In the parlor, Hathorne heard his name called. It sounded like a curse, for it was said forward and then it was reversed. When he didn’t appear, Maria looked in the window and saw a figure peering out. Ruth Hathorne, soon to have her second child, which she prayed would be another boy. Ruth’s heart was racing. She knew a witch when she saw one. Even Ruth’s little son had known her for what she was. Now the woman had taken a strange black book from her satchel and was reading from it, her lips moving quickly. Ruth knew that books had power; that was why she secretly studied letters so that she might read the Scriptures. But this woman at their door was clearly expert at reading, and therefore even more dangerous than Ruth had first imagined. She hid her son in a wardrobe and told him to be quiet. “If a woman in a black dress comes for you, do not go with her,” she said.

Ruth had never demanded anything for herself and had never before raised her voice, but now she called for her husband in a frantic tone. “Come here now. She’s looking for you!”

Maria could hear Ruth Hathorne cry out behind the locked door. Good, she thought. He’ll have to face me. He’ll have to accept Faith as his own.

By now, Ruth was too frightened to go look out the window; instead, she held a looking glass up to the street, to reverse any spells this witch might set upon her. Her mother had come from the west of England and had taught her folk medicine that she kept to herself, cures her husband would never have approved. Tonight she would bathe with salt and vinegar to cleanse herself and insure that evil thoughts could not cling to her. But Maria held no ill will toward her, only pity. They were sisters, really. Had they held up their palms, one beside the other, the same love line would have run through each of their hands until the middle of their palms, when the lines were diverted. This is how he’ll hurt you, this is the way you will blame yourself, this is your salvation, this is what you can see if you open your eyes.

Hathorne came into the room in a fury when he heard Ruth demanding that he deal with Maria Owens. Was it his fault he’d been enchanted? He was a victim as much as Adam had been, tempted into sin. “Why have you not sent her away?” he asked his wife.

Ruth threw him a desperate look, but he insisted.

“It’s woman’s work,” he said. “Just as you send away a peddler.”