“Have you ever attended a Quaker assembly? What about papist? This charge says you cast spells of a pagan nature and know all kinds of chants and are familiar with diverse concoctions of the Roman Catholic Church. That you had been known, when you abided with the Roberts family, to pray to candles. How do you answer?”
I touched Cullah’s white cockade at my throat for strength. I hoped I could answer tenderly enough that they would hear my words. “Honorable Sirs, some of you were present when first I came to Lexington. You know that I escaped with my life and nothing else from a French convent in the Canadas where I had been taken as a child by Indian captors. A child learns what she is taught, but I never prayed to candles, Your Honors. I prayed to the Lord God. I was taught to speak French and Latin. I learned prayers in Latin, sir. Latin is not a language of the Roman Church; it is taught in Harvard along with Greek. When my escape was made, I was introduced to First Church by Lady Spencer, here in this room. I have never willingly attended any other.”
“Did you throw apples at Mistress Spencer?”
“One apple, Your Honors.”
One of the magistrates sank his head into his hand and clutched at his mouth with his fingers as if deep in thought, or perhaps, I thought, trying to hide laughter as I had done as a child. He was next to ask, “And did you curse at her and cast spells or at any time threaten her with cunning words or charms?”
I thought of my loom blessing, such an ordinary part of each day. I decided to lie. “No, Your Honors. I know no cunning words or charms. Goody Spencer threatened me, sir, and gave insults though her pretense was to apologize for her husband’s having taken liberties with my daughter when we were guests in their home.”
“What insults? Pray let us have an accurate statement. The gentlemen of this court are not so immured to the evils of this world that they need fear what passes between goodwives in a squabble.”
I thought over their words. They were likely to be more offended by the Roman Church than they were by what I considered the greatest offense, accusing me of being fit only for slavery, so I chose my words. “If you please, Your Honors, after acknowledging her husband’s fondling of my child, Goodwife Spencer said it was good that I had been taken to a Romanish convent, beaten and deprived and forced to learn that catechism, being taught to weave so I could become a crafter and a slave rather than assume the titled position I was heir to. She said had I not been forced to weave in a French Catholic convent I would have been a slut.” Gasps and fluttering filled the room behind me. “She said God had sent me to the convent because I was not fit for gentle society though she knew and accepted me, the daughter of a plantation master, as her landed superior a few years ago. It was her mother who threw me from their house when I lost my fortune to the Crown. Goody Spencer insulted me most grievously, Honorable Sirs. I picked up the apple. I threw it and said, ‘If God sent me to the papist Catholics to be taught weaving because I was not equal to you in grace, then God sends you this apple for you are not equal to me in manners.’ Those precise words.”
One of the magistrates who until that point had seemed asleep, roused himself and leaned forward, saying, “What about the despoiling of Mistress Spencer’s gown?”
“She made as if to faint as she left my house, and sat in the mud. The four coachmen had some struggle lifting her into the coach. It was mud, and not blood, upon her gown. Have her produce the gown and it shall be proven.”
Serenity’s lawyer exclaimed outrage at my lies and deceit. My lawyer said nothing. The magistrate in the center of the table looked from me to others around the room. Then he said, “We will confer. There will be silence in this room.”
All the men at the table began writing on papers before them. They passed them up and down the row. Each read the others’ opinions. They wrote yet again, and the same thing occurred. Finally the chief magistrate said, “Goodwife MacLammond? Approach this table and stand before us. Turn and face this room, the members of whom represent your community, whose laws of peace, sobriety, and sanctity this body is charged and incorporated to protect. Goodwife MacLammond, by your own admission you are found guilty of bodily harm and insult to the person of Mistress Wallace Spencer.” Tears dripped down my face. The salt burned against my reddened cheeks as I stared at the floor before me. He went on, “However, this body finds that the words used against you to demean you and slander your character, though they were not heard by others, were of a nature to bring a person to their own defense.”
Serenity gasped and Wallace stood. “Your Honors,” he said, his voice forced into a guileless melody, “you cannot mean you disbelieve my wife’s account?”
Serenity’s lawyer stood and touched Wallace’s arm to quiet him. The lawyer said, “If the accused is guilty, it is necessary for you to pass a sentence.”