Salem's Curse

The Storm

It was near to midnight, but Jacob Bowman was far from sleep.  Instead, he was being held awake in a deep and especially long conversation with the town minister.  Not that he could have slept if he tried.  The storm outside raged so fiercely and deafening that he figured it was a miracle the whole house hadn't caved in.  

"I'll say a prayer for you tonight," the minister declared.  "I fear no one but the Devil himself could create such an unholy storm tonight."

"I thank you, sir," Jacob replied.  Thunder rolled in again, and he felt himself flinch.  In all his years on the earth, he had never felt a tempest as strong as this one.  Outside, the trees moaned and creaked, scraping their branches across the walls of the farmhouse, tearing at the wood like the claws of some gnarled hand.  Though the boards of the house were sturdy and new, the screaming wind still found its way into the room, sending dust and sand spiraling in little waves across the bare floor.  And although a roaring fire sat before the two men, it did little to combat the pitch black sky outside.  It was as though the dark, billowing thunderclouds were slowly seeping into the house, pressing the golden light of the fire against the wall and twisting the shadows away from the two men, until the dark silhouettes seemed themselves alive.  

Jacob shivered and pressed in closer to the light.  

"Well," said the minister, "I thank you for your hospitality, but I really must be going."

"Not out in this weather I hope," Jacob replied.   "At least let us give the promise of a warm bed."  He had been trying to get the minister to stay for the last two hours, and every time the conversation ended the same way:

"Thank you, Goodman Jacob, but I'd best be on my way." 

Jacob was ashamed at the desperation of his request; for although his house was sturdy and snug, his wife was away at her sister's house, and he dreaded the thought of being left alone on a night like this.  In truth, both of the men were merely using their small talk as an excuse to forget about the storm.  

Suddenly, a knock at the door made the pair of them jump.  Jacob stayed rooted to his seat.  The minister eyed him curiously, as if wondering why his host did not rise to lift the bar from the door.  Jacob tried to reason with himself.  The holy minister himself was here.  Surely nothing evil could come knocking on his door.  Yet it was only at the sound of Goodie Bowman's voice did he rise to open it.  

His wife blew in, dripping wet and looking thoroughly exhausted.  The two men rose to help her remove her clock, and only then did they notice the child nestled in her arms.  

"I found it lain in the mud just of the woodland path," the wife said breathlessly, "with no clothes, or any sign of her parents neither."  

Jacob peered down at the small bundle.  The child was small, probably only a few months old.  She sat still with her eyes open, whimpering quietly to herself.  She was soaked to the bone, but seemed otherwise uninjured.  Of course, it was hard to tell as she was covered all over in thick forest mud.  

The two men were quite taken aback at the unexpected sight.  After a few moments, the Minister found his voice.  

"Good God," he exclaimed," how in heaven's name did a child find itself in this storm."

Jacob let out a long, low breath.  "I don't know Reverend," he said. "Thanks be to God it's alright.  Who's child do you suppose it is?"

"I don't know," the Minister replied.  "Last I knew to be expecting was Goodie Mayhew, and she's not due till next winter."

"Perhaps Goodie Taylor?" He suggested.

"No," his wife snapped, "I've known Faith a long time.  She'd never leave her dear angel for anything." 

"Peace Grace," Said the minister.  "No need to worry about that now.  It's late, and this little one needs attending to." 

"Or course Revered," said Jacob.  "We'll take care of her for the night, and start looking for her mother at daybreak." 

"Jacob!" Cried Goodie Bowman. 

"Now Grace -

"No!" she cried, shaking her head defiantly.  "I won't let you, Jacob.  There's a reason someone stuck her out there in that muck, and I don't think it was an accident.  I won't have you taking her to her death." 

"Now see here Grace! We can't just take it in.  What will people think of you? No sign of expecting and then suddenly acquiring a child to raise.  It's unnatural! She could be an Indian child for all we know!"

"I don't care!" she sobbed.  "Oh Jacob, I've always wanted a child.  And now the good Lord has sent me my own little angel, and you won't let me keep it!" 

At the sound of distress, the child began to cry, the tears cutting little streams down her mud-caked face.  Jacob felt his heart melt a little.

"Revered," he said, "please, could I ask one favor of you? Allow my wife this child.  Tell the village, tell the whole of Massachusetts, there is no mother better for, nor worthy of this child than my Grace!"

"Fear not for your reputation Mr. Bowman," said the minister. "The church sees the deeds of good men.  You and your family will be welcomed through its doors for your actions."  

"Oh, thank you Reverend!" Goodie Bowman Sobbed, "A thousand times, thank you!"

"Think nothing of it," the man replied.  He leaned in towards the child. "It is by heaven's mercy that you have been granted a miracle tonight."

"That's what we'll call her," Goodie Bowman said softly.  "Mercy.  Mercy Gale."