Chapter 6

The evening was hot and it was muggy, but not as bad as previous days. With the sun hidden by tall trees, the heat was bearable. To Mary’s delight, clouds were building in the south and the promise of rain hung in the air.

She sat outside her shop, watching the cows and sheep graze on the tall grass of the Common. It had not been a busy day. Only five people had come to her for help. Of those, she had gone to treat three family members who, she discovered, were dying. Having so many beyond help in a single day was unusual.

It bothered her to lose the three men, even if one was so stiff-necked as to refuse treatment until he was beyond help. If he had allowed her to treat him sooner, she was certain she could have saved him. Now, it was too late.

On the dusty, hot streets of town, a handful of people went about their business. She acknowledged an occasional wave with one of her own. The clouds blocked the sun, but did nothing for the temperature.

“I think we will have rain by morning,” a woman said, stopping beside Mary.

“It appears so,” Mary said. “I will welcome it.”

“Isaac James has passed, just a short time ago.”

“I sensed he was close when I saw him earlier.”

“Anne said you warned her. It is so sad. He was a good man and husband.”

They spoke for another minute and the woman left. Mary rose and went to her living quarters. She didn’t feel hungry after hearing the news, but forced herself to eat. It would do no one any good for her to become sick.

By sundown, a steady rain fell. She did as she said and stood in it until it soaked her. The warm rain felt good, and it cooled her. When she was thoroughly drenched, she went in, removed her saturated dress, and dried off. She pulled on a nightgown and went back to the kitchen where she stood watching and listening to the rain through the open door. It soothed her and was what she needed at the end of the tough day.

Before dawn next morning, Mary awoke to the patter of rain outside. She rose, washed and dressed, and went into the kitchen, where she prepared a light breakfast.

As she ate, she thought about the previous day. Could anything have been done different, something that could have saved Isaac? Nothing came to mind. This day promised to be as difficult. She expected to hear of John Collins’ passing before it was over and was ecstatic when Emma stopped to tell her John was making a recovery.

“He will be up and about soon,” she said.

“Perhaps it was not the water,” Mary said. “I am pleased he is recovering.”

“Have you more medicine?”

Mary went to her shop and gave her enough for a week, once again explaining the dosage and repeating her pleasure at hearing that John was on the way to recovery.

When Emma Collins left, she returned to the kitchen. She thought about John Collins and wondered what else she could have done to diagnose him.

Pondering her actions, her mind drifted to the past and how she came to be in Danielsford.

It seemed like an eternity ago that she lived in Salem Village, yet less than two years had passed since she and Rebecca Collins made the bold move to Danielsford. It was considered daring because two single women seldom moved to a strange town on their own.

She dozed. Her dreams, too, were of times gone by.