It took all of John Proctor's strength of will to damp down his pride and knock upon the door of Reverend Parris's house. He avoided the place at all costs and had since Parris had become minister, and there was a small and fanciful part of his mind – a part that he often managed to ignore, for fancies were ungodly – that imagined the house to be filled with riches; gold candlesticks and fine furniture, all draped in rich fabric, with women lounging about in states of undress, never mind that Parris had a small daughter and, if what Elizabeth had heard was true, also a niece of some tender age.
He clenched his jaw and rapped firmly on the door with one fist.
It swung open almost immediately, and for a moment, John reeled, thinking that perhaps his fantastical imaginings were not quite so inaccurate, for the door was answered not by Reverend Parris, or by his daughter Betty (who, despite her father's desecration of the church, was still young and innocent), but by a tall girl, no doubt in her late teen years, with her hair loose around her shoulders. She quickly raised a hand to touch it self-consciously.
"I am sorry, sir," she told him, stroking it back. "I was not expecting company, and I did not think to cover my hair…"
By the time she had said all this, John had recovered from his initial surprise at finding a woman who looked as this woman did in the Reverend's house, and guessed who she might be.
"Reverend Parris's niece, I presume?"
"That is correct," she said. "My name is Abigail Williams. My uncle is absorbed in prayer and could not answer the door…"
Absorbed in counting his money, more likely than not.
"But if you wish to come inside, then you may speak to him when he is finished."
"Thank you," John said, inclining his head slightly. The girl – woman – Abigail Williams – stepped aside, holding the door open for him, and he stepped inside.
The Reverend's house was sparsely furnished, which was a relief – it was not so very different from John's own, save that the Bible was rather more prominently displayed, on a large stand something like an alter.
"Would you care for a drink?" Abigail asked, indicating for him to sit at the table. "Water, tea, cider?" She caught John's slight frown, and quickly added, "The Bible tells us that hospitality is a virtue."
"No, thank you," he told her, though he could only think that the serving of cider was something that a wife was to do – not a girl welcoming a man into her house for the first time.
She nodded, then murmured, "Won't you excuse me?" and stepped out of sight behind the stairs that John could only assume led up to the bedrooms, returning moments later with her hair neatly tucked beneath a kerchief – a sign of modesty that relieved him.
"Now," she said, seating herself gracefully at the table, far too close to him for proper comfort, "Do tell me, sir… what is your business here? I think that I do not recognize you from Meeting…"
"You would not," John said a little shortly, displeased to be reminded of Meeting and hoping that this girl did not intend to chastise him for failing to attend. "I do not often go to Meeting. I do not live in Salem, you see, but some distance outside the town, and my wife is sickly."
"Your wife?" Perhaps it was John's imagination, but he thought that he saw Abigail's lips twitch down, as though in displeasure at the thought. "I thought not that you had a wife, sir – you seem too young."
John managed a laugh. "Not so, Miss. I am certainly old enough to have a wife. And you should not speak that way to a man that you scarcely know," he added, the smile slipping off his face, to be replaced by a deeply serious look that Abigail matched perfectly.
"Oh, I do apologize, sir," she told him solemnly. "I did not intend to be too forward – I am not long in this town, you see, and not yet accustomed to the formality that is so common here."
"You must learn quickly, with Reverend Parris for a guardian." John could hear a note of mistrustful bitterness in his own voice, and he fancied that perhaps Abigail could detect it as well, though even Elizabeth had never truly noticed how deeply John disliked their reverend, and this Abigail could be no cleverer than Elizabeth.
"I must," Abigail said slowly. "But then, I have so long been told that I am a wild thing, that I have perhaps come to believe it myself, and now I find very little reason to believe differently." She paused a moment, turning and gazing at one of the small, shuttered windows that lined the room, then looked back at John, a polite smile curving her lips. "But then, I am sure that you have not come into the town to hear a silly girl speak so. If you do not come to Salem even for Meeting, then surely this must be of great importance…"
"Not so important," he told her slowly. "It concerns you more than your uncle."
"Me, sir?" Abigail's eyes widened, and John thought that perhaps he saw a flicker of fear within them, though he could not imagine what the girl could be afraid of. "What of me?"
John breathed deeply, for he loathed that he was speaking to a member of Reverend Parris's family of personal matters, but he said, "My wife requires someone to help her. She is sickly, as I have said, and it would be of great benefit to her to have a young and hearty girl to help her…"
"Aye…" Abigail nodded slowly. "Many people find that young and hearty girls are of use to them…"
"You will take the position, then?" asked John. His heart leapt – could it be that he would not have to speak to Parris at all? He could go home to Elizabeth and not have to pretend to care for a word out of their Reverend's mouth.
"Yes, sir," said Abigail, nodding. "My uncle has been most eager for me to find work – he shall be pleased."
Not that you are working for me, I daresay, John thought, but he kept his mouth closed and nodded. "Good. I am glad."
"When shall I start work?" asked Abigail. She tilted her head and a lock of hair escaped her kerchief, slipping down her forehead and hanging beside her eyes. She tucked it up again quickly, and John found himself unable to speak until the curl was hidden once more.
"Oh- Monday," he said, not paying very much attention. "After the day of rest, you know…"
"Yes, naturally."
"Shall I come into town to fetch you?" he asked, and something low in his stomach tightened – surely it was quite wrong for him to hope so fervently that she would say yes. So much more work for you, John – you ought to be hoping that she will say no and save you the difficulty!
"That would be very kind of you," Abigail told him politely. "I would be most grateful."
"Ah- good." He nodded, trying to look as grave as he should have been feeling. "I shall come into the town at dawn on Monday and take you to my home, then."
"What is this?"
John winced very slightly and turned, looking to Reverend Parris, who had just stepped into the room. He had a Bible clutched in one hand and a very suspicious look on his face.
"Reverend," said John, through clenched teeth, looking up at him and forcing a very stiff smile. "I have been speaking to your niece–"
"That much is clear," Reverend Parris said, looking back and forth between Abigail and John. A muscle twitched in the side of his mouth, and John glanced at Abigail, who was looking at her uncle with an expression of absolute unconcern. She did not look as though she feared him in the slightest, and everyone feared something about Reverend Parris.
"He has offered me work, Uncle," said Abigail. "His wife requires a girl to help her, and Mr. Proctor has offered me the position."
"Ah…" The look of suspicion in Reverend Parris's eyes faded slightly, and he nodded. "Good, then. That is good. My thanks, Mr. Proctor – it is so difficult to find work for a young lady who did not grow up in the village…"
"You are most welcome," John told him, now barely able to speak, for the way in which he was grinding his teeth together. "Then, I shall be here on Monday to fetch her."
"Yes, of course." Reverend Parris was smiling a very stiff smile, clearly eager for John to leave.
"Thank you for offering me work, sir," said Abigail, all sweetness, and John turned and all but stalked out, leaving Parris to talk to his niece.
As he shut the door, he heard him say something that sounded very like Improper behaviour, Abigail. John froze momentarily, and heard Abigail say something in a tone that John doubted that Reverend Parris would have tolerated from anyone not family, but strain as John did, he could not make out her words.
"…Nothing, Uncle…" was all he could hear.
He sighed, then shook himself, wondering what was possessing him to be so interested in any member of Parris's family that he would resort to listening at doors. That is most childish of you, John Proctor.
But as he climbed back up onto the cart that he had hitched to the pole outside the Reverend's house and flicked the reigns, as the horse drew away from the building, John could not help picturing that loose strand of hair that had fallen so sweetly across Abigail Williams' forehead.