Nor have we ever read or heard of any [witch] grown rich by Witchcraft.
— A True and Full Relation of the Witches at Pittenweem, 1704
The residents of Pittenweem were forced into an uneasy truce. The women accused of witchcraft for a second time were deemed not guilty by the city authorities and the Queen’s law and therefore set at liberty.
All except Janet Cornfoot, who remained in solitary confinement in the damp darkness beneath the kirk.
As December drew to a close, Sorcha, Nettie and Nicolas returned to their trade once more, baiting lines, mending nets, sorting the fish, wielding their knives to scale and gut the catch before throwing it into their creels and padding the snow-covered lanes and wynds to sell them. They may not have been welcomed back to the harbour, but they weren’t entirely rejected, either. Sorcha wondered if it was out of sympathy, for not long after Nettie was released, Thom White died.
Instead of crumbling under the weight of her grief, Nettie used her rage towards those who’d unjustly imprisoned her and taken her away from her husband when he needed her most to fuel her resolve not to kowtow to their desire to drive her away. She refused to have her husband buried in Pittenweem because she didn’t want Reverend Cowper to preside over the service, so Sorcha, Beatrix, Isobel and Nicolas, along with a few of the other fishwives and their men, took the coastal path to Anster one sleet-driven day to pray as Thomas White, mariner and former bailie of Pittenweem, a man once held in high esteem who’d loved his wife so much he’d allowed her freedoms most women only dreamed of, was laid to rest.
After that, Nettie leased her house in Anster and Thom’s in Pittenweem and came to live with Sorcha. It was as if by staying together they could ward off the ongoing hostility of the townsfolk and watch each other’s backs as they made their way to the harbour before dawn each morning and tramped home through the snowdrifts and mizzle each freezing night. They took to roaming the countryside to sell fish together as well. Nicolas often joined them. When they did encounter trouble, usually groups of cupshotten men, they put on a bold face and laughed. It was the best way to silence the jeers and the threats, to make a mockery of those issuing them by reminding them of their mothers, sisters, daughters and their own flaws and foibles.
It didn’t always work.
There were a few who refused to be muzzled or cease their efforts to instil fear. Fuelled by their own inner demons and the words of the minister each Sunday, these people, mostly men, would march up to the women and shake their fists, spit in their faces and try and intimidate them. When it became physical, the men were led away by their companions or wives. Only after they’d gone would Sorcha breathe a sigh of relief and still the trembling in her knees. Only then would her heart return to normal.
Sorcha was afraid it was only a matter of time before someone, bolstered by drink, friends, or a sense of godly duty, would do something that could not be undone. And if not His duty, then because of the thoughts Reverend Cowper continued to plant in each and every head at kirk.
Sickened by what the minister said, his ceaseless sermons about witches and the threat they posed to the community, the women nonetheless attended each week. Partly to show a brave front and remind people that they were innocent by law; that the likes of the reverend upon whose every word most hung, was wrong, partly to avoid the hefty fines the reverend threatened should they absent themselves, and partly to arm themselves in the event of more trouble.
Nettie believed the worst was over. ‘Give it time,’ she would say each night as they huddled before the fire. ‘Give it time.’ The men would soon forget about them, especially once winter passed and the drave improved and spring brought warmer weather. Sorcha prayed she was right and echoed Nettie’s optimism in her letters to Aidan, though she still hadn’t heard from him. Never did she reveal what was happening. Instead she imbued her words with hope and dreams of what might transpire if Aidan came home.
Not if… when… she would remind herself.
But as first Yuletide then Hogmanay came and went and there was still no word from Bavaria, and Janet wasn’t released (though there was talk a move to the Tolbooth was imminent), and no directives came from Edinburgh, Sorcha began to doubt Nettie was right.
If there was to be no more trouble and they all really were free according to justice and the law, why was the reverend still preaching so vehemently against witches?
More importantly, why was he still holding Janet captive?