Bev Rossman

When I was young, I took piano lessons from the caretaker of the Rebecca Nurse House. Of course, the main fascination with the house was that during the Salem Witch Trials in 1692, Rebecca Nurse was accused of witchcraft and hanged. Growing up in Danvers, MA, which used to be known as Salem Village, I was surrounded by tales of witchcraft and devilry. It seemed like every other museum had a reenactment of the Witch Trials and the dungeons where the witches were kept while awaiting trial or execution.

When my mom dropped me off early for a lesson, my teacher (who was a church friend of my mom’s) would let me wander about the house. I never tired of going from room to room, imagining life in the 17th century, and I was aware of and thankful for the privilege of being able to do so.

My piano teacher was the perfect caretaker for the house. Before my lesson she would come find me and casually tell me little tidbits about Rebecca Nurse’s life and the inhumanity of the witch trials. During the storytelling, grandmotherly Rebecca Nurse morphed into a combination of my own grandmothers, both of whom I adored, making her execution seem even more unfair and unjust.

I never became an accomplished piano player for many reasons. However, I still remember the gentle way my piano teacher taught me the more valuable lesson about the tragic repercussions of false accusations and the rush to judgment.