Pilgrims

Characters

George

Dorothy

Martha

Deborah

Lucinda

(DOROTHY’s House.)

Dorothy:  What good luck brings my family to me on this joyous day.  I am very pleased.

George:   Well, not all the family.

Dorothy:  You’re right.  Not poor Aggie, but then, she got what was coming to her.

Martha:  I agree with Mother.  Aggie was warned.

Deborah:  They didn’t have to drown her.

Lucinda:  It was ghastly.

Dorothy:  Drowning witches is never a pretty affair.  My Great-Great Aunt Jane was a witch back in England, and when they drowned her, it took over ten minutes.  At least that’s what my mother used to tell me before she’d sing me to sleep at night.  Would anybody like some yams?

George:  The trial was very short this time around.  I’m not sure all the evidence was properly presented.

Martha:  You don’t need that much evidence to prove somebody is a witch.  You hold a carrot up to their nose, and if they sneeze, they’re a witch.  It’s very cut and dry.

Deborah:  But she was also suffering from allergies.

Lucinda:  It’s true.  Or she could be allergic to carrots.

Deborah:  I just worry that she might have been innocent.

Martha:  Innocent people do not go around sneezing at carrots, Deborah.  Now, she might not have been a witch, but she certainly wasn’t innocent.  I’m sure she did something wrong to deserve drowning.  She was a woman after all.  There are all kinds of sins we can commit without even realizing it.

Dorothy:  Speaking of sin, I saw the Reverend disposing of another body behind his barn this afternoon.

Deborah:  Did you do anything about it?

Dorothy:  I didn’t want to get involved.  Who he buries behind his barn is his business.

Lucinda:  Maybe it was another witch.

Martha:  Maybe it was.  Reverend is a man of god, and it’s his duty to fight immorality and depravity.

George:  But has anyone seen his wife recently?

Martha:  I’m sure she’s fine.

Deborah:  Mother, I feel very strongly that you should have done something.

Dorothy:  Deborah, if you think I was going to ruin the first Thanksgiving by investigating a murder, you’re very mistaken.  Now eat whatever this is.

Lucinda:  It’s white, and very dense.

Dorothy:  The Indians brought it by, and we have to pretend to like it.  I won’t have us looking rude to the savages.

George:  You know who ran away with the savages last week?  John’s eldest.

Deborah:  Margaret?

Lucinda:  Is that why she wasn’t at Bible Study all week?  We thought she perished from the famine!

George:  No, no, no.  Nothing that serious.  Just a forbidden elopement with one of the natives.  Her father is quite upset.

Dorothy:  Wouldn’t you be upset if one of your girls ran away with an Indian?

George:  Dorothy, what’s the point of having eighteen children if you lose your bearings every time one of them abandons you to go live amongst your enemies?

Deborah:  But surely the Indians are our friends now?

Martha:  That’s all nonsense.  We’re not friends.  We’re allies.  There’s a difference.  Nobody knows exactly what it is, but there definitely is one.

Lucinda:  I think the difference is that you like one and the other you just tolerate.

Deborah:  Sort of like how I feel about you and Martha.

Martha:  Very funny.  I’m very pleasant to be around, you two are just ugly.  And ugliness brings out ugliness in others.  That’s what the Bible says.

George:  Where does it say that in the Bible?

Martha:  The Bible says lots of things, father.  If you go around asking ‘Where does it say this’ and ‘Where does it say that?’ you’ll never get anything done.

Dorothy:  Martha is right.  We need to take the good lord into our own hands and wield him like a weapon against those who would try to harm us.  My goodness, these peas are tasty.  I hope the natives didn’t poison them.  Nothing ever tastes this good unless death is right around the corner.

George:  May we not speak of death on a day like this?

Lucinda:  A day like what, father?

George:  Is this not a day of celebration and gratitude?

Martha:  And is being alive not something to be grateful for?  So many people aren’t these days.

Deborah:  You know who is alive?  Bernard Trapperson.

Lucinda:  Bernie the Trap is alive?

Dorothy:  Didn’t he wander off into the forest?  Tempted, no doubt, by John’s daughter Margaret, the Native-Marrying, red-headed harlot.

Deborah:  He did wander off, but they found him on a hunting trip just yesterday!

George:  Tis a Thanksgiving miracle!  We should celebrate with a drink.

Martha:  Is he all right?

Deborah:  Perfectly fine.  Well, he’s missing an arm and both eyebrows, but other than that, he’s fine.  They assume he was attacked by a grizzly, but they can’t know for sure, because he’s also missing his tongue.  I suppose the whole thing will just have to stay a mystery.

George:  Tis a Thanksgiving mystery!  We should ponder it with a drink.

Lucinda:  I always thought Bernard was rather handsome.  Rather strapping.  Husband material, no doubt.  I never thought he fancied me, but perhaps now he’ll reconsider.

Dorothy:  It would be good to have another one of you girls married off before the next winter.  We only have so many blankets to go around, and two of them still smell like smallpox.

Martha:  I’m sure I’ll be married in no time.  Fletcher the Butcher has been making very aggressive overtures regarding my status.

Deborah:  Is that so?

Martha:  Just the other day, he asked me if the goat meat he sold me last week smelled off.  I almost fainted away, the flirtation was so extreme.

Lucinda:  Forgive me, sister, but that doesn’t resemble flirtation at all.

Martha:  Oh Lucinda, you idle-headed pork worm.  You know nothing of courtship.

Lucinda:  I know that I shall soon marry and you will be left an old maid.

Martha:  I expect you’re speaking to Deborah, since I will surely have a husband before the first snowfall.

Deborah:  Actually, I plan on giving myself to the Lord.

Martha:  You’re marrying the Reverend?

Dorothy:  Don’t do it, Deborah.  There’s still plenty of room behind that barn.

Deborah:  I’m going home to England there I shall join a convent.

George:  Tis a Thanksgiving bounty!  One daughter marrying a tongueless forest man, one joining hands with our Great Lord and Savior, and the third—Well, I’m sure something nice will happen to Martha eventually.

Martha:  You’re returning to England?

Deborah:  That’s right.

Martha:  You came all the way here and now you’re going to go all the way back?

Lucinda:  Dear me, sister, I do love you, but to be frank—who feels like it?

Dorothy:  The first thing I said when I got off that boat was ‘This place is vile, and I’m going to die here.’  I was never stepping foot on a ship again.  And I swore it on the Bible.  And then we traded that Bible for a sack of grain.  Where was I going with this?

George:  Deborah moving back to—

Dorothy:  Yes, yes.  Deborah, you’re a grown woman and you can do as you like provided your father approves since you’re still a woman and he makes all your decisions.  But as far as I’m concerned, you’re out of your head going back to England.

Deborah:  What choice do I have?  We don’t have any convents here I can join.

George:  Why don’t you start one?  You could be the first!  My daughter—the owner of the first convent.

Lucinda:  Do convents have owners?

Martha:  Oh, let her go if she wants to go.  The next ship isn’t coming for two years anyway.  It’s not as though we’ll be rid of her anytime soon.

Dorothy:  Ah, you see?  Nothing to worry about.  We’ll all be wiped out by pestilence long before two years comes around.

Deborah:  Father, say a prayer before we continue eating.  We must give thanks to the Lord.

Lucinda:  She’s right, father.

Martha:  Yes, father, but make it quick.  I plan to walk by the butcher’s home later wrapped in my wild deerskin blanket to see if it intrigues him.

Dorothy:  Quickly George, the boiled turtle is getting cold.

George:  Dear Lord, we thank you for getting us this far, and we hope you shall get us a bit further, and that you shall take those who come after us even further than that, and that slowly but surely, those who we shall never see and never meet, but who shall bear our names and carry our blood in their veins, may one day know comfort and peace that we ourselves could only dream of in our deepest slumber.  For all this we thank you, Lord.  Amen.

All, but George:  Amen.

Lucinda:  That was lovely, father.

Deborah:  So lovely.

Martha:  Beautiful.

Dorothy:  Nobody prays like your father.  He may not be much of a hunter, farmer, sailor, merchant, or tradesman, but don’t let anybody accuse him of being bad at prayer.

George:  Thank you, dear.

Dorothy:  Now, who wants the wing?

Martha:  Is that a wing or a leg?

Dorothy:  I don’t know.  Whatever it is crawled into our yard last night and died after what sounded like a particularly bad bout of coughing.  I thought perhaps it was a wild boar, but there were so many feathers.

Deborah:  I think part of it is still breathing.

Lucinda:  Is it safe to eat?

Dorothy:  Oh Lucinda, dear—that’s the least of our worries.

                (End of Play.)