Free Escaping Salem: The Other Witch Hunt of 1692 by Richard Godbeer Page B

content. It was not enough to establish that people in Stamford and Compo believed the two women to be guilty. The evidence must satisfy specific criteria established by legal experts on both sides of the Atlantic. These criteria were far from straightforward and the magistrates responsible for overseeing the trials now faced three considerable challenges: first, to make sure that they themselves understood the established grounds for conviction in witchcraft cases and avoided the kinds of confusion that had plagued some trials in the past; second, to ensure that the jurymen not only understood but also abided by those guidelines; and third, perhaps most daunting of all, to handle as diplomatically as possible the mounting public pressure for conviction. Many residents of Stamford and Compo were convinced of Elizabeth Clawson’s and Goody Disborough’s guilt; they had their own ideas as to what constituted proof; and they were not going to be pleased if the court viewed the situation differently.

FOUR: ANGRY SPEECHES AND STRANGE AFFLICTIONS
    John Finch wore a grim, implacable expression as he resurrected painful memories of his little daughter’s death. It was all very well for ministers to preach submission to God’s will, but what about Elizabeth Clawson’s role in bringing about his child’s untimely end? Whatever God’s ultimate motives in allowing this to happen, John Finch was convinced that a witch had murdered his daughter. He wanted revenge.
    “I’ve been thinking about the quarrel my wife and I had with Goody Clawson a year ago,” he declared to Mary Newman, “and the price we paid for crossing her. It was soon after that quarrel that our daughter was taken with screaming and crying—the poor child was in agony. I remember well the night that it began. We opened her clothing and examined her body, but found nothing that might be causing her such pain and suffering. She continued in anguish for about a fortnight and then she died. We were sure that Goody Clawson had a hand in it.”
    As Goodman Finch was relating this chain of events to Goody Newman in the street outside her house, Thomas Penoir and his wife, Lydia, joined them. After greeting their neighbors, the Penoirs listened intently as the conversation continued.
    “About two years past,” confided Goody Newman, “I also had a difference with Goody Clawson and angry words passed between us. The next day we had three sheep die suddenly.  When we opened them up we couldn’t find anything amiss to explain their deaths. Some of our neighbors told us then they thought the creatures were bewitched.” Goodwife Penoir nodded. “I remember you telling me about that. Goody Clawson was angry because your daughter had taken some fruit from her orchard.” “That’s right,” said Goody Newman. “She told me at the time, ‘If you allow your children to steal when they are young, what will they be like when they grow up?’ Do you recall that?” “I do,” said Goody Penoir, “and I’m ready to swear to it.”

    As news of Katherine Branch’s accusations against Elizabeth Clawson spread through Stamford’s tightly knit community, the Wescots were not alone in recalling past disagreements with Goody Clawson and the afflictions that followed. Nor would this be the first time that Stamford residents explained mysterious ailments in terms of grudges between neighbors and even within families. Older townsfolk remembered well the curmudgeonly William Graves. Some thirty years before, Goodman Graves had refused to hand over his daughter Abigail’s inheritance, as he had promised, on her marriage to Samuel Dibble. The angry young husband brought a lawsuit against his father-in-law. Goodman Graves denied having made the promise and told his son-in-law that he would regret the lawsuit as long as he lived.
    “Now do not threaten, father,” Samuel replied, “for threatened folk live long.”
    “Well you shall never live the longer for it,” declared