Chapter 39
When Mary got Mercy and her friend, Deliverance Proctor, settled, she made tea and brought out cookies baked the previous night. Once the tea was ready, they began chatting about their lives before and now.
“Harold went to God in 1694,” Mercy said. “He caught a chill, and it became worse until the difficulty breathing became too much for him.”
“There was no one to treat him?” Mary asked. “No one took my place?”
“Nobody. We had others who became afflicted with illnesses, and soon people even heard Thomas Walcott say it was better with you than without.”
“He paid the price for his avarice?” Mary asked.
“Yes, he did. Harold left me in a comfortable situation. When the storm destroyed the town, I went to Ipswich and lived well for the few years I had left. When my time came, I went to the path, and here I am.”
“And Walcott?”
“He was left destitute,” Mercy said. “All his fortune was in property, and it was all lost. He died with nothing in, I believe, 1702.”
“And you, Deliverance?”
“I lived in Salem Town,” the woman replied. “I made the jump in 1699. My husband passed years earlier and left me penniless. A beggar. They were a difficult time, having to ask my neighbors for a morsel of bread.”
“We are both married to good men, neither of whom know who we are,” Mercy said. “I think it is best that way.”
Mary told them about how she came to be with Frank. There were smiles and laughs as she explained his reaction when she began her appearances.
“Did he think you were a ghost?” Deliverance asked.
“I believe so, or maybe he thought me Rebecca Collins, who was after him.”
“She was your friend,” Mercy said, “until moving into the house. I remember.”
“Yes,” Mary said, and told them what happened at the house, and what she and Frank had been through since. “But you know all of that.”
“Do you think she will return?” Deliverance asked.
“No one can say. I believe she will continue to try until we can find out how to send her away for good, or until she succeeds.”
Neither Mercy nor Deliverance had an answer. The three women sat, silent, for long seconds.
“Your shop is doing well,” Mercy said, at the end of the silence.
“Very well,” Mary replied, “though we have only been open a month and people are still finding us. Frank says we are averaging sixty to seventy customers a day.”
“So many,” Deliverance said. “For the shop you have, those are unusually high numbers.”
“And Frank says they will come down once the newness wears off.”
“From what you have told us about him, I think he would know,” Mercy said.
“I believe so,” Mary answered. “Let me refill your cups and we will talk of other things.”
The Healing Witch was busy, with short lulls allowing for a breather. Marjorie took over as manager when Mary left, and Frank and Gail accepted it without complaint.
“I wonder what they’re talking about?” Gail asked.
“Their lives in the old days, and their lives now,” Marjorie said. “It’s what I’d talk about.”
Gail thought about it. “I’d like to go back and see how it was some day.”
Shaking her head, Marjorie said, “I have no desire to go back there. It was not like you see portrayed at Thanksgiving. You know, the smiling, happy Pilgrims. Those were difficult, often dangerous, times. An otherwise simple injury might mean eventual death. A cut on your hand could lead to an infection. Disease was everywhere, and often fatal. Work was back breaking. Remember, we had none of the modern conveniences. No. I want no part of it.”
Gail pursed her lips and said nothing. She had learned about the Pilgrims and the Puritan days in school, and there was mention of hardship and near starvation. Now, she had heard about the life from one who lived it. There was no romance and, from hearing Marjorie describe it, not much joy.
“We were a dour bunch,” Marjorie said. “Someone described Puritanism once as ‘the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.’ I think it was the writer H. L. Mencken. The quote describes the religion.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t mean we didn’t break the rules. Most did, including some ministers.”
“You?” Gail asked. She already knew about Marjorie’s past.
“Yes, including me,” Marjorie answered. “Many times.”
Gail frowned and said, “I’ve heard Mary talk about what it was like. She said the same as you.”
“You wouldn’t like it. Believe me.”
“I do,” Gail said.
When several people entered, they broke up and went to offer help. Frank stood at the register. He had been listening, and he had seen Danielsford and saw some residents of the village, if briefly. They were not friendly then, but if they knew a curse trapped them, he doubted they would be happy, or friendly. The girl he spoke with seemed pleasant enough, but also warned him to get out while he could.
His time in Danielsford was short, totaling only a few minutes, including looking around and visiting the church, where he found the coffin. Now, he knew the raggedly dressed woman he met outside the church was Rebecca Collins.
She was the same woman standing on the Common, who demanded he open the coffin. When he disobeyed he incurred her wrath, which followed him through the centuries to the present. Twice she had tried to kill him. For all he knew, she might someday return to try again.
When Mary began appearing to him, and following him from place to place as he attempted to escape, he thought she was the one from the Common. Both wore similar clothing and, he thought at first, looked alike from a distance. It was only when she began speaking that he realized she was not the bad one and understood that she was protecting him from Rebecca.
The first attempt on his life happened over three years earlier, but was crystal clear in his mind. Not only had Rebecca been after him, she had attacked and killed a friend of his. Why she did was something he could never know nor answer, although now he knew Rebecca was insane, which might explain why she did what she did.
Six months ago, Rebecca tried again. Once again, she failed, driven away by Mary and Marjorie Putnam. Since then, there had been peace although he knew the woman could and probably would come back, unless they found a way to stop her.