Today in Salem: Rev Parris uses a quill to scratch out a letter to his cousin in Boston. I should have done this sooner, he thinks. His daughter Betty is only 9, and it’s final: he needs to send her as far away, as quickly as possible, from the witchcraft hysteria. Perhaps his cousin will take her in.
Little Betty has been suffering from fits and seizures for weeks, cried and shook her way through the hearings for Tituba and the two Sarahs, and was again tormented two nights ago. And today, more of the same. Several ministers have spent all day at the parsonage, fasting and praying. Every time one of the ministers said “Amen,” Betty and her cousin Abigail twisted and jerked, barely under control. The girls know that the word “Amen” means “truth.” Obviously the devil knows it, too.
Rev Parris drips hot wax on the note and presses his seal into it. God’s will be done, he thinks, and hopes he’s doing the right thing. But he’d rather not see his daughter at all, than see her at home in so much distress.