Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“ O h my God!” I gasped. Malik was right—I was intensely dizzy!
“It’s all right—I’ve got you.” Strong arms wrapped around me and suddenly he was pulling me into his lap.
I wanted to fight and struggle but the world was still spinning and I was afraid if he let go of me I’d go flying off into the black void that had suddenly appeared around us. So instead of flinging myself away from him, I shrank back against his big body.
He really was huge—even bigger than I’d imagined when I looked at his portrait, I thought distractedly. Being a curvy girl, it takes a lot to make me feel petite but Malik managed it. He held me securely in his lap making me feel safe even though I still didn’t know him very well.
At last the swirling stopped and I found myself in the middle of a kitchen. At least, I thought it was a kitchen. There was no refrigerator or sink or any other modern appliances like a microwave or a dishwasher. There was, however, a large fireplace—a “hearth” to use the old-fashioned word, which was the only one that seemed to fit. A low fire was burning in the grate and some kind of animal—maybe a rabbit—was spitted over it.
There was a rough wooden table in the middle of the room that looked handmade and straw scattered over the hard packed dirt floor. A woman wearing a plain gray dress with a white collar and a white cap was leaning over the table, chopping some kind of squash with a crude metal knife. She was humming softly to herself and though I couldn’t see her face because of the cap, I knew at once that this was Hester, my many times great grandmother.
“There she is,” Malik murmured in my ear. “Poor little Hester. She had a dreary life, I fear. But then, so did all Puritan women. They were owned by their husbands, you know and unfortunately many of the men didn’t treat their wives very well.”
As if the Demon’s words had called to him, the door of the wooden house banged open and a tall man in a plain black suit and a wide white collar came in. He was wearing one of those tall hats with a buckle on it that you always see on people playing Pilgrims at Thanksgiving but he took it off when he came in the house.
“Hester!” he snapped, frowning at the woman at the table. “Why is my dinner not ready? A man works hard all day—the least he can expect is to have dinner to warm his belly when the long day is finally done!”
“Forgive me, John!” Hester looked up and now I could see that she had eyes the same color of blue as my own. There was a frightened, resentful look on her face but she didn’t drop her eyes when her husband scowled at her. “The rabbit is nearly done and the corn pudding is finished too,” she went on. “I was just going to add a bit of squash and butter to a pot?—”
“Forget the squash—I’m hungry now,” he snarled. “Hurry up and serve me, woman!”
Grabbing a rickety looking wooden chair from against the wall, he sat down at the table and looked up at her expectantly.
Hester looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite dare. Instead she went about serving him silently. She sliced some meat off the roasting rabbit and scooped what I assumed must be the corn pudding—it looked like mush—onto the pewter plate beside it. Despite its simplicity, the food smelled delicious—not surprising considering that Hester was a Kitchen Witch, I thought.
She put the plate down in front of him but her husband wasn’t satisfied.
“Where’s my ale, woman?” he demanded, glaring at her. “Are thee hoping I will choke to death with nothing to wash my dinner down?”
“No, of course not, John. But I thought maybe thou might prefer water?”
“Why would I want water when there’s ale to quench my thirst? Get me some now!” he demanded.
“She was hoping he wouldn’t get drunk and beat her,” Malik murmured in my ear, answering my unasked question. “That was legal in those times, you know.”
“It still happens now,” I pointed out. “But I can see how difficult it would be if you couldn’t even go to the police. Er, did he beat her a lot?”
“Not too often but when he did it was severe,” Malik murmured. “Mostly he just ignored her until he wanted something. He wasn’t a very pleasant man to live with, I’m afraid.”
We watched as Hester poured a mug of ale for her husband—who I supposed must be my many times great grandfather, though I felt no connection to him at all. With Hester it was different. I felt akin to her—I guess was the best way to put it. It was like there was a golden thread tying us together—maybe it was the blood connection we shared, even though she had lived so many hundreds of years before me.
At that point several girls and a boy came in, also clambering for food. They shut up when they saw their father though—clearly they knew better than to disturb John Hatch.
Hester fed them all and ate a little herself. Nobody talked except when John demanded more ale and another slice of rabbit. The only noise was the scraping of the crude metal silverware against the pewter plates.
“As you can see, it wasn’t a very happy home,” Malik murmured in my ear. “I think this might be part of what started Hester wishing for more than her husband was willing to give her. Here—you’ll see what I mean.”
The world swirled around us and the scene changed. Now we were in a bedroom with one of the old-fashioned beds like the kind I’d seen in the museum in Salem. They had ropes instead of a box spring and you tightened them at night to make the straw or feather stuffed mattress firmer. (If you’re interested, this was where the saying “sleep tight” comes from—or anyway, that’s what the museum guide told me.)
Hester was wearing a long white gown and a white nightcap. She was already in bed when her husband came into the room wearing a long nightshirt that showed his pale, hairy legs. It was dark outside and the only light was from the fireplace on the far side of the room.
John got into bed beside Hester and turned to her.
“Spread thy legs, woman. I would take my husbandly due.”
He gestured at her abruptly and I saw Hester’s face go red. But she did as she was told, spreading her legs and raising her nightgown above her hips. Without any kind of foreplay, her husband climbed on top of her and began thrusting.
Hester didn’t say a word but the look on her face nearly broke my heart—it was an expression of pain and longing, as though she was imagining something better—something more and yet knew she was never going to get it.
“The bastard!” Malik’s voice was surprisingly angry in my ear.
I turned to look at him and saw that his handsome face was twisted into a mask of rage and disgust.
“Look at him—he didn’t even try to get her ready,” he growled, nodding at the couple on the bed. I could hear the ropes that served as the base of it creaking as John continued thrusting vigorously. “No wonder she longed for me—called for me, even though she didn’t know she was calling,” Malik went on. “She wished for more than this—she wished for love and pleasure and a man who cared enough to give her both. But she never got it.”
“Then…you didn’t have sex with her?” I asked hesitantly.
He shook his head.
“I wouldn’t be here now if I’d been able to fulfill her longings. As I said, she called for me before she died, but I didn’t arrive in time to save her—or to fulfill her fantasy.”
“What happened then?” I asked. “I mean, why was she hanged?”
“Ah, well that would be because of the gooseberry pie incident,” he murmured mysteriously.
“What? What gooseberry pie incident?” I asked, frowning.
“It was a pie she baked for a church get together,” he explained. “She must have been having lustful thoughts when she baked it because when they served it…well, I’ll let you see.”
He held me tight and the world swirled again to reveal a scene that reminded me a little of the depictions you always see of the “First Thanksgiving.” People in dark, sober clothing were seated on benches on either side of a long wooden table. There were platters of food in the center of the table and a man standing at the end was giving a rather long-winded prayer of thanks as everyone else kept their heads bowed and their eyes shut.
“And we thank thee for thy bounty. Please bless it to our bodies that we may be strengthened and continue to do thy work in this world,” the minister, (at least I assumed it was the minister—he had the biggest hat and the sternest face,) finished at last. He sat down and everyone dug in.
As they ate, I couldn’t help noticing a large juicy looking pie with a flaky brown latticework crust at the far end of the table near Hester. John was sitting beside her and the minister who had said grace wasn’t far from them.
“Is this thy pie, Goody Hatch?” an elderly woman beside Hester asked, reaching for a slice of it.
“Indeed it is, Goody Ward. The gooseberries were bountiful this year.” Hester nodded politely. “I hope thee enjoys it.”
“Unfortunately, they did more than enjoy it,” Malik murmured in my ear. “Keep and eye on Goody Ward there—she was a matriarch of the village with a reputation considered beyond reproach. Well, until this happened.”
I watched as the woman—who looked older than anyone else at the table—took a big bite of the pie.
At first there was no effect but then she murmured, “Oh, my!” and began tugging at the modest white collar around her neck.
Other people got slices of the pie as well—though the minister refused a slice when Hester offered.
“Nay, Goody Hatch,” he said importantly. “I am denying myself the pleasures of the flesh so I must not eat thy pie, delicious-looking though it may be.”
But a lot of other people did have slices. As they ate, they all started tugging at their clothes—loosening them as though they were getting overheated, although it felt like a cool fall day to me.
Suddenly the older lady—Goody Ward—who had been the first to eat the pie, lurched to her feet. She climbed clumsily off the bench and made a beeline for the minister who was at the head of the table.
“Goody Ward? Are thee well?” The minister looked up at her with obvious concern on his stern face.
“Ah, Reverend Smith!” she exclaimed, reaching for him. “I long for thee!”
“What?” He gaped at her, clearly startled.
But Goody Ward had already begun undressing. She pulled open the plain brown dress she was wearing, revealing pendulous breasts which she thrust into the minister’s face.
Reverend Smith was so surprised he fell off his bench and into the dirt.
“By God, woman! What art thou doing?” he demanded, looking up at her.
But Goody Ward wasn’t going to be denied. She bent over him, dangling her breasts in his shocked face.
“Thou art a man to set any woman’s loins ablaze,” she moaned. “Many a time have I thought so as I watched thee in the pulpit of a Sunday!”
“The Devil has possessed thee!” Reverend Smith exclaimed, looking even more shocked.
But it wasn’t only Goody Ward who was affected. Other people at the table who had eaten the gooseberry pie were also getting busy. There was a whole impromptu Puritan orgy happening right there at the long wooden table. People who clearly weren’t married—but who had possibly been lusting for each other—were going at it.
I saw a man lift a woman’s dress and push her down over the table, smashing her face in a dish of buttered mashed pumpkin as he thrust into her from behind. On another bench, a woman had straddled a man who was clearly not her husband and was riding him right there, moaning with lust as she bucked her hips to take him deeper.
All up and down the long table, Puritans were fucking. And I mean, they were really going for it to the horror of the others at the table.
The people who hadn’t eaten the gooseberry pie were clearly appalled and unsure of what was happening. But the ones that had taken even a bite, had lost all their inhibitions.
“This is what called to me,” Malik said in my ear. “This outpouring of lust and longing. I felt Hester’s sexual need tugging at me all the way from Hell’s Waiting Room.”
“Hell’s Waiting Room—what’s that?” I asked, frowning.
“Well the place we upper order demonic entities wait for assignments, of course,” he said, as though it should be obvious. “But it takes time to get from there to the Mortal Realm. By the time I ascended from the depths, Hester had already been blamed for “The Devil’s Lusty Pie” as they were calling the incident. I wanted to save her but there was a witch finder by the name of Milas James waiting for me. It was he who trapped me in the portrait for so many years. Until you let me out.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I muttered, suddenly aware all over again of how close we were, with me sitting in his lap.
“Nevertheless I thank you,” he rumbled. “It’s good to be free and awake again after so many long, weary centuries.”
“You could thank me by leaving,” I suggested. “By going back to ‘Hell’s Waiting Room.’”
“I’ve already explained why I can’t do that. Unless you want me to fulfill your deepest fantasy now?” he asked, giving me a sinfully sexy smile.
I felt a sudden surge of lust and wondered if it was coming from him. It must be, damn it! There was no way I was getting horny just because I was sitting on the big Demon’s lap and hearing his deep voice in my ear…
“No,” I said shortly. “In fact, I want you to take me home.”
“We’re already in your home, but I will turn the clock back to where we started. Hold on,” Malik murmured.
The world started spinning again and I gave a muffled gasp and grabbed his arms, which were wrapped securely around me.
“It’s all right, baby,” I heard him say. “I’ve got you—I won’t let you go.”
Which was exactly what I was afraid of.
The spinning seemed to last longer this time. When it finally stopped, I was so dizzy I could barely see straight.
“Oh!” I moaned, putting a hand to my forehead. “I feel awful!”
“I’m so sorry, Celia—I forgot how difficult it is for a mortal to see into the past and then come back to the present.” Malik sounded genuinely contrite as he laid me gently on my side. “Just relax,” he murmured in my ear. “Close your eyes and rest. You’ll feel better soon.”
I did as he said—what choice did I have when I was so dizzy I couldn’t even sit up? But somehow the relaxing turned into a deep sleepiness that overtook me. I warned myself to stay awake—I needed to find a way to get rid of the pesky Incubus and I was never going to do that if I fell asleep.
But no matter how I lectured myself about staying awake, my eyelids were just too heavy. It seemed that seeing into the past had tired me out tremendously and my body just wasn’t willing to fight the weariness that was dragging me down into sleep like an anchor tied around my legs.
At last, I had to give up.
Tomorrow, I told myself. I’ll get rid of him tomorrow.
I had no idea that I would have a whole new set of problems the next day that would completely take my mind off my uninvited house guest.