A bead of sweat traveled slowly down Elizabeth's back under her thick wool dress as she sat stiffly with her brother's family on the cramped wooden pew. The heat of the many bodies crammed into the small church heightened the sweltering conditions of the already unseasonably hot October day. She felt glances from around the room as she focussed on appearing intently fixated on the minister's sermon. The vivid descriptions of the certain fiery damnation that faced the sinners amongst them were accentuated by the surrounding sizzling atmosphere. It seemed her fellow parishioners did not have the same qualms about ignoring the minister as Elizabeth, the young new widow from Virginia. She felt their judgmental stares boring into her from every direction, even the minister himself gawked her way for a substantial portion of the sermon.
Elizabeth had been married to Henry for two short years. They had had a quiet and peaceful existence that was pleasant and comfortable, if somewhat less than exciting. He was fifteen years her senior, they didn't have much in common, but neither of them were bothered by silence from the other. One morning, over breakfast, Henry had complained of an ache in his tooth while chewing. Elizabeth thought nothing of it, though he was hardly a man accustomed to complaining. A week later, infection had seeped throughout his body and he was gone. She'd felt confusion, surprise, and some grief; but the most overwhelming emotion was that of guilt. She felt guilty that she was the only person he had left in this world and she wasn't in a total state of despair at his untimely death. Of course, she was not elated to see him gone by any means, he was not an unkind man. But, her justifications for any substantial amount of mourning for the loss of her husband were wholly selfish, no matter how hard she tried. She grieved for her comfort and her routine more than the man himself, and that suffocated her with guilt.
With Henry's death, she had to confront the total uprooting of her life. She'd been forced to move from her hometown in Virginia to Massachusetts, with her brother William, her only remaining family. William was the oldest of their nine siblings and had relocated to Massachusetts several years before Elizabeth had married. Since that time, various illnesses and accidents had taken their mother, father, and each of their siblings in a cruel and timely succession. Elizabeth had felt nearly anesthetized to death by the time Henry had passed.
She was ripped from the freedom of her marriage and her humble, but peaceful home, to live in a cramped farmhouse with William, his wife, and their five daughters. She had additional guilt from her feelings of negativity and ungratefulness with their sacrifice of taking her in. She was overwhelmingly inadequate as a wife, a sister, and a Christian. She supposed she should get used to the heat of her surroundings now. The smallest of smirks marred her fixed countenance of concentration from the macabre tangent her thoughts had taken.
After what had felt like the eternity that was repeatedly mentioned in the sermon, the minister dismissed the congregation and they began to file out of the pews as the doors of the church were finally opened, releasing the heavy stagnant air. She and her brother's family joined the others outside, where there was the small relief of a breeze. The congregation was enlivened at the opportunity to talk amongst each other and stretch their stiffened muscles. She knew it was unwise of her to hope for a quick escape to the house after hours of sitting in the poorly ventilated small church.
The leaves that crunched beneath her leather shoes seemed to have been scorched from the branches rather than blown away with autumn winds. The thick fabric of her dress was sticking to her skin from the perspiration that had accumulated all over her body. She had to tamp down her urge to escape. She wanted to tear the layers of clothes from her body and run until she reached the nearest collection of water to jump into, wherever that may be. Her cheeks reddened at the untoward daydream. Elizabeth was lost in her own thoughts and hadn't noticed the conversation between her brother and another family until her name was said, pulling her from her mind.
"This is my sister, Elizabeth. Her husband has recently passed. She is living with us." William stated bluntly, as was his nature. "Elizabeth, this is Earl and Edith Bishop and their family."
"Welcome to Salem, Elizabeth." A plump middle-aged woman, she assumed the matriarchy, Edith Bishop, greeted her. "Our sympathies for your loss." Her smile was kind and full of genuine pity.
"Thank you." She responded politely. A girl no older than seven stared up at Elizabeth from behind the short woman. Her irises were nearly black underneath the thick rim of her pristinely white coif. Most of her thin body was shielded from her mother's generous posterior and full skirt. The occasional rustle of a breeze blew the girl's pale yellow dress around her mother and into visibility.
"Elizabeth is my youngest daughter's name as well, but we call her Beth." The woman smiled cheerfully, bringing the child forward with her hands on the young girl's shoulders. The juxtaposition between Edith Bishop's kind and sunny demeanor and her daughter's was instantly evident. The young girl didn't smile, only stared at Elizabeth unblinkingly with her unnervingly dark eyes which were heavily contrasted by her pale porcelain-like skin.
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Beth." She forced a smile down at the child.
Beth's expression did not lighten in the least at being spoken to, she didn't react at all for an uncomfortably long moment when Elizabeth's polite smile fell from her face from unease. The young girl then opened her mouth as if to reply, but no words came out. Instead, she was silent with her mouth gaping widely. Once the child had looked around, moving only her dark eyes, and made sure that she held the attention of the entire group of adults surrounding her and her odd behavior, she began to shriek with a deafening pitch and volume. Everyone in the vicinity was startled and the sudden halt to the conversations around them only allowed the grating prolonged noise to resonate further.
As Elizabeth quickly looked around, she noticed the congregation had expressions of repulsion from the child's intrusive and shocking performance. The girl's own mother, however, looked terrified, but not of her own child. Strangely, she stared directly at Elizabeth with all color drained from her once rosy cheeks. Elizabeth was baffled at the older woman's reaction. The girl's mouth was still wide with her effort to scream, but her obsidian eyes were smiling and taunting Elizabeth in a clear and unnerving threat. She had no idea why the girl would have such unwarranted aggression towards her.
"Please Lord, not again." The girl's mother said under her breath, during a brief moment of silence as the child refilled her lungs. She had both hands on Beth's shoulders, her knuckles white with the force of her grip.
The entire congregation was now fixated, not on the screaming child, but on Elizabeth, the strange new widow in Salem. Her confusion at their reactions as well as the piercing and incessant noise were causing the muscles in Elizabeth's back to bunch and tighten with stress and the compelling urge to escape. Finally, the minister rushed through the crowd and towards the scene.
"What happened?" He vehemently asked Beth's father, his deep and powerful preaching voice easily overtaking the young girl's continued wails. As soon as the minister was near, Beth pulled her sleeves up and began to dig her nails repeatedly into the white flesh of her exposed forearms.
"No, Beth!" her mother tried to restrain her, but she wasn't quick enough to grab her now quickly flailing limbs. The porcelain skin was soon covered in thin red lacerations. As she frantically scratched herself over the same places, small droplets of blood rose to the surface of the self-inflicted welts.
