Chapter Twelve - The widow's son

"How was your Christmas vacation?" Roger plopped down in a chair next to Felicity.

"Fine," Felicity said, somewhat distracted by her reading.

"Whatcha got there?" Roger lifted the cover of the book Felicity was reading. It was The Burroughs of Massachusetts and Maine. "So what do we know about those people?"

"Not much yet," Felicity said in a rather annoyed voice to Roger. "I'd know more if I could read the book."

"Sorry," said Roger, who got up to go talk to Sarah on the other side of the reception room. She was working on her algebra.

Felicity had found the book in the small bookshop near Gringotts in Providence and had bought it with money her grandfather had given her for Christmas. Her parents had found it a curious choice for a 13-year-old to choose as a gift.

"I don't believe we are even related to any Burroughs," her mother had said. "There are none on my side of the family. Are there on yours, Martin?"

Martin Stockwell had shaken his head no.

What the book told her about the Burroughs was that George Burroughs was the only minister indicted and executed in Salem in 1692. He had served as minister of Salem Village and was one of a succession of ministers who had left the village in the years before the trials.

He was charged, arrested and brought back to Salem from Wells, Maine, where he had been living.

Many members of the Salem Village and Andover testified against him. They had called him the "ring leader" of the witches, and a priest of the devil.

Cotton Mather, a minister from Boston who had, in many ways, instigated the hysteria in Salem Village, had taken a particular interest because of Burroughs' unorthodox religious beliefs and practices.

Burroughs was found guilty and executed on August 19, 1692. His hanging was the only one attended by Cotton Mather, who had urged the crowd against him.

Felicity had wondered if Cotton Mather was any relation to the headmaster. If so, it would have explained why he might have been trying to keep people away from Miss Brattle. The book had given some insight to Miss Brattle's family, as well.

One of the few critics of the events in Salem had been Thomas Brattle of Boston. Felicity recalled a painting of Thomas Brattle hanging over the fireplace in Miss Brattle's tower apartment.

But all this happened so long ago. Surely the families were still not holding a grudge after all these centuries? Then Felicity remembered something her aunt had told her last summer.

That the first Lord Voldemort's family had been the cause of considerable trouble in the magical world and continued to be so, even to this day. Could Cotton Mather or Dr. Mather have any connection to Voldemort?

It didn't seem very likely when she thought about it. Other than keeping her or anyone else from seeing Miss Brattle, who might be ill for all Felicity knew, Dr. Mather had not acted in the least bit sinister.

The book continued.

Following his execution, Burroughs' widow and only son, Hiram, had taken the body and returned to Maine. Within a few months several hundred families from Salem had followed suit. They first found protection in Wells before moving far inland to what was then the uninhabited woods of northwestern Maine.

Felicity looked out the window of the library. It was now mid-February and the snow lay in drifts across the fields and woods of Salem. In some ways, she thought, not much had changed here from the time the Burroughs and others had arrived.

"Let's send her an owl," Sarah said, looking up from her books.

"Who?" Felicity asked, startled out of her studies by the sudden suggestion from Sarah.

"Miss Brattle." Sarah went on with her suggestion. "Dr. Mather said no one could visit her but he didn't say anything about not writing her."

Felicity turned her chair to face Sarah. "Sarah, that is a wonderful idea."

For weeks Felicity, Sarah and Roger had wondered about a whole group of questions. Each one had seemed to spawn more in their minds. Miss Brattle may have spoken in riddles but it was better than nothing; even Sarah agreed with that.

Felicity wrote a short note to Roger telling him what they planned to do and asking him to meet them at Franklin Hall following their study hall that evening. When he arrived, the three sat a table at the far end of the room and composed their letter:

Dear Miss Brattle,

We hope you are well. We are sorry that we cannot visit you in person but, as you know, Dr. Mather will not permit it. We have a few questions we would like to ask, please.

We went to the graveyard by the church last fall and noticed the Burroughs' graves seem important as our scarves seemed to point to them in the wind. Is this important?

Are you any relation to Thomas Brattle?

We also think that the spring equinox is important, as well; should we be there on that day?

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Felicity Stockwell, Roger Williams and Sarah Goldstine.

Felicity took the letter upstairs and sent Solomon on his way with it. A few days later, an owl flew down and perched on the window ledge at Franklin Hall 319. It carried Miss Brattle's reply.

Dear Miss Stockwell, Mr. Williams and Miss Goldstine,

Thank you for your letter. I'm sorry that I have been unable to meet with you. I fear that Dr. Mather had made that quite difficult. Those Slytherin boys are always up to no good.

You three are quite clever, indeed.

I am a descendant of Thomas Brattle.

You are quite correct that the Burroughs are important. You must be at the Burroughs' grave at sunrise of the spring equinox, all three of you.

Felicity, remember your motto from the Book of Keys.

Sincerely,

Miss Eva Pratt Brattle

"So that's it!" Roger exclaimed, as he looked at the letter. "When is the equinox?"

Sarah pulled out a small paperback from the reserved shelf. It was The Farmers Almanac, published in Lewiston. "This should tell us," she said, flipping to the page for March.

"Sunrise on March 20th is at 5:43 a.m. The 20th is on a Saturday. The equinox itself occurs at 6:49 a.m.," Sarah said.

"No wonder you got an A in sacred geometry," Roger said.

"So we should be at the Burroughs' grave before 5:43 on the 20th of March," Felicity repeated.

The three agreed. They also decided to send Miss Brattle one more letter explaining what they were going to do.

Miss Brattle, however, never replied. It was not because she did not wish to; it was because she had never received the letter at all.

Dr. Foymal had seen Solomon flying towards Miss Brattle's window and had cast a spell on the bird, causing it to land at his window instead. He had read the short note and had passed it on to Dr. Mather.

Dr. Mather had puzzled over the cryptic note and had briefly considered questioning the three students about the matter, but decided, instead, to keep an eye on them. It had not done him much good, for their actions seemed completely normal. The only thing out of the ordinary was the scarves that the three would wear on occasion. Wherever had three young American wizards acquired Hogwarts' house scarves?

The bell on Sarah's alarm clock rattled to life.

Felicity had not been able to sleep that night and now it was early morning of March 20th. Sarah reached over and fumbled for her glasses. Without them she was as blind as a bat. "Morning already," she said.

"Yup," said Felicity, pulling on her skirt.

The two girls got dressed as quickly as they could. Felicity tied her Gryffindor tie around her neck and tucked it into her sweater before heading down the back stairs and quietly out the door with Sarah.

The air was cool and damp. Several days of thaw had caused mud season to come early to Maine and had made the ground soft and wet with the melting snow. Roger stood by the door.

"Ready?" he asked softly.

The girls nodded and the three of them headed down to road to the church. They would have walked across the fields in the front of the school but it was too wet for that. They did not say much as they walked along. The sky was just showing the light of dawn.

They walked past the headmaster's house. It seemed dark, as if no one was awake. This assumption was wrong. Dr. Mather stood looking out the window as the three passed on the road. What were they up to, he wondered. Whatever it was, he decided, it couldn't be that much trouble; not at this early hour.

He sat down at the table and began to read this morning's copy of the American Prophet, going over the latest exchange rate between wizarding money and that of the non-magical world.

Felicity, Sarah and Roger entered the graveyard a few minutes early. They stood in front of the odd little building, examining the granite stone which made up its door. The sun was now up and rising higher in the sky. It was a little before six.

Felicity shivered; she was not sure if it was due to the cool air or the surroundings.

Dr. Mather shivered, too. For he had just looked at the date on his paper: March 20th. The equinox. Almost at once, the pieces of the puzzle snapped together in his mind. The note to Miss Brattle; the Gryffindor tie of Miss Stockwell; the scarves of the Hogwarts houses; and this date.

He looked out the window, but the three students were nowhere to be seen. He grabbed his coat and broom and dashed out the door. At first he did not really know where he was headed, but, in an instant, he flew to the entrance of Dickinson Hall. He threw open the heavy front door and stormed up the stairs to Dr. Foymal's apartment, banging on the door with his fist.

Mrs. Foymal answered, holding a baby in her arms. "Dr. Mather, what's wrong?" the startled woman asked.

Dr. Mather pushed by her into the room. "Where's your husband?" he demanded.

Mrs. Foymal blinked and then said, "In the bedroom."

Dr. Mather said not a word, but went directly to the Foymals' bedroom. Mrs. Foymal could hear an excited conversation between the two. After a bit the two men came out. Dr. Foymal had put on clothing rather hastily. Each took a broom and went out the door.

Mrs. Foymal watched as the two launched themselves from the courtyard and climbed into the morning sky. What on earth, she thought, was going on?

At the graveyard a great deal was about to go on. The sun had risen to the point where it was just casting the long shadow of the church steeple across the graves.

"319," Sarah said, looking at the carved letters. "Felicity, it's our room number!" She and Felicity took out their keys.

Just as Sarah said it, a shaft of light passed through the windows of the church steeple and landed on the sun in the center of the stone door. It illuminated a small opening. Sarah stepped up to the door and looked at the slit.

"It's a keyhole," Felicity said. "Sarah, try your key."

Sarah slid her key into the opening and tried to turn it.

"It won't work! Felicity, the motto; it must be your key."

"You'd better hurry," Roger said with alarm in his voice. Drs. Mather and Foymal, who had climbed high into the sky, had spotted the three and were closing in on the group.

Felicity stepped up and placed her key into the hole. At once the great stone dissolved away to nothing. A blinding white light enveloped the three. As it did Roger could hear Dr. Mather's voice behind them. "You there!" he shouted. As he did, Roger put his hand on each of the girls' backs and pushed them into the opening as he followed.

The stone reappeared.

Dr. Mather uttered something under his breath. "Come on!" he barked at Foymal. "We have to get going."

"Where?" asked Dr. Foymal.

"Salem, Salem, Massachusetts; and there is no time to lose," he said, rising into the air.

"That will take hours even flying at top speed," Foymal protested, as he followed.

Roger, Sarah and Felicity found themselves gently floating over a lawn in a town none of them recognized.

"Where are we?" Roger whispered.

They were near a harbor with boats gently rocking in the water. No one was about and the park seemed deserted.

"Felicity!" Sarah said in a panicked voice. "Look at that!" Sarah pointed to a trash can next to them; on it was printed, "City of Salem, Massachusetts." Above this was an image of a witch on a broom.

The irony of Salem, the one place in all of America where witches were prohibited from going, using a witch as a symbol was not lost on the three as they floated there.

"We're not supposed to be here!" Sarah said, her eyes wide with fear.

With that, Felicity started to float downward. As her feet touched the ground, a silvery rectangle appeared before her.

She looked down and could see the figure of a young man, perhaps 17 or 18, dressed in colonial-era clothing, looking up at her.

Roger and Sarah had now floated over so that each hovered on the sides.

"The tweens," Felicity said.

"What?" Roger was looking at the young man.

Felicity knelt down and extended her hand.

"Felicity!" Sarah looked as if she might pass out.

The silvery material, which looked as if it should have been liquid, was not a liquid at all. Rather it was like the scales of an animal. It parted and Felicity was able to grasp the young man's right hand. She began to stand up. As she did so, the young man rose with her. Roger and Sarah, seeing that the man was quite a bit bigger than Falicity, braced him on either side.

When he was fully erect, he stood before the three. Roger and Sarah slowly dropped to the ground now, as well. He was about Roger's height and appeared to be translucent in the early morning sun.

After a moment he spoke.

"I am Hiram Burroughs, the Widow's Son."

Sarah gasped aloud.

"And you are The Raisers," he said. "What was done is now undone."

Felicity looked at him. "We're the Raisers?" she asked. "But how is that possible? There is nothing special about us."

"You are the Raisers," Hiram said. "Sarah Goldstine, daughter of the Hebrews, whose people have suffered more than we. Your people found safety here in America when all about them was danger. You who were steadfast and loyal to your friends. Your ancestors are from the house of Hufflepuff. You are one of The Raisers."

He then turned to Roger.

"Roger Williams, descendent of the founder of Rhode Island and the Providence Plantations, where our people found refuge following the curse of the first Lord Voldemort. You give strength where it is needed and gentleness when it is wise, you are Ravenclaw. You are one of The Raisers."

Finally, he looked at Felicity.

"Felicity Stockwell, the child of light. The holder of the key. The one from two worlds. Only you could touch the ground of Salem and raise me from the tweens. For only you had come from both the magical and muggle worlds. Your mother may not be magical but she carried magic. nonetheless. You who are Gryffindor. You are the Raiser."

The young man looked at the ground as a snake slipped among the leaves. "Slytherin", Hiram said, as it slid by. He turned and faced a number of other ghostly figures, which now stood in the park. "The first lord Voldemort's curse is broken," he announced. "Our people may return."

"So mote it be," the assembled answered back.

With that, the young man and the others lifted into the air and vanished. The blinding light again enveloped Felicity, Sarah and Roger, who, at once, found themselves standing before the great stone door of the small building. The keyhole had vanished and the warm sun shown down on them.