Chapter Ten

DILLARD BEACH MYSTERY UPDATE

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Dillard, November 1678

Preparing for winter on Cape Cod became a full time occupation for John and Rebekah. Although the autumn days were unusually warm that year, hints of the cold temperatures soon to come were found in the early morning ice that crusted over the meadow grass and the shrinking woodpile. Each morning before leaving for the seashore, John gathered wood to keep the hearth bright and when he returned from a full day of digging for quahogs or casting his line for cod, he brought in one or two large logs—enough to keep the fire burning through the night. But after only a few weeks living at the cottage, John knew they would soon run out of fuel.
“I never knew a fire could eat so much wood,” he complained to Rebekah at supper the next day. A large bowl of fish stew steamed in the center of the table. Rebekah handed John his wooden spoon and the two began to eat from the same bowl. “I will soon need to spend a week felling trees or our cribs will surely run empty before the hard frost sets in. As things stand today, we will never last the winter.”
“Perhaps I can use fewer logs,” Rebekah suggested. “I will bank the fire an hour earlier each morn and hold it cool until the time before the evening meal. That will stretch the wood. Most days I am out under the sky more than the roof and do not think on such things as the weather has been so favorable.”
John studied his wife. “I do not complain. The hearth is your domain and your choice to keep as you wish. But no doubt as we need more wood, I must soon stay back from the shoreline and take the skid into the woodland to gather a goodly number of trees for our winter warmth.”
“The summer got away from me, John. My work in both garden and fields took my mind away from gathering wood as fuel. As you were not here at the time, and no man likely to be so, I did ask Farmer Birch to set aside wood for my use as he felled it for his own. His son brought me as much of my share as he had gathered by end of summer, but it does not fill the cribs. As you say, more is needed.
“Perhaps I can trade clams for timber.”
Rebekah shook her head. “Timber is far too dear now to be traded for shells. Perhaps I can bargain some of my potents and tinctures with the farmers wives. I have a good reputation for making wondrous cures that will hold off the deepest of winter coughs and chills. A small vial should trade for a large bundle of fat wood or small logs.”
A deep sigh escaped John’s lips. “I do not question your efforts, but you must be wary in putting a cloud of mystery around your tonics. Wagging tongues will wonder and ask too many questions.”
Rebekah looked at her husband, startled at his words. “What is it you suggest? I have never claimed any mystery in making my medicinals. Each and every plant is taken from my own garden, or the nearby woods and fields and worked by my own hand. All are good and fair herbs and flowers that I harvest through the season. I never add strange powders to my vials. You have watched me these past weeks. You know how careful and deliberate I am with what I conjure.”
Rand immediately raised his hand and shook his head. “There it is— the very mischief maker, Rebekah.”
She looked at him, confused.
“The trouble is the word you only just let slip. ‘Conjure.’ You must stop, Rebekah. Never utter that word or let it pass your lips if you value our lives together.”
“What have I said?” Rebekah was puzzled.
“You spoke of conjuring. It hints at magic. The work of the devil to some. Overheard by the wrong person in the wrong place, it is a word full of danger for you. —For us.”
“But to conjure a tincture matches what it is I do.” She could see John’s face clouded with confusion. “Let me make sense of it for you.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I use many different elements and join them together, to blend and stir and heat and boil. What was once a mixture of many elements is now a potent solution of one. In the end it is something new and quite wonderful. And the result can be magical.”
She studied his face, eager for his understanding. “You know by your own eye, that about which I speak. My creams have helped smooth even your rough hands, and calm the heat of your brow after a full day on the water. My tinctures and potents prove an ease to those who are in discomfort and I am happy to share them with whoever is in need. I do not hear complaints. Most find my tinctures a blessing.”
“I am certain they do, Bekah. I, for my part, have benefited mightily from your creams and salves that heal my roughened hands every day. I do not say stop making such things. But be careful how you shape the story of your making them. Do not use the word “conjuring” to describe your talents. It is surely to be misunderstood by those who are ignorant.”
“Or jealous!” Rebekah interrupted. “There are a few who think me too proud of my healing skills. The elders are jealous of my position in the village as a healer and are surprised by how many come to me for help when they are in need. You know how often I am called upon to mend a broken bone, or cool a heated brow.”
“More often in the middle of the night,” John added with a touch of humor, and reached across the table for a piece of bread.
“But especially when the women near their time of deliverance,” she continued. “And I am happy to do so, John. I do not complain. The lessons I have learned and methods I have gathered over these last few years, I gladly share.”
John smiled at his wife. “And you are well rewarded for your generosity.”
She paused, taking her time before responding. “It is true, I have been fortunate in my dealings with the people of Dillard. In no small part due to the care and attention of Amos Dillard, my primary benefactor.”
“It was his wife and child you brought back from the very edge of death, if the story I hear holds true.”
Rebekah nodded. “You know most of this story. It was five winters ago and bitterly cold. Mistress Dillard had not had an easy time of things. It was her first child and she had been unwell through most of her confinement. I had visited with the Mistress during the first eight months and expected to be with her at the birthing, but at the first sign of her labor, her husband Amos panicked and called in the preacher, who brought along the local physician, Joshua Taylor. But the man had no experience in childbirth and could see there were sure to be…” She paused, searching for the right word.
“Complications?” John suggested.
She nodded. “But good fortune smiled upon us all. Amos finally came to his senses, I was called in at the last and was able to treat both mother and child. The mother recovered quickly and the child has grown into a right fine boy.”
“I have seen him running along the shore sometimes. He seems a real rascal.”
“Of course, as you might expect, Joshua Taylor has barely spoken to me since.”
“From what I hear, that’s not much of a loss for us simple folk.”
Rebekah stood and began to clear the table. “John, you may worry at my calling the work I do with herbal poultices and salves a bit of magic, but I have witnessed the mysterious way the fibers of a plant, its leaves, and sap can deliver balm to the body of a soul. Or how the scent of lavender or eucalyptus can soothe a troubled spirit. I do not deny it. I call it a wondrous magic. And so too, should you. Amos Dillard does as well. For through his generosity and faith in my abilities did he claim this cottage as my own and deed it to me for all my life and that of my children— our children, if we are so blessed.”
John studied his wife. “You speak the truth. As you have told me before we wed, the cottage is, indeed, yours by right. A gift from the Elder, Amos Dillard. I would never question your right to it.”
“But there are those who do.” Rebekah held her tongue with great difficulty. She was ready to speak the names of those she knew wished her ill. “I would curse every one of them, if not for the fear of bringing even more of their venom down on our heads.”

... (Chapter continues…)

“Rebekah, you concern yourself with troubles that have not yet come into being. Do we not have enough of those that are present in our lives without your inventing more troubles for us to grapple with?”
“You think me inventing troubles? You believe I imagine the looks and comments I endure from those who find what I do suspicious?”
“I do not think you imagine slights and wonderings. But I do believe you take these slights more to heart than you should. And from what I see, the venom, as you call it, comes from a very few. Most of our neighbors hold you in high regard as a welcome healer and are grateful for your ministrations and generosity.” He stood and returned the bench to its spot next to the cabinet. “My advice to you is to ignore the opinions of the ignorant and carry on with your good work.
Rebekah nodded in agreement. “There is little else I can do.”
“It’s getting late, Bekah. Tomorrow is time enough to deal with all these questions. But for now,” he paused, leaned in close to her face, and softly kissed her cheek, “I think what we both of us need, is to be under the covers in our bed.”
“What you need, dear husband is to rest up for your woodman’s chores. Tomorrow you will be cutting down half the forest for our winter stores. And if that be the case,” she teased, “you will need to save all your strength for the morrow. No love battles tonight.”
“I think you are sadly mistaken, dear wife.” John laughed and quickly followed Rebekah up the ladder to the loft and the warmth of their bed.
Next morning as she served John his porridge, Rebekah thought about their conversation from the evening before. “John, are you worried about my inheritance, from Dillard?”
John looked at his wife over his tumbler of hot tea and shrugged. “Not my business, Bekah.”
“But it may be your business someday. If anything should happen to me, you’re my next of kin and the land and cottage would go to you. You should know I have proof—documents from Amos Dillard written in his own hand that prove that he gave me this land and this cottage.”
“Where are they? I hope you have them in a safe place.”
Rebekah looked around the great room. “I’ve been looking for just such a place since I moved into the house. After giving the matter a great deal of thought I believe I know of one spot that should serve to keep the documents safe. But I need your help.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I think the best thing for it, is to keep the papers all together in a metal box. It does not have to be too large. Your tackle box is a good size. That will keep them safe. And we need to place the box in a spot hidden from thieves. Behind a wall, or in a space beneath the floor. I need you to help choose the spot.
John turned and gazed around the room, considering the options. “You have to think long term, Bekah. If we stay in the cottage long enough, we’ll be building extra rooms for the little ones sure to come.” He gave her a long and deliberate wink, thinking of the night just past and the possible consequences that might follow.
“The one part of the house that will stay the same, or at least stay in the same spot is your hearth. We can clear a small area high on the back wall of the fireplace and hide whatever it is you want to keep from prying eyes in the space. A metal box will protect the documents from fire.”
“Do you have such a box you can spare?” Rebekah asked.
“In truth, I have two. One I keep for lures and tackle. It is old and dented and not worthy for the important use you are considering. But the second is in proper shape and is yours to keep.”
“Thank you, John. Kindness is your gift to me.”
“Always,” he murmured softly.
Within a week John had removed the wattle and stones from the back wall of the hearth several feet above what could be seen from the center of the room. He carved out a long rectangular space between the studs and prepared a couple of large stones that could be slid into place to disguise the opening. “If you stand back and face the hearth you cannot see the hiding space. It is not ideal,” John explained, “but it does offer some disguise to serve your purpose until a better idea presents itself. I still need to patch and whitewash the wall to match what is already in place, but once done, I wager it will be hard to know the hiding space is even there.”