Salem Silenced

Life is precious. More than most people realize.

Well, that is, people don’t actually realize just how precious life can be until it’s gone. But what am I kidding? Life is supposed to be precious, like how death is supposed to be brooding (spoiler alert: it isn’t). People just assume that because life and death are opposites, that what they are should also be opposites, but that’s just wrong.

Because Death saved my life.

I wake up to faint light drifting through the curtain and smile lovingly, rolling over and opening my eyes, kissing the face of my husband, who stirred gently as I did so.

“Good morning,” I murmur, and roll over again, pulling the blanket off him and holding it around my bare chest. He pushes himself up further in the bed, laying still and bare, with an amused twitch in his eye.

“Good morning,” He reciprocated, leaning over the side of the bed, most likely to get dressed. I turn away and slip behind the curtain strung around the tub, dropping the blanket and shimmying into my nightgown from the night before. When I pull the curtain back around again, I’m met with a kiss against my lips. I smile against it and pull back gently.

“John,” I say softly and he smiles back to me.

“Alice…” He counters, voice smooth, and I close my eyes again, feeling his hands through the light fabric of my nightgown. He kisses me again before I open my eyes. “I have to go, I’ll see you later.” He says, and I smile cheekily, nodding gently.

“I’ll see you later,” I echo and as I let go of him, wrap my arms around myself in a feeble hug as I watch him leave. Then I cross the tub and go to the kitchen, hanging a kettle of water over the stove and reach for my copy of William Shakespeare's finest works. I flip to my bookmarked page; The Phoenix and The Turtle.

Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right.

I look up as the kettle goes off and put down my book, lifting the kettle off from above the stove and pouring it into the tub. I smile as steam lifts up from the tub and turn, hanging the kettle again before I slip out of my nightgown and into the tub, sighing as I sink into the hot water.

When on a walk through the town a while later, I jump as a child runs in front of me and stop, dropping my basket with a small gasp. The child looks over his shoulder.

“Sorry!” He calls, and I reciprocate a small smile, bending down to pick the fallen items from my basket when I knock my head against someone else's. We both pull back and I blink, seeing it’s a woman who kneels in front of me, looking sheepish in her now wrinkled bonnet.

“Sorry,” She says, and I smile, leaning forward again to pick one of the apples.

“No it’s fine, I should’ve been paying more attention anyways,” I say. She shakes her head, handing me a loaf of bread as we stand.

“Guess we’re both at fault,” She tells me, smiling. I find myself mirroring her, glancing down as she places the bread in my basket.

“Thank you,” I say, and looping my elbow under the handle of my basket, extend my hand to her. She looks down and shakes my head, and I’m surprised I hadn’t before noticed she wore gloves. She smiles as she shakes my hand.

“I’m Rose,” She tells me. “Rose Sammuel.” I nod, smiling back at her.

“Alice Parker,” I say. “Nice to meet you.” Her smile broadens and she gestures around the town.

“Would you like to join me?” She asks. “I was just going to run a few errands, but I suppose it would be nice to get acquainted.” I nod, my hand retracting back to hook under my elbow, ensuring the hold on my basket.

“That’d be nice,” I admit, pivoting to fall into step beside her. “My husband and I just recently moved.” Glancing to Rose, I can see her nod.

“That explains the unfamiliarity,” She says with a smile. “In that case; welcome to Salem.”