Betrayer.. Part 2

Part 2

The fire crackled softly. A loud pop sent up a shower of glowing embers.

Jane Masters uttered a cry of surprise and jumped back from the hearth. The embers died at her feet.

After straighteningthe strached white apron she wore over her heavy , dark maroon skirt, Jane bent over the bake kettle to lift the heavy lid and peered inside.

Behind her in the small borning room, the baby started to cry. Jane heard the floorboards break as her mother made her way to the cradle to see what the problem was.

"Jane!" Martha Master's tone was scolding. "You have wrapped Anthony too tightly again. The poor baby can barely breathe!"

"The blanket is too small. I had trouble covering him," Jane complained, still bent over the kettle, a few long golden curls falling out of her bun and over her face.

"The blanket will have to do," her mother replied. "It is the best we can afford." She lifted the squalling baby and held him up to her face. "Poor Anthony. Poor Anthony. What did your sister do to you?"

Jane sighed. "These biscuts are taking so long to bake."

Martha Master's stepped up behind her. Anthony's cried had softened to quiet whimpers as her lay his head against his mother's stiff white collar.

"The fire is too low," his mother said, shaking her head disapprovingly. "You cannot bake in those dying embers. Put more wood on, Jane."

Frowning, Jane straightened up and tossed the locks of escape behind the white collor that covered the shoulders of her dress. "We need firewood."

Jane was tall and thing. She had sparkling blue eyes, creamy pale skin, and dimples in both cheeks when she smiled. Whenever Matha Masters found Jane gazing into the looking glass or toying with her golden hair, she scolded her with the same words: "True beauty comes from deeds, not appearance, Daughter"

As a Puritan, Jane had been endlessly taught the virtue of modesty. She had been taught that all righteous people are beautiful and the same in the eyes of the Maker.

She felt embarressed whenever her mother caught her admiring herself, as if her mother had peered inside her soul and found it flawed and unworthy.

But at sixteen, Jane felt stirrings that excited her as much as they troubled her. She found herself thinking of a certain boy, day dreaming about him as she worked. And she couldn't help but wonder if she was pretty enough to win him over all the other girls in the village of Wickham.

Martha Masters held the baby and rocked him gently as she stared dissaprovingly at the fire. "Where is your father? He will want biscuts on time, but he will not have them if he is not here."

"I believe he is at the commons, tending the cows," Jane told her.

"Cows," her mother scoffed. "Bads of bone, you mean." She lowered her gaze sadly to the baby she held. "It is a wonder we survive, Anthony."

Jane started toward the door. "I will get the firewoord and fetch Father. I was going out for a walk anyway," Jane insisted.

"Jane. Please," her mother said, dear clouding her eyes. "You must stop taking solitary walks. You must not do anything-anything at all-to attract attention to yourself."

She gazed intently at her pretty daughter. Then she added in a low whisper, "You know the dangers. You know what is going on here."

"Yes Mother," Jane said impatiently. "But I think I can go out for a walk without-"

"They took Abigail Hopping from her house last night and dragged her to the prison," her mother said softly. "The poor woman's screams work me."

Jane uttered a shocked gasp. "Abigail Hopping a "witch"?"

"That's what Paul Fier says," Martha Masters replied, swallowing hard. "Paul accused Abigail singing songs of Evil One as she perpared the evening meal."

"I cannot believe that Abigail Hopping is a witch," Jane said, shaking her head. "Had she confessed?"

"Her trial is at the meeting house tonight," Martha Masters said darkly.

"Oh, Mother! Will she burn like the others?" Jane cried, choking out the words.

Her mother rocked the baby and din't reply. "There is so much evil about, Daughter," she said finally. "Three witches were uncovered in our village by Paul Fier since summer began. I beg you to be careful, Jane. Stay in the shadows. Give no one reason to suspect you- or even to notice you."

Jane nodded. "Yes, Mother. I am only going to the commons for firewood. I shall be back quickly." She pushed open the door, causing a flood of bright sunlight to wash over the dark room.

"NO! STOP!" her mother cried.