Destiny Calef has two great passions in her life: her handsome and incredibly sexy professor husband, Robert, and serving the truth of history – particularly that of the world-renowned, infamous witch trials of Salem, Massachusetts.
Granted as part of their research stipend, the couple moves into the old Downing farm, the former residence of the accused witch, John Proctor. It is there where Destiny’s dreams become nightmares, and she is plagued by a recurring vision that occurs at the exact same time of 3:33 a.m. There is no escape from the images that haunt her mind, and no answers with regards to their purpose. Her only hope lies in finding a clue hidden in Robert’s secret library that is locked in the basement’s vault. But Robert refuses to give her the key…
Curiosity and desperation get the better of her and Destiny defies Robert’s orders to steer clear of his library. In that room, she discovers the truth about her husband’s troubled past and his incredible secret… one which will not only turn her life upside down, but will lead to her standing face-to-face with one of history’s most manipulative and notorious accusers of witchcraft, the Reverend Samuel Parris himself. This was a man who was known to get what he wanted, no matter the cost, and the portrait painted by history was nothing compared to his true evil and selfish nature.
Time has brought Destiny to 17th century Salem for a reason, but there are rules regarding changing the course of events, and severe consequences when these rules are broken. Destiny soon discovers that the kinky role-play games she and Robert enjoy enacting in the bedroom are child’s play compared to the harsh deliverance of penance in colonial life. She also learns that things written in the history books are not always the truth, and makes it her mission to not only save innocent lives from the clutches of Samuel Parris, but to let everyone in the future know that what is written is not always the truth.
Author’s Note: I started this piece as a historian, following the treasure map of documents and accountings of the infamous 1692 Witch Trials of Salem. What I discovered between the pages of history were the specters of truth lost in the kaleidoscope of time and concealed in the shadows of those who hungered for power and property. This is not about ghosts, witches or the paranormal as I had originally supposed, given my fascination of the subject matter, rather a love story that stood the test of time. A man and woman of flesh and blood, and how their trust, love and sacrifice broke the chains of evil. Now revealed, I offer that truth to you and pray that your eyes are open to that which is, not that which is desired. ~ Servant of Salem
Except for a tiny beam of light coming from the small basement window, sunlight failed to touch the dark stone walls of the cellar. She carefully picked her way down the poorly lit, steep, narrow stairs to a heavy antique door and rattled the handle. The massive iron lock required an equally large skeleton key, so she scanned the immaculately clean room for traces of disturbed dirt, dust, and signs of use. Finding only a broken analog watch with a calendar feature tucked under the window sill high in the corner, she was reminded that time grew short. If the key wasn’t found quickly, she would be forced to wait for another rare opportunity to be home alone.
Finally, the item was discovered in the crevice of a worm-eaten wood shelf and she quickly entered the office, switched on the light, and shut the door firmly behind her. Before her were stacks of ancient books, artifacts, and period clothing. Picking up a pair of boots, she studied them with confusion. They appeared to be hand stitched, but were so well preserved! Likewise, the men’s breeches, stocking, shirts, and jacket appeared to be homespun, hand stitched, and fairly new. Where did Robert get these amazingly crafted forgeries and why? Did he like to dress in costume when he researched and was too embarrassed to tell her? The technique was not unheard of, and many writers used it to enter into the headspace of the study, but it just would have been nice to know. Having never seen these particular pieces before, she quickly eliminated the possibility that the clothing was for when they role-played when having sex.
Glancing at her watch, she calculated that there was only one more hour to search. Not knowing where to begin, she sat at his desk and opened the drawer on her right. A sepia photograph of beautiful pilgrim girl of about six or seven years old fell to the floor, and she quickly picked it up to examine it. The child’s features were very much like Roberts! Who was she? She could not be the rumored love child of Tituba and the original Robert Calef, could she? Destiny shook her head, reminding herself to think clearly. Besides the fact that the child was missing the more prominent exotic features of the slave and had long, blond hair (which would be genetically unlikely), the simple fact remained that cameras would not be invented for another two hundred years. She looked closer, amazed at the quality of the settings. Perhaps she was just an actress and Robert liked the photo because of his obsession with the Colonial period?
“What are you doing in here?” Robert’s voice caused her to spin in the chair, the photo still in her hand.