After the children dutifully acknowledged Mercy, they were allowed to return to their play, which Mercy noticed involved several glasses of water and fresh eggs.

“I’m surprised to see the village children here,” Mercy said.

“I asked my children to invite them,” Elizabeth said. “They are friends from attending the Royal Side School. I felt it best that my children not school in Salem Town with all the riffraff and ruffians.”

“I understand,” Mercy said.

“I will be sending the children home with loaves of rye bread,” Elizabeth said. She smiled friskily. “It will be more effective than giving their families a mere suggestion.”

Mercy nodded but didn’t comment. Elizabeth was mildly overwhelming.

“Would you care for a loaf?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Mercy said. “My husband, the doctor, would never eat rye bread. It’s much too coarse.”

As Elizabeth turned her attention back to her second batch of bread, Mercy’s eyes roamed the kitchen. She noticed a fresh wheel of cheese having come directly from the cheese press. She saw a pitcher of cider on the corner of the hearth. Then she noticed something more striking. Arrayed along the windowsill was a row of dolls made from painted wood and carefully sewn fabric. Each was dressed in the costume of a particular livelihood. There was a merchant, a blacksmith, a goodwife, a cartwright, and even a doctor. The doctor was dressed in black with a starched lace collar.

Mercy stood up and walked to the window. She picked up the doll dressed as a doctor. A large needle was thrust into its chest.

“What are these figures?” Mercy asked with barely concealed concern.