Hour of the Witch(112)

“She first came to see me, two years ago, in search of herbs or greens that might help her husband’s seed take root in her womb. Mary Deerfield is devout, and wanted to honor our Lord by fulfilling her role as a mother.”

“Didst thou suggest any?” asked the governor.

“I did. They didn’t work. When I saw her this autumn and winter, I did not recommend others.”

“Art thou saying,” asked Adams, “that she did not ask for advice when she saw thee most recently?” He sounded incredulous.

“That is correct.”

“Then what sorts of things were discussed?”

“We spoke of the weather. The change in seasons. We spoke of her desire to assist Reverend Eliot. That’s what I remember.”

“She did not ask for thine assistance?”

“No. I am not sure in what capacity a friendless old woman like me could help her, other than my suggestions for things she could steep or stew that might make a seed a little happier.”

“She did not ask thee for information about the Devil’s tines?”

“She did not,” Constance answered, which Mary knew was a lie.

    “She did not inquire into the sorts of spells one might cast with such an instrument and a pestle?”

“No. And if she had? I would have been at a loss. I may not spend much time here in the center of this great city, but neither am I cavorting with Satan in the woods.”

“But thou wouldst know the Devil’s mark if thou saw it.”

She nodded. “And I would be scared. I have no desire to meet Him. Not ever. I have seen too much of His likeness here in Boston, even among the saints.”

Mary saw Wilder was failing to suppress a smile. Adams saw it, too, and said, “We have established that Mary Deerfield saw thee.” He looked at the other magistrates. “I think that is sufficient.”

“Sufficient for what?” Wilder asked.

“Proverbs, twelve, twenty-six: ‘The righteous is more excellent than his neighbor; but the way of the wicked seduceth them.’?”

“We do not know that Constance Winston has been a bad influence on Mary Deerfield—or on anyone else, Caleb,” said Wilder. “Nor is Constance on trial.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not yet.” Then he pointed at her and continued, “We know what sort of person thou art.”

“A person with hair that is white and a face well lined,” she said. “In other words, the sort of person unlikely to be noticed, unless one is looking for those who are easily demonized and bullied.”

“Thou art not helping thy friend’s cause with such impudence,” Adams hissed. “Watch thy tongue.”

“I thank thee for the counsel,” she said. “I will.”

And with that, Adams must have felt he had impugned Mary sufficiently, and the woman was dismissed. For a fleeting second, Mary thought that Constance was going to embrace her, but her friend was too smart for that: she knew it wouldn’t help and walked past her without the slightest greeting.

“Is the goodwife Beth Howland present?” Adams asked the constable.

Before he could respond, Mary heard the woman call out from the other side of the room, “Yes, sir. I’m here.”

“We have questions for thee, as well.”

“I am honored to answer them,” she said, stepping forward. She looked prettier than usual as she was sworn in, her bodice and skirt shades of emerald and blue.

    “Tell us, prithee,” began Adams, “what thou knowest of Mary Deerfield and her penchant for evil.”

Mary looked at her scrivener, outraged by how Adams was choosing to begin this questioning—it was as if it was a foregone conclusion that she had been seduced by Lucifer—but even before Hull could suggest a slightly less menacing start to the examination, Wilder leaned in and said, “Caleb, thou canst not be serious.”

“I am quite serious. I will not have the Devil among us.”

“Prithee, think more about thy wording. Ask the goodwife a question that will not demand she respond with a treatise.”

Adams snorted, but began anew. “When thou were most charitable this autumn and took in Catherine Stileman after the girl had spotted her mistress with the Devil’s tines, the two of thee spoke much. True?”

“Yes.”

“And what was the principal subject?”

“We had both begun to suspect that Mary Deerfield had not been ministering to Catherine’s brother, who ultimately died, but was in fact endeavoring to speed his time from this world into the next.”

“Thou believest she was offering Satan a soul so that He might grant her a child of her own. Is this correct?”

“It is. That woman cost us a servant.”

“Didst thou continue to see Catherine after she returned to Thomas Deerfield’s home?” Adams asked, oblivious to the callousness of the witness’s remark. That woman cost us a servant. What a despicable thing to say about William Stileman’s death, Mary thought, and she noted that both Wilder and Endicott looked back and forth between Adams and the goodwife as if a madman and a madwoman were having a conversation in their midst.

“I did not seek her out, but our paths crossed.”

“Thou knowest Peregrine Cooke,” said Daniel Winslow.