Hour of the Witch(77)

“Yes, I hear thee and I understand thee.”

He released one of her wrists and brought his hand to her mouth, and then he bit her hard on the lobe of her ear, the teeth gouging the flesh. But he was pressing his fingers so firmly against her lips that her cry was lost before it had any chance to fly free.





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.

    —The Remarks of Magistrate Caleb Adams, from the Records and Files of the Court of Assistants, Boston, Massachusetts, 1663, Volume I





Twenty-Four



Rebeckah Cooper asked the question the following afternoon, and it was a non sequitur that caught Mary off guard. Her friend was keeping her company while they did needlework together before the fire, and though Mary had her guard up, it had been a pleasant hour. Catherine was out back with the animals when Rebeckah inquired, “What dost thou think of Peregrine these days?”

“I accept that she is Thomas’s daughter, not mine, and my petition has altered her view of me.” Mary answered carefully. “She took her father’s side at the Town House, as one would expect. Once, her family was likely to join us for dinner on Sunday. No more. Perhaps someday our relations will resume an appropriate amicability. We’ll see. Why dost thou ask?”

Rebeckah focused upon her needle and the design on her linen. It was a fir tree. “When we were leaving church yesterday, at the end of the afternoon, she was ahead of me. She was walking with one of her friends and with their children.”

“And soon Peregrine will have a third child. She is much blessed.”

“Yes. Her friend is with child, too. The woman told Peregrine that she would be frightened to have thee at a birth and recommended to Peregrine that thou were not present when it was her time.”

Mary put down her own embroidery, a trio of falling maple leaves, and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m not a midwife.”

“But thou were present at Peregrine’s other births?”

“I was there for one of the girls. The other was born so quickly that I only heard the next day. But my presence at the birth of her first daughter did not elicit from Peregrine a monster or deformity. Both of my granddaughters are beautiful and healthy.”

    “When wilt thou see her next?”

“Peregrine? I don’t know.”

“Prithee, Mary. Be careful.”

“She seemed most pleasant when she brought us the apples and raisins the two of thee boiled together.”

“She brought thee some?” said Rebeckah. She sounded surprised.

“She did.”

“And they were agreeable?”

Mary nodded, hoping her face revealed nothing.

“I am glad. But be wary of some of the other women. The likes of Goody Howland are liable to say most anything these days.”

“I know,” she said. “And I know that my petition cost me greatly, and it looks to the world as if I have nothing to show for my efforts but tribulation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thou hast nothing to apologize for,” Mary reassured her, keeping her voice cordial. “And thou needest not worry on my account. I will be fine.”

“Why art thou so confident?”

Mary sighed. She thought of a verse from the second chapter of Luke when the Virgin Mother vowed to ponder only in her heart the reactions of the angels and shepherds to the birth of the Lord, and so Mary said nothing right away. Then she answered in a fashion that was as cryptic as it was honest. “I am not confident. I understand how little I know of God’s plan for me.”

“Hast thou found any more indications of Satan’s presence here?”

“Art thou referring to what was buried in my dooryard?”

“Yes.”

“I have not.”

“Hast thou any idea who was possessed?”

“Or who is possessed?”

Her friend nodded.

    “I have no idea,” she said, and she studied Rebeckah’s face—which was as masked, it seemed to Mary, as her own.

They heard the door to the backyard opening and Catherine returning. The two women both looked up at the servant and smiled as she hung her cloak on a peg. Mary thought her own behavior toward Catherine had become oddly deferential, but she understood why. What surprised her was that Rebeckah seemed a little afraid of the girl, too.



* * *





Later that day, there was a knock on the door while Mary and Catherine were preparing supper, and Mary left Catherine at the table chopping the root vegetables. It was her mother, and initially Mary was worried that something must have happened to her father, but then she saw that her mother was smiling. She handed Mary a basket and said, “The Falcon docked this morning, and Valentine and Eleanor asked me to bring thee some treasures. It came north from Jamaica and the Antilles. After what thou endured at the Town House, Eleanor thought a bit of the bounty might cheer thee.”

“How lovely. How kind of them to think of me,” she said. “Dost thou know what’s in it?”

“I don’t. It’s a surprise that Eleanor put together.”

Mary pulled aside the canvas and peered inside. There were oranges, almonds, figs, and tea, and she wrinkled her nose and savored the aromas. It was then that she noticed there was an envelope sealed shut with wax at the bottom. She started to reach for it, but stopped herself. If the note were from her parents’ friends, it would have been at the top. And this was buried—almost hidden—beneath the imported treasures.