Chapter 2

Near the bedside, Mary stood and looked at Benjamin. Winston Smyth, the boy’s father, stood beside her. Mary only had to look. She recognized the sickness and knew nothing she possessed could cure it. The illness had to run its course. Often the person lived, but with scars. Other times, they died.

“He has the pox,” Mary said. “I have no cure.”

“There is nothing you can do?” Winston asked.

“I can give you something to calm his suffering. I am helpless to cure such a condition.”

“What of us?” Goody Smyth asked.

“You know the sickness and what it does. It is in the surrounding villages.”

“Will he die?” he asked.

“I know not. Only God can say. He is a strong boy.”

“It will scar him,” Winston said.

“It may leave him with marks,” Mary said. “Scars are better than death.”

“What can we do for him?” Goody Smyth stared down at her son.

“Keep him here and away from others. I know of nothing else.”

“How long must he remain in this manner?”

Mary thought for a moment. “I should think until he feels better and the bumps leave.”

“You will come and look?” Goody Smyth asked.

“I will.” She handed the woman a potion. “Give him a spoonful three times a day. It will keep him calm. I can do no more. The sickness must run its course.”

She talked to the Smyths for a minute, took another look at Benjamin, and left. In the pitch darkness, she wished she had a lantern. A few minutes later, she was home. She disrobed, washed, and changed into her bedclothes. The dress she wore went into the laundry.

Mary knew nothing of how smallpox traveled from person to person, but common sense told her it had something to do with touching an infected person or the things they had handled. She did not mention it to Goody Smyth. What was the point? The boy had the disease, and they could not avoid contact.

In the morning, she planned to warn people that the pox had come to Danielsford. She knew there were bound to be others infected.

Before long, the disease ravaged the town just as it did others nearby. Danielsford could not escape the epidemic.

Danielsford was a village of 100. By the end of the summer, it infected 47 people. Five died before the scourge was finished. Most of its victims suffered scarring, and two were left blind.

Mary was a fixture in the homes of those afflicted. Despite her being in the houses and being near the sickness, she never contracted the disease. It gave some of them reason to suspect her, and they remembered Thomas Walcott’s charge of sorcery. Could he be right? Was Mary a witch?

Others pointed to the people she helped at great risk to herself. People were alive who might have died had Mary not treated them. Whenever someone mentioned Walcott’s charge, they and the patients she helped defended her.

The debate split the town into two camps. The largest group favored Mary and the work she did. The few remaining sided with Thomas Walcott and viewed her as a sorceress who deserved the rope for her crime.

Before the epidemic subsided, fall was in the air. Other matters took precedence. Autumn meant winter was close. Because of the smallpox, a great many could not tend their gardens, and they put no vegetables up. The residents hurried to get in what harvest they could. The complaints against Mary mattered less than their surviving the winter.

“It promises to be a trying winter,” Winston Smyth said.

“Aye, Winston,” his wife said. “With the illness taking such a toll, our gardens went past. We will pray God looks on us and passes this burden.”

Mary stood in her doorway. There were no new cases of the disease in three days, and she was happy for the respite. The past month had been difficult. With no more people catching the pox, she hoped it was finished.

On the Common, she saw Rebecca Collins approaching the shop. She had not seen her since before the pox hit.

“Mary? How do you fare? It has been a difficult time.”

“Good morrow, Rebecca,” Mary said. “It seems over.”

“I thought it best to avoid the town.”

“Wise of you. Five are dead, but I think it has passed.”

“You escaped,” Rebecca said.

“By the Grace of God. Truly too, washing saved me.”

“They say it to be an unhealthy practice.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “But it is wrongheaded to believe such. I wash the poisons from my clothes and me. How fare your family, Rebecca?”

“We are well. My uncle has been ill. As you know, he is on in years but still works his land.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Mary asked.

“I think not. His infirmity is age though he would not admit it. You know we are not on good terms.”

“He is past 60 now, is he not?”

“I think he is 64,” she said.

“When I have time, I will talk to him. Your aunt is well?”

“She is,” Rebecca said. “Again, he and I do not speak, but everyone knows of our disagreements.”

“Would that I had a family.”

“Why have you no husband? You are pretty and keep a good home.”

“No man asked. Now, I am 28 and beyond the age any man would have an interest.”

“There is talk.” Rebecca lowered her voice. “I am sure you know of it. Witchcraft and sorcery spared you the pox, and prevented you having a good husband.”

“I am privy to the rumors. Spared the pox, so pretty but not married, they think me a witch. I have heard it all.”

“Thomas Walcott,” Rebecca said. “He still wishes your property.” She stared at the Common. “Be most careful. There is evil afoot. I think this village is cursed.”

“I think not cursed, yet something most foul has taken hold.”

Rebecca left a minute later. Mary sighed and sat beside the door. Rebecca Collins was her best friend. They had known each other most of their lives. She was older than Mary by ten years, married once and lost her husband when measles swept through their town years before.

Mary and Rebecca became acquainted when they lived in Salem Village. Despite the age difference, they became fast friends.

Danielsford promised to be a fresh start, and both thought it had promise. The town was in a settled area. There were villages much farther north and west where Indian troubles plagued the settlers. North, in the upper part of the Bay Colony, the English colonists were involved in a years-long battle with the Natives.

The Indian wars were not the size of King Philip’s War, many years earlier, which cost more lives per capita than any conflict in American history. During the fight, the Indians had burned entire towns to the ground and the English colonists were in serious danger of losing their foothold in the New World.

As the fighting progressed, the English gradually gained the initiative. They succeeded in decimating the tribes in southern New England. The several tribes King Philip united were scattered and they never again posed a threat. The colonists resettled and rebuilt their towns, and they found and killed King Philip, ending the war.

Increase Mather wrote, "… King Philip was taken and destroyed, cut into four quarters, and is now hanged up as a monument of revenging Justice, his head being cut off and carried away to Plymouth, his Hands were brought to Boston."

They displayed the head of King Philip, the Sachem (chief) of the Wampanoag, on a pole in Plymouth for over twenty years to serve as a warning.

The Native warriors had attacked half of New England’s towns during the war. They burned and destroyed 1,200 homes and killed 9,000 cattle. The colonists lost vast amounts of food, supplies, and belongings.

Over 800 English died in the war. Measured against the small population of colonials in New England, the death rate was twice that of the Civil War. The per capita death rate was seven times greater than the number killed in World War II.

Mary watched Rebecca as she went along the street. When she disappeared from view, she thought about what her friend said, ‘the village is cursed,’ and knew what she meant. Something unpleasant was happening.

It was no longer safe in Danielsford, and she had not felt safe in months. Well established in the village, families depended on her for their health. Should she leave, she would abandon them, something she could not do regardless of the danger. Brushing the thought away, she closed the shop. If anyone needed her, they knew where to find her.

In her home, she prepared a light supper, reminding herself to take time to shop for food and, when finished eating she spent a few minutes creating a mental list of things she needed.

She should have had money after the epidemic, but most could not pay. Mary knew those who could not would settle their debt, but it might not come until the following summer or fall, with the harvest. Merchants accepted things given her in exchange for her services. She could use them for food and other goods, and she had plenty to swap.