Mary Sibley, who made the witch cake, wanted to understand what had truly happened in the village back then, just like all the scholars who later studied the Salem witch trials.
Her experiment was even more practical than the theoretical research conducted by those who relied solely on documents in their hands. Yet she had opened a door to hell.
Just as Rebecca had once told the members of the delegation, she too had suffered convulsions in her youth. There was nothing strange about that; wheat in those days was easily contaminated by ergot fungus.
But she should not have done that. Investigating the cause of an illness was a doctor's responsibility.
Griggs, the town's only licensed doctor, was invited by Paris to the pastor's home after Betty and Abigail began convulsing. Though Paris was a pastor, he had received a Harvard education. He was not like certain uncredentialed pastors who took it upon themselves to "exorcise" the convulsing girls.
At the time, Griggs's maid and niece, Elizabeth Hubbard, had gone as well. Her work was actually somewhat similar to that of a twentieth-century nurse.
A doctor's medicine chest back then differed greatly from those of the twentieth century. It contained such "medicines" as dried cow dung, which was mixed with dried, crushed snails and milk before being forced down the throats of convulsing children. They would soon "get better."
The stuff certainly did not taste like chocolate milk, but the children were made to drink it every time they had an episode. Besides whipping, it was another effective "treatment." Associating sickness with bitter medicine was better for them than associating it with "being home alone" and "playing games."
After treating the girls, Elizabeth planned to brave the wind and snow and return to the clinic on that abnormally cold