Dillard Beach Mystery – 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

July, 1683

Rebekah was in her back garden when the village elders came. She had been weeding since dawn as the day promised to be one full of heat and she wanted to get most of the work done before the sun was high in the sky. Her intention was to work early, gathering in the plants she would need for the day. The air was heavy with very little breeze to give relief. It was Ezra, playing in the yard beside the shed, who saw the men arrive.

“Mama, men are here. Come see.” The boy raced across the path to the edge of the back garden. “Mama. Come see,” he repeated. He pointed towards the front of the house.

She stood, grasping her basket full of cuttings. “Who is it Ezra?”

“Men, Mama. Big men with hats.”

“Is it Farmer Birch?”

“No Mama. Come see.”

Rebekah could see the boy was anxious. “Wait there, Ezra. I will see who they are.”

She pulled her apron tight to her waist so as not to trip and hurried towards the front yard. Three figures in black stood silently by a large carriage, watching her approach. She recognized Mister Warren, the village minister and the tall lanky figure of Simon Dillard, the landowner who, years before had generously given her the land on which she stood in gratitude for her saving his bride and first child during a difficult childbirth. She did not recognize the third gentleman.

“Mister Warren, sir and Mister Dillard,” she greeted the men warmly and gave each a short nod of her head as a sign of deference. “It is good to see you both. I trust you are well.” She turned to the third man, nodded, and waited for an introduction.

“This is Constable Atkins,” the Minister said. “His son, Jasper was good friends with your late husband John.”

Rebekah searched her memory but could not recall ever meeting the Constable. She made a slight bow in his direction. “John spoke well of your son, sir, and counted him as a good friend.”

The Constable nodded. “As did my son of your husband. A tragic loss for you, I am sure. He is sorely missed.”

Rebekah nodded. “Does Jasper prosper these days?” she asked.

“He does well enough, I am pleased to report. He now owns a small fleet of dories and makes a good living, fishing off the Islands.”

“I am glad to hear it.” She glanced at the other two men. “And how can I be of service to you, gentlemen? May I offer you some refreshment?” She gestured towards the front door.

The Minister shook his head. “We have not come to visit, Mistress Rand.” Mister Warren’s voice was grim. “There have been rumors that have spread through the village that cause each of us a great deal of concern.”

“I do not understand.”

“As head of your church, it is my duty to protect and guide your faith. Mister Dillard, as you well know, is not only your great benefactor, he is one of our most prominent citizens and is here to see that your position in our community is secure. Constable Atkins represents the legal view.”

Rebekah looked from one to the other. “The legal view of what, sir?”

The Minister ignored her question. “Is it true, Mistress Rand that you are involved in a business venture with Captain Edward Chapman and to that end have been gathering women to your hearth for the sole purpose of making magic potions?”

Rebekah stared at the Minister, a look of shock and surprise on her face. “Potions, sir? Magic potions?” She was stunned at the accusation. “Who is spreading these lies?”

“Is it not true that within these past weeks you have brought women together, both here and in Hyannis? Such a gathering causes suspicions to rise.”

“It is true, I called a gathering of women to help me, but not to make potions, as you call it.”

“Then to what purpose?” the Minister questioned.

“For the purpose of healing, sir.”

“Explain yourself, Mistress Rand. Do you call yourself a healer? Are you a doctor?”

“I am not educated in such medicine. Not in the way that a doctor would be. I am a midwife and have been so for many years. My skills are found in following the way of plants and herbal remedies that provide relief for my patients. My intentions are for healing.”

“And now you are selling your service? What are you trading?”

“I receive a small compensation for my work. More often than not, such compensation is made in the way of porridge or a chicken. I assure you sirs, there is little wealth to be made in midwifery.”

“And it was for this reason you have turned to these magic potions?”

Rebekah paused and considered how best to answer, knowing if she were misunderstood, the outcome could be dangerous.

“There is no magic here, sirs. As part of my midwifery practice, I sometimes mix special plants and herbs together to make an ointment or a tincture. If the woman finds the tincture helpful I will make a small batch of it for her own use. It was in the course of making such a mixture, I discovered a way to make the ointment easy to apply as a hand cream. I was curious to see how it would serve a tradesman who often abuses his hands. I gave a small jar of the salve to my apprentice for her husband. He works on the docks and his hands are often well abused. He found the salve healed his hands and he asked for more. I mentioned all this to Captain Chapman, thinking he might want some of the mixture for his dock workers. They were pleased with the result.”

“No doubt, the Captain saw an opportunity to line his pockets,” Dillard spoke up. “He is a trader, after all.”

“I was commissioned by the Captain to make a healing skin balm,” Rebekah continued. The order was large and I required help. Many of my past patients, including your wife, Simon, joined me in fulfilling the order. The Captain intends to offer it for sale to local farmers and tradesmen.”

Mister Warren looked skeptical. “You skirt the edge of faith, Mistress Rand. Do not forget, true healing comes from above after deliberate prayer and fasting, not from a jar of suspect oils.”

“That may very well be true for the soul of a believer, sir. But this ointment is for the body. Prayer and fasting are not needed, so much as beeswax and lavender.”

“You dare to mock me, Mistress?”

“I do not mock you, Minister. I merely explain what is obvious.”

Simon Dillard spoke up. “I’m sure Mistress Rand meant no insult. It seems the rumors are unfounded. There is little magic to witness here.”

Rebecca was not satisfied. “Constable, I would like to know who has been spreading these rumors. Do you know? Could the source be Doctor Taylor? He has always been jealous of my practice.”

“That information was told to me in confidence, Mistress Rand, but I can assure you I will inform the source they were mistaken.”

>>>> continued…<<<<

The Minister adjusted his cape. “I believe our business with Mistress Rand is done for the moment,” the Minister said. “We leave you now, Mistress, but be aware, we are keeping an eye.” He did not bow or nod before turning towards the waiting carriage. Dillard and Atkins followed without comment.

It was all she could do to contain her anger as she bid the three men good day and watched as they drove off towards the village center.

“Who would spread such a rumor, or think of me in such a way?,” she asked aloud.

With fists clenched, she walked back towards the garden, her boots kicking dust high in the air. She felt like hitting something or someone. Hard. Instead, she grabbed a garden hoe that was leaning against the side of the shed and began to pound dirt as hard as she was able, leaving deep gashes in the soil.

She only stopped when she heard Ezra’s voice and looked up. The boy was standing by the fence, staring at his mother. He looked frightened. Small tears were running down both cheeks.
“Did the man with the tall hat hurt you Moma?” Ezra asked.

She leaned on the handle of the hoe and wiped the hair from her sweaty brow.

“No, Ezra, the man did not hurt me.”

Ezra tried to smile.

Rebekah reached out and took the boy into her arms. “Do not be afraid, Ezra. I am not hurt or harmed.” She paused, staring at her young son. “Words the man spoke made me very angry. I felt like hitting something. But you know that is not the right way to handle angry feelings. I decided to pound the dirt in the garden instead. And, see?” She gave her son a broad smile,” the pounding cleared my mind of angry thoughts.”

“Mom not mad now?” Ezra asked.

She leaned forward and kissed the boy. “Not anymore.” She paused, holding Ezra close. “Would you like to go for a walk to the stream with me? Maybe you could catch a fish for our supper!”

Ezra nodded “yes.” “I fish for supper!”