Unnatural

Unnatural

I was ill-prepared for what happened. I see now that it was all my fault. I fell prey to my own delusions, one being that within this town I could find a place of my own, beyond the prying eyes of my neighbors and the judgment of the church.

I should have known better. I have no excuse. I was not so very young. At thirty-two, and the mother of four, I should have taken my responsibilities more seriously and not permitted myself to stray so far beyond the strictures of our church.

I say “our” church, even though I was never deemed worthy of membership. My husband, Robert, is a member, but the Reverend Hooker holds things in my past against me, which I do not fully understand. I was trying to be a good member of my former community when I accused my neighbor, Goodwife Bailey, of consorting with Satan. But it was we who had to leave that place in disgrace and settle in Farmington to start over. Imagine that horrid woman accusing me of the capital offense of adultery simply to bring shame on our name. Although no legal action was taken against me, I wish that I could have had an acquittal of these charges.

I wonder whether that would have softened Reverend Hooker’s heart toward me and spared me my fate.

But how glad I was when we first came here. The forests that surround the town were lush and fragrant in the spring, alive with all of Creation. Birdsong filled my heart with gladness. Could it really be so sinful to burst forth in dance when it is inspired by God’s creatures? Of course, I was always careful to keep these expressions of joy concealed from my neighbors—or so I thought. If only I had known Goody Greensmith had espied me.

Whenever chance permitted, I would steal away from my labors, caring for the mistress’s baby while my eldest watched her siblings at home. I would create some excuse to escape to the forest when the babe napped, even though I knew it was a sin to lie to the mistress. And, often, I would stop there on my way to or from our small, unpainted house on the edge of the wood at the beginning and end of each day.

It was when I was there in the woods that I learned a secret that few humans have been privy to. A doe trusted me so well as to allow me near her fawn. His spotted coat made him almost invisible in the dappled sunlight, yet suddenly, there he was. His steady gaze showed no fear, and I felt a thrill of acceptance I had never known in our human community.

People might think it unnatural for such a relationship to occur, but isn’t it the way nature should always be? Don’t the scriptures say that the wolf shall dwell with the lamb? I am sure I have heard that during the long church services I am obligated to attend, even if I cannot be a member.

The dark eyes of the fawn inspected me, embraced me. His spirit was strong, and I knew he would grow to lead a mighty herd, evading the guns of the townsfolk during their hunting forays. Somehow, I knew. So did the doe. We shared a pride in her offspring. I grew to love the fawn almost as much as my own youngest, Hannah. Certainly, more than the mistress’s baby, who was more toil than pleasure. The more I saw of the fawn, the more I had to see him. Our souls connected—even if the Reverend Hooker proclaims animals have no souls.

Humans aren’t as god-like as the Reverend Hooker said. If we were made in the image of God, why are so few admitted to church membership? Why are there such strict rules of behavior that seemed designed to separate us from the beauty of Creation? How can our natural inclinations also be “depraved,” as the Reverend preaches?

These are blasphemous thoughts, I know. They rose unbidden to my ignorant mind. Perhaps if I were wiser, I could understand. Perhaps if I were more pious, I could fight the impulses that draw me back to nature. Perhaps if I were purer, these thoughts would never form.

I am flawed; that I own. But if I am flawed, might the Reverend Hooker, also a human, be also flawed?

Perhaps I did tarry too long in the woods. The mistress’s babe did not nap so long as my children had at that age. If she awoke before my return, the mistress would be in high dudgeon. She has an unnatural meanness to her. Most often her wrath would fall upon me, but when I wasn’t there, I fear the babe bore the brunt of it.

When I returned after too long a time away, she screamed at me that the babe was ill. I went to the child and found her not fully awake and her complexion blue. She had trouble drawing breath and when she could, she spent it fussing. I tried my best for her, but God called her home. Mistress went into a fury, raging at me for killing her child. It could have been her grief, not her meanness, that caused her to speak thus.

I knew my presence brought her no solace, so I left for home. She followed me, hurling curses at me that I would not want my children to hear, so I diverted my path toward the wood, believing she would not follow me there. I knelt by a rock and cried for the lost child. The young buck approached and comforted me. Such a good soul.

I tarried long there, seeking comfort from nature and from God. When Reverend Hooker and the constable came for me, grabbed me, and tore me away from my beloved fawn, the deer stood his ground, stomping his hoof and snorting in a manner beyond his age. If the situation were less serious, I would have laughed to see he, whose baby spots were still fading, try to appear so fierce.

“Witch,” they cried. “Thou shouldst die for thine evil deeds.”

I knew not what to say, so remained silent, giving a last, longing look at the fawn as they forced me out of the woods and into the prison where others so accused languished awaiting trial.

Within a week, my trial took place in the log building in the center of town—the Meeting House. Stocks and a whipping post stood at the front of the building for punishment of those accused of lesser offences.

It began with a reading of the accusation. “Thou art here indicted by the name of Mary Barnes for not having the fear of God before thine eyes, thou hast entertained familiarity with Satan, the grand enemy of God and mankind—and by his help has acted things in a preternatural way beyond human abilities in a natural course for which according to the law of God and the established law of this commonwealth thou deservest to die.”

My nerves were so jangled, I knew not what to do. I heard them say that two witnesses were required to put me to death. I believed they had only the mistress’s word, which gave me comfort. Then I heard that another in the prison, Mrs. Greensmith, had also accused me. She was a confessed witch and condemned to death before my trial. Why, therefore, would they accept her word?

She said that she had seen me dance in the woods in the company of a familiar—a creature given to me by the Devil to help me execute my evil deeds. Whatever could she have meant? I admit that I had danced, but only when alone. I had heard that a crow could be such a creature, but I remembered no crows in the forest.

“And what shape did this familiar take,” the questioner asked her.

She looked at me with an evil glint in her eye as she answered. “The shape of a fawn. A baby deer.”

I know my face turned pale, for I felt likely to faint. How could she ascribe any evil to my beloved deer?

Mrs. Greensmith was not done with her condemnation. “It calls her into the woods, and she obeys its commands. It invites her to dance for it, and she dances with abandon. She expresses an unnatural love for it, stroking its fur and embracing it in a depraved manner that could only come from the Devil.”

I knew then that Goodwife Greensmith told the truth. I was guilty. I had not known myself to be a witch. I had believed myself to be doing the work of God—not of the Devil.

Then I heard the charge to the jury. “According to the Code of Law of 1650 governing the colony of Connecticut, ‘If any man or woman be a witch, that is have consultation with a familiar spirit, they shall be put to death.’”

And so, it was decided.

This morning, Goodwife Greensmith, her husband, and I were loaded onto an ox cart and taken to gallows hill. The townsfolk gathered there pelted us with rotted fruit and chanted, “Witch, witch, witch.” Many times, I heard our souls consigned to Hell.

I looked for my children in the crowd but was relieved when I did not see them. They need not see their mother die in this manner. My husband, Robert, was also not there. I would not wish to add to his grief, but it would have brought me some succor to have seen his smile one more time.

I scaled the scaffold behind the Greensmiths. A noose was placed on Goody Greensmith’s neck. She glared at me as she was pushed off the platform. She struggled, kicking her feet and swinging in a wide arc. After some moments, she was still. Mr. Greensmith was next. He looked down and once the noose was secure, leaped to his fate with vigor, not waiting to be pushed. He swung on his rope but did not struggle. Then it was my turn.

I feared that my legs would give out as I stepped closer to the rope. I turned and could see the forest in the distance. What was it I saw there as the noose went around my neck? The fawn. I could feel his eyes on me.

I knew he was of the Devil, but I could not but smile.