It was late November in 1665 when the wind off the Ipswich River whistled through the bare trees like the breath of God Himself. Snow had not yet fallen, but the earth had hardened, and hearth fires crackled from stone chimneys all along Meetinghouse Green. In a modest timber-framed house not far from the salt marshes, Mary Gaines, wife of John Gaines, labored through the night. At last, just before dawn broke on November 23, a cry filled the room—a new child, a daughter. They named her Sarah.