Down Salem Way

1. 10 January 1691, Monday-2

“When you, of course, have always shown the utmost tolerance.” Father smiled. The men laughed, thinking he teased.

As though in afterthought, Mr. Davies said to me, a glint in his narrow eyes, “Your wife is from the Village? My blessings on you, young man.”

“Fear not, young Mr. Wentworth,” the scrannel-looking man said. “We shall not speak of Goody Wentworth as we speak of others in the Village. She must be a worthy woman if a successful young man such as yourself married her.”

“Mistress Wentworth,” I said. “She may have been born a farmer’s daughter but she is now my wife and is due the respect of her proper place.”

My fuming heart wanted to continue telling off the oaf, but I silenced myself. I need not have worried. Father, as always, took my side though doing so could have cost him several business associates and quite some profit.

“My son is right. My daughter-in-law is entitled to her place as are your wives.”

“We meant no offense to your son or his bride,” said Mr. Davies.

“Besides,” Father continued, “we cannot make generalizations about those in the Village any more than they can make generalizations of us here in the Town.”

“Ha!” Mr. Boxley poked Father in the ribs. “They make many proclamations about us. We are sinful. We are wrong. We are bound for Hell. They cannot bear to be in our Church because they cannot stand the proximity to us. They believe themselves to be too Godly for our kind of people.”

“Ignorant farmers, the lot of them,” the scrannel-looking man said. “When the new Charter arrives and we are a people under law again, we shall put them in their place.”

Father shook his head. “True, with the loss of the Charter, they lost their ability to make laws. But that frightens them. When people are frightened they become even more far-reaching in their demands.” Father bowed toward the other men. “Now I am afeared I must move along, gentlemen. I shall meet up with you Monday next. As always.”

Father bowed toward the men, and they returned the gesture. He pointed me away from the shore, leaving behind the hammering of the shipbuilders and the shouts of the fish sellers and the rum-filled laughter of the merchants still scanning the ocean as though waiting for news of their ships. The smell of dried codfish lingered whilst the fishermen rowed toward the bay. I wondered how they kept their stomachs in place jostling against the waves. The further inland Father and I walked the faster our steps became.

“Those merchants are insufferable fools,” Father said. “You would think they were children, the way they speak.” He removed his hat and scratched his balding head under its wrap.

“And yet you keep company with them,” I said.

“We do what we must in order to keep the business moving forward, James.”

“Did you hear them? Did you hear how they spoke of Lizzie? Goody Wentworth they called her, as though she were some fishwoman or farmer’s wife.”

We neared the road where farmers from the Village carted their flour, salt beef, pork, firewood, and cider to market.

“What is wrong with fishwomen or farmer’s wives? My father was a sailor, so your grandmother was a sailor’s wife. Lizzie is a farmer’s daughter, so her mother was a farmer’s wife. Don’t point fingers, Son, and never be prideful. Judge not lest ye be judged. We are not all of us cut out for university as you are. Some of us do the best we can with what we have. Let those foolish men be hanged by their own conceit. Let us stand apart and watch them fall.”

The hammering of the shipbuilders still rattled my brain. “What were they saying about the Reverend Mr. Parris?”

Father smiled. His love for gossip contributes to the easy friendships he makes. “The Reverend Mr. Parris’ daughter and niece have had a turn, they say. The girls have been overcome with fits. Some say tis the work of Witchcraft. I know you do not believe in Witchcraft, though you realize you are the odd one out on that matter.”

“I prefer demons I can see,” I said.

“Aye. But be careful what you wish for. Demons you can see may not be any better than those you cannot. If you can see them, you know they are coming.”

“If you say so, Father.”

Father winked at me. “Did you know that Prudence has cast her eye your way?”

“Prudence?”

“Aye, James. Prudence.” Father poked me hard in the ribs. “Prudence Connor? My helping-girl? The sister of Patience Connor, your helping-girl?”

“Ah.” I thought of wispy Patience, thankful for how much help she has been to Lizzie. I struggled to picture her sister in Father’s house, but all I could recall was the sound of pots being scrubbed, floors being swept, and the swish of fast-moving skirts.

“Ah,” Father said, mimicking my careless attitude. “Prudence asks after you frequently, wondering aloud when you’ll be back, making your favorite lobster stew when she knows you are coming, patting her hair under her coif when she sees you through the window. Whenever you are there she cannot turn her head from you. Thank God you are halo-haired and sky-eyed like your mother. We would not want you short and bald like me.” He laughed at himself.

“You know I’m married, Father. You helped arrange it all. You were the one who asked Silas for permission for me to pay my respects to Lizzie.”

“Old Silas did not need much convincing, did he? He knows you and I are upstanding members of Salem Town Society.”

“Better yet, he knows you have money, a lot of it. You told him you would build a house for Lizzie and me. You told him you would give us the land on which to build that house. I have never seen someone fuss the way you did over every detail inside and out. And that was you at our wedding fussing over the Indian pudding, was it not?” I glanced sideways at Father. He was enjoying my agitation, I could tell. “Your helping-girl knows I’m married, I hope.”

“Prudence knows you are spoken for, but she does not care. She still thinks of you as the most eligible bachelor in Salem. I lost count of the well-to-do fathers and mothers pushing their daughters in your direction. And not one of those so-called suitable girls caught your eye.” Father laughed so hard he shuddered. “My son does not make a match with a merchant’s daughter or a governor’s daughter. He falls in love with a farmer’s daughter.”

“You said you do not mind that Lizzie is a farmer’s daughter.”

“I do not mind, Son. I know you made a perfect match with Elizabeth, as I made a perfect match with your mother. There are no coins, no jewels, no gold that can replace what Elizabeth has brought to your marriage—her heart, as you have brought yours. Tis a father’s dearest wish that his son find a help-meet worthy of him, and you have. Never mind what those dotards by the shore say. Your task is to follow your heart.”

“Which I did,” I said. “There is no one for me but Lizzie. But can your helping-girl not find a husband of her own?”

“I think she would if she could, Son, but it appears all the men of marriageable age in these parts are spoken for. She could have Old Man Pemberley, I reckon, but I do not imagine she would want him, broken down and without a shilling to his name. She has found someone else’s husband to her liking. I’m simply letting you know you have an admirer.”

“The only admiration I need is from Lizzie.” Speaking Lizzie’s name made me long to return home so I changed the subject. “With the Reverend Mr. Parris at the helm of the Church in the Village, do you still believe tis best to allow the Village to have their own Church? They are still petitioning the Town to be let free. Since you are a Selectman you have a say in the matter.”

Father shook his head. “I say let them have their own Church. Let them show their long, humorless faces to each other. I cannot stand to look upon them.”

I looked sideways at Father as the lines etched deeper round his mouth. “A moment ago you said we should not judge. That was you, was it not?”

Father sighed. “You are right, James. Tis my frustration with Parris that makes me speak so. I fear he is creating a divide amongst us. I’m not the only one unhappy with him. Tis the Villagers’ own folly for allowing someone as insufferable as Parris to head their Church. What an unlikable man. Fool!”

Father said that last word as though he spat a foul taste from his mouth, slapping his hand in the air as though swatting at Parris himself.

“You do realize that we are in fact members of the Church in Salem Town,” I said. “For all intents and purposes, our Anglicanism has been set aside.”

Father looked aghast. “Nay! We joined the Church to become a part of the community, to…”

“Make a profit?” I said. Father looked serious, his slanted eyes now slits, his lips pulled into his mouth. “And all it took was some false piety before the Congregation claiming we found God.”

“That was no false piety. You have found God, James, have you not?”

We neared Father’s house. After some thought, I said, “I do not know that I have found God. You know God better than I do, and I know you do not believe in the Puritans’ doctrine.”

“I lived under Puritan rule in England with Cromwell’s Roundheads after they disposed of the King. I liked it not. Twas 11 years until the new King was restored.”

“Yet here you bend to their doctrine willingly. We could have accepted the Half-Way Covenant. Many here do so.”

“We could have. But we did not. Sometimes we must make sacrifices. You’ll learn that for yourself one day.”

Twas fully dark by then and I no longer cared about Kings or Commonwealths or hard-believing Sinners. I bid Father good night and made my way home. I have never been a night person and always prefer to be home before the sun falls.

Yet tis still odd when I am at home and realize I feel awkward at times near Lizzie. We are still learning each other, still understanding one another. In one moment I feel as though we have been married all our lives. In the next tis as if we are strangers in close proximity.

After our evening meal, Lizzie and I sat in our chairs before the hearth, Lizzie sewing whilst I read. Suddenly, I felt an urge to feel her skin against mine so I took her hand. She smiled as I did so, which gave me courage. I leaned my face close to hers and pressed my lips to her temple. Lizzie leaned into me and my blood drained away at the sight of those full berry-like lips. I thought I should say something, start some conversation, but words left me. Finally, I thought to tell her what I heard of Reverend Parris.

“Did you know them when you lived on the Farms?” I asked. “The Parrises?”

“A little.” Lizzie resumed her sewing. “Now that I live in the Town I hardly see them except perhaps when I visit Pa and Mary Grace.” Lizzie stared into the red-gold glow of the fire. “Perhaps I should check on them, the girls.”

“I heard tis an odd illness. Tis not contagious, do you think?”

“Are the Reverend and his wife ill?”

“Not as I have heard.”

Lizzie looked thoughtful as she considered. “Then I would not expect so.”

“Strange that the girls are so ill but no one else in the household is.”

“Sometimes illnesses are odd. Sometimes they cannot be explained.”

I basked in Lizzie’s peach-like glow. How tender she is, how considerate to be worried about sickly girls she hardly knows. I spent the next hour gazing into the deep night of her dark eyes.