Free The First Book of the Pure by Don Dewey

cheeks.

Chapter
13
     
    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