The Heretic's Daughter: A Novel - By Kathleen Kent Page 0,62
these past few weeks. The Reverend Parris’ niece and daughter, and some others, have cried out upon three women, one a slave and two village women, for bewitching them. There may be a formal complaint made to the magistrates, which will mean a trial.”
“There are always cries and whispers of witchery, Robert, especially in winter, when idleness marries with fearfulness and superstition. You heard our good Reverend, the Devil is everywhere to be found, but, God willing, he will stay in Salem Village. From what I hear they are a contentious lot, and their quarrels will make a pretty stew for him to feed upon for some time to come.” She stepped into the cart and reached down for Hannah. Father placed a restraining hand upon her knee and nodded to his friend to continue.
“Contentious people live here in Andover as well. The winter months are indeed giving more time and opportunity for mischief and for gossip. I have heard quite a bit of it here and around. At the meetinghouse and at Chandler’s Inn. Your brother-in-law is still singing his song of displacement to anyone who will listen.”
“A song that no doubt grows a verse with every telling,” she said lightly. But the men did not smile and so she set her shoulders and said, “Go on.”
“Gossip abounds that you have used witchery and cast spells. I myself heard Samuel Preston say that soon after you returned a cow to him this September past, it sickened and died. He said you cursed him after he refused to compensate you for some imagined injury and foretold that it would die and so it did. Your nephew Allen has been fanning the fires of the property dispute you had with Benjamin Abbot last March. He and Ralph Farnum both say they heard you lay a curse on Benjamin, and soon after, he grew a swelling in his foot and in his groin that had to be lanced by Dr. Prescott.”
I looked over at the burial stones peeking above the snow in the church graveyard, some leaning so close to the ground they seemed to be listening to the voices of the dead, and remembered Phoebe’s eager retelling of the argument between my mother and Benjamin Abbot.
“And now,” he continued, “Timothy Swan is joining the chorus, saying that his illness is brought about by malcontented spirits.”
“The only malcontented spirits Timothy Swan has encountered are his own shadow and my nephew who shares his house.” My mother’s amused listening was giving way to restlessness, and a barbed tone had crept into her voice.
But Robert pressed on. “And that is only the men. There is much talk among the women as well. Susannah Holt has put it about that you charmed the wind to carry away the fire from your crops and onto hers, and Mercy Williams has told so many stories about your foretelling storms and the healing of animals that she is like the town crier before a plague.”
He turned and called to his niece, Elizabeth, who was standing at a distance by Robert’s horse, speaking in hushed and furtive tones to Richard, both of them trying to ignore the gentle taunting by Tom and Andrew. Richard was not yet as tall as Father but he had to stoop down to match his height to Elizabeth’s, as she was very small. She walked over to us and stood meekly in front of the cart, her hands clasped and her head bowed as she had been taught to do. She was not so very pretty but she was clean and neat, her face and hair pale, her eyes so light a blue as to lack almost all color.
“Elizabeth, tell Goodwife Carrier what you have heard from the other women.” When she paused he added then very gently, “Go on. Tell her.”
Her breath quickened and her eyes sought out the group of women still standing about the yard talking. Among them was Mercy Williams, red underskirt nowhere to be seen, only the respectable dark gray of her cloak. Elizabeth’s voice barely raised itself above a whisper and her lips fought to move not at all. “I have heard Mercy Williams and Phoebe Chandler tell Mary Lacey and others that Goodwife Carrier practices witchcraft against them and that she goes nightly to Blanchard’s Pond to have meetings with other witches.”
“That’s a neat trick. And just how am I to walk there and back in the span of one night?” Mother asked, her hand knotted on