Susannah Morrow Read Online Free Page B

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     the room, racing for the freezing bedroom I shared with Jude, angry that my father still thought me the smallest of children,
     that he would not allow me to do the things that were my right.…But more than that, I was angry at my mother for dying, for
     leaving me alone here without allies or friends. Hell was not fire, as Master Parris said. Hell was cold as ice and barren
     as winter, and it was a place I knew too well. Hell was the distance in my father’s eyes whenever he looked at me.
    The next day, the storm was gone, taking with it the clouds and the wind, leaving behind bitter cold under clear skies. In
     those first moments after waking, it felt like any other morning, but then I remembered Susannah, and Jude was out of the
     trundle and curled like a hard little ball into my side, and I remembered that the world had changed overnight.
    Mama was gone.
    I remembered the cellar and the sad way her specter had looked at me, and now, with the fresh eyes of a night’s rest, I recognized
     that it had been a waking dream, and the realization brought a terrible sadness. I could not imagine a world without her.
    I got out of bed and fell to my knees in prayer, desperate for the balm of God’s presence, but I felt no reassurance, and
     ’twas with a sore heart that I woke Jude and we dressed to go downstairs.
    My father had already left, and Goody Way too, along with the new baby. Susannah was readying to lay out my mother. As we
     watched, she poured water into a tub and hefted it. At the parlor doorway, Susannah stopped and looked over her shoulder at
     me. “Are you coming?”
    She expected me to watch, and since I could not do the tasks that were mine to do, I consoled myself with the thought that
     I could make sure my aunt made no mistakes. So I followed her into the parlor. No fire had been laid to corrupt Mama’s body,
     so the room was dark and cold. I lit a candle and saw that the bed was mussed, as if someone had lain beside her, and I wondered
     then where my father had slept last night, if he had spent the hours cradling her lifeless body, praying for her soul. I could
     not imagine it.
    My aunt set the tub next to the bed. In the dim light, Mama looked as if she could be sleeping. I felt the tears come to my
     eyes again, and I blinked them away. The time for crying had passed. Jude had come in behind me; she stood there looking heartbroken.
     I could not look at her. Instead, I turned my gaze to my aunt and settled myself to watch.
    Susannah did nothing at first. She looked down at my mother, and I heard her murmuring something; a prayer, I thought. Then
     she turned to me. “You’d best get started,” she said. “You’ll want to be done before your father returns.”
    I stared at her, unsure how to answer.
    She motioned toward the bed. “I don’t think you’ve much time, Charity.”
    “But I—Father said I—”
    “’Tis your right, as you said. She was your mother.”
    “He told me not to. He said I was a child.”
    “Well, you’re not, are you?”
    She smiled, and it startled me. I had not expected this gift, and did not know how to accept with grace. I did not even know
     that I should accept. My father had been uncompromising: I was to leave the laying out to my aunt.
    But I wanted it badly—this last thing I could do for the mother who had loved me and guarded my weakness so well. ’Twas not
     her fault I had found ways to fall.
    “Aye. Take it, Charity,” Susannah said, smiling. Then she looked past me to Jude. “And you—you shall not tell your father.
     It would not do to have him angry over such a little thing as this.”
    Jude nodded.
    I struggled with my conscience. It was wrong, disobeying him this way. He would be angry if he found out. But this was my
     privilege, and when Susannah nodded at me to go ahead, it felt right, somehow.
    There was a comfort in my aunt that reminded me of Mama, and I clung to it greedily, feeling suddenly less alone. This was
     what