Today in Salem: The smells of animal sweat and leather cling to a group of men as they tie up their horses. They’d left Salem at daybreak and ridden hard to get to Boston by this afternoon, stopping only twice to water the horses and eat. With no time to waste, the men have come straight to the Governor himself: Will he reprieve Rebecca Nurse from execution?

A clerk waves the men in and tells them to be quick about it. Governor Phips has more pressing matters to attend to, he says, and nods his head toward another room, where the Governor’s council is debating how to pay for the wars in Maine. Soldiers, sailors, garrisons – all of them cost money, and unless these men have extra coins in their pockets, they’d best speak quickly.

Three documents, one request

The men step into Phips’s office and get straight to the point, unrolling three documents on the Governor’s desk.

First, the petition, signed by 39 of Rebecca Nurse’s family and neighbors, including seven members of the powerful Putnam family, several prominent merchants, even two people who’d testified against Rebecca and have since changed their minds. It’s meant nothing to the Salem magistrates and the high court. But perhaps it will influence the Governor.

Second, a statement from Rebecca’s jury foreman, explaining why the jury had changed their verdict from Not Guilty to Guilty, and the question about what Rebecca meant by saying that two fellow prisoners (who were also confessed witches) were “one of us.”

Third, they present a letter from Rebecca Nurse herself, explaining that when she said “one of us” she meant the two women were fellow prisoners, not witches, and her remark shouldn’t count as evidence against her. “And I being something hard of hearing, and full of grief, none informing me how the court took up my words, and therefore had not opportunity to declare what I intended,” she wrote.

The Governor taps his fingers as they describe how prayerful Rebecca is, how caring for the poor, and how deeply she is loved and respected. Will Phips grant her a reprieve so she can appeal the verdict?

Yes, he says. Yes, yes. He asks the clerk to scribble a few lines, then signs it quickly. “Now if that’s all,” he says, and strides out the door and toward the other room, without finishing the sentence.

Tomorrow in Salem: Where there’s smoke

Today in Salem: It’s Communion Sunday. The tavern owner has filled the communion cup with wine, and now it’s being passed from person to person as they each take a sip and consider. Five women have been found guilty of witchcraft this week, and each of them is condemned to death. Is it wrong to pray for their souls? Are they truly beyond redemption?

The smell of wine is overwhelming in the heat as the minister leads them in the Lord’s Prayer.

Thy will be done.

A long pause follows the final Amen, and the minister looks triumphant and grief-stricken at the same time when the elders stand and ask the congregation a single question:

Should the once-beloved Rebecca Nurse be excommunicated?

It’s a sad but quick vote. Rebecca has been a full member of the church for 20 years, much loved and well-respected. But now they know: Her kind words and good deeds were a facade. Just as the single communion cup has been shared by all, their vote is unanimous: Yes.

In the afternoon, the warden escorts Rebecca from the jail to the meeting house. She is frail and exhausted, but stands tall as the Reverend reads a list of her sins, then declares, in the name of Christ, that she is spiritually unclean and will be severed from the church. Amen.

Tomorrow in Salem: APPEAL: the beloved Rebecca Nurse asks for a reprieve