The First Witch of Boston

by Andrea Catalano

One could never be too careful in Boston.

“Oh, Maggie, power resides in gold, and gold resides in power. It matters not who sits on the throne or who controls Parliament. This is the way it always has been and the way it always will be.”

She placed her ear upon his heart, as she was wont to do when he held her. “I had not imagined this place to be so . . . so stern, so austere.” “It’s the Puritan lot here, it’s how they are. It’s how they create order in the wilderness.

“I am Goodwife Margaret Jones, sir,” she said proudly. “Ah, the cunning woman.” Thomas held his breath at his words. Cunning woman was a slur in this part of the world.

“Damn hypocrite, that Endecott,” she muttered. “Not a kind bone in his body. Banished a pregnant woman to the wilds.” Thomas knew she meant the poor Anne Hutchinson. Though they had arrived after her banishment, they had heard stories about her many times. A religiously zealous and outspoken midwife, Hutchinson had been deemed a threat to the order of things in Massachusetts Bay. The men in power could not abide by a woman speaking her mind and gaining the admiration of others. And so she had been charged with blasphemy and banished to the wilds.

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.

They called her a “healer,” though Sam told Thomas that he overheard some in the public house call her a “cunning woman.” This unsettled Thomas, because “cunning woman” was one step shy of “witch,” and “witch” was most certainly a name to fear.

When a woman caused too much trouble or spoke too plainly, it seemed, there were those who would take umbrage and use piety as excuse and reason to take her in hand.