The Heretic's Daughter: A Novel - By Kathleen Kent Page 0,24
chapter twenty-five, verse six, the Almighty’s good graces are also brought about through the bread at table. Truly this repast is a worthy companion to the soul’s feast of God’s holy word.” One would have thought Aunt had served up angel’s bread rather than an aged and pungent spit of mutton. As he chewed, he pulled pieces of gristle and fat from between his teeth and wiped his oily hands on his trousers. In awe of the sound of his own voice, the Reverend closed his mouth only to swallow. And, as Uncle and Allen were eager to be heard, one would hardly finish speaking before the other would launch himself over the last word. At times the three would speak all at once, sounding like Dutch merchants on market day.
My eyes grew heavy until I heard the Reverend saying, “The pox has run its course, it seems. Only six people dead this past month. Three of them from a Quaker family, one of whom was a runaway. We can all thank God He has rid us of three more heretics.”
“Have you heard how fare the neighboring towns?” asked Aunt, twisting the table linens in her hand.
“I have not, Goody Toothaker. The inclement weather has kept us prisoners in our homes. But I have recently had a letter from a fellow theologian in Boston. He said the smallpox has come. As well as an outbreak of . . . strange disturbances.” He waggled his fingers about at the last, imitating a flock of scattering birds.
“Disturbances?” Uncle asked, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“Witchery. Spells and incantations. My colleague has taken the belief that disease follows a decline in virtue and brings a rise in witchcraft. In the same fashion that foul vapors arise from a bog. He remembers me the case in the south of Boston not two years past of an outbreak of smallpox at the same moment that a Mr. John Goodwin, mason by trade, and his entire family were plagued by stupendous witchcraft. I say ‘stupendous,’ as these were the very words used by Cotton Mather in his writings of a woman named Glover who was charged with these happenings.”
Not to be outdone, Uncle motioned for Margaret to stand in front of the Reverend and said with pride that he had trained his daughter how to sight a witch. The Reverend gestured for her to come closer. “Now, here, sweet child. Tell me what you know.”
She recited the signs, saying, “Firstly, a voluntary confession of the crime.”
The Reverend responded, “As Perkins has written, ‘I say not, that a bare confession is sufficient, but a confession after due examination. . .’ ” He patted the shoulder of her frock with a dirty hand and lingered there. A black crow despoiling a field of snow.
Margaret continued, “Secondly, if the accused will not confess. . .”
The Reverend squeezed and kneaded her shoulder tightly. “Then there is need of the testimony of two witnesses. Who must offer proof.”
Allen leaned forward in his chair and asked, “What kind of proof ?”
The Reverend removed his hand from Margaret’s shoulder and counted off on his fingers. “The accused was seen in the company of the Devil by invocation or spell making. The accused has a familiar, such as a dog or some other creature, in the use of spells. The accused has put into practice spells or enchantments against the accuser’s person or belongings. Also suspect are divination and petty forms of magic, such as moving objects about the room.” I looked at Uncle, thinking of the feather he had pulled from my ear. Uncle waved Margaret back to her seat and said, “I myself have successfully broken the spell of a witch by boiling away the water of the victim.”
The Reverend picked from the pocket of his coat a small worn Bible and said, “That, Dr. Toothaker, is using the Devil’s shield against the Devil’s sword and will go very hard on you should you be called to account. There is only one way to conquer witchery and that is to invoke the holy word of God. And that, mark you, is the only legitimate course of action.” He threw the Bible down on the table. “This is God’s hammer, which will forever break the Devil’s sword. Boiling piss in a pot, no matter how well meaning, will only bring trouble.” He looked pointedly at my uncle, who sat silent for the rest of the meal.