Page 1 of Damnation
Chapter One
Thomas
September 12th, 1691
The air is colder now, with autumn fast underway. The harvest has begun, and this season is proving to be a prosperous one indeed. My wife Ann is doing well with managing the household and our seven children, though I can’t deny my patience with her wanes by the day. The entitlement and disrespect she serves those around her has everyone confused as to who truly owns a majority of the land in Salem. Thought to be a kind and gentle woman when we first married, disdain is a more appropriate word to describe my affections for my wife these days.
Setting down my pen, I look over my words as the ink settles into the pages of my leatherbound journal. I’ve been carryingthis with me for years now, typically only writing in it from time to time when I’m in need of a cathartic release.
From the outside, I live a charmed life. Being one of the most successful businessmen and landowners in a small village like Salem, Massachusetts definitely has its benefits. So does being well connected with good friends like Samuel Parris, the town’s reverend. The only two things that our townsfolk seem to care about are our crops and our God.
Unfortunately, it somehow feels like it’s not enough.
My brother, Edward, steps through the door, paying little mind or care to the fact that I do not wish him to be here.
“Brother.” He nods. “I’m heading to the tavern, will you join me?”
I sigh, closing my journal and tucking it into the inner pocket of my jacket as I stand.
“Why do you feel the need for company when you’re such a proficient consumer all by yourself?”
Edward throws his head back like I am the most amusing man to walk the Earth.
“No truer words have ever been spoken, but do not deny you want an excuse to be away from Ann, Thomas.”
I grimace at that and nod, gesturing for him to lead the way.
We walk through my expansive house as we head for the tavern. This house was a painstakingly slow project. We could have very well built something half the size twice as fast, but my father always spoke of proving your wealth, your worth. He recounted through my boyhood that a fine house makes a fine man, and I was determined to be the finest in the village. Arrogant of me? Absolutely, but it’s that arrogance that has put me where I am today.
My home is just down the road from the center of the village. It affords me the illusion of privacy while providing the comforts of anything my dependents or I shall desire. People mill aboutthe village, tending to their businesses and homes as Edward and I step through the doors of Ingersoll’s Tavern. Nathaniel Ingersoll is behind the bar, nodding to us as he pours Joseph Hutchinson a beer. Edward and I take a seat at our usual table when Nathaniel moves to us.
“What will you be having?” he asks.
“Two whiskeys, Nathaniel. Many thanks.” Edward nods at the bar owner.
Nathaniel moves behind the bar just as trouble in human form stumbles in from the back. My brother’s love of drink hardly compares to the devotion Thomas Preston holds for it. The man single-handedly keeps Ingersoll’s alive and well, I swear it.
“Friends!” he cheers happily, slurring his words as he drops into the empty seat at our table.
I mutter under my breath with displeasure. I’ve never been too fond of Preston. Never been too fond of many in this village aside from Parris and my brother, really. Preston is not the finest company to keep, but he provides a level of entertainment in an otherwise uneventful town, and after enough libations, he’s almost tolerable.
“What has you in such high spirits?” Edward pokes fun.
“God has bestowed the highest glory unto me and my own. Why not have such a spirit about the day?”
“What glory might that be, Preston? The bravery to get out of bed in the morning?” I scoff.
“That as well.” He nods, as if I were providing him with another thing to be grateful for.
Dizzy fool.
“My cattle gave life to three calves the morning after last. Rebecca was sure we would lose at least one, but they grow stronger by the day. Imagine! Four cattle of my very own. We shall want no more!”
My brother does him the good service of feigning interest, whereas I shake my head in irritation and focus on the drink Nathaniel hands to me. Some men are so grateful for so little. Do not forsake me for an unholy man, I, too, believe in God’s gift of blessings all the same, but thick heads like Preston fail to realize you ought not wait for gifts to be thrust upon you, but rather be persistent in the pursuit of them, and your blessings will grow tenfold. He has not, which is why he is nearly forty-seven years of age and with what to show? I suppose I should rejoice for the poor fool, though, may he embody happiness wherever he may find it.
Round after round is brought to the table until we are all good and subdued.
“How hath I guessed I’d find you heathens here,” Parris tuts, though there is no judgment in his tone.
