Silver Tears

by Weyrich, Becky Lee

  “What are you doing in Boston?” Gunn demanded, his tone a bit surly.

  “We just now arrived from the ship. I’ve purchased a tract over near Salem Village. There’s a large cabin on the place. We’ll fix it up and have plenty of room for the children to roam and play.”

  Only then did Alice notice the string of stairstep children following along behind the couple. They looked to be in age from toddler to late teens. All were dressed in black, the same as their mother. Not one of them smiled nor did any speak a word. She couldn’t imagine that these sad-eyed, broken souls had ever been allowed to play.

  “Chris and I are here for good now,” Alice stated. “We’ve just moved into our new home, and soon we’ll be entertaining for the first time. I do hope you’ll come.”

  “We’d be delighted,” Hargrave answered, ignoring his wife’s brittle stare. “Of course we’ll want to return your hospitality once we’re settled.”

  “That would be lovely,” Alice replied.

  “We’d best not keep them,” Chris said, tugging at Alice’s arm. “They must all be weary, and I know they’ll want to get to their lodgings.”

  Alice smiled up at her husband, then looked directly at Prudence Hargrave and whispered, “Yes, I know how that is. My husband and I haven’t been here long and are still practically newlyweds ourselves.”

  An outraged Prudence gasped. “Come along, Captain Hargrave,” she commanded, not even bothering to say good-bye to the Gunns.

  “Alice, what a thing to say,” Chris said once the other couple was out of earshot.

  “Well, don’t you suppose they do that sort of thing?”

  “I might suppose it,” Gunn said, “but I’d never suggest it. Not in public anyway.” Then his stern facade crumbled and a chuckle escaped. “I thought old Prude-face would faint dead away.”

  “Christopher, stop it. You’re being unkind.” She frowned and looked up at him. “You don’t suppose she wore widow’s weeds at their wedding, do you?”

  “Well, she’s buried three husbands already. Maybe she’s just keeping in practice in case old Hargrave pops off unexpectedly.”

  As they neared the market, Alice became excited and forgot all about the Hargraves. Chris had promised her a surprise, but he refused to tell her what it was until they arrived.

  “All right now, what is this grand gift you plan to buy for me?” she demanded.

  “Look right over there.” Chris swept an arm toward a large gathering of people.

  “What’s going on? I can’t see a thing.” Alice went up on tiptoe, trying to peer over the crowd.

  “It’s an auction, darling. I think it’s high time we bought you a new maid.”

  “Bought?” Alice winced at the word. “You mean a slave?”

  “That’s a vulgar word, darling. We call them servants here in Boston. I’ve heard the best workers come from the Indies. Most of them speak English quite well, too. What do you think?”

  Alice didn’t answer, but clung closely to Chris as he shouldered a path through the crowd. Soon they stood very near the auction block, where a young woman with almond-colored skin and long reddish-brown hair awaited her new master with downcast eyes.

  “Well? What do you say, Alice?”

  “I’d rather not own a slave,” she whispered. “Please, let’s go home, Chris.”

  “But we need someone now. It could take weeks or even months before we have another chance like this.”

  Just then Alice glanced back toward the girl on the block. Briefly their eyes met. The woman seemed to be pleading with Alice to help her. Several potential buyers were walking around her, poking and prodding.

  “I won’t buy goods I haven’t seen firsthand,” said an obese, red-faced man to the auctioneer. “Have her strip down.”

  A cheer went up from the men in the crowd.

  “Quick, dear, buy her for me,” Alice pleaded.

  “But there are others, darling. Don’t you want to look over the lot?”

  “I want her—now, Chris.”

  Chris nodded and signaled the auctioneer. They had a whispered conference after which the man motioned for silence.

  “Sorry, gentlemen,” the auctioneer announced, “this one’s already sold.” A good deal of grumbling followed his words. “This buyer here has offered two thousand for Mignette. Anyone willing to go higher?”

  A murmur of awe passed through the crowd, then they all fell silent.

  “Sold then, to Mr. Christopher Gunn of Boston.”

  Mignette tossed her long hair back over one shoulder and offered the other buyers a scathing look. Then, holding herself proudly, she followed Gunn back to where Alice stood waiting.

  “A thousand thanks to you, madame,” Mignette said. “I will serve your man well so that you are free from your burdens.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t!” Alice exclaimed, her cheeks flaming at such a suggestion. “You will serve me and only me. Am I understood or shall I send you back up there for resale?”

  Mignette smiled shyly and breathed a sigh of relief. “As you wish.” Then she glanced up at Gunn. “One cannot blame you for wishing such duties.”

  Chris grinned broadly at his wife.

  “That will be quite enough, Mignette,” Alice scolded. “Come along now. We’ve much to do at home.”

  All day Alice had the nagging feeling that doom was hovering near her. Mignette was certainly an able and willing worker, but her comment concerning Chris bothered Alice. Had she finally gotten rid of Ishani’s threat only to have this beautiful golden-skinned native girl as a substitute?

  Late that afternoon Alice decided she needed some air. She asked Chris to take her for a drive while they left Mignette to cook supper. He agreed and Alice went to her new servant’s room off the kitchen to give her last-minute instructions.

  Alice froze with horror the moment she entered. Mignette sat on the floor, staring at a carefully erected altar in one corner. All of Mignette’s worldly possessions, once contained in a small leather pouch she brought with her, stood before Alice: an ugly-faced wooden idol, assorted bones, feathers, a snakeskin, and a pottery basin that now gave off evil-smelling smoke.

  “What on earth?” Alice gasped. Ollav, close by her feet, arched his back and snarled fearsomely.

  Mignette turned cool golden eyes on her mistress. “It’s my religion,” she answered simply. “It is all that belongs to me since I do not even belone to myself.”

  Later, as Chris and Alice rode out toward Salem, she told him about her disturbing discovery. “Should I make her put those dreadful things away?”

  “Let it pass for now, darling. I’ll have a talk with her soon, if it bothers you so.”

  Alice shook her head. “It’s just that I’m so frightened of anything having to do with witchcraft, and I’ve heard terrible tales of the voodoo worshippers down in the Indies. I don’t like it, Chris.”

  At that moment they rounded a bend in the road and came out of a copse of trees at the edge of Salem Common.

  “My God!” Chris gasped, jerking the reins to turn his team.

  “What is it, Chris?” Alice demanded when she was almost thrown off the seat.

  “Don’t look!” he commanded.

  Of course, Alice did, and what she saw chilled her blood. Six bodies swung from gallows in the late afternoon breeze. She could just make out the sign over them through the gathering twilight.

  “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’” she read aloud.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Chris said, seeing that Alice’s face had gone deathly pale.

  She neither heard his words nor saw anything on their hasty ride back home. Before her eyes the six hanged women still swayed and in her mind their sentence repeated itself over and over like her own death knell.

  Chapter 19

  By September of 1692, fourteen women and five men, including the man who had married Alice and Chris, the Reverend George
Burroughs, had been hanged as witches. Another man, Giles Corey, had been pressed to death when he refused to confess his alliance with the devil.

  Many others died in the stifling, overcrowded jail as they awaited trial that long, hot summer. Family members and friends of the accused did what they could to alleviate the suffering. Daily they brought food to keep their loved ones from starving. But often the guards, former criminals themselves, stole the prisoners’ provisions. The situation grew more desperate by the hour.

  No one seemed safe from the hysteria, and no longer was confession allowed to cleanse the souls of the accused. Those who admitted their guilt were promptly sent to the gallows. An alleged witch might be cleared only if her accusers themselves were found to be in league with Satan, if she died before she came to trial, or if she wept before her judges, since everyone knew witches had no tears. However, no Puritan woman would ever disgrace herself with such a shameful show of emotion.

  Old or young, rich or poor, every man, woman, and child was a suspect. When someone fell ill from a common summertime malady, before a physician was even called, the family looked first to discover what neighbor might be casting evil spells in their direction. Once a doctor was summoned, he took on his new patient with dread, as he knew that should the ailing person die, he would likely be accused of witchcraft himself.

  No one felt truly safe, least of all Alice Gunn.

  “When do you expect Will back?” Alice asked Mary Phips as the two women trudged through September’s heat and dust, carrying food to the poor unfortunates in the Boston jail.

  Mary sighed. “Only the good Lord knows. He’s been gone two months now. If he returned this very day, it wouldn’t be soon enough for me. We can just keep praying that he’ll be able to put a stop to all this madness once he returns.”

  “Chris thinks we should go up to Maine until things get back to normal.”

  “Oh, no,” Mary cried, “you wouldn’t go off and leave me here all alone, would you?”

  Alice touched her friend’s hand reassuringly. “Of course not. As much as I’d like to be away from all this, I told Chris that we couldn’t go until Will gets home. He agreed wholeheartedly. Still, my own terror grows daily. I thought when I was kidnapped by the Indians that I could know no greater fear. I was wrong. What if word got around that my mother was executed as a witch?” she whispered, searching the other woman’s face, her own bleak with dread. “Mary, I’d be as good as hanged myself.”

  The older woman patted her hand and forced a smile. “Buck up, my dear. You know Will and I will never breathe a word about your past. And no one else here knows.”

  “Jonathan Hargrave does,” Alice reminded her.

  “Oh, Jon, of course, but he’d never tell a soul. He’s also way out in the country and has his hands quite full with his wife and her brood. He’s the last person you need worry about.”

  Alice bristled at Mary’s tone. She seemed to be hinting that Alice had something more immediate to fear.

  “Go ahead, Mary. Tell me,” Alice insisted. “I know you have something on your mind.”

  “Well,” Mary hesitated, “I hate to bring this up to add to your worries, but it’s that servant of yours, Mignette. She’s such a strange girl, Alice.”

  Alice laughed. “You don’t have to tell me that. I live with her, remember? She’s a good worker, though, and she always tries to please me. I’ve grown quite comfortable with her. Still… ” Alice paused and glanced about.

  “Yes, tell me, dear,” Mary encouraged.

  “Last week she did a very odd thing. As she was preparing the basket for the jail, I watched her slip something in at the last moment. She didn’t know I saw her. When I asked what it was, she backed away from me, looking terrified. At first she denied having added anything to the usual victuals. Finally, begging me piteously not to beat her—which, of course, I’d never do—she admitted that she had made a special ‘witch cake’ to be taken to poor Sarah Good and her little daughter, Dorcas.”

  “A witch cake?” Mary pondered. “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “Mignette explained to me that it was an old voodoo recipe—rye meal mixed with urine, then baked in ashes.

  “Heaven help us all!” Mary exclaimed.

  “Part of it she’d already fed to Mrs. Good’s dog—her familiar, so the court claims. The rest I was to take to the two of them in jail. Mignette claimed that her nasty cake would break the devil’s hold on them.”

  “Oh, Alice, that’s just what I mean about her. Voodoo, witch cakes, familiars. Don’t you think you’d be wise to get rid of Mignette?”

  Alice shook her head. “I’ve thought of it, but I simply can’t bring myself to sell another human being as if she were a milch cow. I even mentioned freeing her and sending her back to Santo Domingo, but she begged me to let her stay. She said her mother is the native mistress of a rich French planter. It was this planter, Mignette’s own father, who sold her into slavery several years ago. He claimed that she was not actually his daughter and demanded that she replace her mother as his mistress. Mignette’s poor mother told her daughter that there was no doubt who her father was. She had never been with any other man before she was forced into the bed of this Frenchman. Mignette’s birth came nine months to the day after that first time. When he continued to press Mignette, she tried to kill him. Failing that, she attempted to take her own life. It was then that he sold her to a slave trader. So you see why I can’t send her back.”

  Mary fanned herself vigorously. “You’ve given me palpitations with such a tale. That poor girl. Still, Alice, you must put a stop to her rituals. If any outsider ever saw that heathen altar of hers, you’d be suspected of Satanism for allowing such a thing in your house.”

  They had reached the jail and were promptly stopped by a scruffy-looking guard. “Halt, I say!” he growled at them. “What have you there?”

  The two women opened their baskets, allowing him to inspect the meat pies, jellies, and fruits they’d brought to the prisoners. Smacking his lips, he reached a filthy hand into Alice’s basket to help himself. She snatched it away.

  “Stop that,” she said to him. “This food is for the poor starving prisoners.”

  The lanky guard’s eyes narrowed and he stared at Alice, a cruel smile twisting his thin lips. “Hmm… and I bet you’re smuggling weapons to them, too, under that fancy frock, missy. Reckon I better search you ’fore I let you go in.”

  Alice gasped and took a step back.

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Mary cried. “Do you have any idea who I am, young man? Well, I’ll tell you. I’m Lady Phips, wife of the governor of Massachusetts.”

  “I didn’t say I was fixin’ to search you, ma’am.” He offered Mary a bow and a snaggle-toothed grin. “Though I reckon you’d like that right well, wouldn’t you?” Then his face hardened once more and he yelled, “Ezra, come on out here and take over my post. I got a suspect needs searching.”

  When a second shabby guard appeared, the first man grabbed Alice by the arm and jerked her toward the guardhouse. Without giving her actions the briefest thought, Alice smacked him sharply across the face. He released her, but only because a curious crowd had gathered to witness the scene.

  “Come along, Alice,” Mary said. “We’ve been delayed quite long enough by this impudent fellow. Believe me, my husband will hear about this!”

  Both women held perfumed handkerchiefs to their noses as they entered the jail. The stench was beyond description. Dozens of accused witches of all ages, male and female, were crammed into the cramped quarters. The floor was strewn with filthy, vermin-infested straw.

  Alice and Mary passed from cell to cell, distributing the food. “I don’t know how they can eat in this place,” Alice murmured. “The heat alone makes me want to retch. Add to that the smell and…”

  She was indeed feeling weak and ill, but a sudden scream from one of the far cells revived her.

  “Hurry, A
lice,” Mary insisted, “it sounds as if the poor woman is dying.”

  In the far back cell, the filthiest area they had yet seen, they found a young woman lying in a pool of her own blood, writhing in the throes of painful childbirth.

  “Help me!” she screeched. “Oh, please, someone.”

  Alice froze for an instant, her hands going to her own belly. “God, help me,” she whispered. Then without another thought, she ran into the cell and knelt beside the woman. “Tell the guards we need a doctor, Mary. Quickly!”

  Mary hurried away while Alice went to work. By the time she returned with the sad news that the guards only laughed at her request, Alice was placing the baby girl, wrapped in a piece of her own clean petticoat, into the mother’s arms.

  “Don’t worry,” Alice told the new mother. “They won’t keep you and your baby here. I’ll see to that.”

  “How can I ever thank you ma’am?” the weeping woman asked.

  Alice smiled gently at her and whispered so that even Mary couldn’t hear, “By sharing my own secret. I’m soon to be a mother, too.”

  The two women were barely a block away from the jail when Alice, in midsentence and midstep, suddenly collapsed in the dusty street.

  A short while later Alice awoke in her own bed with old Dr. Witherspoon and Mary hovering over her.

  “Alice, thank God, you’ve come out of it,” Mary cried. “I’ve sent word to Christopher at the shipyard. He should be here any moment. I’ve explained to the doctor all that you went through this morning: the heat and unpleasantness of the jail, that rude guard, then your helping the poor woman birth her baby. If I weren’t such a tough old bird, I’d have swooned right along with you. Are you feeling all right now, my dear?”

  “Lady Phips, if you please,” the white-whiskered doctor interrupted. “I need some time along with my patient now. Will you excuse us?”

  “Oh, of course, Doctor, but do call me when you’ve finished your examination.”