Witch Child (16 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Lloyd
Salem, 27 August 1692
This morn Mama bade me dispense with the Venice treacle, for suspicion that it is the culprit in making my stomach toss. I did not protest. I hate the Venice treacle. But I know the culprit is truthfully Goody Glover, and so does Mama.
Salem, 27 August 1692, eve
Papa's countersuit is constantly delayed. Not only do the witch trials bog down the courts, but other suits as well. Goodman Sibley (Ann's father) now sues Goodman Watts (Abigail's father) for slander, saying Goodman Watts called him a “Devil's issue” and his chattery wife “a turtle-headed fool,” and all over some posthole digger which Goodman Sibley borrowed and neglected to return. Ann and Abigail are not speaking. It seems the whole village is rife with accusations and counter-accusations for one thing or another. As for Papa, in a way I am glad for the postponement, for the mill still stands. But Papa says he wishes 'twould be decided, for he feels a heavy weight dragging down his shoulders. Too well do I know his meaning.
Daniel arrived home in mid-aft in a rage. It seems Goodman Cory thinks it best that Daniel and Prudence cease their courtship for a time until Prudence grows older. I am certain his decision is due to the uncertainty of Papa's mill and our financial situation. But Daniel thinks otherwise.
“âTis
you!”
he cried out at me as he came storming through the door and bore down on me at the hearth, where I was making stew. “'Tis
you
and your possession that have brought my ruin!”
you!”
he cried out at me as he came storming through the door and bore down on me at the hearth, where I was making stew. “'Tis
you
and your possession that have brought my ruin!”
“M . . . me?” I said, in amazement.
“Aye,
you!”
he practically screamed, jabbing his finger into my chest. “The whole village talks about you and your strangeness! Any day they expect you to slit your own throat! You are mad! That's what they say! And âtis only a matter of time 'til they find evidence that you are a
witch!”
you!”
he practically screamed, jabbing his finger into my chest. “The whole village talks about you and your strangeness! Any day they expect you to slit your own throat! You are mad! That's what they say! And âtis only a matter of time 'til they find evidence that you are a
witch!”
Startled, I nearly dropped my spoon. Is
that
what everyone thinks of me?
that
what everyone thinks of me?
“You have ruined my life!” Daniel cried. Now he shook me by my shoulders. “The one girl I have ever lovedâ
will
ever loveâis torn from me because of a possessed sister! Do the Corys want such strangeness in their family? Do they want a son-in-law the brother of a soon-to-be witch?”
will
ever loveâis torn from me because of a possessed sister! Do the Corys want such strangeness in their family? Do they want a son-in-law the brother of a soon-to-be witch?”
I trembled to the tips of my toes for what he said. I think I would have burst into tears right then and there if Mama had not stepped from the kitchen and torn him from me.
“That is enough!” Mama ordered, sternly. “I'll have no son of mine torment his sister.”
“You!” Daniel raged, wheeling. “You are not my mother! My mother was gentle and saintly! Not some stern, pretendingly pious, penniless beggar as you! Had Papa not taken you, you would never have been wed!”
Aghast, my eyes almost bulged. Never have I realized how much Daniel hates Mama. Two scarlet circles burned on Mama's cheeks.
Calmly she said, “I am your mother, now. And I shall have no talk of . . .”
Daniel would not be calmed. Taking an earthen bowl, he threw it against a wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. Mama and I both jumped.
“You shall
never
be my mother!” Daniel raged. “You care only for pious appearances! If Goody Bishop says jump, you leap! If your saintly Reverend Parris says tithe a pence, you tithe ten! Aye, so quick you are to spend my father's money! Because you never had a nail to call your own! Had Papa not taken pity on you and taken you without dowryâaye, and sheltered your sickly parents, too, and got you all out of debtor's prison, all out of his own pocket!âwe'd never have to worry about a mill! We would never have had it! We'd have had money for that property in town like Papa wanted! You think I don't know about that, don't you? You think I don't know how you ground down Papa's ear and talked him into the mill when âtwas really the land he wanted! But nay, you spent all his savings, and when his inheritance came along, you spent that, too! Well, you can't buy your way into heaven, no matter how hard you try! And you shall never be anything but what you really areâsome base backwoods ruffian who played on Papa's sympathy! And if 'tweren't for that sympathy, you'd be some miserable spinster grovelling at our feet!”
never
be my mother!” Daniel raged. “You care only for pious appearances! If Goody Bishop says jump, you leap! If your saintly Reverend Parris says tithe a pence, you tithe ten! Aye, so quick you are to spend my father's money! Because you never had a nail to call your own! Had Papa not taken pity on you and taken you without dowryâaye, and sheltered your sickly parents, too, and got you all out of debtor's prison, all out of his own pocket!âwe'd never have to worry about a mill! We would never have had it! We'd have had money for that property in town like Papa wanted! You think I don't know about that, don't you? You think I don't know how you ground down Papa's ear and talked him into the mill when âtwas really the land he wanted! But nay, you spent all his savings, and when his inheritance came along, you spent that, too! Well, you can't buy your way into heaven, no matter how hard you try! And you shall never be anything but what you really areâsome base backwoods ruffian who played on Papa's sympathy! And if 'tweren't for that sympathy, you'd be some miserable spinster grovelling at our feet!”
I took a deep breath. Warily I glanced from Mama to Daniel, wondering what would happen next. Nothing. They stared each other down.
With one last attack, Daniel turned on me and cried, “And
you!
You have ruined my life forever! The whole town just waits for you to be arrested! Ask your mother if that is not true! 'Tis fitting indeed that a mother who clawed her way to means should have it crumble about her for giving birth to a
witch!”
you!
You have ruined my life forever! The whole town just waits for you to be arrested! Ask your mother if that is not true! 'Tis fitting indeed that a mother who clawed her way to means should have it crumble about her for giving birth to a
witch!”
With that, he turned and stormed from the house. Mama and I stared after him in silence. Then slowly Mama walked over and began picking up the pieces of the shattered bowl.
Trembling, I asked in a small voice, “Is . . . is it true? About . . . about what the town says of me?”
Mama's voice was soft and shaky. “Aye, Rachel. 'Tis true.”
“And . . . and the part about Papa paying off your debts? And . . . and getting you out of prison?”
“Aye, Rachel. That's true, too.”
I did not ask anything else. I was too shaken.
Salem, 28 August 1692
The house is like a graveyard for how few words are spoken. Mama moves about the kitchen, depressed and silent, and I have not asked her further about the tale which Daniel hinted at afternoon last, for I do not think she would tell me.
Papa worries constantly about the mill, coming home late for meals and leaving early, his forehead creased, his gloomy thoughts kept to himself. I think my own gloomy thoughts, which are mostly what I now know the village says of me. Mercy, poor soul, tiptoes round the house like a frightened mouse, warily glancing from face to face, wondering why her beloved Mama speaks to her in such cryptic tones.
And Daniel? Daniel has fallen ill. He complains of severe pains in his stomach and is able to keep nothing down except broth or tea, which Mama brings to him in silence, and neither speaks. No one seems to know quite what is wrong with him. I think 'tis the aftermath of his fury. So riled was he, I wonder his stomach did not turn inside out, which I think perhaps it has. So he lies abed in his chamber, shutters drawn, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Mercy thinks Daniel's ailing is related to mine, that my daily upset is contagious. Tiptoeing to his room, she suggested as much, trying, I think to be helpful. Her suggestion set Daniel off into another rage, which ended with a pillow being tossed at Mercy's face and Mercy wailing down the stairs to Mama. Little does Mercy realize how odious Daniel considers contracting anything from me.
And adding to my general gloom is the fact that I have received another message from Goodman Glover. 'Twas left in the door of the hen house, and I found it when I went to collect the eggs. My first thought was “What if someone else had discovered it instead?”
Its scrawly hand read: “Meet me on the morrow by the river. By the stand of birch. After midday meal. Else I shall tell the whole village.”
I did not need to wonder what he would tell. What am I to do?
Salem, 29 August 1692
I did not sleep at all last night for worry of what today would bring, and for the horrifying sarcasm of Goody Glover's cackling laughter. If I did
not
go, Mama's story would be out, and our already gloomy family would undoubtedly fall into the depths of Hell; never again could it return as before. But if I
did
go, I felt as ill as Daniel for thinking about the consequencesâwhich are too vile to describe. All night and half into the morn, I vacillated about my actions, sometimes thinking one evil the more monstrous, sometimes thinking the other. Both made my nausea worsen, causing my head to pound so painfully I could scarcely think.
not
go, Mama's story would be out, and our already gloomy family would undoubtedly fall into the depths of Hell; never again could it return as before. But if I
did
go, I felt as ill as Daniel for thinking about the consequencesâwhich are too vile to describe. All night and half into the morn, I vacillated about my actions, sometimes thinking one evil the more monstrous, sometimes thinking the other. Both made my nausea worsen, causing my head to pound so painfully I could scarcely think.
At mid-morn I was briefly distracted from my anguish by the appearance upon our doorstep of Bridget White and her sniffling, tattered brood of seven. The courts had seized the White land and property to pay off long overdue debts: so they were not only roofless, but completely bereft of future provision, and for some reason I have yet to understand, Bridget White felt
our
family should provide
hers
with shelter. Nay, she very nearly demanded it!
our
family should provide
hers
with shelter. Nay, she very nearly demanded it!
“We'll be needing food and a place to stay,” said Goody White, her tone bitter and scowling. 'Twas as if she blamed us for her misfortune! “And the boy with the mangled leg needs a soft mattress for his pain.”
The boy, dirty and picking his nose, stood leaning upon two pathetically fashioned crutches, which were no more than some gnarled old tree limbs. Another child sat perched upon one of Goody White's ample hips, and the rest either climbed all over the hitching post, or sat morosely in the dusty yard, the dirt hardly making their unkempt appearance any the worse.
Mama was speechless. I watched her, wondering what was to happen. Finally she said, “Come in, Goody White. You may cool yourself with a glass of beer. Then I must go speak with my husband.”
I, of course, was left to provide the beer. Mercy went with Mama to the mill, and I could scarcely wait for Papa's decision. He must have approved, because Mama returned, cool and efficient, and said, “You may stay with us, Goody White. Your children shall sleep upon quilts in the lean-to, and you shall have Mercy's bed. Mercy shall sleep in the trundle near Jacob and I.”
Leave it to Mercy, I thought, sourly, to get the favoritism. While I am stuck with Bridget White!
Goody White acted as if 'twere
she
granting the favorâand an enormous favor, indeed! “I hope the bed's big enough,” she said. I doubted that! “And the boy with the leg must have
two
quilts.” I noticed Goody White did not offer to trade the bed with her son, herself taking the floor.
she
granting the favorâand an enormous favor, indeed! “I hope the bed's big enough,” she said. I doubted that! “And the boy with the leg must have
two
quilts.” I noticed Goody White did not offer to trade the bed with her son, herself taking the floor.
“Aye,” said Mama, evenly. “And now, I was preparing noonday meal, and you may assist.”
“Have to settle the children first,” said Goody White.
“Certainly,” replied Mama. “And then you shall assist. Everyone in this household pulls his weight.”
And that, I thought, while staring at Goody White's enormous figure, is a lot of weight, indeed! I hoped she didn't eat as much as she appeared. She did. And her children ate as if they hadn't seen food in a fortnight. Noonday meal was a horror. Dirty children whined and cried and stuffed food into their mouths as if no more were forthcoming for a week, grabbing dishes and platters from beneath our very noses, and leaving gravy spills on every inch of table and braided rug. No matter how much order Mama tried to bring, no matter how much firmness she applied, things remained as they were. Tumultuous. Papa left early for the mill.
Goody White glanced over at me, her eyes hard and narrowed in her horsey face. “Hear your eldest daughter's possessed,” she said.
I stiffened. Before I could answer, Mama replied, “Rachel is having some difficulties at present. 'Twill improve.”
“'Tisn't contagious, is it?” demanded Goody White. “Don't want some spell cast on my children. Or me kept awake nights.”
“You needn't fear,” Mama said. “Nothing is contagious.”
“'Tisn't a witch, is she?” asked Goody White, suspiciously.
“Nay,” answered Mama, evenly. “Rachel is merely possessed.”
“And about keeping me awake nights?” she then demanded.
I
said, “With
you
there, I'm certain no visions shall
dare
haunt me.” And I meant it!
said, “With
you
there, I'm certain no visions shall
dare
haunt me.” And I meant it!
“Those visions the ones that made you mangle my son's leg?” she accused.
Mama replied, with shortness, “Rachel was trying to help.”
“Some help,” sniffed Goody White, caustically. “Poor child can't hardly walkâmaybe never will. And that son you have lying upstairs. He sick? What ails him?”
“Something he has eaten,” replied Mama, becoming colder by the moment. “He shall be up and around on the morrow.”
“Don't want my children getting sick,” Goody White reminded.
I can see we are in for a bad time of it. Such a cantankerous woman I have never imagined. Even Mama was on edge. After the table was cleared, and the dishes cleaned, I whispered to Mama in the corner of the kitchen,
“Why
did you let her stay?”
“Why
did you let her stay?”
Mama said, “Her pride is wounded that she must beg. We must be understanding.” Her voice was toneless.
“Why
us
?” I pled. “Why can't someone
else
be understanding?”
us
?” I pled. “Why can't someone
else
be understanding?”
“I don't think anyone else has ever been kind to her.”
Perhaps that is so. But I don't believe that is the real reason Mama took her in. There is some other reason which Mama isn't telling.
The afternoon progressed from bad to worse, with me being put in charge of harnessing that unruly brood, washing them, putting them to chores in the barn and contending with Goody White's commands, such as new crutches for the boy with the mangled leg. How we are going to survive under the same roof, I do not know. And I fear to contemplate.
So in the end, with all the commotion, and with every moment filled, I did not go to Goodman Glover. I can only shudder for what he will do with his threats.
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