Read Suffer a Witch for Free Online

Wardwell had dressed in one of the beekeeper’s white jumpers and head net that Em kept in the bee shed. He was standing near the hive. She gave him a wooden frame of wax comb covered with bees. He held the frame up to his eyes to look at the rice-grain-sized honeybee eggs.
    “They’ve settled in,” Sam said.
    “Hopefully they’ll thrive,” Em said with a shrug.
    Like most beekeepers in the United States, Em had lost more than half of her hives over the winter due to a combination of a long, hard spell of cold weather and pesticides. In early May, she had replaced the ones she’d lost with new beehives in the hope they would survive. Sam had picked up beekeeping in the early 1800s, when he lived with Em for a few years while getting back on his feet. He now kept his own hives at his suburban home in Lincoln, Massachusetts.
    “I replaced the windows,” Sam said.
    He had been a carpenter in Salem Village. After getting sober and addressing his inner demons, he’d opened a small carpentry shop. The business had flourished and was now a multimillion-dollar construction company.
    “I replaced them with double-paned,” Sam said. “They’re nice and will keep you warm next winter.”
    “At least the bathroom won’t be drafty,” Em smiled. “Next winter, I’ll live in there.”
    “You should let me replace all of them,” Sam said.
    “I can’t afford it,” Em said.
    “Em . . .” Sam started.
    Em shrugged.
    “If I don’t save as much as I can, what will we have when we need it?” Em asked.
    “We could put in more . . .” Sam started.
    “Everyone does what they can,” Em said. “Immortality isn’t for the meek of heart.”
    “Or Bridget,” Sam said.
    “I was going to say ‘Susannah.’” Em smiled and turned her attention back to the open beehive in front of her.
    “You know, I hear myself talk, and . . .” Sam laughed. “I know I’m ridiculous. You’ve bailed me out of more than my share of expensive disasters. I guess I’d like to give back a little.”
    “I appreciate the new windows,” Em said.
    “Nothing, really,” Sam said. “If I write you a check, will you put it in the fund?”
    Em looked up at him. For a moment, their eyes held. She nodded.
    “Thanks,” Sam said. “You’re our rock.”
    “I’m kind of your crazy rock,” Em said. “Did George tell you what happened last night?”
    “George, Alice, Ann, Margaret, . . .” Sam nodded. “Everyone’s downstairs waiting for you; even Giles managed to show up.”
    “Gee, that sounds fun,” Em said. “An inquisition of witches.”
    “Kind of a role reversal,” Sam said. “George is cooking.”
    Em looked up at him.
    “It smells divine,” Sam said. “That man of yours . . . You don’t think he’d swing over to my side?”
    “I don’t,” Em said. “I think you and John will miss out on George.”
    “And Giles?” Sam asked.
    “That man never left the 17 th century,” Em said.
    Sam laughed. They settled into beekeeping. They went frame by frame through the beehives together. They managed to find the queen from one hive. Another hive looked like it had been split in half by swarming. The split hive was healthy enough, but Em marked the cover so she’d remember to keep an eye on it. They moved on to the next hive. The hot, satisfying work took all their attention. When they finished reviewing the hives, they placed special compartments, called “Supers,” where the bees could collect honey.
    “Thanks, Sam,” Em said as they hung their bee suits in the bee shed.
    “For what?” Sam asked.
    “Beekeeping, new windows, friendship . . .” Em smiled. “I owe you.”
    Sam snorted as if she’d made a joke.
    “Ready to face the music?” Sam asked.
    “Not really,” Em said.
    “Hey, you guys!” Margaret Scott appeared on the stairwell. “George has readings to do tonight. You need to . . .”
    “We’re coming down,” Sam said.
    Margaret smiled at Sam. He passed her on the stairwell