Today in Salem: A man is carrying a sack for his grandmother, the fortuneteller Dorcas Hoar, who’s been in jail for six weeks. Without him, she’d be suffering like the other prisoners, eating little besides bread and water, and wearing petticoats that were wet with unimaginable filth. It’s impossible to make her entirely comfortable, but he and the others in her family try to bring provisions as often as they can.
In particular, Dorcas is always in need of a fresh cap. Hers are larger than most, specially made to hide her dark hair. It stretches down her back and past her hips, a tangled, bristling mat that’s longer than four feet. Letting it show would be a disastrous piece of evidence against her.
“Who?” she asks, when her grandson passes her the sack. Her voice is tremulous. “Who will speak against me in court?”
“No one,” he says. “There are no grudges against you.” He considers the Hoar family’s reputation of dishonesty, and the many people still fuming over the family’s brazen thefts. Dorcas herself had orchestrated them, even stealing from a local minister. It was 14 years ago, but the people of Salem have a long memory. There’s no sense in reminding her, he thinks. She knows as well as I do.
LEARN MORE: Why was long hair taboo? Puritan women were required to grow their hair long, but not too long. In European folklore, extremely long, severely matted hair was called witches-locks, or elf-locks. It was firmly believed that mats like that could only be caused by evil forces tangling and twisting the hair at night. By day, the hair – impossible to comb – provided a convenient hiding place for a witch’s familiars and other small evil beings.
Because witches-locks were evil, it was supposedly impossible to cut them. So it became a test of innocence. If the hair could be cut, it was possible that the accused person was innocent. If not, she was guilty without question.