Dashing into the jailer’s office, he was frustrated to find it empty. He pounded on the oak door leading to the cells. Presently the door was opened a crack, and William Dounton’s puffy face peered out at him.

“I’m to see my wife,” Ronald said breathlessly.

“’Tis feeding time,” William said. “Come back in an hour.”

Using his foot, Ronald crashed the door open against its hinges, sending William staggering back. Some of the thin gruel he was carrying sloshed out of its bucket.

“I’m to see her now!” Ronald growled.

“The magistrates will hear of this,” William complained. But he put down his bucket and led Ronald back to the door to the cellar.

A few minutes later Ronald sat down next to Elizabeth. Gently he shook her shoulder. Her eyes blinked open, and she immediately asked after the children.

“I have yet to see them,” Ronald said. “But I have good news. I’ve been to see Samuel Sewall and Reverend Cotton Mather. They think we can get a reprieve.”

“God be thanked,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight.

“But you must confess,” Ronald said. “And you must name others you know to be in covenant with the devil.”

“Confess to what?” Elizabeth asked.

“To witchcraft,” Ronald said with exasperation. Exhaustion and stress challenged the veneer of control he had over his emotions.

“I cannot confess,” Elizabeth said.

“And why not?” Ronald demanded shrilly.

“Because I am no witch,” Elizabeth said.

For a moment Ronald merely stared at his wife while he clenched his fists in frustration.

“I cannot belie myself,” Elizabeth said, breaking the strained silence. “I will not confess to witchcraft.”

In his overwrought, exhausted state, Ronald’s anger flared. He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. He shoved his face within inches of hers. “You will confess,” he snarled. “I order you to confess.”

“Dear husband,” Elizabeth said, unintimidated by Ronald’s antics. “Have you been told of the evidence used against me?”

Ronald straightened up and gave a rapid, embarrassed glance at William, who was listening to this exchange. Ronald ordered William to back off. William left to fetch his bucket and make his rounds in the basement.

“I saw the evidence,” Ronald said once William was out of earshot. “Reverend Mather has it in his home.”

“I must be guilty of some transgression of God’s will,” Elizabeth said. “To that I could confess if I knew its nature. But I am no witch and surely I have not tormented any of the young women who have testified against me.”

“Confess for now just for the reprieve,” Ronald pleaded. “I want to save your life.”

“I cannot save my life to lose my soul,” Elizabeth said. “If I belie myself I will play into the hands of the devil. And surely I know no other witches, and I shan’t call out against an innocent person to save myself.”

“You must confess,” Ronald shouted. “If you don’t confess then I shall forsake thee.”

“You will do as your conscience dictates,” Elizabeth said. “I shan’t confess to witchcraft.”

“Please,” Ronald pleaded, changing tactics. “For the children.”

“We must trust in the Lord,” Elizabeth said.

“He hath abandoned us,” Ronald moaned as tears washed from his eyes and streaked down his dust-encrusted face.

With difficulty Elizabeth raised her manacled hand and laid it on his shoulder. “Have courage, my dear husband. The Lord functions in inscrutable ways.”

Losing all semblance of control, Ronald leaped to his feet and rushed from the prison.

Tuesday, July 19, 1692

Ronald shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. He was standing at the side of Prison Lane a short distance away from the jail. Sweat stood out on his forehead beneath the wide brim of his hat. It was a hot, hazy, muggy day whose oppressiveness was augmented by a preternatural stillness that hovered over the town despite the crowds of expectant people. Even the sea gulls were silent. Everyone waited for the wagon to appear.

An emotional brittleness shrouded Ronald’s thoughts which were paralyzed by equal amounts of fear, sorrow, and panic. He could not fathom what he or Elizabeth had done to warrant this catastrophe. By order of the magistrates he’d been refused entry into the prison since the previous day when he’d tried for the last time to convince Elizabeth to cooperate. But no amount of pleading, cajoling, or threatening could break her resolve. She would not confess.

From within the shielded courtyard Ronald heard the metallic clatter of iron-rimmed wheels against the granite cobblestones. Almost immediately a wagon appeared. Standing in the back of the wagon were five women, tightly pressed together. They were still in chains. Behind the wagon walked William Dounton, sporting a wide smile in anticipation of turning his charges over to the hangman.

A sudden whoop and cheer rose from the spectators, inaugurating a carnival-like atmosphere. In a burst of energy children began their usual games while the adults laughed and thumped each other on the back. It was to be a holiday and a day of revelry like most days with a hanging. For Ronald as well as for the families and friends of the other victims it was the opposite.

Warned by Reverend Mather, Ronald was neither surprised nor hopeful when he did not see Elizabeth among the first group. The minister had advised him that Elizabeth would be executed last, after the crowd had been satiated on the blood of the first five prisoners. The idea was to lessen the potential impact on the populace, especially those who had either seen or heard of the evidence used against her.

As the wagon drew abreast of Ronald and passed, he gazed up at the faces of the condemned. They all appeared broken and despondent from their brutal treatment and the reality of their imminent fates. He recognized only two people: Rebecca Nurse and Sarah Good. Both were from Salem Village. The others were from neighboring towns. Seeing Rebecca Nurse on the way to her execution and knowing her pious character, Ronald was reminded of Reverend Mather’s grim warning that the Salem witchcraft affair could spiral out of control.

When the wagon reached Essex Street and turned to the west, the crowd surged after it. Standing out in the throng was Reverend Cotton Mather as the only person on horseback.

Almost a half hour later Ronald again heard the telltale sound of metal clanking against the cobblestones of the prison courtyard. Presently a second wagon appeared. In the back sat Elizabeth with her head bowed. Due to the weight of her iron manacles she’d not been able to stand. As the wagon lumbered past Ronald, Elizabeth did not raise her eyes nor did Ronald call out to her. Neither knew what to say.

Ronald followed at a distance, thinking it was like living in a nightmare. He felt great ambivalence about his presence. He wanted to flee and hide from the world, but at the same time he wanted to be with Elizabeth until the end.

Just west of Salem Town, after crossing the Town Bridge, the wagon turned off the main road and began to climb Gallows Hill. The road ascended through a scrub of thornbushes until it opened out onto an inhospitable rocky ridge dotted with a few oaks and locust trees. Elizabeth’s wagon pulled next to the empty first wagon and stopped.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Ronald stepped from behind the wagons. Ahead he could see the noisy throng of townspeople gathered around one of the larger oak trees. Cotton Mather was behind the crowd and still mounted. At the base of the tree stood the condemned. A black-hooded hangman who’d been brought from Boston had looped a rope over a stout branch. One end he’d tied to the base of the tree while the other he’d fashioned into a noose and fitted over the head of Sarah Good. Sarah Good at that moment was precariously poised on a rung of a ladder leaning against the tree.