Hour of the Witch(46)

“Such as thy friend, Constance Winston.”

She almost denied her friendship with the woman. After all, they really weren’t friends anymore. But she would not succumb to that sort of frailty. “I do not believe that Constance lives alone,” she replied instead, her voice even. “I believe she has a servant girl.”

“So, thou wilt live alone—unless thy circumstances allow for a servant girl?”

“No, I will not live alone. At least not at first. I will live with my mother and father.”

    “With one-third of Thomas’s estate.”

“That is the law. But I am not taking this step to sever our marriage because of my share.”

“Thy share?” asked Adams. “It sounds as if thou believest thy petition has already been granted.”

“Oh, no. I believe no such thing.”

There was an awkward silence in the Town House. Mary waited. Finally, the governor said, “We thank thee, Mary. As we hear from the other witnesses, I expect there will be additional moments when we will need thee to respond to accusations or to provide clarifying details. But I believe we should allow John Norton to speak, so the reverend can return to his work.”

She looked to her scrivener, who nodded, and with that she took a step back and retreated into the crowd beside her mother and father and Benjamin Hull.





She was behaving abominably. It was as if we were back in London among the damned and she was but a wench awaiting the sailors.

    —The Testimony of Beth Howland, from the Records and Files of the Court of Assistants, Boston, Massachusetts, 1662, Volume III





Fifteen



The Reverend John Norton’s beard was as groomed as it was on Sundays when he stood in the pulpit of the First Church, and he smiled at the governor. His doublet was black and lush. Here were two of the most powerful men in the colony, friends, and Mary felt a pang of guilt that she was taking up any of their time. It was audacious. And while audacity was not a sin, it seemed eerily close to pride.

“Good day, John,” said the governor. “We thank thee for joining us.”

“Oh, I thank thee for thy service.”

“What canst thou say of Mary Deerfield?”

“She has always seemed to me to be a righteous and devout soul: a young woman who seems mostly to keep good company. I believe that she loves our Savior and desires to manifest good work. She has never struck me as more sinful than any of the other faces I see before me on Sunday, and perhaps she is even less so.”

“What of these Constance Winston allegations?” asked Caleb Adams.

“I know little of the woman or Mary’s friendship with her.”

Adams nodded, and for a moment Mary feared he was going to say more, to press this connection and make much of her acquaintanceship with Constance. Before he could, however, the governor spoke, and Mary was relieved.

“And Thomas Deerfield?” the governor asked. “What are thy thoughts on him?”

“He seems an able miller. He attends to the Sabbath. He tipples excessively.”

    There was a ripple of laughter in the Town House and even two of the magistrates smiled involuntarily. Quickly Philip Bristol chimed in, “But, of course, the gentleman has never been fined or shamed for tippling. He has done nothing to suggest that he is in fact some sort of savage unfamiliar with the dangers of excess.”

“No,” replied the pastor. “I agree. He is not breaking into houses and overturning barrels of hard cider.” Again, a few people snickered, but Mary recalled the Indian and the lashing that loomed for him.

The magistrate Daniel Winslow leaned in and asked, “Thou knowest the basics of Mary Deerfield’s petition, correct?”

“I do. She wants to divorce her husband.”

“Hast thou heard any rumors or stories of his beating his wife?”

He shook his head. “Only when she told me herself that he was abusive and cruel, and she wished to see their marriage covenant severed.”

“So, prior to this autumn, Mary never approached thee about the behaviors she has contended that her husband manifested regularly?”

“No.”

“Should she have?”

He pondered the question. Finally, he answered, “I summoned Mary and her parents last week and offered to enlist the elders in mediation. We expect a man’s government of his wife to be easy and gentle, and, when it is not, something is amiss. Something needs to be remedied. A husband should rule in such a fashion that his wife submits joyfully. Certainly, the Lord wants a marriage to succeed, and to succeed in a fashion that is pleasurable here on earth and celebrates in all ways His work. But we are but imperfect vessels. Sometimes mediation is a sound alternative to divorce. But not always.”

The governor raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes? Not always?”

Now there was no hesitation. “A husband who strikes his wife or is peevish with her puts to lie his profession of faith and has smashed soundly divine law and dishonored our Lord and Savior,” he said firmly, as if speaking from the pulpit. “It is a civil crime, yes. But ’tis more as well.”

    Mary found herself nodding. She allowed herself a small glimpse at Benjamin Hull, and her scrivener seemed well pleased.