Crane Pond (10 page)

 

Sewall will be arriving at his destination—at his destinations—uninvited and unexpected, and there's no question of a home-made pasty to take with him on the journey, given the short notice (not to mention Hannah's poorly head), so as he heads for the ferry he calls in at Wing's ordinary to buy one of the meat pies that establishment is well known for.

It's oddly pleasant to step out of the bright breezy morning into the inn's beery dimness. Captain Wing greets him effusively, as he has done ever since Sewall stymied his plan to have a man performing tricks in the building's back room, as if that rebuke was an act of friendship rather than a reprimand—which, indeed, it was. The pie he wraps for Sewall is so raised and golden it's almost spherical, like a melon. Sewall carefully places it in his satchel, making sure the gravy will not leak on to the Bible he is carrying with him, and then steps from the atmosphere of baking and brewing into the exhilarating emptiness of the outside air.

When he arrives at the wharf the sea is brisk and blue, with spray blowing from the wave crests. He rests his gaze on Hogg Island across the harbour, his own property, peering (so to speak) round the shoulder of Noddle's Island that lies in front of it. Even at this distance, in the crystal atmosphere he can make out the tracery of trees he has planted himself, chestnuts and white oaks, and a little line of blue smoke from the chimney of his tenant, Jeremiah Belcher, rising at an angle before the wind.

As he stands on the wharf, projecting his attention across the water to that little knob of land, Sewall recalls his favourite passage in the whole Bible, chapter 10 of Revelation, concerning an angel with a rainbow on his head who set his right foot on the earth and his left foot upon the sea. Sewall has always interpreted this as predicting the discovery of America, with the right foot standing upon Europe, and the left coming to rest on newfound land across the ocean. Mr. Noyes agrees with this interpretation, which of course implies that America has a glorious part to play in the establishment of Christ's kingdom on earth.

There's a handful of passengers waiting for the boat to depart. Finally the ferryman opens his little gate to let them board. ‘Is it safe to sail, with this wind?' Sewall asks him.

The captain twists his gnarled and weather-beaten face into what is presumably a smile. ‘We'll whip along so quick we won't have time to sink,' he replies.

As they leave the shelter of the harbour for the wilder water beyond, Sewall is overtaken by remorse at his dishonesty this morning. He had pretended his purpose was to visit Nicholas Noyes when in fact his principal intention was—is—to call upon his brother and family, in order to see how young Betty Parris is coping. Last night the idea struck him that if Mr. Parris's Betty could find sanctuary with brother Stephen and sister Margaret, then perhaps
his
Betty can do the same.

It's important for him to try to ascertain this without having his family with him and turning his reconnoitring into a social visit. So when at breakfast Betty said that she thought he intended to visit her uncle and aunt, he instantly gave her the lie, letting her and the others believe that Mr. Noyes was in fact his Salem destination. It was an untruth on behalf of his daughter's salvation. He once told her that he would go to hell to keep her company, after all.

One of the passengers has a fishing rod with him, and has flung his line over the side to catch what he may. Over comes the captain with a limping stride, club-footed Sewall now sees, and says to the hopeful fisherman, ‘You have no chance, with the way we're running before the wind. No fish could swim fast enough to catch up with your hook.' Then he laughs with his shoulders hunched, as he did before. The fisherman is abashed, uncertain whether to be obstinate and leave his rod in position, or acquiescent and put it away. He decides to fish on but aloofly, drumming his fingers on the rail and glancing sidelong at his speeding float as if fishing is of little importance to him, and never has been.

Maybe the lie will be exorcised if Sewall visits Mr. Noyes first, and discusses Revelation with him, as he said he intended to do. On the other hand, maybe acting out his lie will be like acting in general, turning mendacious words into deeds and introducing falsehood into the texture of life itself. He cannot decide which of these alternatives is valid.

He suddenly remembers the pie in his satchel. He can hardly eat it while walking through the streets of Salem. In any case, wrestling with his conscience has given him an appetite—or perhaps it's the motion of the ferry and the sea breeze. The plump roundness of the pie makes it impossible to bite into but he remembers he has a penknife with him so is able to rest the pie on top of his satchel, with the hard surface of his Bible conveniently beneath the leather, and cut off a slice. Once the first inroad is made, the rest yields readily enough. Inside is veal and ham in a white sauce.

At last the speeding ferry swerves into Salem's neat harbour, abruptly losing the wind as it does so. The passengers assemble by the exit gate while the captain and his crew tie the boat up to the wharf. Sewall is standing next to the erstwhile fisherman, who after a moment or two gives a confidential jerk of the head then unbuttons his coat a little, inviting him to peer inside. Sewall makes out a brave codfish snuggled in by the man's chest—presumably secreted there so as not to contradict the captain and cause some awkwardness or bad temper. ‘How did you manage to catch it?' he whispers.

‘I don't know,' the man whispers back. ‘Perhaps it swam at great speed. It was a young spirited fish when on the line. Or maybe it came at us from the opposite direction.'

For some reason this encounter cheers Sewall up as he walks through the Salem streets. It's as though the fish outpaced the hook or (if from the other direction) collided with it, out of sheer impudence and bravado in order to dispel the glumness given off by that ferry captain. He feels he's taking a leaf out of the exuberant codfish's book: yes, he
will
go to see Mr. Noyes first off; yes, he
will
discuss Revelation with him.

But now, as luck would have it, he bumps into his brother Stephen, who is delighted to see him so unexpectedly, claps his hand on his shoulder and immediately hurries him off to his house.

This is a foursquare building in a street running parallel to the shore, with a slice of blue sea visible between two houses opposite. At the front Stephen and Margaret grow vegetables, the seedlings neatly planted in rows to await the summer, and to one side there's a small orchard, complete with pig, now dozing on its side like a large pink squash. As they enter the little gate, Margaret comes to the door—she must have seen them through the window. Like her husband she has a cheerful open face. Her complexion is dark (curly black hair shows as a kind of coronet below her lace cap) and emphasises the white teeth of her smile. Sewall can't resist admiring her rounded figure in its mulberry-coloured skirt and bodice. He switches his attention back to the pig, the apple trees, and the new vegetables, complimenting her on her garden.

He is led inside. Margaret insists he should stay to dinner. He explains that he is on his way to see Mr. Noyes, but she counters by telling him that they will dine early in that case. She rushes off to arrange matters before Sewall has time to mention the veal and ham pie, and Stephen takes him into a small room at the back of the house that he uses as an office. His desk is covered with papers but he opens a drawer in it and takes out two pipes, each already loaded with tobacco. He hands one to his brother, then puts a taper to the log fire that's burning merrily in the grate.

They puff in silence for a while, Stephen relaxed, Sewall pretending to be so while waiting for the moment to broach the business that has brought him here. ‘What news of the witchcraft in Salem Village?' he finally asks.

‘It gets bigger,' Stephen tells him. ‘The afflicted increase in number, then the witches expand in ratio, then the afflicted increase in turn and so on ad infinitum. What do you think of Mr. Hathorne, the chief examiner?'

Sewall has known John Hathorne, a justice of Salem Town, for some years. ‘A person who knows his own mind.'

‘A most hectoring man. If he imagines there's a witch hiding beneath a rock he'll quickly haul her out.' Stephen is easy-going and pragmatic, with an instinctive recoil from transcendence.

Still, the ground is now prepared for Sewall to broach the subject he has come here to discuss. ‘How's young Betty Parris getting along?'

‘Wait,' Stephen says, and leaves the room. He's back a little later with a pleased smile on his face. He goes to his chair and resumes his pipe. A few more minutes pass, then the door opens again and in comes a little girl with a large tray. ‘This is a young friend who is staying with us,' Stephen says. ‘Her name is Betty Parris.'

Betty tries a curtsey, the tray angling dangerously as she bends her knees. Stephen gets up to help her. They put it on top of the papers on his desk and, as he steadies the jug, the child carefully pours out cider. She brings Sewall his glass, holding it in both hands, her little face staring severely at the ruffled surface. ‘Thank you, my dear,' he says, taking it from her just before it sloshes over the edge. She curtseys again, more successfully this time, and hurries back to the tray. Then she returns with almonds and raisins. ‘Would you like some?' he asks, offering the bowl back to her.

‘We have our own in the kitchen. Me and Margaret and Sammy,' she tells him, and skips off.

‘As you can see,' says Stephen, when she is gone. Betty has forgotten his cider, as well as his nuts and raisins, so he helps himself.

‘Does she relapse?'

‘No longer. She seems like any other child now.' He takes a good pull of his cider and sighs in contentment.

‘It's good for children to live away from home for a while,' Sewall says, as if it's a casual observation. ‘As you know my Sam is staying with Mr. Hobart. He moans and groans, but I think he's profiting from it. And girls can benefit too, as little Betty Parris proves. I suppose it helps to gain confidence and cope with company, which must stand a woman in good stead when she's running a household of her own. And this is such a good place for a young person to be. With your kind wife—and your kind self' (he adds hurriedly) ‘as well as the good sea air.' He takes a deep breath by way of clincher but all he can detect is tobacco smoke with an admixture of cider, delightful scents both but not relevant to his argument.

‘You know that if you would like your daughter to stay with us a while, she would be very welcome,' Stephen tells him.

Sewall is elated though he feels a little awkward even in his triumph, aware that his conversational stratagems have been detected—but of course that was the whole intention. Luckily at this point Betty Parris trots in again to announce that dinner is ready. They are to have fried alewife, already in a dish on the table, followed by bacon and eggs. ‘I needed dishes that could be prepared quickly,' Margaret explains apologetically, ‘since you are on your way to visit Mr. Noyes.'

‘Two of my favourites, as it happens,' Sewall tells her quite sincerely. Perhaps the pipe and cider have refreshed his palate because he feels hungry again

‘Are you going to discuss periwigs with our minister?' Margaret asks, obviously aware that Mr. Noyes shares Sewall's hatred of the fashion. She looks amused. This whole household is always on the point of precipitating into merriment. Sewall wonders why his own should be so solemn, with his Betty and even young Sam succumbing to despair; with daughter Hannah so often pent and anxious; with little Joseph uttering portentous prophecy and, perhaps under the influence of that S that lurks in his name, turning Cotton Mather's gift of a penny into a weapon to hurt his sister Betty with (though the wound has healed already and left no scar after all); and with his beloved wife Hannah sometimes tired and headachy.

Yet they are happy with each other, he reminds himself, and laugh when it's called for. They are a pious household in a way his brother's is not, though Sewall suspects (and hopes) that God loves this one just the same (after all, he, Sewall, loves his careless Sam just as much as his intense Elizabeth).

Betty comes up with a bottle of wine. She can't reach high enough to pour it in his glass so Sewall takes it from her and does the honours for himself and Stephen (Margaret shakes her head: she has a glass of beer at hand). Stephen takes a swig then performs a sort of fanfarole with his right arm as prelude to an announcement. ‘Brother Sam has done us a great honour, Margaret,' he proclaims.

Margaret looks intently at her husband, then again at Sewall who takes a large mouthful of alewife to keep busy. ‘He wishes his daughter Hannah to stay with us for a time!' Stephen concludes.

Sewall emits a noise that might be described as indescribable, something between a gasp and a moan. He can feel his face turn purple and his eyes fling out tears as if there is no longer room in his head to hold them. He points to his mouth by way of blaming the alewife which has indeed gone down the wrong way, so pursuing today's theme of lies turning into truth.

‘Water!' cries Margaret. Betty rushes importantly towards the door in order to go and fetch some. Sewall waves his hand to call her back and takes a long draught of his wine, thinking feverishly as he does so. Hannah is the obvious candidate for a stay here. It's a logical enough assumption on Stephen's part. She's thirteen, a normal age for a girl to go away for a time. Betty Parris is much younger, but of course she's a special case, a child suffering from the witchcraft affliction that's running rampant in Salem Village. He can hardly admit he wants his own Betty, herself only eleven, to come here for a parallel reason: the possibility that the affliction has struck her over in Boston. To say this would be to betray his child.