Page 24 of The Salamander

“The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.”

– Thomas Paine 1776

CHAPTER 6

Salem Market, January 1777

MARTHA PULLED THE hood of her cloak up to protect her ears against the bite of the wind. The snow lay hard-packed along the streets, but the market square still thronged with people, a murmur of anxious voices rising from under woolen hoods and shawls. Prices had climbed again, flour fetching twice its worth, sugar scarce as gold, and molasses gone before noon. Wives muttered of hunger and of merchants grown fat while soldiers froze and starved.

Martha’s grip tightened on the empty basket she carried. If the war was to be won, the hearths of Salem must be kept burning, and food at the ready for hungry people. She would not see her neighbors cheated into want.

Near Needham’s Bakery, a knot of women pressed forward, their voices rising.

“How am I to keep my children fed,” one cried, “when every penny buys only half a loaf?”

Another called, “Fair price or no price, Patriots can’t be allowed to starve while the cause marches on!”

Martha stood among the women, her arms folded, her chin lifted. “You’ve bread enough in your bins, Mr. Needham,” she accused, her voice ringing. “Raise your price again and you’ll answer to every wife in Salem!”

The baker came from his shop to snap back, “Mind yourself, Woman! I’ll not be robbed by fishwives and cooks!” He shoved at Martha’s shoulder.

A hand caught her before she stumbled. Silas, strong as ever despite his limp, moved between them, his voice low but firm, his eyes narrowed on the baker. “Easy, Needham. Best watch your tongue. No man prospers long spitin’ hungry neighbors.”

Martha’s cheeks burned, but she tossed her head. “Aye, Needham, best mind yourself, or you’ll be eatin’ your own loaves for supper.” Laughter broke out among the women, though their eyes stayed hard on the baker.

The baker, seeing the faces ranged against him, muttered and dropped his price by a shilling.

Silas gave Martha a look both reproving and admiring as he took her arm. “Next time,” he muttered, “give a body warnin’ before you take on half the town.”

Martha sniffed. “Next time, Silas, I expect you to be at my side, not trailin’ after.”

The parlor fire glowed against the gathering dark when Martha swept into the house, Silas behind her. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold and the quarrel. She set her basket down on the parlor table with a thump, harder than she meant, and muttered something under her breath about “graspin’ bakers.”

Mrs. Mason, who had been mending by the hearth while the girls played, looked up. “Martha? What’s happened?”

Silas stamped the snow from his boots as he hung up his cloak. He gave a grunt. “Your Martha near led a riot at Needham’s stall. Had half the wives of Salem ready to storm his bins.”

Martha entered the parlor, unrepentant. “He thought to raise the price again, but I told him plain, keep on, and he’s soon be eatin’ his own bread. That cooled him fast enough. Why, I’ll teach every woman in Salem to bake better bread than his.”

Mrs. Mason pressed a hand to her mouth. “Martha! You didn’t!”

“Aye, she did,” said Silas. “Took the man’s head off. Would’ve been a riot if she’d gone on longer.” Silas shot her a sidelong look, half-admiration, half-exasperation. “I’ll say this: the man dropped his price soon enough.”

Martha pulled off her cloak with a huff. “What’s happened is robbery paradin’ as trade.”

Silas shed his jacket and lowered himself onto a stool with a groan. “I’ve heard talk on the wharves, talk of similar scenes in Boston, Portsmouth, even farther south. And it’s not just bread, but coffee, tea, sugar, and flour. Anythin’ folk can’t do without. Women won’t see their children starve while merchants line their pockets. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last.”

Mrs. Mason, a serious expression on her face, said, “Part of this must be caused by the British blockade of our ports.”

“Aye,” said Silas, “and the Continental Army takin’ large amounts of flour has created local shortages.”

Martha sniffed, though her chin was high. “And some merchants use that as an excuse to raise prices. They shouldn’t. If the men are away fightin’, it falls to us to keep the hearth and feed the children. Patriots can’t be expected to starve while we pray for victory.”

Mrs. Mason set her needlework aside, her voice gentle. “I only pray you’ll be careful, Martha. Words in anger can cut as deep as any blade.”

Martha softened a fraction, though she would not admit it. “Well, if the menfolk won’t keep bakers honest, someone has to.”

Hannah looked up at Martha, “I think you won.”