As Elizabeth turned her attention back to her second batch of bread, Mercy’s eyes roamed the kitchen. She noticed a fresh wheel of cheese having come directly from the cheese press. She saw a pitcher of cider on the corner of the hearth. Then she noticed something more striking. Arrayed along the windowsill was a row of dolls made from painted wood and carefully sewn fabric. Each was dressed in the costume of a particular livelihood. There was a merchant, a blacksmith, a goodwife, a cartwright, and even a doctor. The doctor was dressed in black with a starched lace collar.
Mercy stood up and walked to the window. She picked up the doll dressed as a doctor. A large needle was thrust into its chest.
“What are these figures?” Mercy asked with barely concealed concern.
“Dolls that I make for the orphan children,” Elizabeth said without looking up from her labor with her bread. She was removing each loaf, buttering its top, and then replacing it in the oven. “My deceased mother, God rest her soul, taught me how to make them.”
“Why does this poor creature have a needle rending its heart?” Mercy asked.
“The costume is unfinished,” Elizabeth said. “I am forever misplacing the needle and they are so dear.”
Mercy replaced the doll and unconsciously wiped her hands. Anything that suggested magic and the occult made her uncomfortable. Leaving the dolls, she turned to the children, and after watching them for a moment asked Elizabeth what they were doing.
“It’s a trick my mother taught me,” Elizabeth said. She slipped the last loaf of bread back into the oven. “It’s a way of divining the future by interpreting the shapes of egg white dropped into the water.”
“Bid them to stop immediately,” Mercy said with alarm.
Elizabeth looked up from her work and eyed her visitor. “But why?” she asked.
“It is white magic,” Mercy admonished.
“It is harmless fun,” Elizabeth said. “It is merely something for the children to do while they are confined by such a winter. My sister and I did it many times to try to learn the trade of our future husbands.” Elizabeth laughed. “Of course it never told me I’d marry a shipowner and move to Salem. I thought I was to be a poor farmer’s wife.”
“White magic breeds black magic,” Mercy said. “And black magic is abhorrent to God. It is the devil’s work.”
“It never hurt my sister or myself,” Elizabeth said. “Nor my mother, for that matter.”
“Your mother’s dead,” Mercy said sternly.
“Yes, but-”
“It is sorcery,” Mercy continued. Blood rose to her cheeks. “No sorcery is harmless. And remember the bad times we are experiencing with the war and with the pox in Boston only last year. Just last sabbath Reverend Parris’ sermon told us that these horrid problems are occurring because people have not been keeping the covenant with God by allowing laxity in religious observance.”
“I hardly think this childish game disturbs the covenant,” Elizabeth said. “And we have not been lax in our religious obligations.”
“But indulging in magic most certainly is,” Mercy said. “Just like tolerance of the Quakers.”
Elizabeth waved her hand in dismissal. “Such problems are beyond my purview. I surely don’t see anything wrong with the Quakers since they are such a peaceful, hardworking people.”
“You must not voice such opinions,” Mercy chided. “Reverend Increase Mather has said that the Quakers are under a strong delusion of the devil. Perhaps you should read Reverend Cotton Mather’s book Memorable Providences: Relating to Witchcraft and Possessions. I can loan it to you since my husband purchased it in Boston. Reverend Mather says the bad times we are experiencing stem from the devil’s wish to return our New England Israel to his children, the red men.”
Directing her attention to the children, Elizabeth called out to them to quiet down. Their shrieking had reached a crescendo. Still, she quieted them more to interrupt Mercy’s sermonizing than to subdue their excited talk. Looking back at Mercy, Elizabeth said she’d be most thankful for the opportunity to read the book.
“Speaking of church matters,” Mercy said. “Has your husband considered joining the village church? Since he’s a landowner in the village he’d be welcome.”