Witch Child (16 page)

‘Another good woman gone,’ Martha sighed as we trod through the snow. She looked tired, defeated. Every year of her age showed in her face. ‘Ours is a hard calling. Birth and death go together too often for my liking. Let us hope we don’t get the blame for it.’

She said no more, but I knew her meaning. To be a midwife, to be a healer, brings danger. If everything goes well, then all are grateful, but when things go wrong, as they do often enough, well, that is a different matter. Those that heal can harm, that’s what they whisper, those that cure can kill.

We walked past the Meeting House. Another wolf has been caught, its freshly severed head dripping blood on to the drifting snow. The bared teeth snarled defiance and the eyes, glazed in death, still glowed yellow. I hope it’s not the one that I saw at the edge of the forest, but there is no way to tell.

Entry 77 (March, 1660)

The ground is hard as iron. Despite what the calendar says, winter seems reluctant to loosen its grip. Goody Johnson has lain a fortnight and still her grave is not dug.

She and the child lie wrapped in the same winding sheet, lodged in an outhouse, where the cold will keep them from corruption, until the earth is thawed enough to take a spade.

Entry 78 (early March, 1660)

Goody Johnson was buried today. Elias Cornwell conducted the service. Reverend Johnson stood, head bowed, surrounded by tearful older children and sobbing little ones.

‘Man that is born of woman ... ’

The words rang out over the snow-patched hill as Goody Johnson was lowered into the pit. It was bitterly cold. The Reverend Johnson wiped at his nose and dabbed at his eyes, although whether he cried from the wind or in sorrow, who can tell?

Entry 79 (late March, 1660)

This Sunday, Reverend Johnson took St Paul as the text of his Sunday sermon.

‘It is better to marry than to burn.’

Few in front of him mistake his meaning. Reverend Johnson is casting about for a new wife before the grass on the grave of the old one has grown to a finger width. He wants someone to care for his brood of children and warm his bed, he makes no secret of it. There is no lack of candidates. Girls and their mothers scrape what they have left in their larders into bread, cakes and pies for him. He is invited to different houses every night for supper.

Deborah Vane, for one, has set her cap at him. She no longer fidgets and yawns her way through Sunday Service. She no longer needs to be prodded awake. She now sits upright, back straight, eager-eyed, hanging on every word that issues from the pulpit, hardly taking her eyes off Reverend Johnson except to make notes in a little book she keeps on her lap. Except if it is Elias Cornwell’s turn to preach. Then she falls to giggling with her sister, whispering comments about him behind her hand, as she did before.

Across the aisle from her, Ned Cardwell sits, neck and ears red, studying his boots. He is a hired man, but he has ambitions and has made no secret of his admiration for Deborah. Along the row from him, Josiah Crompton is also down in the mouth. He had hopes, too, or so Tobias tells me. Deborah ignores both of them. She only has eyes for the Reverend Johnson.

Entry 80 (March-April? 1660)

The Reverend Johnson does not have eyes for her. In the ordinary way of things I would be pleased, I like Deborah about as much as she likes me, but I find no pleasure in Deborah’s humiliation. I wish that Reverend Johnson would marry her, as quickly as may be. That would be far, far better than what has happened now.

The preacher has turned his eyes to Rebekah. Even though he knows that she is promised to Tobias, he has been to her father, asking for her hand.

I found Rebekah crying, which is hardly surprising. I’d cry too, and bitterly, if I was in her shoes.

‘What does your mother think?’

‘She’s with me.’

‘Has your father given his answer?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then go to him. Plead with him. He’ll not go against your happiness.’

I pulled at her arm, trying to get her to her feet, but she slumped back, head on her arms, racked by fresh sobs.

‘Come, Rebekah. It is not as bad as that –’

‘It is worse.’

‘Worse?’

I did not understand. What could be worse than having to marry Reverend Johnson?

She looked up impatiently, her normally pale face red and puffed from so much crying.

‘Do you not understand? Do I have to spell it out? I am with child!’

I sank down next to her.

‘With child?’

‘Yes,’ she hissed at me. ‘Speak softly and don’t repeat everything I say.’

‘How?’

‘How do you think?’

‘Tobias?’

‘Of course him.’ She twisted her soaked kerchief. ‘We thought to marry in the spring. Now this ... ’ Her lips were trembling again.

‘What about Martha? She will know ways ... ’

She grabbed me, digging her fingers into my arm.

‘You are to say nothing to her! It would be a deadly sin, and besides it is Tobias’ child!’

‘Does he know?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You must tell him. Now. He must go to your father and ask his permission to marry you straight away.’

‘What if my father will not give it?’

‘Then you must tell him the reason.’

Her hazel eyes grew wide. ‘I cannot!’

‘You must! With things at such a pass, there’s no help for it! He will give his permission, the shame would be too great else. He would not want you to be known as unchaste ... ’

‘Neither would I!’ Her face reddened further. ‘I am not! And I do not want my father to think that of me.’

‘Go to your mother, then. Tell her. But do it quickly before your father has time to make up his mind in favour of Reverend Johnson.’

Entry 81 (April, 1660)

The ground has softened enough to take a plough. John Rivers is out all day, hacking at the land as if it were an enemy, driving his bullock team as if he would plough the whole village under. He begins at dawn, returning at dusk and speaking to nobody, his black brows louring, his jaw set as if carved from granite.

Martha was not slow to guess the state of affairs when Sarah asked her if Rebekah had been to her for advice. Martha offered the help she could give, but this is refused again.

The two women sit muttering together by the fire and I am not invited to join their council. I go to Rebekah who keeps to her room, where she cries and sighs, waiting for her father’s decision.

Tobias keeps out of the way. When he does appear, Jonah and Martha shake their heads at him, and he walks as if on eggshells. He spends most of his time hiding in the bier with the animals, or out in the forest.

We all wait to see what John Rivers will do. His answer is not long in coming. He loves his daughter, and liked Tobias well enough until this came to pass. He is not a man to go against his wife, and after much pleading from her, he gives his consent.

By Sunday, the banns for Rebekah and Tobias will flutter on the door of the Meeting House and by the end of the month they will be married.

Entry 82

Reverend Johnson caught me after Sunday Service as I was reading the banns on the Meeting House door.

‘I want to speak with you,’ he said.

‘Me, sir? What about?’

He did not reply, perhaps he thought my question too insolent. His dark eyes pierced into me. He gripped me by the chin, turning my face up to him.

‘The foul fiend oft times hides behind a fair visage, have you not heard that, Mary?’

I could not say, his question having struck me dumb with terror. I shook my head as vigorously as I could, held as I was by his restricting fingers.

He seemed not to expect an answer.

‘I have heard it. Aye, and seen it, too.’ He let go of my chin. ‘I think you meddle in things that do not concern you.’

‘I? Meddle? I do not understand you.’

‘I think you do.’

He said nothing more, just stood, hands clasped, staring at the notice of marriage.

‘Master Tobias Morse to Miss Rebekah Rivers ...’

I looked away hastily, not wanting to show that I understood him.

‘If I’ve offended you, sir ... ’

‘Do not seek to trick me with false servility.’ His deep voice was quiet but at the same time full of threat, just as the distant rumble of thunder promises a storm. ‘There is something about you that I do not trust. Elias thinks you harmless, but I might discover otherwise. I think he is ruled less by his mind than by other parts. Perhaps you lay a spell on him?’

‘No, sir, I –’

‘You come into my house,’ he went on, as if I had never spoken, as if to himself. ‘And my wife dies, my child besides. Perhaps you put a spell on them, too?’

‘Oh, no, sir –’

The words dried in my mouth. The blood drained from my face. My breath came quick and small. I thought that I would faint. His accusations were so serious, and set my mind in such a whirl, that I could not think of anything at all.

‘I look to find another and am straightway thwarted. How much ill luck can one man suffer before he looks to find a cause for it?’

‘Cause, sir?’

‘Witchcraft.’ He bent near, whispering the word into my ear, speaking so low and close that I wondered if I heard him aright. I felt his black eyes upon me, but I dared not look at him. I kept my own eyes fixed on the ground. I do not know how it would have gone if one of his Selectmen had not stepped up to speak with him.

‘Go your ways, Mary,’ he said, dismissing me. ‘But I warn you. One breath more about you and your days here are numbered.’

I left with his warning ringing in my ears. I partly know why he is so displeased. He wanted Rebekah badly and rightly guesses that I came between him and his hopes of her. He is a shrewd man, but his belief in spells and witchcraft warps his perceptions away from mere human sense into something else.

Our conversation was over in a minute. Sometimes I think I must have dreamed it. Other times I know that this is not so, that it really happened. The slightest recollection of any part of it makes me start awake in the night and begin to shake.

I will not tell Martha. It would worry the life out of her. I will endeavour to keep out of his way as much as possible, and do nothing,
nothing
to draw attention to myself.

Entry 83

Winter has finally loosed its grip. A great rain has fallen, taking the remains of the snow with it. The sun warms and everywhere there is the sound of running water. It is the time for ploughing and planting. The deep rhythms of life abide even in this New World, with its savage beasts and great louring forests, and its extremes of heat and cold.

Each day, great skeins of geese and duck fly over us, coming back from the south. I wonder about Jaybird and White Eagle. I have neither seen nor heard any sign of them. I worry about what Jaybird said about war and rumours of war. I wonder where they are and if they will come back hereabouts, and if I will see them again.

Some of the plants they named for Jonah are bringing forth new shoots, and he has high hopes for the seeds I collected for him. The Physick Garden makes me sick for home. The little walled beds are set out in strict geometric shapes, like the squire’s knot garden, and the stands of sage and thyme give off a scent that reminds me so of my grandmother and the herbs she grew, that I ache to see her again.

I had almost forgotten about the hare. I had not seen it, or heard tell of it, all winter long. Until yesterday evening.

I was down in the lower meadow. It is not far from the edge of the forest, and the light was fading, the night coming on. I was bringing the cows up for milking when suddenly a hare started up, right in front of me. I had no idea that it was even there, but they are cunning animals, hard to see in cover. They are also very shy and generally run from people, but this one did not. It looked at me, and its eyes were round and brown; a pair of human eyes in its tawny animal face. The broad nose twitched, drawing up the long split upper lip.

I know it is her, but why does she come? To warn, to watch over, to ask for vengeance? For a moment it seemed that she would speak to me, but from the direction of town came the sound of a dog barking and the hare leapt away, bounding off on its great back legs, zigzagging towards the line of trees.

Entry 84

Tobias and Rebekah are married. I have gone back to Martha. Tobias has moved to the room I used to share with Rebekah. He has land of his own, and will build a house for her there, but until that is finished, they will live with her mother and father, in the little room at the back of the house. Martha and I helped Sarah make it ready for them. The quilt looks splendid on the marriage bed.

In fact, the quilt was so admired by the folk who came to the wedding party that others have asked Martha to sew one for them. Martha thinks she could do well from this, particularly if I were to help her, but she has little cloth left and no means to make more. It must come from Salem.

The town shuns contact with the outside world, and the spring thaw has mired what roads there are, but as soon as it is possible to travel, Tobias plans to take a wagon to the market in Salem. He has been busy all winter, making tables, chairs, barrel staves. He will trade these for cloth, nails, seed, locks, hinges, things that we need and cannot be made. He will bring these back to sell. He has always worked hard, but now he works harder. He is full of schemes and ways to make money. He is determined to make a good life for Rebekah and the baby.