In 1789 America, it was not unusual for women, especially young  teen or pre-adolescent girls, to be the victims of sexual assaults of varying degrees. Women were regarded as having little worth in comparison to men...and in some cases, even livestock...so if a female mustered the courage to accuse an assailant, her story would be dismissed, at best. At worst, she herself would be severely punished for making such a claim. It was a world where logic and facts took a backseat to superstition and fear, and it was in this environment that thirteen year old Abigail Brooks found herself desperate to solicit the supernatural to find an ally.

The abuse started when she was just eight years old. Abigail was the youngest and only girl in a brood of six boys. Ella, her mother, had died giving birth to her. Her death was bloody, painful, and far from swift. Ella's screams filled the small wood frame home for hours as she pleaded, bargained and begged her god for mercy. But none came. Neighbors locked their doors and huddled together blessing themselves, secretly wishing that Ella would die, along with the child she couldn't seem to expel from her body. 

Ella's husband, Calvin, wouldn't summon the minister. He wouldn't part with the coin that he knew the cleric would require for chanting some prayers or performing last rites. Instead, he held Ella's hand while silently cursing her for the predicament she had put him in. He needed her to survive. She was a good cook and she had borne him many sons. His boys were strong and they helped him work the soil.  In between pregnancies, Ella herself put in many hours each day planting and harvesting as needed. And having a seventh son would mean good fortune. Not only would there be another fieldhand, but seven sons and no daughters would be a sign of great virility. He would be a man amongst men and would garner the respect of  the entire town.

A daughter, on the other hand, would be another mouth to feed, and Calvin knew that for the child to cause this much pain to his wife, it must be female.

After several more hours, Calvin accepted the inevitable and eased his grip on his wife's hand. Her once terrifying and consistent screams had dissolved into the occasional, pathetic  muffled moan. Her demise was very close, and it couldn't come quick enough for Calvin.

More