(Thomas Macy, my ninth great-grandfather, was an upstanding colonist in Amesbury, Massachusetts, until the infraction detailed by the judge below. The rest of the court hearing is fiction, except for his wife’s illness, his children’s names, the thirty-shilling fine, and the later boat trip to Nantucket, where he became the first white settler.)
Thunder cracked in the distance as a small assembly gathered in the Salem, Massachusetts, Courthouse for Thomas Macy’s trial. This formerly upstanding colonist had transgressed Puritan law by sheltering Quakers for nearly an hour during a rainstorm the week before. It was summer, 1657, and the courtroom was stifling.
Judge Wentworth gathered his robes in an authoritative flourish and glowered at Macy. “Goodman Macy, thou art charged with harboring four Quakers in your house recently.” Quakers were the judge’s bête noire.
Macy spread his arms out in supplication. “But, m’lud, what should a good Christian do?”
The judge sat bolt upright as if this question had been a challenge. “Goodman, it is not a question of what a good Christian should do. It is a matter of what a virtuous Puritan would do. Would a virtuous Puritan make balloon animals for his children? I think not. Yet thou doth fashion them and in other ways doth make thy home cheerful. Fie upon cheerfulness! I understand thou art also in the habit of letting your children eat whatever they please for supper. Hath the DEVIL taken up residence in thy house?”
“My wife hath been ill, m’lud, so keeping five children temperate is a necessity. Last e’en I offered them Lobster Thermidor. No go. Next I tried pancakes shaped like tiny Pilgrim hats. That did not go down especially well. They also refused what was some excellent mutton stew, if I doth say so myself. Although it may hath been rancid. We don’t own a refrigerator.”
“And so they went to bed without supper, I hope?” The judge shot a white-hot look at Macy.
“Actually, Sarah and Mary chose Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Bethial and Tommy ate a whole bag of Goldfish Crackers. And John— he prefers to be called “Big Boy,” or he doth not answer— consumed four or five grapes, but only after I’d seeded them.”
The judge’s jaw dropped. His fingers twitched and inched toward the black cap he wore when sentencing murderers. “I am appalled, sir.”
Macy countered, “Well, what did thy offspring accept for supper last e’en?”
Wentworth’s fingers slid away, frustrated, from the black cap as he looked abashed. “Ahem. Billy did eat his clams, but vomited thereafter. Martha and Nathaniel each had a banana, after the bruises were cut out. Lettice eats only lettuce, of course. Abigail demanded a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
Suddenly he became furious and pounded his fist on the bench. “It is not I who am on trial! I sentence thee to a fine of thirty shillings.”
Macy smiled. “Baruch HaShem. I hath that very sum in my pocket.”
“Am I mistook, or did thou slide some Jew lingo in there?” Wentworth, suspicious, allowed his fingers to dance back eagerly toward the cap of death.
The defendant was quick on his feet. “No, it’s Dutch, m’lud.”
Folding his arms, and obviously disappointed, the judge cleared his throat. “Hmm. That’s all right, then. Begone, and keep the DEVIL out of thy house! And books from thy womenfolk, else I would hang thee alongside thy Quaker guests!”
Not long afterward, Thomas Macy sailed with his family and their balloon animals to the forgiving island of Nantucket.
Thunder cracked in the distance as a small assembly gathered in the Salem, Massachusetts, Courthouse for Thomas Macy’s trial. This formerly upstanding colonist had transgressed Puritan law by sheltering Quakers for nearly an hour during a rainstorm the week before. It was summer, 1657, and the courtroom was stifling.
Judge Wentworth gathered his robes in an authoritative flourish and glowered at Macy. “Goodman Macy, thou art charged with harboring four Quakers in your house recently.” Quakers were the judge’s bête noire.
Macy spread his arms out in supplication. “But, m’lud, what should a good Christian do?”
The judge sat bolt upright as if this question had been a challenge. “Goodman, it is not a question of what a good Christian should do. It is a matter of what a virtuous Puritan would do. Would a virtuous Puritan make balloon animals for his children? I think not. Yet thou doth fashion them and in other ways doth make thy home cheerful. Fie upon cheerfulness! I understand thou art also in the habit of letting your children eat whatever they please for supper. Hath the DEVIL taken up residence in thy house?”
“My wife hath been ill, m’lud, so keeping five children temperate is a necessity. Last e’en I offered them Lobster Thermidor. No go. Next I tried pancakes shaped like tiny Pilgrim hats. That did not go down especially well. They also refused what was some excellent mutton stew, if I doth say so myself. Although it may hath been rancid. We don’t own a refrigerator.”
“And so they went to bed without supper, I hope?” The judge shot a white-hot look at Macy.
“Actually, Sarah and Mary chose Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Bethial and Tommy ate a whole bag of Goldfish Crackers. And John— he prefers to be called “Big Boy,” or he doth not answer— consumed four or five grapes, but only after I’d seeded them.”
The judge’s jaw dropped. His fingers twitched and inched toward the black cap he wore when sentencing murderers. “I am appalled, sir.”
Macy countered, “Well, what did thy offspring accept for supper last e’en?”
Wentworth’s fingers slid away, frustrated, from the black cap as he looked abashed. “Ahem. Billy did eat his clams, but vomited thereafter. Martha and Nathaniel each had a banana, after the bruises were cut out. Lettice eats only lettuce, of course. Abigail demanded a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
Suddenly he became furious and pounded his fist on the bench. “It is not I who am on trial! I sentence thee to a fine of thirty shillings.”
Macy smiled. “Baruch HaShem. I hath that very sum in my pocket.”
“Am I mistook, or did thou slide some Jew lingo in there?” Wentworth, suspicious, allowed his fingers to dance back eagerly toward the cap of death.
The defendant was quick on his feet. “No, it’s Dutch, m’lud.”
Folding his arms, and obviously disappointed, the judge cleared his throat. “Hmm. That’s all right, then. Begone, and keep the DEVIL out of thy house! And books from thy womenfolk, else I would hang thee alongside thy Quaker guests!”
Not long afterward, Thomas Macy sailed with his family and their balloon animals to the forgiving island of Nantucket.