Hour of the Witch(113)

“Yes. And she lost her baby, the infant taken, in my opinion, due to the spite that exudes like sweat from the skin of Mary Deerfield. Look at how all that she touches withers and dies! She is barren and makes the world around her a desert of dry bones that do not ever rise up: my servant and Peregrine’s dead baby are but two of the casualties in her wasteland.”

    “Indeed,” agreed Adams. “I see more than coincidence here.”

“And I know it has worried Peregrine greatly that while her husband has no designs on Mary Deerfield, it seems clear that Mary allows her eyes to linger too long and with lust on Jonathan Cooke,” Beth volunteered.

“What precisely is the point of this revelation?” asked Wilder.

“Yes, Beth,” Mary said, unable to restrain herself. “Am I a harlot or a witch? When I was here last, I stood accused of lusting after Henry Simmons. Today? It is my own son-in-law!”

She felt her scrivener’s hand on her elbow, but this time her outburst was not viewed as quite so problematic. Both Wilder and Endicott were nodding. Then Wilder said, “Jonathan Cooke seems to be incapable of restraining himself when it comes to a great many vices, but today we are not investigating them.”

“I was simply answering Magistrate Winslow’s question about what I know of Peregrine,” said Beth.

“Who dost thou believe gave Mary the coin with the Devil’s mark?” Adams asked.

“I suspect it was the woman who preceded me here.”

“Constance Winston?”

“Yes.”

“Constance is not on trial,” said the governor. “Hast thou any proof to support that allegation?”

She shook her head.

“Then didst thou ever see Mary evidence possession?” Endicott pressed.

“No, but her possession is of a more insidious sort: it is a slow poison she brings into this world, and one she hides well.”

Adams nodded as if this observation was sage and insightful commentary, rather than character aspersion founded on nothing. The magistrates looked back and forth, endeavoring to see if any of them had more questions. When none did, Adams thanked the goodwife and the governor dismissed her.

    After Beth Howland had left, Adams addressed Mary directly. “Mary Deerfield, I understand thou hast people thou wouldst like to speak in thy defense. Wouldst thou like to begin?”

“I would,” she said, and she looked at her scrivener. They were going to start with the midwife.





I have been examined by a jury of women, including a midwife most respected by the Church, and there is upon my body no sign of the Devil.

    —The Testimony of Mary Deerfield, from the Records and Files of the Court of Assistants, Boston, Massachusetts, 1663, Volume I





Thirty-Seven



Mary reminded the magistrates of one of the pronounced indignities she had endured in the jail.

“Thou wilt recall that thou sent a jury of three women to have me stripped naked and searched for the mark of the Devil,” she said. “Among them was Susanna Downing, a midwife. I present her to thee.”

The silver-haired midwife bowed before the men on the bench.

“Goody Downing,” Mary asked, “didst thou search my skin from scalp to the soles of my bare feet?”

“We did, yes.”

“And didst thou find any mark of the Devil or sign of a witch’s teat?”

“No. We did not.”

Adams said, “Mary, we know this. Thou needn’t have brought Goody Downing back.”

“I wanted to be sure that the bench heard from the midwife herself. My body is clean.”

“We know that. Goody Downing, thou needn’t waste any more of thy day here,” Adams continued. Mary could tell that he was annoyed, but she had made her point. At least she thought she had until Adams added, “And, Mary, simply because thou hast not yet been marked does not mean thou art not a witch or hast not signed a covenant with the Devil. Yes, if thou hast a mark, it would suggest thou art a witch; but just because thy body is clean, it does not mean thou art not one.”

“But it is a factor to consider, Caleb,” said Wilder.

    “It is,” the other magistrate agreed, but it was clear the factor mattered little to him.

“Prithee, may I add something?” the midwife asked.

“Certainly,” said the Governor.

“Mary Deerfield has been present at births with me and has always been most helpful. And the babies are breathing still. I have faith that she has not been enticed by Satan.”

“I am sure there are women in this city who currently are with child who do not share thy faith,” said Adams. “Look at what happened to her own daughter-in-law: we have established that Mary’s presence smothered the life inside Peregrine Cooke.”

“Forgive me,” interjected Hull. “I mean thee no disrespect, but how did we establish that?”

“The scrivener is correct, Caleb,” said Wilder.

Mary thought Adams might argue, but he simply rolled his eyes. “Dost thou have anything more to add, Goody Downing?”

“No, sir.”

“Thou art excused,” the governor told her. He sounded tired, and his weariness frightened Mary: he was a possible ally, and he was fatigued—too old to fight on her behalf. She knew in her heart the battle was lost, but still, she couldn’t help but hope for a miracle. “Who is next?”