The First Book of the Pure (8 page)

Sarah looked down, but knew she had to answer
this adult she’d blundered into. “Sarah.” Her voice was tiny and
fear trembled in it like a palsy.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am.” It tore at Mary’s
heart that the child spoke in that fearful, trembly voice.

“For what?” Mary demanded.

“For, uh, for…” Sarah stumbled because she
didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think she’d hit this lady, and
she certainly didn’t think she’d knocked over the roots. She didn’t
know what she thought.

“For what, indeed!” continued Mary. In her
mind’s eye, long ago in Crete, she saw a small child named Ruby run
from the harsh punishment inflicted by a brute of a man, after she
had snagged a piece of fruit, sure he hadn’t seen her. She had
deserved some punishment, she supposed, but not what she received.
And this child had done nothing but be a child. “Did you strike
me?” She waited for an answer.

“No ma’am.” Her voice was so timid as to be
hard to hear.

“Did you hit the roots and tip them?” she
pressed.

“No ma’am,” little Sarah said again.

“Then for what are you sorry, child?” Mary
asked gently.

Alice stepped in then. She wanted to get her
overly active child out of there as soon as she possibly could.
“Ma’am, she said she was sorry. Please, let us leave.”

Mary held her ground. “No. This child was
frightened enough to be sorry for something she hadn’t even done.
This town has that effect on people. She shouldn’t be sorry for
doing nothing wrong!”

The man running the store came up to them and
added his tupence. “She ought not to be running in my place. It’s
not right for a child to be underfoot like that. She
should
be sorry.”

“Nonsense!” Mary made the pronouncement with
enough tart in it to redden the man’s face. “Don’t be stupid, sir.
She was being a child. Children run. It’s as simple as that. I
tossed the roots. She needed to learn to not fear when she’s in the
right.”

“Well then, you owe for the...”

“Of course. Put it on my bill, and I’ll pay
you when I come in next. Mind you, I know their worth; charge me no
more.”

Alice was sighing with relief as she trundled
Sarah out of the store.

Outside the women stopped to talk. “Thank you
for clearing Sarah. She
is
rambunctious, but a good
girl.”

Mary gave both Alice and Sarah a warm smile.
“Tis a lesson we all need. Too many are afraid to simply live. We
shy away from anything which even smacks of possible taint. Sarah
did nothing wrong.”

They agreed to disagree, and continued to
chat for a long while, enjoying the freedom of their conversation.
Mary was thinking they could become good friends over time, and she
hadn’t had any friends in quite a long while.

***

To her amazement, Mary received a visit two
days later from the vicar. His concern was that she’d demonstrated
the ability to move objects with her mind, or more likely, with the
aid of an unseen demon. Her response to him was less than
cordial.

“Have you taken leave of your senses, sir?
What are you talking about?”

“Well,” he said with a tinge of
embarrassment, “the incident in the store two days past. Alice
Parker and her daughter were there, and the shopkeeper. You
admitted to tipping over a basket, yet the shopkeeper swears that
you didn’t touch it.” The stern old man was not terribly
comfortable with this issue, she was certain. His narrow chin
quivered, and his cheeks were aflame. Looking down, he continued,
“He didn’t formally accuse you, but he thought I should be aware of
it.”

“Well, now you are,” quipped Mary. “And being
made a fool of as well. Must you listen to people like that?”

“People like that
are
the town.
Salem’s made up of people like that, wanting to make sure we’re
righteous, and don’t fall into sin. It’s my duty to pursue it.
So sorry
if that causes you any distress.” He said with an
exaggerated tone that made it clear that the vicar believed she was
wrong about it all.

The following week Mary went to share the
conversation with Alice. At tea she made her declaration. “The men
who run this town are idiots!”

“Mayhap,” Alice agreed, “but they
do
run it. It ill behooves us to make waves. Best to just let it go
and try to live in peace.”

“You mean to live as the men say we should
live,” Mary said in a bitter tone. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. We’ll
simply have to disagree. But Alice, what about your little girl
Sarah? How can you let her accept such a terrible way of life? As a
girl she may never have real freedom, or be able to direct her own
life. Have you considered that?”

“Oh Mary, you’re a dreamer. The world will
never be as you think it should be. Sarah’s best hope is to marry a
man who will provide for her and give her a stable life and treat
her well. We can expect no more.”

Mary reached across the table and took
Alice’s hands in her own small ones. “I’ve daughters too, and I
know they’ll never be what they might have been.” Tears welled up
as she spoke, “They live in a world made
for
men,
by
men, and have little chance to use their skills and minds to their
fullest potential. My own girls never understood that either, and
I’m afraid back then I didn’t understand it completely myself.”

Alice pulled her hands away and patted Mary
on the top of one hand. “You have a good heart Mary, but we’ll
never live to see the world you see in your dreams. Leave Sarah to
me to raise, please, and I’ll do my best.” She smiled a sad smile
of the defeated who try to make the best of their bad
situation.

Mary wiped her tears on the lace of her
sleeve and nodded, realizing she could never get Alice to see what
might have been. The smile Alice gave her wasn’t one of contentment
and acceptance, but of resignation and hopelessness.

After she returned to her home she sat for a
long time, starring out the window at the town, wondering about her
daughters she would never see again.
Were they alive, were they
safe, and were they happy?
Someday she desperately wanted a
child to raise; one who could know about her life and could live
her own life without fear and abuse. Silently she sat and stared at
nothing, tears running down her cheeks.

Accusation

The very next week the vicar returned, puffed
up and pious. He’d brought another man with him. “May we look about
your home, Madam?”

“Why?” Mary asked with pointed bluntness, not
particularly willing to let them inside.

“We have been asked by the city fathers to
look around. Move aside please, and let us do our duty.” He pushed
past her. She could easily have stopped this decrepit old man and
his companion from entering her home, but thought better of it. She
wasn’t
completely
unconcerned with consequences.

She stepped aside and lifted an arm to
indicate they could enter. “What exactly are you looking for?”

As they continued their walk-through, the
vicar spied some jars and containers which weren’t placed out in
plain sight on the counter. “These, perhaps?” He said it with a
lift in his tone, almost a “gotcha.”

“Those are salves and oils. I use them for
stopping squeaks in doors and furniture and for softening calloused
feet. For what reason would you be interested in them? Perhaps your
feet need some relief? Or perhaps you just squeak.” She smiled as
she wielded insults with finesse.

The vicar’s companion lifted lids and sniffed
the jars. Nodding, he spoke to the vicar. “This is enough for me. I
believe we can go now.”

“G’day, Madam. We’ll be going now.” The vicar
said it with a self-satisfied tone of voice. She said nothing at
all as they left, holding the door open, and frankly glad for their
departure.

Within weeks the rumors were growing faster
than the summer crops. Witches everywhere! Anything out of the
ordinary was viewed with such suspicion that it could be accused as
witchcraft. That possible accusation alone was enough to silence
most people. The church and the law were stringent on this: witches
mustn’t be suffered to spread sin amongst the righteous. Over a
hundred accusations had been made. Finally the day came when Mary’s
friend Alice was accused of souring the milk of her neighbor’s cow.
Her daughter Sarah struck at the men who came to take her mother
for imprisonment and trial, and so got herself added to the charge.
Mary immediately went to the magistrate and complained. There was a
fair number of people around when she accosted him, and it didn’t
go well.

“Sir, how could that girl sour a cow’s milk?
What a ridiculous charge. Her neighbor is a superstitious fool! To
do such a thing is impossible.” Mary was flushed with anger.

“Hold your tongue, woman!” responded the
magistrate. “You approve of her actions?”

“What actions? I tell you it’s impossible.
That fool just wants to blame someone else for his troubles. I’ve
never heard such rubbish...”

“Desist! Stop now or you shall be charged as
well!” The angry magistrate had turned red faced.

“May I ask you a question, sir?” Mary asked
with a new, seemingly subservient attitude.

Still upset, he was somewhat mollified by her
change of tone. “Of course.”

“Just how would a person cause the milk,
still in the cow as I understand it, to sour? I am sure I don’t
know.” She said this with great sincerity in her tone.

“It’s simple,” explained the spiritually
superior man. “One simply prays to Satan himself, and through his
power the evil is accomplished.”

“Ah, so you know how to do it.” She looked
about at the other people, all listening intently to their
conversation. She knew she wasn’t liked. Her presence was only
tolerated. “Do any of you know how to sour a cow’s milk? Anyone,
please?” No one dared to answer, for fear of being accused. So her
question was left hanging out there. She turned back to the
magistrate. “Since you you’re the only one here who knows how to
sour a cow’s milk, I suggest to us all that
you
should be
tried for witchcraft. I certainly wouldn’t know how to do it, and
these good people don’t know how to accomplish it, except that
you’ve now explained how to all of us.”

With that accusation, the small crowd
erupted. Accusations abounded against her, against Alice and Sarah,
and against people Mary didn’t even know. The old magistrate was
beside himself, clutching his chest and rasping as he breathed.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees. Seeing him, and suspecting what
was happening, she did the only thing she could do: she laid him
back, ripped open his terribly tight coat and shirt, and massaged
his chest, trying to calm him. “Breath deeply, and slowly.
Concentrate on that - just breathe. Your heart is having trouble.
Breathe with me.”

The crowd had grown, and now was watching
silently as she worked. His breathing eased, and slowly his pasty
pallor regained a bit of color.

“There. Much better. Your jacket was
constricting your breathing and you were upset. You should be fine
now.”

Slowly he got to his feet, clutched his open
garments about himself as if to hold his dignity close, for which
it was far too late. He stood there staring at her for too long.
Anticipation was so ripe in the room that people found they were
collectively holding their breath. He suddenly lifted his hand and
pointed one boney finger at her. “Witch! Witch!” The crowd rushed
around her and she feared they’d crush her or beat her to death.
She knew she could die, but she hoped it wouldn’t be like this. The
crowd pushed her to the main hall by simple force of numbers, where
she was locked in a cell. The old man stood staring at her. “For
your witchcraft you shall be hanged. Mark my words,
witch
!
Your trial shall be quick.”

“You would say thus after I saved your life?”
She was incredulous at the dense and twisted mind of the man.

“You used the arguments of Satan to trick me,
and his talents to cure me. You’re of the devil, and shall be
hanged for it. We found ointments and demonic enchantments in your
home. You have condemned yourself!” He turned and stalked off with
all the grace and ceremony as could be mustered by an emaciated old
man, still beet red, with his garments disheveled, leaning on his
walking stick for support as he hobbled away on his skinny
legs.

“Fool,” she screamed after him. “You’d be
dead except for me. All I did was help you breathe.”

He paused and turned back to her. “I shall
continue breathing, but you shall not...” After a long pause, he
added the one condemning word: “
Witch!
”

Conviction

The trials went on for two months. There were
a few men arrested, but mostly women were the victims. Several were
imprisoned and died while incarcerated. Others were indeed hung by
the neck until dead. Alice and her daughter Sarah were accused,
tried and convicted. The charges were ridiculous of course, but
Mary ached for them; especially for young Sarah. During Mary’s
trial her nimble mind almost got the better of her thick minded
accusers. Her arguments were so logical that those in charge were
hard pressed to respond intelligently. At one point when she was
doing well, and had the proceedings turning in her favor, some
young girls, among the accusers of Mary, Sarah and Alice, began
writhing in the courtroom, pretending to be possessed. They made a
real show of it, playing to the magistrate with their antics. One
of them leaped to her feet and pointed to the rafters, claiming she
saw Mary’s spirit there, watching them as she inflicted this pain
on them. The testimonies and spirited acting of the girls served
their purpose. Mary was convicted.