~ part seven ~
“Do you love me, Em?” George asked finally.
Em tucked her foot up under her and turned to him. He stared straight ahead.
“Do you love me, Em?” George asked again. “Even a little bit?”
“I do,” Em said. She smiled at him. “More than a little bit.”
He slowly turned to look at her. She nodded.
“Everyone loves George,” he said.
“Everyone does love George,” Em said.
“So you . . .”
“No.” Em’s hands surrounded his face. She looked deep into his dark eyes. For the second time today, her voice slipped into her ancient accent. “I believe we’re two halves to a whole.”
“But Giles and Isaac and . . .” George shook his head.
“You know this.” Em’s voice was low. “You said it first in 1681, when we were in Salem Village.”
His head went up in a slight nod. She leaned forward and kissed his lips.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” George said in an accent similar to hers yet completely foreign to the modern man.
“Tell you what?” Em asked. She pulled back to look at him.
“About Benoni,” George said.
“You’re angry over something Alice made up?” Em asked.
“I’m angry that you . . .” George started. “Something Alice made up?”
“Who was Benoni’s father?” George asked.
Em looked away from him.
“You know, I’ve thought about it all day,” George said. “Ben had just started his apprenticeship the spring before we were hanged.”
“He was ten,” George said.
“Eleven,” Em nodded.
“Henry died in 1684,” George said.
“I guess so,” Em said.
“Benoni was mulatto,” George said in a low voice.
“That’s what the neighbors said,” Em said. “They also thought I was a witch.”
“I never thought he was . . . dark,” George said.
She waved her hand over his head. His long, grey hair and kindly, wrinkled face gave way to long jet-black hair, a bushy black beard which covered the deep facial scars dug by war, and darker, suntanned skin. George looked like the dark Celtic warrior he’d been in Salem Village. George’s eyes flicked to the mirror on the wall. For a moment, he looked at himself; then he looked at her.
“Your skin is darker than mine,” Em said. “But together, we’re not as light as some.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” he asked finally.
Suffer a Witch continues...