The First Witch of Boston

by Andrea Catalano

And her words rang through his mind like some Catholic prayer. “When I am gone, do not be weighed down by sadness. Be lifted by hope—the hope that we have always shared. Be rid of this life, be rid of every vestige of it—of me!”

The widow was like a pale spring tulip kissed by the sun, his wife like a bloodred rose in full bloom at dusk.

“Maggie, calm yourself. Your anger cannot be good for the babe.” She sighed. “You are right, Thomas. I wish I could be as sensible as you.” 38 Thomas laughed. “You cannot help yourself, you are an Aries, ruled by Mars.” “Ah, to be a gentle Libra, ruled by Venus.” She laughed,

You see, I had only known men who threw their weight and voices round as though they were kings, as though it were their divine right. Most think they know everything and speak like they do, when it is nothing but empty words. They know naught, most of them. And the louder they are, the less they know. The more they boast, the less they have. The more show they put on in front of lasses, the less show they’ve got for you under the bed linens.”

“I wanted a man who had enough faith in his own worth, his strength, and his mind that he had no need to put on some absurd stage drama. I wanted a man who was confident enough in himself to handle the likes of me.”

“Surely she will be blessed with Leo in ascendance in her sky.”

filled it with dried Rue, which is an herb of the sign Leo, Bess’s ascendant sign.

My grandmum swore that Rue would protect against the Evil Eye.

William Pynchon’s Springfield was much too far inland for his tastes—on the very edge of the known world, it seemed to him. And Connecticut, he learned, had its own share of troubles.