Chapter 1

The day promised to be hot. Mary Bradbury poured water into a tin basin sitting atop a small table. She took a cloth, soaked it in the room temperature water and bathed herself. Once finished, she dressed and went to find something for breakfast, settling on bread made the previous day.

After she ate, she went out the back door of her home and walked around the house to the front, where a modest room served as a shop. She sold elixirs, poultices, medicinal herbs, and she served as a midwife. There were other things as well, some of which were of concern to a few people in her village. From the day she arrived in Danielsford in 1691, her occupation had been a concern.

Despite their worries, and the claims from some that Mary was a witch, all of the women in and around Danielsford frequented her shop. They bought cures for a variety of ailments and injuries, and they called on her to treat sick family members and to birth babies.

It was too early to open. The sun had not yet risen. She worked on her stock and replenished items sold the previous day. A smaller room in back kept various herbs and other medicinal plants, and she also used it as her laboratory. There, she mixed ingredients, which she labeled and put in her store.

By sunrise, she was ready. Customers arrived early to avoid the oppressive heat and humidity of the day. She closed the shop during the hottest part of the day, reopening later for two or three hours. The temperature in the building was stifling during those hours. Fewer came in the evening, but those who did were in need of help and she wanted to be there for them.

One or two paid in coin but most could only trade food, homemade clothing, or they bartered work for her products. Money was rare in the small villages of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. She did a good business. If people thought she was a witch, they overlooked it for her talent at curing or relieving their ills.

At one o’clock, when the last customer of the morning left, she closed the front door. The heat was unbearable in the shop. Her clothing was damp with sweat. Mary wanted to find a cool place to spend the next few hours, and knew none existed.

“Mary Bradbury,” a woman said. She arrived as Mary shut the door. “Does this day be warm enough?”

“Good day, Rebecca. It is a trial. Are you in need?”

“I desire relief from the heat. Have you anything for that?”

“Would that I did,” Mary said. “I should use it.”

“Where are you off to?” Rebecca Collins asked.

“To search a place cool.”

“Should you find it, I will join you.” Rebecca laughed and continued on her way.

Mary finished closing the shop and stood, looking across the Common. There was no respite from the heat. She knew the elderly in the village suffered the most. Old people, unlike the young, were often incapable of handling the high temperatures, and she wished she had a potion or medicine to help them.

On the far side of the Common, Thomas Walcott stood with two other men. She eyed him. He had again been making accusations of sorcery against her. So far, he had not filed an official complaint.

A few miles to the south, simple accusations such as he made had led to the arrests and trials of women, and a few men all over the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The trials resulted in convictions for many. They already hung six, and dozens more awaited the gallows.

The constables went into Maine to arrest the accused, one of whom was a former minister. The young girls making most of the charges had not visited Danielsford. Mary hoped they stayed away.

Walcott began accusing her of Witchcraft months earlier. So far, with nothing being in writing, the officials in the village seemed to ignore him. No one came to arrest her and, she hoped, everyone forgot the accusation.

While she ran her store, she kept her ears open. It was a dangerous time to live in the Bay Colony. Claiming a person guilty of sorcery took but a single written statement.

Why town officials did not act puzzled her, but she refused to dwell on it. She wondered whether the women of the village played a part.

Most of those coming to her were women. They ran the home, cared for the sick, and bandaged the wounds. They knew her poultices, elixirs and tonics worked. Without her cures, Danielsford would be a fearful place to live. Injuries and illnesses were all too common. She left the shop, going around the building to her home, where she settled at her table with bread freshly baked the day before.

After eating her fill, she went to a shady spot in the small backyard and sat leaning against the trunk of an old oak tree. It was only a little cooler in the shade, but preferable to the suffocating heat of her home and shop.

From her position she could still see onto the Common. Walcott was there, still talking to the men. She watched for a few minutes and dozed. Before long she slept, her back against the tree.

When she awoke, the sun was low in the west, though hidden by the tall trees she could not see it. Mary rose and stretched, noticing that the temperature had not dropped much, if at all.

She went to the shop, determined to spend the evening hours there. One or two customers always came later with an emergency. Some were injuries, others illness. They, most often the women, were sometimes desperate for her help. Mary never complained, even in the middle of the night.

The shop was a sauna of heat and humidity. Perspiration rolled from her forehead. After ten minutes, she surrendered and went out to sit by the door where she might catch a breeze.

She found little relief. The still air promised an uncomfortable night.

“Would that we could have a day of rain, Mary Bradbury,” a woman said.

“Goody Dodge,” Mary said. “I shall stand in it until it soaked my clothing.”

“Have you anything for stomach complaints?” Good Wife Dodge asked.

“You know I do. What does the complaint be?”

“My Good Husband has suffered pain for the past day.”

Goody Dodge explained the problem. Mary listened, nodding as the woman spoke.

“It troubles him most grievously.”

“Come in,” Mary said.

She waved the woman through the door into the broiling hot room. Mary searched the shelves and chose a brown, dried root.

“Make tea,” she said. She cut the root in half and handed a piece to the woman. “Cut it thus, in sections, for six. He should take a gill in the morning, thence afternoon, and the last at night. Continue the treatment for two days.”

Goody Dodge looked relieved. “It will offer a cure so quickly?”

“Do not let your husband stray far from the house. It will clean him out.”

“I thank thee. Where learn you all this? You be such a wonder.”

“Most comes from my mother, who taught me from a young age,” Mary said.

Good Wife Dodge lowered her voice. “Be wary. Thomas Walcott again speaks against you.”

Mary glanced toward the door. “He wishes my home and shop. Where thinks he I am to live should I agree?”

“The news from Salem Town emboldens him. Six are now hanged there. Near two hundred more await the gallows.”

“I will take care. He well knows I do not be a witch.”

“He has much influence in Danielsford,” Goody Dodge said. “Many will follow him and what he professes.”

“They know, too, I am a Bible woman.”

“They know Thomas Walcott has money and influence. The people will do his bidding.”

Good Wife Dodge was right. Mary did not argue. If Walcott succeeded, she knew a trial would find her guilty. News of the Salem troubles reached the village, and it worried her. Almost without exception, they found the accused guilty. Danielsford was no different.

She chose not to think about it. What happened would happen. She walked Goody Dodge to the door.

“It does not seem wanting to cool down tonight,” she said.

“Never have I seen it like this,” Goody Dodge said. “It must change.”

“In God’s good time. We are at His mercy.”

“Thank you, Mary. I will start the remedy tonight.”

Goody Dodge left. Mary watched her walk away and returned to her seat beside the door. It was later than her usual time, but she loathed going inside where the heat was worse.

An hour later, she sighed, closed the door to her shop and went around to her home. She made a quick dinner and went to bed, praying the heat would leave the next day.

Just as she dozed, she heard a loud knocking on her door followed by a woman’s voice.

“Mary Bradbury. Please answer. We are desperate.”

Mary rolled from the bed and hurried to the door. She did not recognize the woman in the darkness.

“My son, Benjamin,” the woman said. She rattled off the boy’s ailment.

“It sounds most troubling,” Mary said. “Allow me to dress and we will go to the shop. Tell me again of his sickness.”

While she dressed, the woman repeated the story. Benjamin felt ill after supper. His discomfort increased as the evening wore on until he developed a high fever just before bedtime.

“No one else in the family is sick?” Mary asked.

“Only Benjamin,” Good Wife Smyth said. “My husband is with him. He asked me to come to you.”

“I dislike what I hear,” Mary said. “I must see him.”

“Please hurry,” Goody Smyth said.

Five minutes later, they were on their way to the Smyth homestead at the edge of town. Mary carried several jars of herbs and tonics in a cloth bag. Based on the description, one of her medicines ought to give the boy relief but, if her suspicions were correct, she knew there could be no cure.