Carolina, I think.”
“You just ‘woke up’?” Isaac asked.
Chapter Five
“I did,” Em said.
“I remember Em touching me,” George said. “That’s the first thing I felt since the crushing realization that they weren’t going to stop, that they were going to hang me.”
“And you didn’t know any of the . . . others,” Isaac said. “You weren’t friends or familiars.”
“I’d been in the Boston jail with the other women since April,” Em said. “We’d been through so much together that we were more than acquaintances. Still, I think if we never saw each other again, that would be fine, too. I felt strongly that it was up to me because I was in the best shape physically and mentally.”
Em smiled at Isaac.
“Alice and John let me off on Beacon Hill,” Em said. “It was just dawn. Like I said, I looked frightful. I needed to find a place to hide. When I did, I found Isaac and the children there.”
“My grandfather,” Isaac said.
“Rabbi Isaac Peres,” Em said. “His wife, Emogene Peres, had been hanged for witchcraft in Spain. He knew what had happened to me by looking at me. He and their three young children — two girls and a boy — moved to America to get away from the religious persecution disguised as witch trials. Emogene was supposed to go with them, but . . . She saw them coming for her, for all of them, so she tricked Isaac into leaving with the children. She saved them. He could only watch as she was tried for being a Jew and hanged under the name of witchcraft. Isaac had all of her papers and everything. He offered me a deal right then and there. If I helped him with the children, he would say that I was Emogene.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice; it was also a pretty great deal,” Em said. “I’d studied religion, so Judaism wasn’t a huge stretch for me. Isaac taught me. He found work on the docks. He found us a home. He lived in the outside world, while I took care of our home. I wasn’t able to say a word, not one, for almost a year. I had to wear something over my face for six months or more. It wasn’t easy, but we made a life. After a year or so, we were happy, and the children thrived.”
“Sephardic Jews such as us had been chased through Spain and Portugal, hunted in the name of witchcraft,” Isaac said.
“He was furious about what had happened to me and the others,” Em said. “And he never got over the sacrifice Emogene made for him and their children. He helped me feed and care for the others.”
Em smiled at the great man’s descendant sitting before her.
“He was a good, decent man,” Em said.
“They built a Jewish community here in Boston,” Isaac said.
“Orphanage,” Em said. “There were so many children who’d lost their parents, and Jewish orphans had nothing, no one.”
“They had you,” Isaac said. “Isaac’s son, Solomon, became a rabbi like his father. Isaac’s daughter, Devorah, had married Isaac Lopez, and they’d opened a mercantile in 1716.”
“You loved him,” George said. “I remember that.”
“She saved him,” Isaac said. “It’s family lore that my great-great-grandfather would never have survived America without his Emogene.”
“I don’t think I could have ever replaced Isaac’s Emogene,” Em said. “The loss of her never ebbed for Isaac, but we were happy. Yes, I loved him, his children, and their children. After so much horror and crazy goings-on, it was good to live such a simple life. I loved the big, anonymous city. Still do.”
“They read every book they could get our hands on,” Isaac said. “It’s our family tradition to read widely and talk about ideas. Even the youngest child is expected to share what they know. While it’s fairly common to do that now, it was unusual in the 1700s.”
“The Salem Twenty scattered to the winds,” Em said.
“After the fire,” George said.
“Fire?” Isaac asked.
“Five or six years after moving to the homestead — around
“You just ‘woke up’?” Isaac asked.
Chapter Five
“I did,” Em said.
“I remember Em touching me,” George said. “That’s the first thing I felt since the crushing realization that they weren’t going to stop, that they were going to hang me.”
“And you didn’t know any of the . . . others,” Isaac said. “You weren’t friends or familiars.”
“I’d been in the Boston jail with the other women since April,” Em said. “We’d been through so much together that we were more than acquaintances. Still, I think if we never saw each other again, that would be fine, too. I felt strongly that it was up to me because I was in the best shape physically and mentally.”
Em smiled at Isaac.
“Alice and John let me off on Beacon Hill,” Em said. “It was just dawn. Like I said, I looked frightful. I needed to find a place to hide. When I did, I found Isaac and the children there.”
“My grandfather,” Isaac said.
“Rabbi Isaac Peres,” Em said. “His wife, Emogene Peres, had been hanged for witchcraft in Spain. He knew what had happened to me by looking at me. He and their three young children — two girls and a boy — moved to America to get away from the religious persecution disguised as witch trials. Emogene was supposed to go with them, but . . . She saw them coming for her, for all of them, so she tricked Isaac into leaving with the children. She saved them. He could only watch as she was tried for being a Jew and hanged under the name of witchcraft. Isaac had all of her papers and everything. He offered me a deal right then and there. If I helped him with the children, he would say that I was Emogene.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice; it was also a pretty great deal,” Em said. “I’d studied religion, so Judaism wasn’t a huge stretch for me. Isaac taught me. He found work on the docks. He found us a home. He lived in the outside world, while I took care of our home. I wasn’t able to say a word, not one, for almost a year. I had to wear something over my face for six months or more. It wasn’t easy, but we made a life. After a year or so, we were happy, and the children thrived.”
“Sephardic Jews such as us had been chased through Spain and Portugal, hunted in the name of witchcraft,” Isaac said.
“He was furious about what had happened to me and the others,” Em said. “And he never got over the sacrifice Emogene made for him and their children. He helped me feed and care for the others.”
Em smiled at the great man’s descendant sitting before her.
“He was a good, decent man,” Em said.
“They built a Jewish community here in Boston,” Isaac said.
“Orphanage,” Em said. “There were so many children who’d lost their parents, and Jewish orphans had nothing, no one.”
“They had you,” Isaac said. “Isaac’s son, Solomon, became a rabbi like his father. Isaac’s daughter, Devorah, had married Isaac Lopez, and they’d opened a mercantile in 1716.”
“You loved him,” George said. “I remember that.”
“She saved him,” Isaac said. “It’s family lore that my great-great-grandfather would never have survived America without his Emogene.”
“I don’t think I could have ever replaced Isaac’s Emogene,” Em said. “The loss of her never ebbed for Isaac, but we were happy. Yes, I loved him, his children, and their children. After so much horror and crazy goings-on, it was good to live such a simple life. I loved the big, anonymous city. Still do.”
“They read every book they could get our hands on,” Isaac said. “It’s our family tradition to read widely and talk about ideas. Even the youngest child is expected to share what they know. While it’s fairly common to do that now, it was unusual in the 1700s.”
“The Salem Twenty scattered to the winds,” Em said.
“After the fire,” George said.
“Fire?” Isaac asked.
“Five or six years after moving to the homestead — around
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