“I hope in God’s name I am not a bother,” Mercy said.
“Heavens, no,” Elizabeth replied as she took Mercy’s coat and directed her to a ladder-back chair near the fire. “You’re a welcome reprieve from the likes of these unruly children. But you have caught me baking, and I must remove my bread.” Quickly she hefted a long-handled peel, and with short, deft thrusts picked up the eight loaves one by one and deposited them to cool on the long trestle table that dominated the center of the room.
Mercy watched Elizabeth as she worked, remarking to herself that she was a fine-looking woman with her high cheekbones, porcelain complexion, and lithesome figure. It was also apparent she was accomplished in the kitchen by the way she handled the bread-making and with the skill she evinced stoking the fire and adjusting the trammel holding the kettle. At the same time Mercy sensed there was something disturbing about Elizabeth’s persona. There wasn’t the requisite Christian meekness and humbleness. In fact Elizabeth seemed to project an alacrity and boldness that was unbecoming of a Puritan woman whose husband was away in Europe. Mercy began to sense that there was more to the gossip that she’d heard than idle hearsay.
“The aroma of your bread has an unfamiliar piquancy,” Mercy said as she leaned over the cooling loaves.
“~’Tis rye bread,” Elizabeth explained as she began to slip eight more loaves into the oven.
“Rye bread?” Mercy questioned. Only the poorest farmers with marshy land ate rye bread.
“I grew up on rye bread,” Elizabeth explained. “I do indeed like its spicy taste. But you may wonder why I am baking so many loaves. The reason is I have in mind to encourage the whole village to utilize rye to conserve the wheat supplies. As you know, the cool wet weather through spring and summer and now this terrible winter has hurt the crop.”
“It is a noble thought,” Mercy said. “But perhaps it is an issue for the men to discuss at the town meeting.”
Elizabeth then shocked Mercy with a hearty laugh. When Elizabeth noticed Mercy’s expression, she explained herself: “The men don’t think in such practical terms. They are more concerned with the polemic between the village and the town. Besides, there is more than a poor harvest. We women must think of the refugees from the Indian raids since it is already the fourth year of King William’s War and there’s no end in sight.”
“A woman’s role is in the home~.~.~.” Mercy began, but she trailed off, taken aback by Elizabeth’s pertness.
“I’ve also been encouraging people to take the refugees into their homes,” Elizabeth said as she dusted the flour from her hands on her smocked apron. “We’ve taken in two children after the raid on Casco, Maine, a year ago last May.” Elizabeth called out sharply to the children and interrupted their play by insisting they come to meet the doctor’s wife.
Elizabeth first introduced Mercy to Rebecca Sheaf, age twelve, and Mary Roots, age nine. Both had been cruelly orphaned during the Casco raid, but now both appeared hale and happy. Next Elizabeth introduced Joanna, age thirteen, Ronald’s daughter from a previous marriage. Then came her own children: Sarah, age ten; Jonathan, age nine; and Daniel, age three. Finally Elizabeth introduced Ann Putnam, age twelve; Abigail Williams, age eleven; and Betty Parris, age nine, who were visiting from Salem Village.
After the children dutifully acknowledged Mercy, they were allowed to return to their play, which Mercy noticed involved several glasses of water and fresh eggs.
“I’m surprised to see the village children here,” Mercy said.
“I asked my children to invite them,” Elizabeth said. “They are friends from attending the Royal Side School. I felt it best that my children not school in Salem Town with all the riffraff and ruffians.”
“I understand,” Mercy said.
“I will be sending the children home with loaves of rye bread,” Elizabeth said. She smiled friskily. “It will be more effective than giving their families a mere suggestion.”
Mercy nodded but didn’t comment. Elizabeth was mildly overwhelming.
“Would you care for a loaf?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Mercy said. “My husband, the doctor, would never eat rye bread. It’s much too coarse.”