Chapter 20

The rain hit at 10 o’clock and came down in torrents. Mary watched from the door and knew only an emergency would bring anyone out. With the rain came cooler weather, if only a few degrees. She thanked God for the rain and slight break in the heat.

After noon, the downpour eased to a hard rain, but the sky remained dark and forbidding, telling her the storm had not finished. With no one coming for help, she busied herself replenishing the shelves from the stock she kept in the smaller room, and she did some cleaning.

When she finished the chores, she went to her house to make lunch, which she called dinner, and debated hiring someone to put in a doorway between the shop and home. It would not take much to cut a door through the wall, and would make going to the shop a simple matter of walking from one room to the next.

Later in the afternoon, the clouds dissipated and the rain stopped. The oppressive heat did not return, for which she and everyone else was grateful. She returned to the shop. Glancing out the window, she saw Rebecca again standing near the center of the Common across the street.

Her hair was loose and soaked, as was her dress. She wore no covering on her head, as was the custom. All women and most men wore a head covering. Her long hair was loose and hung free. Rebecca stood motionless, staring toward the shop.

Mary could not tell whether she was speaking and wanted to go to the woman but something told her it would not be wise. Instead, the two women stood and faced each other from the distance. A few minutes passed, and Rebecca turned and walked away.

“I wish I could help,” Mary whispered. She watched her friend leave the Common and stride away and out of sight.

No one came to her throughout the rest of the day. It was the first time since she opened that she had nobody come for help. She attributed it to the rain and streets which were now nothing more than mud trails.

The following day, she rose at dawn. It had been a restful sleep, a result of being overtired from the night before. While going to the shop, Constable Peter Eaton, Thomas Walcott, and Reverend Churchill confronted her.

“Mary Bradbury,” Constable Eaton said, “We charge you with sorcery and Witchcraft. You will accompany us for examination.”

“Have I a choice?” she asked.

“You have none,” Walcott said.

“Then I will come with you.”

Constable Eaton looked troubled, and she knew he was arresting her because it was his job.

“How long will this take?” she asked.

“As long as necessary,” Walcott said.

Eaton took Mary to his home, where he seated her in a chair facing the kitchen table.

“This is not of my choosing,” he said while the other men were out of hearing.

“I know. Others have warned me about Thomas Walcott. He wishes my home and shop, though I know not why.”

“Neither do I,” Eaton said. “He has said nothing, but we know his desire.”

When Walcott and Reverend Churchill were present, Eaton read the warrant. Walcott made the charges of sorcery, Witchcraft, and consorting with the devil. It was the standard formula charge, and Mary knew defending herself against it was impossible.

“The devil’s work?” Mary asked. “Healing the sick and injured and helping those in diverse forms of distress is the devil’s work? I have aided most of the village, including helping you, Thomas Walcott.”

“They are charges,” Eaton said. “You must answer them.”

“I know, and I will do so. My wish is not to cause you trouble. I am innocent of such charges. You know, and so does Good Husband Walcott, I am a Bible woman.”

Eaton sighed. “I know, as does my wife and every other person in town. You are charged with the crimes of Witchcraft and sorcery. It matters not the good work that you do. They are still crimes.”

“I am innocent,” Mary said. “I have never committed a crime, nor done sorcery, and neither have I ever worked with Satan.”

For the rest of the day until early afternoon, they quizzed her. She answered each question without hesitating. When Eaton finished, Walcott questioned her and then Reverend Churchill, who asked her to recite the Lord’s Prayer. The recitation was perfect, something everyone knew a witch was incapable of doing.

“I have no other questions,” Reverend Churchill said. “Her speaking our Lord’s Prayer was as perfect as any I have heard.”

“It does not absolve her of guilt,” Walcott said.

“A witch or sorceress cannot do such,” Churchill replied.

Talking and a banging on the door interrupted them. Eaton rose to answer and found nine women from the town, including his wife, Goody Walcott and Good Wife Churchill facing him. They demanded Mary’s release.

“I have charged her with sorcery. We must hold her for trial,” Walcott said.

Goody Walcott leveled him with a glare that forced him back a step, and made him look away.

“What say you, Reverend?” Constable Eaton asked.

Churchill saw the fire in his wife’s eyes, but he had already made up his mind. “I think she does not be guilty.”

“Nor do I,” Eaton agreed. “What of you, Thomas?”

Walcott hesitated. Feeling his wife’s eyes boring into him, he knew he was beaten and shook his head. “I withdraw the charges.”

“Must I appear for trial?” Mary asked.

“There will be no trial. We have withdrawn the charges against you,” Eaton said. “You are free to go.”

She left the house, and the women surrounded her. They led her away toward her home, where they gathered in her kitchen. Mary knew most of them, and she expressed gratitude for their help.

“It is unnecessary,” Good Wife Walcott said. “We, more than the men, know the good you bring to the village.”

“My husband will hear it from me,” Goody Churchill said.

“As will mine. His greed will someday be his undoing.”

The women remained for another hour before leaving. Mary served them tea and what food she had, which left her with nothing for supper.

Goody Walcott was the last to leave, and she left Mary with a warning.

“He will not stop. I know not why but he wishes this house.”

“He has never said?”

“Never. I think he desires to have land and homes like some collect money.”

Mary cleaned up the kitchen and sat at the table. The support was not unexpected but still a surprise. They, not she, made the difference. If not for their threats and insistence she knew she would be on her way to the Ipswich jail to await trial, and she knew how the trial would turn out.

She thought about Thomas Walcott. Several times Goody Walcott had come to her for help when he was ill. Like the other men, he avoided entering her shop. She treated them in their homes. There, no one would know she was ministering to them.

What was his reason for wanting her house? It was not the first time she wondered about it. Why had he never come to her and offered to buy the house? There were others around the Common. Was he after them as well?

A knock on the door gave her a start. She answered and found a young boy of about seven.

“My mother needs you,” he said. “The baby comes.”

Mary collected the things she might need from her shop and followed the boy to a home near the edge of town. As they hurried, it crossed her mind that in her year in the village, she never visited the area. Before long, she knew why. There was only the house in which the boy lived.

Several lots were being cleared. She knew new houses would be on them by summer of next year.

The rest of the evening into the early morning hour, she had no time to think about the town or her own problems. Near dawn, she helped the woman deliver another boy. It was her sixth child.

“Another fine, healthy boy.” She handed the baby to the woman and went to tell her husband.

By the time she returned home, exhausted, the sun was up. She wrote a note advising people the shop would be closed for the day and added that in case of an emergency they should awaken her. She prayed there would be no emergencies.