Hour of the Witch(45)

    “Catherine Stileman,” asked the governor, “hast thou ever seen any sign of possession in Mary Deerfield?”

“No, sir,” she said.

Then he spoke to the crowd: “Is there anyone present today who has ever seen any sign of possession in Mary Deerfield?”

Mary waited. Was there someone there willing to risk the wrath of the Lord with a lie? Was there someone who had indeed made a pact with the Devil and she, Mary Deerfield, was the offering? And the wait, though probably not long at all, seemed interminable, and she felt her knees growing wobbly beneath her petticoat. But no one said a word. No one was going to add to Catherine’s allegation by suggesting they had seen any indication that she was possessed.

“Very well,” said the governor. “Let us continue with the petition before us. If we need to turn our attention to witchcraft, we will.” He looked at the magistrates lining the bench on either side of him and then at Catherine. “Tell us something,” he continued.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hast thou ever seen Thomas Deerfield strike his wife? Her petition alleges that he hit her often and without reason.”

“No. Never,” she replied. “He is not that type of man. He is a wonderful master, and my indenture to him has always been a blessing. He is God-fearing and God-loving. I never saw him hit Mary Deerfield. Not even once.”

“Not even once?” Endicott asked. “Thou lived with them since arriving in Boston.”

“No, sir,” she said, and Mary wondered if Thomas was smirking but didn’t dare venture a glance.

“So, thou saw Mary Deerfield with the Devil’s tines,” said Caleb Adams. “What happened next?”

“She denied that she was planting them. She denied she was in the midst of the Devil’s work.”

“And thee?”

“I fled, sir. I ran. I ran fast.”

“Thou art indentured to Thomas Deerfield. By what right didst thou flee?” Wilder asked.

“I did not think. I was too afraid. I wanted to be far from whatever spell Mary Deerfield was casting. But though I live now with the Howlands—because it would be most improper to live alone with my master—I return to him daily to do my chores and the work that is my indenture. I hope that my master has no grievance with me; I certainly have no grievance with him. I am sure that he has forgiven me for leaving that night, because that is the sort of righteous man that he is. I am sure he understands that I was scared and I meant no dereliction.”

    “But thou didst leave.”

“Yes.”

“So, thou didst not see how Mary Deerfield broke her hand that night,” Wilder said.

“She fell on a kettle,” Catherine answered.

Wilder shook his head. “That may or may not be what happened, Catherine. I merely asked what thou saw, and it is clear thou saw nothing more that is relevant today.” He looked at the governor, and the governor shrugged.

“We thank thee,” said John Endicott.

Catherine stood there a moment more, and Mary thought the servant girl might have the spine to glance at her. She almost craved the confrontation. She waited. But while Catherine’s head bobbed once in her direction, either out of fear or guilt the girl was unable to follow through and meet Mary’s eyes. She turned instead toward Philip Bristol, and Mary thought the lawyer said to her that she had done well. She had done well indeed.



* * *





The governor, after Catherine Stileman had been dismissed, turned his gaze upon Mary and motioned for her to come forward.

“We will be speaking with Reverend Norton in a moment,” he said to her, “but I am curious. Thou hast been resistant to mediation. I know there are elders willing to buffer a Christian peace between Thomas and thee. Why wilt thou not consider it?”

“Because I do not feel safe in his house,” she answered. “Because I do not believe that he will change his ways. Because he has broken the law and treated me with cruelty. I am sorry and I grieve the death of our marriage, but I cannot live with a person so rich with sin that he will stab me—his obedient helpmeet.”

    Endicott nodded, but Caleb Adams shook his head and reminded the governor, “Let us not forget, John, there are two shores to this sea. And no witnesses. We do not yet know whether the wound was caused by the Devil’s tines or a teakettle; we do not yet know whether Thomas did what Mary claims. We may never know. It is worth noting that the girl—the indentured girl—has a very different view of the man than does his wife.”

Wilder looked at both magistrates, his eyebrows peaking. Mary could see that she still had an ally in Wilder, but he seemed to believe no good would come from rebuking or disagreeing with his associates on the bench publicly.

“Hast thou pondered thy future if this divorce is granted?” Adams asked her.

“I have.”

“And what wilt thou do? Keep bees?”

She was appalled by the condescension in his tone but was careful not to respond in kind and be pulled down by his meanness. “Before my family came here, Salem had its maid lots for unmarried women. There was even a season when they had to wear veils. Salem soon changed those laws. Boston has never had such strictures on its women. And while the reverend can speak to God’s laws with far more knowledge and eloquence than I, I believe there is nothing in the Bible about it being a sin for a woman to live alone. The world is awash in widows and women who never wed.”