In the early morning of March 2, 1692, the meetinghouse was packed. They had never been this diligent when they came to hear Paris preach.
Order in the meetinghouse had plainly collapsed. The villagers sat on the dark wooden benches, leaning together and whispering, until Sheriff Herrick had to shout, "Silence!"
Sarah Osborne and Sarah Good were both outsiders in the town. But while Good was visibly destitute, Osborne had been unable to attend church services because of illness.
Osborne's first husband had named Thomas and John Putnam as heirs in his will, but the two men had embezzled the property named in it. Osborne had no choice but to wage a lawsuit against Salem's prominent family for ten years.
After the hearing began, Hassan asked her, "The guard said he heard you talking to someone last night. What were you saying?"
Osborne looked at Hassan calmly. "I heard a suspicious voice."
"Was the Devil speaking to you?" Hassan asked.
"I do not know the Devil you speak of," Osborne replied blankly. "I heard a voice telling me not to attend the congregation of believers."
"Why did you yield to the Devil and never attend services again after that?" Hassan pressed without pause.
"She has not attended services for fourteen months," Osborne's Irish husband said from within the crowd.
Whispers rose through the crowd again.
"Silence!" Hassan said, slapping the table. The villagers immediately quieted down.
"I had a dream," Osborne said softly. "A Native American—perhaps he was—pulled my hair and dragged me to the front door. Like every New England woman, I would rather die than be captured alive by him."
"And then?" Hassan asked.
"I woke up, and then I sat here," Osborne said. "Waiting for your judgment, Judge."
"Do you think Indians cursed you?" Hassan asked.
"Who