Awakening with a delicious stretch and a yawn, Lady Pamela Love-well Halpert went about preparing herself for the day ahead. Cold splashes of water refreshed her greatly as she vigorously washed her face. After lacing her bodice and straightening her apron and frock, the lady tamed her wildly curly hair underneath a bonnet. Her dressing done, she made her way down the narrow stairs to the kitchen. Before stepping out to run her morning errands, Lady Halpert took a look into the larder, which revealed a goodly amount of food. In addition to a ration of ham and some mild cheese, her husband had asked for a new supply of candles for his study. He was keeping quite late hours with his new position as governor of the commonwealth; the Honorable James Make-peace Halpert had much parchment-work to read over, and he was burning up candles ever so quickly. Grabbing a shawl and her basket, Lady Pam walked out into the sunlight of a sweet day in 1692 Boston. Perhaps she would have pence enough for a few crayons after buying the candles and jelly mould necessary for that night’s banquet. The idea gave her pause to smile.
*~*~*
A half-day’s ride away, north of bustling Boston town, there was Salem, home to many a good and righteous Puritan family. Among these happy God-fearing people lived the Putnams and in their ranks was one Angela Chastity Putnam. Small in stature and severe in character, Angela was a model of demure womanhood and faithful obedience to the word of the Lord. However, it was well known in the village that she could be over-zealous in her condemnations of harlotry, even for a Puritan, and romantic misadventures were never discussed in her presence.
Although it was a bitterly cold day in January, Angela set out for the Reverend’s house on the other side of the village green; there was a pressing matter concerning the service for that coming Sunday which she must discuss with the Reverend. She had only now to come up with a problem. Her visits to the Reverend’s home had become rather frequent, and against her better judgment, Angela had fallen in love with him.
The determined Puritan chose to knock on the kitchen door instead of using the front entrance; she needed to compose herself before meeting with the Reverend. Angela was let in by the Reverend’s slave, Kelly Tituba. With a bubbly giggle, Kelly pulled Angela towards the hearth.
“It is so good that you have come this early morn, Mistress Angela! I am fortune-telling with Widow Vance and sharing the news of the day.”
With a wary look at the glib gossiper who stood bouncing on her heels, Angela nodded her head and proceeded to the hearth where the Widow Vance sat quietly knitting. The tiny coral beads of her necklace were offensive to Angela’s chaste eyes; it mattered not that the woman’s beloved late husband had bought them for her in Boston. Angela averted her gaze to the fire, although it too was orange.
Upon receiving a cup of tea she inquired, “How does one perform this fortune-telling, Kelly?”
“Ah, well, it does take some mighty skill, but I will tell thee. I can summon futuresight by peering deeply into the ashes of a fire. Shall I put out this one and start with you?”
Hesitating so as to weigh the consequences of this devilish act, Angela determined that it was simply a fun game of gossip and that God would not smite her for it.
“Please do Kelly,” she spoke softly, with a hint of a smile.
Pouring a pitcher of water into the flames, Kelly stirred the ashes slightly to extinguish the fire but not the embers. Squinting, with determination upon her brow, Kelly appeared to be deep in thought. From prior experience Angela had learned that this was generally not the case with Kelly, and she was only daydreaming about strawberries and cream or other such niceties. With a contented sigh, Kelly scooted back from the hearth and declared that Angela would soon be betrothed to the Reverend himself. A wave of color passed over the visitor’s face and she jumped up out of her chair.
“Kelly! What are you saying? What an appalling insinuation!” The tidy world in which Angela Putnam lived did not allow her the luxury of playfulness and she felt as though Kelly was calling her a hussy, in front of Widow Vance of all people.
Widow Vance was alarmed by her neighbor’s reaction. “Oh, Mistress Angela, 'tis of no matter; we will not hold you to it.”
The riled woman’s protests only became louder. The stomping of feet was heard upon the stairs leading to the kitchen and Rev. Dwight Kill-sin Parris bounded into the room.
“Who is being strangled!? Are you womenfolk safe? Kelly?”
“Oh, Master we were but playing a game. All is well.”
“Lie not to me, Kelly Tituba. Mistress Angela is standing there a-quiver, like one possessed.”
As her heart raced from the proximity the Reverend to herself, the wheels of Angela’s mind began to turn when as she heard these words from Rev. Dwight’s very own sin-free lips. “Possessed, he says. Whatever could have caused that?” she deviously thought. Considering the problems that gossips like Kelly and Phyllis Vance, Vance Cargo could cause if they chose to spread vicious lies about her and the Reverend, Angela decided she would pre-empt any such falsehoods.
“Aye, Reverend Parris, there is something dreadfully wrong. I feel not at all like myself. It is Kelly’s doing, what with her necromancy and witchery.”
“So it comes to light! Widow Vance, fetch the jailer More-fruit Kevin whilst I take Mistress Angela to the doctor. Kelly is no longer in my service. I declare her to be a witch!”
