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best to care for her mother but it wasn’t enough. When she had needed help she called on Minda, the Indian midwife. Her mother believed in the old Indian and accepted her comfort both in words and medicines. While they both loved Minda, Thomas Hallett hated everything about her. Even now, Maria must still hide Minda’s herbs and potions from her father. He despised them, calling her Indian ways ‘abracadabra’.
    Lately, Maria missed the PowWah’s visits and the little gifts she brought her. The bouquets of flowers, beautiful shells from the sea, and scented waters meant so much to Maria. She wondered if Minda would come soon.
    “…and the Lord hath said, ‘Work is blessed, and idleness is the work of the devil’....” Reverend Treat’s loud preaching startled Maria and she snapped open her eyes. Quickly glancing from side to side, she tried to see if anyone had seen her daydreaming. Thankfully, the congregation seemed to be lost in their own worlds. Once again her gaze settled upon those meeting below her. She saw where the Hallet family had sat for services before her mother had died. She gently massaged her throbbing shoulder and thought very quietly: Why does father blame me for everything? I’m his daughter, not his servant! Mother always said I was a gift from God. Why can’t he think of me like that?
    Reverend Treat’s words became distorted and she was sure she heard him scolding her, “Obey your father!” She shook her head but the words then twisted into her father’s accusing voice. He growled that Maria’s birth had made his wife weak and caused her to spiral into bouts of sickness, and eventually death. His condemnations echoed in her head; “What am I to do? You’re nothing but a burden.”
    Maria began to feel sick in her stomach at the image of how he always soothed his rage with his drink. When he was drunk she oftentimes feared for her life. Maria furrowed her brow and searched deep inside her heart for pleasant memories. She recalled her mother humming while baking at the broad table, flour swirling around in the sunlight; her mother’s wispy hair feathering out from under her linen cap. She’d always felt so safe with her mother.
    “Maria, wake up.” Matthew, who was sitting beside her, gently shook her shoulder.
    “Ohhh,” Maria winced at his touch.
    Alarmed, her young friend asked, “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
    “Oh.... Yes,” she answered. As she leaned down to readjust her stocking, her handkerchief puffed away from her neck and revealed the bluish mark on her skin.
    “Maria, what happened to you? Did your father do this?”
    “It’s nothing,” she whispered, moving the cloth over to hide the bruise. “I hit my shoulder on the lug pole when I was cleaning the ashes from the hearth.”
     “Do be more careful, Maria. May I walk home with you today?”
    “Of course, I would enjoy that.” Matthew’s presence always reminded her of how happy she was when they had been childhood friends and when her mother was still alive. Now older, they didn’t see each other as regularly as Maria would have liked. Matthew was usually away fishing with his father; he only stayed home during inclement weather.
    As the two friends walked over the crest of a hill and towards their houses, Matthew surprised Maria when he asked, “When I was home the other day, I saw you sitting on the bench outside the door of the old McKeon house. What were you doing there?”
    Maria stammered, “Oh...I...just went for a walk and was feeling a little tired. That’s all.” She quickly changed the subject. “How are your parents?”
    Matthew was oblivious to her words; he was lost in the details of Maria’s delicate lips as she spoke. They opened and closed in soft movements, touching each other the way he longed to feel them against his own lips. He wanted to hold her arm as they walked but thought he should not. It wouldn’t be right.
    Maria turned her head towards Matthew and asked