On the evening of March 19, 1692, just hours after the warrant for Martha Corey's arrest had been issued, Deodat Lawson arrived in Salem from Boston.
Lawson had rarely returned to the place where he had once spent twenty years after Paris took over his position in 1688. He had resettled in Boston and helped out at the church where Paris had previously served. He often visited the homes of prominent local ministers, including Cotton Mather. But now, the streets and alleys of Boston were all discussing Salem, leaving him unable to continue debating theology with other clergymen.
Carrying a valise, he headed for Neil Ingram's tavern and inn.
Before Bailey, Salem had not even had a minister. The townspeople did not even have communal worship as an activity. The tavern was the town's sole gathering place. Perhaps in Giles Corey's day, getting drunk and fighting was the only entertainment.
That had been the age of pioneers. Unlike now, the town had grown to a certain scale, and civilization and standards of etiquette had been established. The new generation of old had grown old, their children had become adults, and when those children became parents, another new generation would arrive. Perhaps the older generation thought the lives of pioneers had been harsh, but at least they had not had to live beneath the shadow of witchcraft accusations like Salem's newer townspeople.
Everyone had gone to the meetinghouse next door, leaving the tavern, usually packed on Sundays, completely empty. Only a young man in his early twenties was tidying the bar.
"Good evening, Mr. Hutchinson," Lawson said to the young man.
"I didn't expect you to come back, Father." The young man stopped polishing a glass and looked at Lawson.
"Where is your adoptive father?" Lawson asked.
Hutchinson jerked his chin