“A coffin!” Susannah whispered, in a voice that rose hackles on the back of my neck. My suspicion was correct: The girls were fortune-telling! They had made a venus glass — an egg dropped in water — to tell them the trade of Susannah’s future sweetheart.
How dare they! “Have you not paid attention in church? Magic of any kind, be it black or white, is of the Devil!”
“Oh, go sing to yourself,” Mem said, rolling her eyes at me. “It is just a game for sport. There is no more evil in this glass than there is in a cloudy sky. Girls have been doing this sort of thing forever.”
Susannah was still staring, yet not seeing. She seemed lost in a world behind her eyes. Mem grabbed her hand and tugged it playfully. “Look again,” she said. “Now it looks like a tree. Your husband will be a carpenter.”
It mattered not to me what the shape foretold. I was disgusted. “Mem, I cannot believe you wasted an egg for this,” I said. And she risked losing her soul, too, but I did not do her the favor of saying so, after being insulted.
Susannah pulled herself from her daze and asked to speak with our uncle. Her mother needs a man to help her with some heavy labor. Mem sighed deeply, and looked tired. Concealing the truth in facts takes near as much effort as spinning wool. “Lately his work has taken him away from the Village every day. Perhaps your mother should ask someone else?”
As soon as Susannah left, I put on my coat. The Reverend Parris had to hear what sorcery the foolish girls had performed! He would know how to mend the damage to their souls.
Mem grabbed my arm and argued me out of going to the Reverend. He would want to speak to our uncle. If he discovered we were two girls alone, there was no telling what would happen.
My coat came off only on the condition that Mem repent her sin. She did spend the evening in prayer, but I could tell she did it to humor me, not to humble herself before the Lord. Hence I remain full of fear, and ye, my dear book, have yet another secret to keep.
Saturday ye 2nd of January, 1691/2
Snow prickled my cheeks on the way in from tending the barn animals this morning. We have no need for snow on top of snow. Pray it is only a flurry.
Noon …
Two inches dropped already. Pray it is only a squall. I am going to drag Mem out of bed and make her shovel. It is her turn to empty the slop bucket, too.
Afternoon …
The sky outside the window is a wall of white. Pray the blizzard blows over quickly, so I can clear the paths before bed and go to the Meeting House in the morning. Have given up on getting Mem to shovel, because she offered to make the supper and she is a better cook than I am. However, I reminded her that just as God knows the number of hairs on her head, I know the number of chickens in the loft. A braised hen cannot lay eggs.
Dusk …
Have given up on shoveling. Pray the blizzard passes in the night and does not spend tomorrow laying down more. We will be a week digging out from under it! Mem made a savory stew with vegetables and the last of the dried meat, and she baked an apple pie that melted in my mouth and makes me look forward to breakfast.
January ye 3rd, the Sabbath
Lord, I would rather be at the Meeting House this moment, but the roads are well over my knees in snow. This book is such a pleasure to me that I hope You will not count my writing as labor on Thy day of rest.
Wind blasted down the chimney last night and rattled the shutters with driving snow. Despite the blizzard the dog barked, and there came a knock at the door. My heart fluttered with gladness, thinking it must be our uncle. After all the shoveling I was in the mood to miss him. Mem called loudly, “Who is there?”
Not our uncle. Strangers! “Jones Darcy Cooper and son, weary travelers from Haver’il, stuck on the road and in need of shelter.”
We could not in good Christian faith leave them stranded out in the storm. We opened the door, and in two snowmen tumbled. Uttering thanks, they stomped their feet, peeled back their hoods, and made a beeline for the hearth to warm their hands. With his coat open the father’s scarlet waistcoat showed. It was neat as new and had golden buttons. Weary travelers, but not poor ones!
Mem smiled, giving me the elbow in the ribs, meaning she finds a fellow handsome. Handsome? I suppose he is, if one likes tall men who are wide in the shoulders, with a full head of hair, and no pockmarks on their faces. The son, however, is the ugliest boy I ever laid eyes on. He has scarred skin and a short, crooked leg. He does have his father’s unusual nose — long and arched, with a bump just before the tip turns up — but it looks much better on the father.
Handsome Mr. Cooper surveyed our two rooms with a look of chagrin. “We are not at John Proctor’s.” Mr. Proctor and his wife, Elizabeth, operate a tavern for travelers down a road near here. “No,” Mem said. “You are at the Trembleys’. I am Remembrance, and this is my sister, Deliverance.”
Mr. Cooper’s face took on a grim look and he said, “My senses were confounded by the snow. We shall have to continue on our way. What objects are there along the road to help us find the path, Goodwife Trembley?”
Mem blushed at his address and tossed her head back in a soft laugh. We should have donned our bonnets before we opened the door! Her loose curls bounced and gleamed in the firelight. “I am not married, good Sir,” she said.
The good Sir apologized for the presumption, and looked her all up and down like a cow he was buying! In her shameful place I would have cast mine eyes to the floor, but Mem met his gaze evenly. I think she enjoyed his attention!
The quiet son touched his father’s arm, and gulped before he spoke. Words seemed to struggle to get off of his tongue. I had trouble following his meaning. “Father, it would be folly to push the horses any farther in this storm.”
Listening to him stutter is painful, yet he has a pleasant tone to his voice. Methinks the hens would like to hear him hum. He has bright eyes, too, and wears half a smile. I wondered if he has a sweetheart, but I did not ask. I did not want him to think I wish to be his sweetheart. I have no desire for one.
“I am afraid my son is correct,” Mr. Cooper said. “We are going to have to prevail upon you good people for room and board. Could I speak to your father?”
Mem was gazing up at him, her tongue tied and her eyes soft and smitten, God help us. “Our father is with the Lord,” I said. “This is our uncle’s house.”
“Then will you please fetch your uncle?” said Mr. Cooper.
“I am afraid our uncle did not come back from his work today,” I said. “For all we know, he may be knocking on the door of your house looking for shelter.” After a pause, handsome Mr. Cooper laughed, and so did his ugly son. What a beautiful laugh ugly Mr. Cooper has! His voice filled the room like the music of a brook.
Handsome Mr. Cooper’s brow furrowed. “What an uncomfortable situation!” he said. “Two girls unchaperoned, and strange men in the house. We must travel on, Son.” His voice carried his doubt. I worried for their safety.
Travel in snow
In wind don’t go.
Mem found her tongue now. “No, no, we will not hear of it! You must get your horses into the barn immediately, not push them on through the blizzard. You have no choice but to stay here, Mr. Cooper. And you must be hungry!”
Handsome Mr. Cooper looked into the fire, gave the matter thought, and nodded. “All right. If you would be so kind as to allow us, we would be grateful to take some supper, and stay in the barn for the night.”
The barn! With the animals and the outhouse? The place had not been mucked out in days, the weather being so miserable. It would be dark and damp and cold, as well as smelly. Mem and I both insisted they stay in the house, where it is not so freezing cold, but they insisted that doing so would not be seemly. So the barn is where they slept, and the barn is where they are this very moment, going at the muck, though it be a sin to work on Sunday, and Mem is helping them (cough, cough). Now I must fix them dinner.
Monday ye 4th of January
The Coopers still
cannot travel. The roads are heaped with snow past a horse’s knees, and the wind is still whipping. We have all prayed that God will stop the wind and allow the sun to open the roads. We have also prayed for the safe return of our uncle.
From now on I will muck and Mem will cook. While I was burning the corn bread, Mem near coughed her head off until the men sent her inside. Mr. Cooper and Darcy do not seem to think her lazy at all! (The ugly son told us that his father is Mister Cooper, and we should call him Darcy.) Darcy told us one of his brothers cannot breathe easily when he has to work in the cold. This brother also has trouble breathing if he sleeps on a goose-down mattress, or if the cat sits on his lap, or if he has to sweep the barn. Sounds to me that if the boy is not lazy, then he has been bewitched! But the Coopers just think wheezy is the way God made him.
Darcy has eight younger brothers and sisters. The boy who cannot breathe is somewhere in the middle. Imagine it! Nine living children from the same two parents! With wet eyes he told us that their mother passed from this earth a year ago. (Mem expressed sympathy, but I could tell she was pleased to hear that Mr. Cooper has no wife.)
The Coopers are so amply blessed by God’s providence, they are clearly among His Elect. They trade in barrels, which they manufacture in Haver’il. They own hundreds of wooded acres and operate their own sawmill and forge. They keep a shop in Haver’il and also deliver barrels to merchants and traders along the coast. Darcy as the eldest is learning from his father to run all aspects of the business. The next brother, Adam, operates the sawmill. After Adam, Darcy has a sister, Mehitabel, who runs the shop. Mehitabel is married to the blacksmith, who operates the forge. The rest of the children are still in school. School! How I would love to go!
To hear the stories Mr. Cooper tells of his family, I think they must all be very smart and industrious. Darcy’s little sister Rebecca could already say her alphabet and most of her catechism at age two years. Now at age three she can already read, and she loves to count the fleas and ticks as she picks them off the pets. Mem made me blush when she told them I was the same way as a young child. Then I blushed even more when she said I used to count her fingers and somehow get to twelve!
Praise God, cooking does not make Mem cough! Today she has filled the house with good smells that will soon fill our mouths with good tastes and our bellies with good meat. The Coopers brought in from their wagon a chunk of corned beef. She rinsed it in cold water, placed it in a kettle, and is following this recipe:
•Cover with water and simmer one hour.
•Pour off the liquid and add boiling water to cover.
•Simmer another 3 hours. (That is where the corned beef is now, and so Mem is simmering in her bed … I mean snoring! The Coopers are outside working.)
•Add 6 white onions and 4 small turnips, and cook 30 minutes more.
•Add 6 carrots and 7 potatoes, and simmer 15 minutes.
•Add one head of cabbage cut in 6 pieces. (If you have it. We do not, but we have horseradish to serve with the boiled dinner.)
•Cook it all until tender.
One hour? Thirty minutes? How does Mem know? When I cook, boil turns to braise, simmer turns to scald, cream turns to curdle — and I never nap!
Tuesday ye 5th of January
The wind has died down. Now we are just waiting for the sun. The workhorses could travel through the snow today if they did not have to drag the sleigh with its heavy cargo. Mem attempted to convince the Coopers to leave the sleigh here and come back for it after the roads clear. (And then she would be sure to see Mister again.) This was one argument she could not win. However, she received two charming smiles for her efforts.
Darcy and his father kept themselves busy these two days chopping wood, oiling leather, sharpening tools, and grooming animals. They admiringly say that our uncle keeps a tight farm. They admire the convenient design of the outhouse he built in the barn. They also remarked on the clever knothole and the chicken coop in the loft. Our uncle made an artful design of neatly carved sticks to let the heat and light in without letting the hens out. Mem pointed out that our departed father made the cabinet and the two chairs, and they said the Trembleys come from talented stock!
After the day’s work and supper, we gathered by the fire to pray for a long time. Then we again shared stories of our families until the candles burned down. Mr. Cooper loves to tell tales (and Mem clearly loves to watch him). He told how Darcy got his crooked leg from falling off a milk stool when he was small. His scars come from a pox he and Adam suffered as young children, before the other seven were born. Both survived!
I remarked that our father and brothers were not so blessed. They fell to the pox they brought home from the wars. Mr. Cooper said I should not take their suffering as a sign of God’s punishment. The pox cannot tell a sinner from a saint, he said, and anyone who catches it is in for the battle of his life. In fact, God often gives His chosen people the greatest trials. Look at Job. Look at Jesus! Mr. Cooper is a kind man.
Then it was Mem’s turn to tell tales. She puts me in mind of the Reverend Parris the way she can hold her listeners tight to her words. The Coopers leaned forward in their seats, their faces showing every proper emotion. They laughed when she told them how our three brothers once got in a brawl while tarring the roof in Maine, rolled off of the roof onto the ground, and kept on fighting. Mr. Cooper and Darcy crooned sympathy when she told of the fearful day when Ben, she, and I huddled in the root cellar while our stepmother bravely distracted the Indians from finding us. Our stepmother was taken captive, and as far as we knew she was still in Canada with them. I was too young to remember it for myself, yet Mem makes me feel as though her memories are my own.
Now the two men have put on snowshoes and taken a walk to see whether the neighbors have cleared the main roads yet. The Coopers do itch to get home to their family. Having them here makes my heart ache for the ones Mem and I have lost. Pray Lord protect and keep Benjamin safe from harm. And bring our uncle home soon!
Wednesday ye 6th of January
The Coopers have gone. They lost patience with the sun and took matters into their own hands. They rigged up a plow to be pulled by two horses, the other four following with the sleigh.
Mr. Cooper left a letter for our uncle, thanking him for the hospitality of his household. (We did not tell him our uncle cannot read.) Mr. Cooper said the next time he and Darcy pass through the area they will stop to meet our uncle. (We did not tell him our uncle might be whaling off the shores of New Bedford, for all we know.) We are to watch for the Coopers on Mondays, when they travel to; and on Saturdays, when they travel fro. They like to be home for the Sabbath.
Mem packed them a meal of corn bread and cheese, and an apple cake that sent them off smiling. It smelled so good, I wanted to travel to Haver’il with it.
Bah, all the better that they left. Had the storm kept them here any longer, we would have gone through the whole winter’s worth of candles and cheese.
Thursday ye 7th of January
Mem can speak of nothing but Mr. Cooper. Mr. Cooper, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Cooper. She is convinced that Mr. Cooper intends to court her. All the time he was here he did treat her politely, and smile at her often, and praise her cooking, as did Darcy, and he did study her up and down when he heard she was not married. Still, I do not believe he could possibly have serious intentions. Why would a businessman and landowner like him want a wife like Mem? With a large family to raise, would he not be more interested in finding someone older and more experienced in running a household? There are plenty enough widows from high families needing husbands. Mem is but the niece of a poor laborer. She cannot even read, and when there is work to be done, she can barely breathe enough to argue. Mr. Cooper needs a helpmate, not a help-eat!
Friday ye 8th of January
Today the sun came out, and then it rained. The snow has melted in half. Pray the warm weather holds and the rain does not turn white. I am eager to get out of this little house on Sunday and join th
e congregation in fellowship.
I have not been in the company of girls my age in weeks. Enough listening to Mem about sweethearts! It will be good to see Abigail Williams and Ann Putnam again, but I hope that foolish Hobbs girl will leave me alone. She used to live in Maine, too, and likes to think we are friends. We are not! She will do anything for attention. She is rude and unseemly to her parents and is not afraid of anything.
One time she came up to the group of girls while we were playing cratch-cradle, and told us she had met the Devil! He introduced himself to her in the Maine woods. My startled fingers missed a string when she claimed, “I sold myself body and soul to the old boy.” Mercy Lewis pushed Hobbs away and said the little liar just saw an Indian. Mercy will not admit it, but I heard that she and Hobbs are related somehow.
Mem is eager to get out on Sunday, too. She can hardly wait to break the news of her beloved barrel-maker to Susannah.
Susannah!
God help me!
How could I have forgotten about the venus glass! I wonder if any evil has befallen her? I had better go pray.
Saturday ye 9th of January
The moon gives light
In time of night.
Last night the clouds blew over for a short time and allowed the full moon to shine down on the glazed snow. The frozen orchard seemed covered in jewels. The white rolling fields glittered with the grandeur of God. In that moment I felt as one with all creation. I felt like part of something too big and too beautiful to understand. Was that a moment of grace? Is that what it feels like to know one is among God’s Elect? As I wondered, the clouds came roiling in and returned the world to darkness. Did that mean I am not one of His chosen few?
I Walk in Dread (9780545388047) Page 2