seven more years. When my time with them was over, I stayed and tutored Nora's two daughters, Emily and Eva. When I gave birth to my son John, I moved just down the block from Nora's new home with my dear husband. Then I formed a school of my own. It was the school my son John went to, along with Nora's son Matthew and my daughter Nina.
I suppose this is a happy ending. I wouldn't really know. This is the first story I've ever written. If I could change my life the way I could change a story, the last words to my mother would have been "Thank you, mama."
Oh well. I'll be with her soon, in heaven. I'll be able to say it then.
-Aiwa, 1762, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

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