Margaret MacGillivray 11/15/16

Humanities A

I remember my father. I remember how I would always try on the shirt he wore at work, knowing I would be like him one day. I would tell him how I would be a doctor when I grew up, just like him, and he would just laugh and nod. I wish my mom hadn’t died when I was born, or I might not be so optimistic as I was back then. I remember the day my dad finally told me the truth. I was seven, and was playing my usual game of doctor in my room. I would have pretend patients, and ask them their ailment. My dad walked in just as I was treating a bad stomach ache. He had a look on his face that made him look very happy and perfectly normal.

“You can’t play doctor anymore,” he said, very matter of factly.

“Women aren’t allowed to be doctors. You should be learning your lady skills for when you try to find yourself a husband.” Then he walked out, and acted as if nothing had happened. I have never played doctor since. I did find a husband, James. Of course, since I was already rich it wasn’t a hard task. I stayed at home and sewed, while he went to his job as a doctor. I would always get this sinking feeling in my stomach as he would leave for work. I couldn’t help the gut feeling I had that I was meant to be a doctor, not just a stay at home wife. One day, when I was particularly bored because I had just finished embroidering, I went to the church, knowing that was where the House of Burgesses was meeting. I stood at the steps of the church, knowing what I was about to do. I stomped in and immediately saw 24 burgesses stop what they were arguing about, and stare at me.

“I would like to be a doctor” I exclaimed. They looked astonished. They had probably never heard a woman yell that loud before, even less a wealthy one.

“You’re a woman. It’s just not your place in society. Don’t you have kids to take care of, ” a burgesse with curly blonde hair said quietly. I have never felt worse than I did that day. It wasn’t fair. My husband got to go and be a doctor every day, while I was expected to be taking care of kids.

“No,” I said. I could feel warm tears on my eyes, and began to cry. I need not say what happened next, for there was a lot of arguing and debating, but in the end, the men always win. Of course, word got around town, as it always does, and soon I was disliked by all. When I came home one day, I didn’t even need to be told that my husband was angry at me for arguing with the burgesses. The look on his face said it all. He looked disappointed, as if I had truly done something horrible. We didn’t speak. After around a week of ignoration, I would walk out of my house to hear people screaming,

“Witch!” Somehow rumors went around of me using non existent magical powers, and people started making accusations. No doubt did my arguing with the House of Burgesses have a lot to do with it. Any women who stands up to a man is a witch, and any woman who is obedient to men doesn’t get to have their voice heard. I could see how embarrassed my husband was of what I had done, and he was getting worse everyday. One morning, after a week of horrible witch accusations, I woke up and my husband was gone. I rushed down our glossy staircase, to the front door. There he stood. He was holding a full suitcase, with a waistcoat and a hat. When he saw me, he looked quite surprised. His eyes widened, and he gasped.

“Where are you going?” I asked accusingly.

“I’m leaving, and never coming back. I know you’ve been using your witchcraft on me. You are the reason why I lost my job. I’m sure you cast some sort of horrid spell on me, and my success, for it is not there anymore. I looked at him, with wide, solemn eyes. My own husband was wrongfully accusing me of witchcraft. It sounded more like he was using witchcraft as a way to blame his problems on me.

“You think since you’re wealthy, you have power. You think you are more powerful than me, but in reality, you are just a housewife.” He said it with such anger in his voice, such hatred. I could not think of why he would say something so horrid. Did he feel threatened by me, or did I merely embarrass him in front of his colleagues. I believe I will never know, because with that he sprinted out the door, but I didn’t try to follow him. I couldn’t force him to stay here with me. If he wanted to leave, he would leave. I watched as he ran out the door like a lightning bolt, and soon was gone in the distance. I watched as he ran onto the cobblestone path leading through our grassy field. The sun was just rising, and the wind swayed the trees back and forth. I sat down on the steps of our doorway, and soon realized that everything I owned still belonged to my husband. I didn’t have a home, and all of my fortune belonged to James, including my house. Both of my parents were dead, so I desperately needed a job, or some source of money. First, I went to court, arguing that he was dead in hopes of regaining my large fortune. Since I had no evidence, the Burgesses didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth, for no one ever believes a so called witch.

I rushed around town, quickly looking for any job of any sort. I finally found a job as a servant, working for the Smith family, and I’ve been working there ever since. Today, I wake up in my cramped bed chamber that the family has supplied for me. The familiar smell of old wood lingers in the air, causing me to let out a limp cough. I look around the small room, comparing it to my old room. My old room had soft, velvet covers with big, thick pillows and a feathery mattress. There was a huge window, that let in a surplus of light, with a big maple tree outside. This new room has a thin cover, and a hard mattress. It has a scrawny little candle, and is around six square feet. I go into my worn drawer to get my servants outfit. After sliding on  the uncomfortable shift and dress, I take a quick peek outside through my small, dusty window. It is a sunny day, but one that I will not get to experience because I do most of my work outside. I walk out of the creaky door, and tiptoe down the thick staircase into the dining room. There is a rich wooden table, and huge windows letting in rays of sunlight. On the table sits delicate silverware, and gold plated plates. Upon two of the chairs, there sit a women and a girl. The woman’s name is Martha Smith, and the girl’s name is Georgine Smith. Martha is a stout women, with  curly auburn hair, and dark brown eyes, she is a very stern women, and today is no exeption. Today, she wears a shiny blue dress. Georgine is very petite, only eleven, and has curly blonde hair with big blue eyes. Today, she wears a yellow dress with little embroidered patterns. Martha’s husband’s name is Bartholomew, but the men servants take care of him.

“Good morning,” I say, particularly cheerfully because of the beautiful weather.

“This is no good morning,” Martha snaps, a frown spreading across her face.

“You of all should know why, for you used your witchcraft on me, when you were trying to strangle me last night!” Martha looks at me as if I am some monster.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t a clue what you’re referring to,” I say in a calming voice, hoping to ease her.

“Last night! You strangled me! No wonder everyone’s calling you a witch!” Martha’s face turns red, and she quietly speaks to Georgine. I can’t quite hear what she’s saying, but when I see Georgine glare at me with fear in her large, blue eyes, I know they’re talking about me. I quietly stride out, before Martha has time to yell at me. I walk out so quickly, that I don’t even think about where I’m going. I rack my brain for anything we need from town. There’s not anything that we particularly need, but some more milk could never hurt. The sun feels nice against my face, and the birds are chirping in the big oak trees planted outside. There is a lovely cold breeze that prevents me from overheating in my thick, rough dress. I take a nice, brisk, sunny walk up to market town. I mostly walk through scenic fields, but every once in awhile I will need to stumble through some tall trees. The walk suddenly turns from dirt to cobblestone, and I can see more people around me, most of which looking like they’re middle class, or servants from other households. It becomes hard to walk in my servant boots, and I feel my body becoming drowsy, my steps getting slower. The sun suddenly doesn’t feel as comforting as it does hot. I let out a big yawn.

“Witch!” Someone screams in a cruel voice. I don’t even glance at who it is, for I’m so used to the label of “witch”. I can feel the eyes on me as I walk through the center of town. People stop to look at me, as if they heard me in a myth. I finally get to the farmer, after what feels like an hour.

“One gallon of milk, please,” I say, trying to avoid making eye contact. The man stares at me, and then hands me the milk. It’s heavy, and the cold water coating the gallon feels good on my hand. The walk back is no better, except for the fact that it’s mostly downhill. I spot the house, because it’s impossible to miss. It stands prominently, obviously a way of showing the wealth of the Smiths. It’s light grey, with big windows and multiple stories. Luckily, when I get home, Georgine is upstairs with the private tutor, probably learning lady skills as I had to. In order to avoid Martha, I quickly jog over to one of the bedrooms to clean it up. I try and time myself perfectly, so that I take my time, but I’m not too slow that I might be whipped. Each of the rooms is rich with color, elegant and unique. They have big beds, and bright candlelight. There is not much to do, because most of the rooms aren’t being used, but there is still some dusting to do here and there. I go about doing this with every room, humming as I go along.

By the time I’m done doing this task, it is already dinner time. Since I’m a servant, I eat my dinner after the family I work for. I just serve them their food. Tonight, they are eating elk stew, with warm apple cider. I catch a glimpse of the three family members sitting around the table, having small talk. I look covetously at the chairs they have the privilege of sitting in. Before James left, I sat in chairs while I ate every day, because eating while sitting down is a rich man’s action. Now that I’m poor, I don’t get to sit down while I eat. As I bring out the elk stew, the delicious aroma fills me with joy. It looks thick, and tasty. Sorrow overcomes my joy as I must let go of this dish, and place it in front of Martha. I watch, as they eat away, taking food for granted as I once did. Now, I eat with every opportunity I get.

“This is divine,” Bartholomew says to Martha and Georgine.

“Yes, Christopher did a very nice job,” says Georgine, working on her manners for when she must find a husband. Christopher is the lead cook, but I’ve never spoken to him. He seems nice enough, though I’ve seen him disparaging his women colleagues, thinking he’s superior. After the family is done eating their meal, I clear each of the not quite empty bowls into the kitchen, and wash each of them with warm water. The thought passes my mind to eat their leftovers, but I know if Martha catches me doing that, I would never hear the end of it. As I’m walking back into the dining room, Martha taps me on the shoulder, with an angry look in her eyes. Her face is red, and her lips are pressed together.

“Don’t think I didn’t talk to the governor about holding a witch trial for you tomorrow, and he was very fond of the idea. Your witchcraft has gone too far. ” she says sternly, waiting to see a worried expression from me. I don’t move one bit. I will not give her that satisfaction.

“I am locking you into your room tonight to ensure you don’t perform anymore witchcraft.” I look at Martha, and force myself not to cry. I will not cry because of something Martha said. It’s not worth it. I just nod obediently, for it’s no use to do otherwise. The more I argue, the less merciful she’ll be.  I stumble up the stairs, and go into my small, dark room. I go straight to sleep, without even eating a bite. I think about what’s to come.

Tomorrow’s trial will end with me being accused of witchcraft, I’m sure. Everyone will believe all of the made up stories of me using witchcraft, that shield the real reason I’m being accused. Martha will be a witness, I’m sure. I’m actually being accused because of my actions with the House of Burgesses. I stood up for what I believed, and was accused of witchcraft because of it. They believe I’m a witch for it’s so uncommon for women to stand up for what they believe in. They don’t understand it, but I know it’s right. Do the men see me as a threat? Was it better for me to fight, or to follow? Tomorrow’s trial will end with me being accused of witchcraft, I’m sure. Everyone will believe all of the made up stories of me using witchcraft, that shield the real reason I’m being accused. I’m actually being accused because of my actions with the House of Burgesses. Though I will end up in jail, I stand behind my decisions, for I believe everyone deserves to be heard.

Margaret MacGillivray

In the Colonial Era, one wonderful title for a woman was a “goodwife.” It acted as a name for a woman who did their housework without complaint. It was a stellar compliment for any woman who did any form of housework. In order to be a goodwife, it was essential to dress with strength and modesty. Goodwives were required to be kind to enslaved people. They were also supposed to have the strictness required in order to be a slave owner. This was a requirement that men put in place in order to ensure that women didn’t overpower them in the household, but still stood their ground. “A sterling compliment for a colonial woman was the title ‘notable housewife.’ A wife might temporarily transform into a “deputy husband” if her mate was ill or away, and men’s work needed to be done. But she served first as a housewife who ‘worketh willingly with her hands’ and ‘eateth not the bread of idleness,” (Good Women of a Well Blessed Land). A goodwife was someone who did their job, did it well, and without objection. This created a society where women could not complain if they disfavored doing housework, and were be rewarded by keeping silent. A woman’s success and failures were decided by the quality of their housework. One of the reasons why it was so important for a men to be married to a goodwife was because of the house. Having a clean house was a sign of wealth. If you had a large residence that was extremely clean, you would be considered wealthy. If you had a dirty house, you would be recognised as poor. Unfortunately, it was very similar with women. If a man was married to a woman who fit the stereotypes of a “perfect woman” or a goodwife, it represented how wealthy you were. This was because back in the Colonial Era, there were not many women who fit those standards, and since goodwives were the kind of wife every settler wanted to have, the rich men usually got to marry almost any women they wanted, and that women would tend to be a goodwife. Goodwives were labeled “rare,” and were oppressed to the point where they were treated as if collectors items. How could the title “goodwife” be a title that every women strived to be named? How could women oppress themselves even more just in order to be this word created by men in order to oppress women even more? They went to all of these measures because the men in society created an idea of perfect women, and somehow that women was someone who served their husbands, was quiet and modest. Luckily, there were many women who didn’t strive for this golden title. They strived for power, and that they got. There were so many women in the Colonial Era who were objectified and overpowered by men because of the stereotypes inflicted upon them. Africans were very different regarding the rights of women.

Monster

By Grace Sherwood

Chapter 1

They drag me into the big brick courthouse. They have me in chains and they treat me like a monster. I am not a monster! I am not a witch! I am a poor midwife from Princess Anne County. I give life to infants. I don’t take it!  Though I have been charged with witchcraft before for killing livestock and damaging crops this is my eventual trial. This is where they will decide if I am a witch or a human. I wish and pray for the jury to see my humanity. The men dragging me along haul me down the long wooden path and throw me into a cramped area with a wooden gate stretching across. I am still in chains so I can’t escape and flee and live as a fugitive, though that would be better than being hung. I am surrounded by justices. I see the jury looking at me with a disgusted look and I am sure that I will never see the light of day again. Then I look up and in the middle looking down on me with a disgusted glare is the Judge. I can see he wants to lock anyone convicted of witchcraft up. He is scared of me! Me, a poor woman in chains. I don’t like that. I am the scared one. I don’t like the feeling of people being scared of me. I am not a monster like they think. I don’t like being threatening. I am a woman who just wants to be equal to men not a magical, evil monster.

Chapter 2

I didn’t do anything. I don’t deserve to be slaughtered. I have done nothing. I deliver babies and I don’t turn into a cat. I didn’t sink when I was on the ducking stool but I can’t control that. But that, that is not my fault. It is rigged! I have done nothing but delivered babies all my life. Just because I got in a fight with her husband it does not mean that I caused Elizabeth Hill a miscarriage. I can’t bewitch anyone because I am not a witch. I want woman and men to be equal. I have not committed a crime. I am just a poor widow who has been through grief, a woman who mourns the death of her son. I have gotten mad I admit to it but I am no monster. I am a grieving mother. My eldest son James died at 6 years ago. I just grieve his death with my husband and my 2 other sons John and Richard. Don’t let my family suffer another loss so soon don’t put my boys through that again! I don’t know what will happen if I die or if they lock me up. I hope and pray that my boys don’t see what everyone else see’s I hope they realize I am innocent.

Chapter 3

The judge starts the prosecution. I don’t have a lawyer because I have no defense but my word. A lawyer would do nothing for me. I am my own lawyer, women can’t be lawyers so I think of it as a movement. One step forward towards women and men equality, though we still have a million miles to go. Every step counts because without each step there is no progress and it will be impossible to ever get there. He calls upon the first witness, Elizabeth Hill. Elizabeth is bursting into tears over her miscarriage and screaming that I caused her miscarriage. Yes I did sue her and her husband but then I would not just kill her baby. I already won! The next day when she suffered from a miscarriage that was just a horrible coincidence. I did not do anything to Elizabeth. I would not take any lives even lives that hadn’t started yet I would never prevent them from starting. Then as the defendant I admit to the jury sued them but then I went home and I played with my sons for the rest of the day and then went to bed. I also told them that I would most likely have delivered their baby so why would I kill their baby before I got the money. I need money to support my family.

Chapter 4

Then they call the next witness Elizabeth Barnes. She won’t even look at me. She claims that I turned into a black cat and snuck into her home. Why would I even want to go into her shabby little shack? I would never break into someone’s house. Especially as a cat. I hate cats! I always sneeze around cats. And black cats scare me with their big yellow eyes. And as I said before I don’t like to seem scary. When I tell the Jury this they all laugh like I am terrible at this and I have no defense. But how do I find evidence I am not a witch?! There is no such thing! I am very scared that this will be the end of me.

Chapter 5

Next I hear a familiar name Richard Capps. He convicted me of killing his bull. I did not kill his bull. There was no motive why would I just kill his bull. I wouldn’t do that. We were mutual, not friends but not enemies. I guess the whole town just wanted to get rid of me because they convicted me over and over again, for no reason. I am innocent but the people of princess anne county just hate me. They want to get rid of me.

Chapter 6

Then the judge calls on the final witness John Gisbourne. He accused me of enchanting his pigs and cotton crop. We barely knew each other I wouldn’t want to manipulate his pigs or his cotton! He can keep his cotton, he can keep his pigs. I wouldn’t do anything to him. I want everyone to have a good life. I want women and men to be equal but I won’t enchant a man’s livestock to make that happen. That is taking steps back not forward. I need to reach the destination. Not go back to the beginning. We have come to far to turn back.

Chapter 7

We have reached the moment of truth. The jury’s vote. This moment decides my life and death, women’s equality, and if my boys grow up without a mother. The 2 men who brought me in. Open the wooden gate and drag me out of the courtroom. I pray to god that he will see my innocence. I feel a cold wet tear run down my face. I want to see the light of day. I want to see my boys. If I have to die I want to make sure my boys are in good hands. I need them to be healthy. If I die I pray to the lord that my life is in exchange for my boys long life. My husband is not always the most caring loving person so if this is my final day I hope that my husband is a good father to my boys for the rest of their lives. Then I see a sudden flash of light and I realize the men are here to take me back into the courtroom. I am sobbing the whole way in so people may take pity on me, though I know it can not be changed. The men throw me through the wooden gate, back into the familiar chamber. I can’t bare to even look up at the grinning justices. I look up and see the dismayed judge and calls order in the court. He says “ The jury decided Grace Sherwood brought here charged for witchcraft has been convicted guilty and the justices decided she will not be faced with death but rather 7 years in prison.” I feel my legs fail me. I fall to the ground, I feel dehydrated all of the water is pouring out of my body in tears. I will never be able to face my boys again. They will be so ashamed. I can’t bare it, I need to see my boys. My neighbors hate me, that is not a punishable action.

Chapter 8

Though I was not faced with death it feels like it. I sit in a dark shell in shackles for the next 7 years for no crime, no crime at all. I had nothing to do with my convictions. It is what I tell myself everyday when I awake from my sleep. I feel like a person who was cheated out of a chance to live my life as a person who is not avoided every time I am in public, who is not declined for everything I attempt to do. I am losing clients I have to resort to giving of my midwife career.  I was even declined to be part of a women’s rights movement in the county square. I am no longer trustworthy I am now a poor lonely housewife of Princess Anne County.

Stella Kekalos 7B

Humanities  12/12/16

Governor’s Palace Feast

Tonight we are preparing for the Governor’s Christmas Feast. Myself and the others having been working in the kitchen since dawn preparing vegetables and the meats that need to be cooked. Bread has been coming out of the over since six o’clock in the morning. Smells of smoked meat and spices fill the kitchen. The tables are covered in food almost ready to be brought into the dining room. You can feel panic throughout the room as we complete one of the most stressful nights of our lives. There are 6 people in the kitchen myself included. The cook is directing us, his workers, giving us many tasks to complete. Usually the mistress watches over our work but tonight is different. She is in the entertainment room conversing with the highest of classes along with her husband, the Governor. The pressure tonight is unbearable. We have to make the most exceptional dinner and dessert tonight so guests are impressed.

My name Phoebe Montgomery and my family is from England. I am a young girl working in the Governor’s Palace. My mother and father sailed from England to start a new life with their son, and my brother, Jedidiah. Sadly he has past by sickness. Both of my parents were indentured servants when they came her from England. My mother started working at the Governor’s Palace cooking. Later on my sister and I would start cooking there too. My father worked for the blacksmith. We are not a very high class but we make it by for working for the Governor makes good money. Our home is small with only one separate room, the bedroom which we all share. The town we live in is small with a couple of shops and taverns. My father isn’t around that much being a tradesmen so my mother is home alone most of the time. Work at the Governor’s Palace usually starts when the sky is still dark but you can see the sun rising in the horizon. My sister and I walk there together when the town is just waking up. Shop owners step outside to get fresh air before opening up their shop. Early-risers are skipping down the cobblestone streets. Men stumble out of taverns just realizing what had happened last night. My basket rests on my forearm holding our breakfast of bread and butter. It is December and the air is starting to get crisp and raw so we hastily walk to work. We stride through the brass gates and into the kitchen. The head cook, Rufus, sits outside on a wooden bench smoking tobacco as my sister and I ready the kitchen for breakfast.

“It’s going to be a long day today girls..” Rufus mumbles and right then I realize it Christmas Eve.

Today we make the biggest meal of the year. The Governor’s wife steps into the kitchen and hands the menu to Rufus and then we all start cooking.  

All the food has been bought from the best shops with the highest prices so we know the dinner will be great. We have to start cooking now or we won’t be ready in time. Meat has been smoking since the morning before and dough has been setting all night. My sister and I roll out dough, shaping it into the perfect piece of bread and sticking it in the oven. There will be a dozen loaves of bread coming in and out of the oven tonight. It is only 6:00 but so much has already started. Dinner will start at 2:00 and go into the night. The kitchen is huge compared to our kitchen at home. I am chopping vegetables next to one of my colleagues who seems much more stressed than I am. “It must be her first Christmas Eve here.” I thought to myself as I continue working. I stay silent while I work thinking about Christmas day and I see the one gift my mother really wanted. It was an amazing cast iron pot that is way too expensive for us. She’s been wanting one for years but she knows the money has to go somewhere else.

Should I take it? No, I can’t. Surely I’ll get caught and branded as a thief. I thought. It would make mother so happy if I got it for her but she can’t know how I got it. I make a plan to take after the dinner is served and I go home. Hours pass and the food is still rolling out of the oven. Finally it is 1:30 and the time has come to start plating the food. Servants came in and out of the kitchen taking the food and bringing it to the dining room. Rufus was sitting outside smoking tobacco again and the other kitchen staff were packing up their things to go home. This is my time to take it. I sneak into the kitchen at drop the pot into my basket.

“It is much heavier than I thought.” I mutter to myself as I lug it through the gate with my sister by my side.

“Why are you walking like that?” she asks while one side of me is bending to the left.

“Ohhh, my back is aching from bending over in the kitchen. Don’t mind me.” I reply. She believes me and keeps walking.

When we get home mother is cooking something in the pot, a delicious stew and father sits beside her. I try to pull the pot out of my basket and hide it behind me as we sit and eat. Finally it is time to give gifts around. This cast iron pot is a lot for a present but I know it will make my mother happy. My father gives my sister and I a bunch of sweets from out of town and gives my mother a beautiful little book. My mother and sister give me a nice apron they have sewn for me and a tote for my father. I give my sister a new comb I have bought and then finally I can give my mother her gift. I pull it out from behind my chair and she gasps.

“How did you get this?!” she exclaims as she grabs it from my hands. I don’t say anything but she doesn’t notice, she is too excited. The whole family crowds around her to look at this new piece of cookware. I am so very lucky that I have not been caught and if I do the punishment might be great. Stealing from the Governor is very against the law.

I cook food for some of the most important people in Virginia. Having an amazing cook is a gift for someone in any colony. Food shows where people come from and where they have travelled. Being white, protestant, and middling class I am treated with more respect than most people in the colony. My work also gives me an important role in society. People of different social classes, religions, and races from me are thought of either superior or inferior.