Chapter 21

At 1 PM she rose, still tired but knowing if she rested longer, she would not sleep during the night. She spent a few minutes rummaging through her kitchen and ended up visiting the farmer’s market area near the north edge of town. She picked through the vegetables and found some to her liking, and a small amount of meat that looked and smelled fresh. Two large loaves of bread remained, and she bought them.

After fixing a light meal, she went to the shop and took down the sign she placed on the door. Rather than sit in her home, she preferred to be in the shop.

It didn’t take long for people to notice she was open. Within an hour three visited, none with major ailments. She gave them the prescribed remedies and told them if their problems did not resolve within three or four days to come back.

For the next two months, her pattern seldom changed. She rose, went to the shop, and treated those in need. It was now Autumn. The leaves were showing color and the night air became cool and crisp. It was her favorite time of the year. She preferred Fall to the other three seasons.

One day a week, she spent in the forests, collecting what she would need to take her through the winter. In her shop, she put them aside, each in their separate place, to dry. By October, she was ready for the snow, which was not long in coming.

Rebecca had not been on her mind. She had neither seen nor heard from the woman since before Walcott charged her with Witchcraft and sorcery. When she left her home for the shop, she saw her former friend. As seemed to be her custom, she stood motionless on the Common.

What Mary saw shocked her. Her friend’s long hair hung matted and dirty, as if it had not been washed in months. She wore the same dress, now filthy, stained, and ragged, that she wore months ago. Rebecca was gaunt and haggard looking. The look on her face was that of a hunted animal.

“My Lord,” Mary said, stopping to stare.

Rebecca glared back, arms folded across her chest. Then, as usual, she turned and strode away.

Unable to move, Mary watched the woman she once considered her closest friend leave, across the Common and out of sight. As she watched, the first snowflakes of the new winter began to fall.

She opened the shop and went in, then turned and looked across the Common. Mary had not been to Rebecca’s home since they did the ritual together, nor had she seen Goody Collins to inquire about her.

In the time she and Mary lived in Danielsford, seeing Rebecca with her was usual, yet no one asked what happened. They saw the woman, saw what she was becoming, but no one seemed to care. Mary knew they did, but life was difficult in the town and the residents had their own problems. Although they did not ask, Mary thought it strange for them to do nothing, and Rebecca continued to roam free.

Though she wanted to go to her and talk, she knew it was unwise. The woman had lost control of her mind. The devil or one of his servants took it.

Why had they not taken her and put her away? Surely they had places for those out of their minds.

As she stood in the door, watching the snow, people began to appear, and they continued coming throughout the morning. The weather change had been abrupt, and they were not ready. Many of those who came to her were older, suffering the usual aches and pains common to the elderly during a change in the weather. She did what she could, knowing the ache was something she could ease but not cure.

After noon, there was a break. Mary went to her home for a quick lunch and returned to the shop. The snow had turned to a cold mix of rain and sleet. What little cover there was on the ground would disappear by dark if the rain continued.

She rounded the corner of the building just as two women were leaving. Mary learned they were both new to Danielsford, and she had them treated and on their way in a few minutes.

They and their families moved to the village a month earlier. While treating them, she talked to them about the outside world which, with few travelers coming through, was unknown to most in the village.

The Salem Witch Trials were over. They hanged nineteen women and men and, she heard, killed one by pressing him to death. At least seven others died while being held in the jails. There were hundreds still awaiting trial, but with the court having been shut down it was unknown what would happen to them. Everyone assumed they would all be released.

It surprised both women when she told them Danielsford avoided the trials. They arrested men and women from all the surrounding towns and from towns far to the north.

“Had they come,” one woman said, “you would not have escaped.”

“I have always been open at what I do,” Mary replied.

“It is a dangerous practice,” the other woman said.

Mary agreed and wondered why Thomas Walcott had not charged her in Salem. From what the women said, anything could get a person arrested and, in the Salem court, an arrest was a conviction. Now, with the Royal Governor stopping the trials and executions, she wondered what would happen. Would she have been one of those released, or would she have been among the unfortunates who were hanged?

When the women left, she sat and thought. There had been rumors about the trials. She only knew of them hanging six people, but her news was months old. The women said they hung twenty and the accusers were children, young girls who were taken around the colony except, it seemed, to Danielsford.

Mary had not escaped. Walcott made an accusation against her, and they examined and released her thanks to nine women coming to her aid. If word had reached Salem Town, she doubted nine women would force her release from there.

Was it luck? She did not believe in luck. Every person made their own present and future. If they had help along the way, they created the other’s desire to help them.

She was raised to believe anything given to someone without being earned created the false expectation that they could have everything for nothing. Everyone she knew worked for what they had.

She came to Danielsford and found her home, for which she paid. Her success, modest as it was, still provided her a living. God blessed her by keeping the witch accusers away. She lived her life as best she could according to God’s laws, the commandments, and the laws of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Everyone in the village respected her, or most did. She wasn’t sure about Walcott, but thought even he had to have some respect for what she was doing. Three times she cured him of various illnesses. His wife came to her for those treatments, but what she prescribed was for him.

Winter was always a busy time. Illnesses of all kinds were common, some of them serious, and their recovery depended on the individual. The elderly suffered more than the rest. Two older residents passed away before spring, and one woman died in childbirth, despite Mary’s rigorous attempts to save her.

Thomas Walcott tried to rally the villagers against Mary by using the woman’s death, but was unsuccessful. The woman’s prior four deliveries were difficult, and most knew her to possess a weak constitution at the best of times. They were also aware of Walcott’s motive for charging Mary with a crime.

“No one blames you. Goody Martin was a fine woman but delicate. She should have avoided having any children,” said Anne Goode.

“I did all in my power,” Mary replied. “The birth was too much for her. I almost lost her last time. Yet it troubles me.”

“Only God is perfect. You have helped and saved many in our village. You are young,” Anne said. “There will be many disappointments through your life. Learn from them and learn to accept them. It is God’s way of teaching you.”

Mary could only nod. She wasn’t sure she agreed with Anne, but neither could she disagree. A shriek from the Common made them turn. Rebecca Collins screamed again and made strange, flailing gestures at the sky.

Anne watched the display for a full minute. When she spoke, it was as if watching a mischievous child.

“Someone must do something about her.”

“She is out of her wits,” Mary said, and the entire story came out.

Anne listened as she watched Rebecca’s cryptic arm movements and heard her screeches and wails. When Mary finished, she nodded.

“I know of the house,” she said. “My Good Husband and I knew the family who lived there.”

“Did they say anything about the shadow and strange sounds?”

“They did. It is why they left. It troubled their children greatly, but they thought it was a child’s imagination. Then it began appearing to them.”

“They were good people?” Mary asked.

“They are Christian people. You saw them in church every Sunday, and you met them.”

“I do not remember,” Mary said.

Anne described them, but Mary could not remember meeting or seeing the family.

“It is no matter,” Anne said. “I think there is nothing you could have done.”

“No,” Mary said. She waved at Rebecca. “I could not help her.”

“Someone must. And soon.”

“What can anyone do?” Mary asked. “The devil has her.”

“I do not know. Truly, I do not,” Anne said.

Mary sensed the woman knew what was necessary. She hesitated and then spoke.

“The trials,” she said.

“They are over,” Anne said, “but that one would surely go to the gallows.”

Hearing her say it did not offend or upset Mary. It was a truth, and she accepted it. Satan had taken Rebecca. If she continued to roam free someone would end up being harmed by her.

“Should I speak to Constable Eaton?” Mary asked.

“Perhaps a group of us ought to talk to him.” Anne watched Rebecca. "Thomas Walcott would be wise to look at the real danger. With her, he can be sure of gaining her house.”

“After the trials in Salem,” Mary said, “I think the courts will be too careful to indict.”

“There is real proof. They can no longer use spectral evidence. Look at her. There is nothing spectral about her.” Anne motioned toward the woman, who now walked from the Common still screaming and wailing.

“Reverend Churchill?” Mary asked.

“He cares more about his wage, and having his cords of wood laid in for winter, than helping the people he serves,” Anne said. “No, Constable Eaton is the one who must deal with this problem. He keeps the peace.”

When Anne left, Mary made a mental note to speak to Eaton about Rebecca. Someone had to be the first. Whether she had harmed anyone or not, people were beginning to feel concern as Rebecca’s actions became more violent.

Mary knew Constable Peter Eaton to be a good man. He kept the peace and enforced the laws in the village. Danielsford provided him with little work. It was a peaceful community, with the residents more concerned about making a living and surviving than causing mischief.

“We shall see what he says,” a woman, Sarah Blake, said. “If we make him aware of our concerns, perhaps he can act.”

“We have no mad house in the Colony?” Mary asked.

“None,” Sarah said.

In those early days, maintaining a foothold in the New World was the major concern. King Philip’s War showed how tenuous was their hold. The few instances of insanity worried them, but to a lesser degree.

Eaton listened to Mary and Sarah. While they spoke his face remained impassive, but they could see he was thinking.

“I have watched each of her appearances,” he said. “It is true she is becoming more agitated, but she breaks no law.”

“Her ranting and screaming?” Sarah asked.

“They affect no one,” he said. “No complaint has come to me. She has gone mad. Crazy brained. How can it be against any law when it is not her fault?”

“She seems not to be a danger right now,” Sarah agreed, “but she needs help for her own good and for ours. Will you wait until she harms someone?”

“If she becomes threatening, I will arrest her.”

“Something possesses the woman.” Mary blurted the words without thinking.

“Possessed?” Eaton asked.

“Satan has her mind,” Sarah added.

“The house,” Mary said, and explained her attempt to remove the evil spirit.

“Mary,” Eaton said. “You are admitting to Witchcraft. Think well before telling others. I will say nothing, but if another hears and chooses to charge you, I must act.”

“None but those I trust will know,” Mary said. She glanced at Sarah.

“I will never repeat what I have heard,” Sarah said. “Danielsford needs you. Most of us would have passed away without your aid.”

Eaton stood, staring toward the Common. “The trials are over. Everyone is tired and they wish to put it all in the past. They would be reluctant to bring anyone else to the bar while many of those charged still sit in the jails.”

Mary and Sarah exchanged a look. Each seemed to know the other’s thoughts.

“You are keeping watch on her?” Mary asked.

“I am,” he said. “As I said, if she begins making trouble, I will act.”

“She begins to look unhealthy,” Sarah said. “Does that not count?”

“It could,” he said. “I will look into her living conditions.”

“She violates the law,” Mary said. “I have not seen her at church. The law says she must attend service.”

“Then I imagine Reverend Churchill can fine her. It is not for me to keep track of who attends,” Constable Eaton said. “I will keep watch on Rebecca Collins.”

Mary and Sarah thanked him and decided to go on to the market area, knowing there would be little to nothing there.

“We may find bread,” Mary said. “I seldom have time to bake, or even cook.”

The market area, as they expected, was almost deserted. Mary bought three loaves of bread. There were no vegetables or greens, and she knew there would be none until the next harvest.

Sarah found venison, and she and Mary each bought enough for two or three days. It would keep well in the cold temperature.

“We have cows,” Sarah said. “Why do we find no beef?”

“It goes to the bigger towns, I think,” Mary answered.

“I must be on my way,” Sarah said. “It has been a joy spending this time with you, even though the talk was not the most pleasant.”

“We will do it again,” Mary said, “and speak of things more enjoyable.”

“We will.”

They said their goodbyes and each headed for their homes.

Mary checked the shop door when she arrived at her home. No one had come by during the short time she was away. She went to the house, put away her purchases, and returned to the shop.