Mercy Jones watched from under her long lashes as she swept her doorstep as the Reverend Deacon preached his righteous sentence upon the poor<br/>Goodwife Wagner, the devil take her cowardly husband. The fiery preacher and his demon stallion eyed the crowd as if shopping in the marketplace. Mercy dared not look boldly upon the fray lest her face betray her loathing of the church and all things Purtanical. She went along with the dress, the speech, the subservience to the clergy which was also the law and those damnable long Sabbath Sundays. By God, she thought, as she carefully kept her face blank, by God, she was grounded in the Earth and in the ways of the wise women as had been her family for 10 generations back.<br/><br/>The smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils and cloyed at the back of her throat, but she controlled the urge to retch. Stooping to gather the imaginary dirt, she saw Prudence Cook begin to drift through the crowd until she was touching the tip of the Deacon's boot. Her shy pale face was shining with trust and longing as she gazed on the minister, as if he had given her a vocational call. Mercy had to steel her backbone in order to not shake her head. Were all women so easily led to the slaughter? she thought as she went back to methodically dragging the straw broom over her doorstep once more.<br/><br/>"Are you so much the slattern, Sister Mercy, that you must hastily tidy up while we are about the Lord's business?" the elder Goodwife Smith inquired, frowning at the young woman. "I have no time for women who spend their hours roaming in the forest and preening in the well water. You do not use the Lord's time wisely and now the evidence has caught up with you."<br/><br/>Mercy wiped her face with the arm of her sleeve, careful to not dislodge the bonnet that covered her rich chestnut hair. She didn't want a lecture about impropriety nor did she fancy  more time in the stocks for vanity.<br/>"Ah, Goodwife, good morrow to you also. I was able to find some rose hips from the wild roses in the forest for that tea you so like." She hoped a change of subject would distract the woman. Luck was with her as the old besom nodded. She invited her in and was glad for the chance to close the door on the dying screams and burning flesh.<br/><br/>"Won't you have a seat?" Mercy indicated the wooden bench by the fire. " I will fetch it."<br/><br/>When the woman finally left, after spouting a laundry list of her faults, Mercy was more than glad to make a gift of her hard earned rose hips.<br/>"May she drink it in good health and may I go on living in peace," she murmured.<br/><br/>A pounding at her door shook her from her revere,<br/><br/>"Mercy, Mercy! open up." the voice of the town's gossip whispered through the wooden plank door.<br/><br/>"What?" she whispered back. "Are you crazy? I spent two days in the stocks from listening to your news and you three for telling it. I'm not letting you in."<br/><br/>"Mercy," the voice hissed back, " Prudence followed down the road engulfed in the dust from the minister's horse."<br/><br/>"Go away, Jane," Mercy answered wearily, not bothering to quiet her voice. "Your words prove nothing and I have work to do. Be gone."