Read Online The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane by Katherine Howe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Howe
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seat and dabbed at his moist forehead with a handkerchief. The afternoon yawned before him, and he sent a private request to God to make it pass quickly.
The day outside was dusty and warm, and yellow sunbeams spilled through the meetinghouse windows, casting bright puddles of light on the wood-planked floor. Appleton sat in a majestic tapestried armchair behind the broad library table at the front of the room, elbows propped on the table, arms folded. The room in front of him hummed with low conversation asthe men and women crowded onto benches and side chairs awaited the beginning of the court session. White coifs bent over knitting and needlework; men leaned sunburned heads together, nodding. Those being brought to the bar for their offenses sat sullen-faced near the front, some of them wringing their hands. Appleton grunted to himself. Court days always made for good spectacle. For a godly people, he reflected, his neighbors surely took their interest in one another’s sins. Whores and blackguards all of them , he thought.
Appleton glanced off to his left at the smug knot of jury men seated in a row of straight-backed chairs, waiting to pass judgment on their peers. He knew most of them by sight: Lieutenant Davenport, the jury foreman, was a decent man with a frightening countenance. He bore a deep pink scar across his face from the Indian wars at the Eastward that made him look ferocious and angry, but it masked a forthright soul. Next to him sat William Thorne, a genial fellow who ran a tavern out on Ipswich road, and Goodman Palfrey, a cordwainer who was forever volunteering for town committees. Appleton snorted with distaste. Palfrey had sat on almost every jury this year, on top of being elected town fence viewer. There were rumors he was putting himself forward for full church membership as well. Appleton detested a man who did not know his place. The other three men were unknown to him—local artisans most likely, propertied enough to serve, but still of a largely middling sort.
Appleton waved over the clerk, a slight, nervous young man named Elias Alder. The little clerk leapt to his feet in a tangle of limbs, slid a heavy sheet of paper across the library table toward the judge, and withdrew off to the side, holding the tip of his quill anxiously to his mouth. By the end of the session his lower lip would be black with ink, Appleton reflected. Appleton held the paper at arm’s length, squinting to make out Elias’s unfortunate penmanship. Four suits scheduled this afternoon. He sighed again, returned the paper to the clerk, and nodded. The throb in his toe was no better.
The clerk cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his neck, and the murmuring meetinghouse grew quiet.
“Deliverance Dane versus Peter Petford for slander!” he announced, and the assembled populace burst into a rising twitter of commentary that continued for a full five minutes.
“Enough!” bellowed Appleton, and the roar quieted down without fully disappearing. The judge surveyed the meetinghouse with a withering eye, casting his magisterial gaze over each watching face. When he felt the attention of the room settling on him once again, he continued. “Goodwife Dane, you shall render your deposition.”
A young woman rose from the front row of deponents, smoothing her skirts as she did so. Her dress was of a neat dove gray, and her collar and modest head covering were improbably fresh and white for a woman of her station. A heavy knot of tree-bark hair rested on the nape of her neck, just visible beneath her coif, and her soft cheeks shone with warmth and health. Appleton knew that this woman was spoken of in the village, but he had never seen her before. She wore a placid expression like a veil overlying the unmistakable confidence that radiated forth from her face. Appleton reflected that in some women such confidence might be mistaken for pride.
She lifted her eyes to his, and for a moment he was bathed in their
The day outside was dusty and warm, and yellow sunbeams spilled through the meetinghouse windows, casting bright puddles of light on the wood-planked floor. Appleton sat in a majestic tapestried armchair behind the broad library table at the front of the room, elbows propped on the table, arms folded. The room in front of him hummed with low conversation asthe men and women crowded onto benches and side chairs awaited the beginning of the court session. White coifs bent over knitting and needlework; men leaned sunburned heads together, nodding. Those being brought to the bar for their offenses sat sullen-faced near the front, some of them wringing their hands. Appleton grunted to himself. Court days always made for good spectacle. For a godly people, he reflected, his neighbors surely took their interest in one another’s sins. Whores and blackguards all of them , he thought.
Appleton glanced off to his left at the smug knot of jury men seated in a row of straight-backed chairs, waiting to pass judgment on their peers. He knew most of them by sight: Lieutenant Davenport, the jury foreman, was a decent man with a frightening countenance. He bore a deep pink scar across his face from the Indian wars at the Eastward that made him look ferocious and angry, but it masked a forthright soul. Next to him sat William Thorne, a genial fellow who ran a tavern out on Ipswich road, and Goodman Palfrey, a cordwainer who was forever volunteering for town committees. Appleton snorted with distaste. Palfrey had sat on almost every jury this year, on top of being elected town fence viewer. There were rumors he was putting himself forward for full church membership as well. Appleton detested a man who did not know his place. The other three men were unknown to him—local artisans most likely, propertied enough to serve, but still of a largely middling sort.
Appleton waved over the clerk, a slight, nervous young man named Elias Alder. The little clerk leapt to his feet in a tangle of limbs, slid a heavy sheet of paper across the library table toward the judge, and withdrew off to the side, holding the tip of his quill anxiously to his mouth. By the end of the session his lower lip would be black with ink, Appleton reflected. Appleton held the paper at arm’s length, squinting to make out Elias’s unfortunate penmanship. Four suits scheduled this afternoon. He sighed again, returned the paper to the clerk, and nodded. The throb in his toe was no better.
The clerk cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his neck, and the murmuring meetinghouse grew quiet.
“Deliverance Dane versus Peter Petford for slander!” he announced, and the assembled populace burst into a rising twitter of commentary that continued for a full five minutes.
“Enough!” bellowed Appleton, and the roar quieted down without fully disappearing. The judge surveyed the meetinghouse with a withering eye, casting his magisterial gaze over each watching face. When he felt the attention of the room settling on him once again, he continued. “Goodwife Dane, you shall render your deposition.”
A young woman rose from the front row of deponents, smoothing her skirts as she did so. Her dress was of a neat dove gray, and her collar and modest head covering were improbably fresh and white for a woman of her station. A heavy knot of tree-bark hair rested on the nape of her neck, just visible beneath her coif, and her soft cheeks shone with warmth and health. Appleton knew that this woman was spoken of in the village, but he had never seen her before. She wore a placid expression like a veil overlying the unmistakable confidence that radiated forth from her face. Appleton reflected that in some women such confidence might be mistaken for pride.
She lifted her eyes to his, and for a moment he was bathed in their
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