The next hours were unendurable, as my stomach leapt at knowing that there was news, and it then sank realizing the news could be incomprehensible.
The next morning I saw him waiting for me and he held his hands out for me to grab.
“Tell me,” was all I could mutter as he gently pushed me to sit on the ground.
“Oh Mary,” his eyes said it all, and I knew at that moment that everything had changed. I was about to hear news that I could never unlearn, and it would shape me forever. “Your father was murdered.”
I nodded, indicating that it wasn’t a shock and he sighed. “After his death, his home was sold to pay his debts, your mother had nothing.”
“Where is she?” I demanded, trying to hear over the hammering of my heart.
“She had no choice but to sell her body, Mary. She worked at a local tavern until 7 years ago when she succumbed to fever. I’m so sorry.” The words stumbled out, empathy softening them, but they still cut and Mr. Worthe may as well have fashioned the knife.
The wail that left my lips rattled throughout the meadow, as I fell into him, sobbing until I felt that I may die from the effort of it. He held me dutifully, murmuring loving words into my hair as I keened.
When I finally made my way home Mr. Worthe was not there but Malvina was, and she nodded at me when I stumbled in, eyes wild. I nodded back, the tip of my head loaded with unsaid instructions, and without a word she began gathering ingredients from the pantry.
I always rationed sugar, but spared none here. It had found its worthy cause, and as I measured ingredients and furiously mixed them into a batter, Malvina soaked the oleander in cream, infusing it with poison. I took great pleasure pouring it slowly into the flour and mixing it gently in.
As it baked, Iris came in excitedly, smelling the confection. “May I have some, mama?” she begged.
“No, darling,” I said, kissing her sweet smelling hair. “It will not be as delicious as you think it will be and is meant for your father only, for his long trip tomorrow. Be a good girl and go pick some greens from the garden for dinner tonight.”
She stomped off unhappily, and Malvina and I exchanged a look before we cooked up dinner and I wrapped the cooling sweet in cloth and buried it deep in the pantry, where Iris wouldn’t happen upon it.
That evening I was particularly kind to Mr. Worthe, sweetly serving him dinner and later submitting, knowing that it would be the last time.
In the morning I packed the cake into his satchel and watched as he approached me at his rickety wagon.
“The day after tomorrow it is the anniversary of our union,” I said with a small smile. “I have packed you a surprise for the occasion. Eat it then and think of me.”
A look of pleased surprise crept across his face and I smiled generously. “It is meant to evoke the taste of our years together,” I continued, patting his hand before saying my farewell and walking back into the cabin, where Iris and Malvina waited for me.
I waited patiently, hoping that he waited to eat the cake until he was safely in Boston, where no suspicion would fall my way. Just another disreputable smuggler to perish on the streets.
It was a full ten days before I heard a horse approaching, and my ears were gratified that no wagon seemed to follow it. I walked outside curiously and saw John Madison ride up, his face austere and his back straight.
He dismounted and wasted no time striding up to me. He was broad and tall, with a dour look etched deep into the crags of his face.
“Mrs. Mary Worthe, I am Magistrate Madison and I regret to inform you that your husband has perished in Boston.” Though he tried to inject sympathy into his tone, there was no authenticity to it.
“How?” I asked, feigning tears and grief as he observed me with shrewd eyes.
“He was poisoned,” he nodded curtly at me. “I’m sorry.”
I prayed my eyes didn’t betray my fear and surprise as I digested his words. “Who would do such a thing?”
“On his deathbed he was quite vocal about who it must have been,” the magistrate answered dryly, searching my face with shrewd eyes.
“A business associate perhaps?” I croaked out as my heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird, so violently that I feared that he may see it leaping in my chest.
“Closer to home, Widow Worthe,” he said as he craned his head around me to look inside. “One with access and knowledge of the occult and herbs.”
Panic rose in my chest and the urge to confess my guilt and throw myself on his mercy was strong. I had fooled no one. He knew what I had done. He must. Before I could utter a word of self-implication he spoke again.
“Justice will be done, Mrs. Worthe. We found various poisons in your very own servant’s house. She has been arrested for witchcraft and murder.” His harsh eyes were devoid of any sort of empathy as he stared at me, awaiting my response.
“Malvina?” I mumbled, my eyes straying downward to hide the tears beginning to spill hotly down my chilled cheeks. “No, she wouldn’t.”
“But she would.” His eyes suddenly communicated great interest as he beheld me, and I could see the suspicion brewing there, replacing dispassion. “Your husband believed that she was poisoning you to prevent pregnancy as well.”
“It’s not true,” I stammered, uncaring about his mistrustful expression.
“A young woman who is active in a marital bed begets children, yet you are barren,” he spoke slowly, as though I were daft. “Your servant has a history of blatant witchery, courts the devil and yet you still deny her guilt? Perhaps you are bewitched.”
I began to
