Slewfoot

by Brom

  “I am telling you it will end the same way regardless.”

  There came a knock at the door. They were ready for her. The guards led her back to the main room.

  The meetinghouse was full, every eye on her as she was seated. A moment later the twelve men of the jury entered and took their seats across the room, facing Abitha.

  Magistrate Watson entered. The guard pulled out his chair, and he took a seat behind the large table between Reverend Smith and Captain Moore. The judge replaced his cap, then took a moment to pick something from between his teeth before grabbing the gavel and hitting it twice. “Court is in session.” He looked to the jury. “Do we have a verdict?”

  John Parker stood holding up a small piece of parchment. “We do.”

  Magistrate Watson nodded, and John brought him the note. The magistrate put on his spectacles, reviewed it, and handed it to the captain.

  Captain Moore came around the table and stood before the room. He cleared his throat, and the room went dead silent. “Abitha Williams, you have been charged with consorting with the Devil, consulting with a familiar spirit, affliction with black magic, and diabolical influence upon the innocent. The jury, on this date of October fourth, 1666, finds you guilty on all accounts.”

  A satisfied murmur flowed through the crowd.

  The captain held up his hand, and the crowd quieted. He continued. “Abitha Williams, you have brought down the Lord’s Holy Anger. According to the law of God and the established law of this commonwealth, you deserve death and as such are sentenced to death by hanging.”

  Abitha heard the words; they came as no surprise. Yet still the weight of them was too much to bear, and she thought she might faint. She felt numb, no longer even in the room; her vision blurred and the commotion about her became muffled, sounding far away. The bang of the gavel brought her around. People were arguing. She blinked. Sarah Carter stood; she appeared anxious and confused.

  Magistrate Watson struck his gavel until the room returned to order.

  “Goodwife Carter,” Captain Moore said. “Please come forward.”

  Sarah hesitated, glanced desperately at her husband.

  “Goodwife Carter,” the captain said again, more forcefully.

  Sarah approached the large table and stopped before the magistrate.

  Magistrate Watson handed Captain Moore a sheet of parchment. The captain read it aloud. “‘Sarah Carter, based on the sworn testimony of your peers and statements made in these proceedings, including those of your own daughter, the court has found evidence to accuse you of aiding a known witch and familiar in the corruption of a child. How do you plead?’”

  “No!” Reverend Carter stood and shouted. “This is not right!”

  Sarah shook her head. “No … no! I did no such act!”

  “If you wish to discredit me, Cornelius Watson,” Reverend Carter cried, “then I challenge you to do so, but for the love of God, not by such underhanded means!”

  The meetinghouse erupted with cries and shouts, with everyone talking at once.

  Reverend Carter headed for the judge. Two guards intercepted him, struggling to hold him back.

  “If you have cause to hate me,” the reverend cried, “I beg you. Do not take it out upon my family!”

  “Remove that man at once!” Magistrate Watson shouted, jabbing a meaty finger at the reverend.

  The guards wrestled Reverend Carter away, dragging him down the aisle to the door. There, the reverend snatched hold of the frame and shouted, “The governor will hear of this, Cornelius! I will be bringing forth a full report! Heed me, you will be held accountable!”

  And there, for the first time of the entire trial, the magistrate’s smugness fell away and Abitha caught a glimpse of doubt on his face.

  The guards removed the reverend and the judge pounded his gavel, kept pounding until at last, the room quieted once more.

  “Sarah Carter, how do you plead?”

  Sarah met Magistrate Watson’s eyes. “Innocent. I am innocent! I would never allow harm to my child. Never! I am a devout woman … a child of Christ, and I am innocent!”

  The magistrate gave her a pitying look and shook his head. “Sarah, none here are perfect. We have all sinned. The charge before you is not witchcraft, but aiding a witch and her familiar. There is room for leniency from the court should you show proper contrition. If you confess here and now to your role, the court has agreed to give you clemency. You will be spared a trial, spared further interrogation. But this can happen only … only with your good and honest confession. So, Sarah, please take a moment to consider carefully. The eyes of the Lord are upon you.”

  “I need not a moment, not so much as a second, as my answer is honest and true, and will always be the same. I am innocent of these charges!”

  Magistrate Watson appeared genuinely pained. “You leave me no choice, as it is my sworn duty to protect this community from Satan. I must order that you be held and interrogated until we can be sure of your guilt or innocence.”

  He gathered his papers and stood. “Captain Moore, you are hereby authorized to take charge of Sarah Carter and to extract from her the truth by whatever means you deem necessary. Do you accept this charge?”

  Captain Moore set his hard eyes on Sarah. “I do.”

  Magistrate Watson struck the gavel. “This session is closed. This matter to be settled by other means.”

  * * *

  Abitha sat in the back room of the meetinghouse, twisting her shackles mindlessly back and forth, staring blankly at the wall, feeling nothing. After about half an hour, there came a sharp bang on the door, startling her from her trance.

  “They’re ready for her,” someone called.

  Am I to be hung here and now? Abitha wondered. So soon? She tried to steady herself, to quell the rising panic.

  Abitha’s two guards, Jacob and Garret, stood. Garret, who looked to have weathered more than his share of hardship, leaned over, putting his leathery face directly into hers. “You listen to me.… Witches and devils, they do not scare me much. I’ve been this world round and seen my share of real spooks. I’ve fought pirates all up and down this coast, the Iroquois and French in Canada, Powhatan in Virginia. I’ve been shot, stabbed, stuck with arrows, cursed, burned, and buggered. I do not like Puritans and all their priggish swill and I sure as hell do not like witches. So, you’re going to do as I tell you and not give me any shit. Is that understood?”

  Abitha nodded.

  “Good.” Garret grabbed her by her upper arm, lifting her to her feet. Jacob opened the door and they led her back into the main room, where Sarah waited with a guard on either side of her. Sarah’s face was vacant, as though she were in shock.

  The guards escorted the two women from the meetinghouse. Abitha winced, fought not to cry out as she hopped and limped along on her injured leg.

  Even though it was nearing dusk, a small crowd lingered. When they saw Abitha, they fell in step, following her and the guards as they headed down the river road.

  Abitha’s injured leg buckled, causing her to stumble and fall. She landed on her hip and hands, the shackles twisting and biting into her wrist. She cried out, the pain in her leg excruciating.

  “To your feet,” Garret growled, grabbing hold of her arm and tugging her back up.

  She tried to walk, could not, her injured leg simply unable to bear her weight, and again she fell. Garret let out a curse and this time both guards grabbed an arm, lifting her, all but dragging her along.

  Even though the crowd didn’t jeer and taunt, it was on their faces, in their eyes, an almost gleeful bloodlust. She was no longer one of them, no longer a person at all. She was a condemned witch, a tool of the Devil.

  They approached the old common stable, going around to the side, to the corral.

  There were already a few people there, lined up along the fence. The small crowd joined them and they all watched as Garret removed Abitha’s shackles from her wrists.

  A grand oak tree gre
w just outside the far end of the corral, its broad branches overhanging the fence. A line of twine hung from one of the limbs, a sack hanging from the twine. Abitha couldn’t make sense of it until they marched her into the corral and she saw what it was.

  “Booka!” she whispered. “Oh, no!”

  They’d bound the cat in a sack and hung him by the neck. The cat was dead; there was at least that mercy, his suffering done. But she could see by the way the cat’s tongue jutted from his mouth and his one sad eye bulged, it hadn’t been an easy death.

  “That’s your kitty, aye?” Garret said. “A real fighter, that one, had to about beat the life out of it just to get it strung up. Then the foul thing twisted about so, I thought sure it would tear loose. Took a long time to die. Screeched like a demon the whole while. I’d be the first to say it were truly a demon if I were inclined to believe in such malarkey.”

  “Oh, Booka,” Abitha said, dropping to her knees.

  “I hear tell you brought the wretched beast back from the dead. Like to see you do that now. Go on, give it a go.”

  Booka, she thought. You poor, sad cat. And as bad as she felt, she found she still had room to hurt even more.

  “No sorcery today, aye?” Garret said. “Did not think so. I believe your witching days be done.”

  Garret left Abitha laying in the dirt and shoved Sarah along toward the big oak. That was when Abitha realized there were two freshly constructed crates, or cages, sitting on either side of the corral. They were built out of splintery slats and raw timber. She tried to understand their purpose, as they couldn’t be for her and Sarah Carter—they were far too small for a person.

  Garret lifted the lid on one of them. “All right, in with you.”

  Sarah stepped back, looking at the cramped cage, horrified.

  “You can get in yourself, or we can put you in. It’s your choice.”

  Sarah shook her head, took another step back.

  Garret shoved her forward, knocking her down. She landed hard against the cage.

  Several gasps came from the spectators, then a couple of cheers.

  Garret grabbed Sarah by the back of the neck, shoved his face into hers. “One more chance. You get your priggish ass in there, or we’re going to toss you in. You understand?”

  Sarah let out a weak cry but nodded.

  “Good.” Garret let go of her.

  Sarah placed her hands on the cage, swung a leg over, and stepped in. She had to pull her legs in to her chest in order to be able to sit down.

  “Now, if you do not want to be knocked in the head, lean over.”

  Sarah hunkered down as he lowered the lid, but still it wasn’t far enough. She had to lean over to the point where her head was between her knees.

  Garret sat on the lid. “There, now, is that cushy enough for you?” He wrapped a short bit of chain around the lid and attached a lock, locked it, putting the key away into his pocket. He peered in between the slats. “You just let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your accommodations more pleasant.”

  A clod of manure hit the ground in front of Abitha, startling her. She looked over at the fence to see young Cecil Cadwell smirking at her. She glared at him, but even as she did, he picked up another. “Witch,” he yelled, and threw it. This one striking her on the shoulder.

  Abitha let out a shocked cry.

  Cecil picked up another clod and Abitha looked to the adults, hoping someone would put a stop to it, but found only fear and hatred.

  “Witch!” Cecil cried, and threw the clod, hitting Abitha on the leg.

  Two of Cecil’s friends joined him, all three of them gathering up clods and throwing them at Abitha.

  Abitha couldn’t get to her feet to get away, not on her injured leg, could only put up her hands, trying to block the manure. The clods struck her, one after another, one hitting the side of her head.

  Abitha let out a yelp and looked to the guards, certain they wouldn’t stand for this. Jacob, the young guard, started forward, but Garret put out a hand, held him back. Garret caught her eye and gave her a malicious grin.

  Another clod hit Abitha, then another, and another. “Stop it!” she screamed.

  “Whore of Satan!” a woman yelled; it was Goody Dibble. “You will vex us no more!” She picked up a clod and lobbed it. Her daughter, Mary, joined her, then several others did as well.

  Abitha began to crawl away toward the stables, but turning her back only seemed to encourage them. Suddenly they were all throwing clods of dirt and manure—the men, women, and children. Their faces contorting into masks of rage and hate, looking like monsters, their eyes wild, their mouths twisting into vicious snarls as they pelted her.

  “Witch!” they cried. “Satan’s whore!”

  All Abitha could do at that point was hunker down, covering her head with her hands and arms. Then something struck her back, something hard, not a clod, but a rock. Abitha cried out. Another rock hit her hand, another her arm. Then a stone hit the back of her head, the pain all but blinding her. She screamed, struggled to crawl again, but found herself dizzy, unable to see straight.

  “Stop this!” someone cried in a booming voice. “You will stop this at once!” Reverend Carter stood behind the crowd, his eyes burning into them. “Hear me, all.… Any caught harassing these women will spend the night in the stocks. Am I understood?”

  Several in the crowd appeared cowed, a few even left, but most of them met the reverend with open looks of contempt.

  “Make way,” the reverend called, pushing his way up to the corral. He carried some bedding and a basket. He opened the gate and started toward the women.

  “No, sir,” Garret said. “Captain’s orders. There’s to be no bedding, nor food, no visitors until he says otherwise.”

  “But my wife has not eaten since morning. Be a Christian soul, allow her but a bit of bread. I beg of you.”

  Garret strolled over. “Reverend, you do not want to be giving us trouble.” He set his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve got strict orders to see that you, especially you, are to have no discourse with the prisoners. Now turn yourself around and get home, before you find yourself in a box next to them.”

  “No,” Reverend Carter said, looking levelly at the guard. “This is Sutton, and outside of that court, I am the authority.” The reverend started past, made it one step before Garret struck him in the chest, knocking him down, the bedding and basket spilling to the dirt.

  “I told you we have orders—”

  Reverend Carter leapt at the guard, driving a knee into him, snarling as he pummeled him with hard powerful strikes.

  Sarah screamed.

  “Oh, Lord!” Abitha cried.

  Three more guards rushed over. One got an arm around the reverend’s neck, yanked him off of Garret.

  Garret got up slow, spat out a mouthful of blood, then drove his fist into the reverend’s stomach, once, twice, a third time. The guard let go of him and the reverend dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and choking.

  Garret kicked the man in the ribs, sending him over onto his side, then proceeded to kick him over and over.

  “Stop!” Sarah cried. “Please, please, stop this!”

  Garret didn’t, not until he was out of breath and Reverend Carter lay groaning in the dirt.

  “Take him to the sheriff,” Garret said, gasping.

  Two of the guards grabbed the reverend and dragged him away.

  “Norton,” Garret called, wiping the blood off his lip. “Come here.” One of the guards, a big dulled-eyed oaf with a thick neck and slouching shoulders, came lumbering over. “Put the witch into her cage. Think you can do that?”

  “Oh, aye, sir,” Norton said. “You can count on it.” The man talked in a slow, clumsy manner, as though words were hard to come by, and Abitha guessed he might be a touch feebleminded.

  Norton grabbed Abitha by the arm and dragged her across the corral. Abitha let out a cry as her leg twisted, but the big guard didn’t seem to care,
didn’t even seem to notice as he dumped her in front of the cage.

  “Get in,” Norton ordered.

  Abitha looked at the tiny cage with horror, knowing there’d be no way to get in without bending her injured leg.

  “Get in.”

  Abitha clasped the cage, tried to pull herself up, but her leg gave out and she fell back down with a cry.

  The big guard grabbed her, slapping one hand atop her shoulder, jamming the other between her legs and lifting her up as though she weighed nothing, and then dropped her into the cage.

  Abitha landed hard, fighting not to cry out as the splintery planks dug into her flesh.

  Norton grabbed her legs and proceeded to situate her, forcing her knees into her chest. Abitha let out a scream as he bent her bad leg, but he didn’t stop, not until she was all the way in. He then dropped the lid on her, knocking her in the back of the head and forcing her all the way down into the cage.

  Garret came along and locked it, then strolled over to where the reverend had dropped the basket. He reached down and picked up a roll, wiping away the dirt. He brought the bread over to Sarah’s cage, held it up. “Right nice of your husband to bring us a snack.” He took a bite. “This is really good. Did you make this, Sarah?” Garret took his time, eating the entire roll, chewing loudly, smacking his lips. “Just so you know, Goodwife Carter. The captain, he’ll be coming to visit you tonight. He’ll be seeking your confession. The captain is a very persuasive man, if you get my meaning. Now, if I were you, I’d take some time and consider what you might say to him to avoid yourself a whole lot of unnecessary suffering.”

  Garret strolled away, joining the other guards near the gate where they were getting a small fire started.

  The crowd lingered for a bit, but after a while got tired of watching two women sweat in their cages, and most of them began to drift away.

  Abitha’s injured leg throbbed. She tried to maneuver into any position to take some of the pressure off, but found it almost impossible to even move in her cramped confines. And despite the sun going down, the night remained warm and humid, especially pressed so tightly within the cage. Sweat trickled down her back, into her face, stinging her eyes. The smell of manure filled her nostrils. Her head ached, and she felt dizzy, kept swooning. She touched the knot on the back of her head where the stone had struck her, and her hand came away bloody.