Read Wicked Girls for Free Online Page B

witches,
    who are the devils in our midst?”

PRAY
    Margaret Walcott, 17
    Isaac gone before
    I might turn to look.
    The meetinghouse drains
    of members, except for Elizabeth,
    who kneels on the hard floor,
    her head bowed down.
    â€œOh, Margaret, fall to your knees
    and pray with me.”
    She grasps my hand
    and drags me to the ground.
    â€œDear Lord, guide our spectral sight.
    We follow your call
    and bow humbly before you.”
    Elizabeth’s eyes pulse
    and her body quivers.
    â€œThey wait for us outside.”
    I tug her arm now.
    I do not want Mercy Lewis
    broken from my sight
    such that Mercy might make
    her eyes fall ’pon Isaac,
    or worse, his eyes fall ’pon her.
    I kneel and whisper in Elizabeth’s ear.
    â€œI see you be cleversome,
    but pray let us do this not today.”
    Elizabeth just stares forward
    as in a trance. She lies down
    â€™pon the floor with her hands
    laced in worship above her head.
    â€œO Lord, lead me in your ways.”
    She stops all moving
    and seems not to breathe.
    Be she truly tormented by a witch?
    The Reverend stalks above us.
    â€œHas a specter hold of Elizabeth?”
    he asks me.
    I nod yes.
    But then Elizabeth pops up,
    as if she’s possessed, and shakes her head.
    â€œThere are no specters here.
    We pray to the Lord for guidance.”
    How dare she defy me?
    She must be ill. I clench her arm
    tighter than I did intend.
    Lizzie tugs down her sleeve.
    â€œOr perhaps Margaret did see a specter,”
    Elizabeth says, and lowers her eyes.

THERE IS ANOTHER: WHAT TO DO WITH THE PROCTORS’ MAID?
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    Not everything in a garden
    belongs.
    Ruth Warren,
    the Proctors’ maid,
    starts crying witch,
    naming the same
    witches we do see.
    She follows Ann
    around after meeting,
    inquires about joining
    us later at Ingersoll’s.
    Ann asks if we should
    fold Ruth into the blanket
    of our group.
    I scratch my head.
    â€œWhat know you of Ruth Warren?”
    â€œShe be maid to John
    and Rebecca Proctor.
    And my father and John Proctor
    stand on different sides
    of the church aisle.”
    I advise, “Let us not invite
    her into the group yet,
    but test her loyalty.
    We have been given
    a power here together,
    we best retain—
    to do so we must be strong
    and we must be stable.
    Nothing foul among us.”

LEADERSHIP
    Ann Putnam Jr., 12
    Mercy and I agree—
    in order for us to be stable
    someone must take up the head,
    must direct the troop through battle,
    one of us hold the torch
    and shout out command,
    else we shall see things unlike
    and our voice be scattered,
    the body that makes us strong
    cut into many pieces.
    Betty too young, Abigail too eager,
    Elizabeth wavers like a loose tooth,
    and Margaret without rank and stature
    and breeding and brain—
    It must be me.
    I am the rightful leader.

ANNOYANCE
    Ann Putnam Jr., 12
    â€œThey sent Betty away.”
    Abigail heaves and snorts as she speaks.
    She wedges next to me, so I squeeze
    into the back of the bench.
    I search for Mercy, who was to meet me
    at Ingersoll’s an hour ago.
    â€œReverend now depends on me alone
    to tell him of the Invisible World.
    I seen witches all last night. Goody Proctor
    and Goody Nurse and Goody Good.”
    â€œAbigail.” I wish to fasten my hand
    over her mouth. “Tell not our elders
    what you see without first speaking to me.”
    â€œBut Reverend wants me to—”
    I cut her words. “Speak not.
    Do ye understand me?”
    She nods. At this moment,
    the sight of Abigail, the scratch of her voice,
    brings my lunch to my throat.
    Where be Mercy?
    â€œI must go,” I say.
    â€œOh, me too. I’ll come with thee,”
    Abigail chirps.
    I hurry toward the door.
    â€œWhat have ye seen?” Goodman Rhea
    asks as I make to leave the tavern.
    â€œGoody Proctor did bite and pinch me.”
    Abigail thrusts forth her arm.
    â€œLet us see.”
    Goodman Rhea bars my exit.
    I wish to box