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Nathan Rothenbaum
English
Dorame

Abigail

It has been a long time since the trials, and I still think about it. After running

away from Salem I knew there wasn't many places I could go. I used my money and

everything I had to offer to convince a group of sailors to take me to England. I wanted to

go home home more than anything, the terrible thought of Proctor in jail, waiting for the

rope was burned into my mind as I imagine the rope burned into his neck. The sudden

realization came to me, that it was all my fault.

Once I returned to England, I found work as a maid again for a household. Some

things don't change. My employer's wife ask me, “Abigail, you said you were from

Salem? What do you know of that big mess over there?”, I turn away and say,

“I left before it all began.” Don't get me wrong, I don't regret all of what I did. The town

was built on a foundation of lies and sins, all I did was reveal those sins and make them

public. I still miss John, and I think of him often. I've tried to make it clear to Mrs. Rech,

my employer's wife, that I either was not there or have no desire to talk of it, but she

continues to press me.

“How could you not have been there? You only just came to England and it has been

going on for a long time?” She asked me with a twitch of her lips, as if she knew, as if

she was mocking me.

“I stayed out of the spotlight in the town, I heard only rumors.” I mutter out, my

frustration is rising, and I can tell.

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“Well what rumors?”

“Nothing of value to discuss Mrs. Rech.” My tone is rising, I can tell she notices yet she

presses onward.

“Well, entertain my thoughts.” How little she knows! To have her 'thoughts' entertained?

How would she like to hear about her husband and I? Would that entertain her thoughts?

Oh, is it too much? Some things are better left unsaid.

“Sorry Mrs. Rech, I couldn't tell you even if I tried, I truly have forgotten those days.”Her

curiosity satisfied she remains quiet. Sometimes I think she knows about her husband and

I, a man who is no John Proctor, but old habits are hard to break. How he comes to me in

the night whispering my name, and I accept his advances just to think about how his wife

would scream or squirm of she ever found out. When she asks me these questions, those

are when I'm convinced she knows, no one save God has any vested interest in salem. I

think she knows, and because of this, I can only believe that she tries my guilt. She wants

me to break down like a fragile flower and tell her everything.

But I am no flower, I am the strong and powerful woman that John Proctor made

me. Funny she wants me to be the 'bigger woman', when it is I that hears her cry at night.

Her tears fall on deaf ears as the tears and wails of the people of Salem fell on deaf ears. I

have no regrets, save for John, of the things I've done or will do.
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Hale

A lifetime of mistakes, I see that now. It is now three years to the anniversary of

the day John Proctor was hung, I can still hear the bell ring and the snap of their necks. I

had to leave Salem, that much was certain. I ventured to Andover and, in the midst of the

rebellion against the court, I found myself trapped in the middle. Like a thin string

holding I brick, I found myself torn between the system that advocated the Lord, and the

feelings I had inside myself as to what God's true intentions were. After the minor

bloodshed in Andover was over, the people needed a new priest. I was renowned in

those parts, and the town asked me to join them. It took a lot of time deciding, my hands

were stained with blood that would not wash out. I was afraid the mistakes of Salem

would be repeated, but I took the job.

The Church was well maintained, it still is. The music that plays out it from Mrs.

Havish's wonderful hands attracts crowds to hear me speak. I preach of the lord and his

love, John Proctor's critique still ringing in my ear about Paris's sermons. The world is too

obsessed with hellfire and brimstone, that is what I have come to believe. Life on this

earth is wholesome and good, to take a life is the worst of crimes.

Despite how hard I wish I could change, I still believe in the power of the devil

and witchcraft. My lips now remain sealed, all that I know I choose not to reveal. This

town is filled with a mystery, a mystery that if I was younger I would surely proclaim as

witchcraft. Every few days or so, some chickens from the local farmers disappear.

Chickens, whom I later found with their heads cut off, hanging upside down behind the

Church. A tale that troubles me, but a tale I tell no one. I've seen the devil over Andover,

but I remain silent.

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I scream in my head, “Why do I remain silent? There is God's work to do.” What

is the point in speaking? The people of this town were aware of my involvement in the

trials, and though accepting of its harsh realities, I doubt they would believe me if I cried

witchcraft. I fool myself into believing that I should tell the town on the grounds of

'justice', but then I think back to Salem. Justice was satiated, and then some. Out of fear

of another outbreak of fear, or fear of it simply happening again, I remain quiet. The sins

of Andover are mine to bear.

I recall a young boy asking me, “Reverend Hale, where did you come from?” I

don't tell him where I was born, that is not where 'I' come from. That is the old me. Salem

changed me, so I tell him, “I come from the town of Salem, where the walk in one man,

and walk out another.” He laughs at me, calling me playful, and I smile. My heart aches

for my mistakes, and the past. It aches for John and for Rebeka and for Martha, it aches

for Sarah Good and for Tituba and for Giles. I can't change the past, but I think the work I

do here in Andover, and the work I choose not to peruse here, can perhaps right the

wrongs in which I have committed.

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Parris

No one would take me in, that is how I knew I was not wanted. On the night that I

lost the elections, I went house to house, speaking with the people. Abigail had stolen my

money, and I knew hard times were ahead, so it would be good to get on people's good

sides. I smiled brightly at them, despite my nervousness, knocked on the door and spoke

in a very clean and proper manner, “I was just strolling by, and wanted to thank you for

when you elected me as your past Reverend, I appreciate it.” The trouble is, no one

seemed to care. They slammed the door in my face, without a word.

When the trials came to a conclusion, and Danforth himself admitted there may

have been, “mistakes”, I knew what status in the community I once had was now over. As

I walked through town, I caught the wandering eyes of those left alive after the trials.

Under their breath I could hear it, “How dare you...” is what they whispered, I'm sure of

it. They said, “How dare you show your face around here again.” I rushed home, heaving,

my heart felt heavy.

I grabbed Betty and stared her in the eyes, “Why Betty? Why did you lie!?” She

began to cry gasping between breaths,

“I couldn't tell them, I just couldn't!” she screamed, sobbing and mummering between

words. I twisted her arm, I wanted to break it. All my reputation – gone.

That was a year ago, those were dark times. I didn't know if I would even be able

to make it in those times. No one wanted to hire me because of Proctor, so it was tough

getting food. Poverty is a troubling thing, if conditions are bad its nigh-impossible to get

the money to move to a place with, well, better conditions. But I beat this town, I won.

I managed to work as a farmer, convincing Putnam to lend me land with the threat
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of blackmailing him about what truly happened to Jacobs. The job was hell, it still is. It is

no work for a graduate of Harvard. I go to Church and listen to the new Reverend speak,

Reverend Melancholy. What a stupid name! His sermons are boring and his church is

uneventful.

The trails ruined me, but it wasn't truly the trails themselves, no, it was the people.

It was people like John Proctor who wanted to be white as snow even when they were

bound to go to hell for practicing witch craft. All they wanted was to tear down the courts

and raise up Satan, I could see through their lies.

Hale has since left, and Danforth... well... I feel awful about what happened to

him. They have both regretted the trials, but I haven't! The true sinners of the Church of

Salem are now gone, rooted out and their bodies laid in unmarked graves. I used to think

there were no witches, but that I could use them to get power, but now I see the truth! The

witches were there! They were people like John Proctor, who wanted to ruin my good

name! Satan heard all my preachings, how I had warned everyone from following him, so

he sent his demon agents in the form of John Proctor and my slave Tituba to kill me! But

I won! I won! He could not get me! He could not defeat a graduate of Harvard Law

School!
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Elizabeth

Oh John, I miss you. If only you were here still, I have so much to tell you. As you

went to the scaffold and the rope was slipped around your neck I thought to myself,

“Maybe Hale is right...” I thought, “I need you John.” But then, I realized how selfish I

was being. You had made your choice, and keeping you to this Earth would ignore God's

plan. I know the bible claims that those who commit adultery go to hell, but I believe God

would make a special case for you.

And your boys! Oh my, how much they have grown! Benjamin came home the

other night holding three rabbits in his hand, I asked how he killed them and do you know

what he said John? He said, “No Momma, they aint dead.” He put one of them on the

ground and the little thing scampered around the house, I was screaming something

fierce. I know it isn't probably as funny as if you were there, but, I mean, I know you are

there, watching down on us every night.

And William, oh John, he took your death the hardest. It has made him cold. He

used to be so kind to everyone, now all he thinks about is being alone. It breaks my heart

to see him like that. I know what you think, you think it would be wise of me to remarry,

so the boys would have a father figure? Well I won't do it.

John, you were faithful to me through the trials, even through Abigail. I take

blame for that, I kept this house cold. I don't want my children, our children to have any

father but you, that is why I will never remarry John, it is simply out of the question.

William asked me the other day, “Mom, why did dad have to leave?” I wanted to tell him

how you were accused as a witch but I couldn't,

“God needed him as an angel sweet heart.” That is what I said, I laugh when I think about
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it, but maybe it is true. You were really a good man John.

Don't worry about income, I don't need to get married for that. You're a hero John.

Everyone talks highly about you, Hale shared your story how you would not oust your

friends, and they called you a hero. People offer me jobs, money, and company. I say,

“No, really, you don't have to do this, we'll be alright.” But they insist, they sneak money

into my house and sign me up for jobs without my permission. They say, “John Proctor

was a good man, this is the least I can do.” Oh John, why is it all the wonderful things

people say about you only happen when you are gone?

John, I miss you more and more each day, and each day it gets a little harder. I

think about how I would watch you plow the fields from the window, or how you'd come

home with flowers every few days and give them to me. You made me feel like a little

kid again, you were always so sweet. And even when I forced you to go to that... well,

you know, you confessed like a Christian to me. And even when I was cruel to you

afterwards, you remained kind. You were too good for this Earth.
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Danforth

It was, regrettable... to say the least. At first, I admit, I was convinced of the truth

claims by young Mrs. Abigail and her followers. They had me fooled indeed that they

could talk to the Lord. As the trials simmered however, and fewer and fewer cases were

brought to my intention, it began to become painfully obvious how wrong we were. With

Abigail gone, it would appear that the Lord suddenly lost both righteous hand of justice to

point and holy mouth to speak. The girls had very little accurate knowledge of the

Christian law, missing commandments and not knowing their psalms. It was at that point

it became clear who the real witch was: Abigail. It made sense, she made the other girls

see things by bewitching them, and that is why she believed me. Oh for shame, what a

fool I was.

Of course, being of sound mind I organized a search party to find her. It appears

that she escaped however, as we found ourselves unable to find her. Naturally, I informed

the people of Salem to this plight, but it appears they wouldn't have it. “NO MORE

WITCHING!” they began to shout, I calmly explained to them in the clearest way

possible why we needed to do this, stating, “THOSE WHO CALL FOR 'NO MORE

WITCHING' ARE WITCHES! IF YOU ARE PURE OF HEART YOU NEED NOT

FEAR THE COURT!” Suffice to say, it seems the town turned against me.

They began to brandish pitch-forks and axes and screamed bloody murder. I

locked myself in the court room, holding a pistol aimed at the door as they gathered

outside. In what probably was only a few minutes felt like an eternity to me, which was

very helpful because it gave me perspective on life.

The trials had begun to take a toll on me. I had begun seeing witches everywhere,
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and the devil in the hardest-to-reach places. CRACK! The ax began to cut down the door,

shattering my previous thought. No, the witches were real, but I then saw the futility of it

all: if it truly was the devil, why could the witches not lie? It all made sense then. Our

system was broken. We expected the guilty to renounce their ways, but all witches are

liars, they would never give up loving Satan, their tears are those of crocodiles. CRACK!

They began to get closer.

I didn't know what the towns people wanted with me, but in the crowd I saw the

face of many accused. Several had been released from prison after confessing, but my

new epiphany shined new light on them all. They were still witches, Abigail was pure! As

they swung at the door, I began to ponder what it all meant, “Stop witches or I will

shoot!” I shouted, scaring myself.

“We aren't witches!” The mob screamed as if one entity, but I saw through their lies.

I raised the pistol at them and took careful aim, I had one shot, so I had to make it

count. I fired... I missed. The mob became enraged from my attempted, ahem, murder of

them. The finally got through the door and advanced on me. I knew God would protect

me.