Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

  “Let me go, you pair of whoresons,” he growled, foaming at the mouth. His face was swollen red with indignant rage. As he passed through a dense cluster of people, someone spat on him. It landed on his cheek and stayed there, as wet and unmoving as a fat slug. He contorted into painful angles, tossing his head about to dislodge the slime. “Damnit, let me loose! I swear to God Almighty, when I’m out of these blasted ropes, I’m going to tear you limb from limb, Dinsmore. I’m going to reach down and rip out your ba—”

  “You heard it!” Philemon shouted in triumph, drowning out the rest of Cyrus’s blustering. “Straight from his own mouth—more threats of murder!”

  “I haven’t murdered anyone, you son of a bitch! But you’ll be the first if someone doesn’t get me out of these damned things.”

  The Elders shifted, forming a dark, solid wall. They all wore long, black cloaks with scarlet embroidery along the edges. My breath hitched as I caught sight of the red thread. It wasn’t a pretty pattern, a series of French knots or seed stitches. It was words. The Rules. Suddenly the empty Founder Tree made perfect sense.

  This wasn’t a Deciding.

  It was a Judgment.

  Leland Schäfer cleared his throat, casting an uneasy hush over the crowd as they strained to hear his soft tone. “Cyrus Danforth, you are brought before Amity Falls today accused of high crimes against your neighbors and fellow men.”

  Cyrus lunged at the Elder, only to be stopped by Philemon and Joseph as they pushed him down. His knees hit the floor with a crack so loud, I winced even before he unleashed a firestorm of insults.

  Leland paled and held up a bit of paper with shaking fingers. “On the night of September ninth, you were seen at the Buhrmans’ tavern in an intoxicated state, and were overheard making threatening remarks against Gideon Downing and his family—”

  “There’s no crime in that—no crime!” Cyrus interrupted. “Amos, how long are you going to let this charade go on? I told you what Samuel Downing did to my storeroom, and you refused to take action. Suddenly I’m shackled on the hearsay of these two loons? This is a joke.”

  “Stand down, Danforth,” Amos warned, raising one bushy white eyebrow with admonishment.

  “I will not be treated like this!”

  “And what exactly do you plan to do about it?” Philemon asked, grabbing at the rope and tussling him about.

  Matthias stepped forward, stealing the paper from Leland. With a strong, commanding voice, he read the rest of the accusation.

  “Shortly after these threats were made, fields outside the Downings’ farm were found ablaze, the fire purposefully set. Sarah Downing and her unborn child were gravely injured.” He paused, fixing his steely gaze on Cyrus. “You, sir, stand accused of arson and attempted murder.”

  Cyrus’s mouth fell open. “I—what?”

  Matthias folded the paper and pocketed it in the deep shadows of his cheerless cloak. “I don’t need to remind you that the punishment for disturbing our security and peace is quite high.”

  “Just one minute—” Cyrus started, struggling to his feet. “I certainly didn’t mean for Sarah to be hurt.”

  “So you did set the fire?” Joseph asked, leaping onto the words Cyrus had left unsaid.

  “Of course not! I only meant—”

  “We heard you last night,” someone near the back of the room said. “Berating and cursing the Downings. The whole tavern heard it.”

  “If you knew the story—the whole story—you’d understand,” Cyrus hollered. “You’d even join in!”

  “Tell us, then!” the voice cried out.

  Others joined in, shouting for details.

  Cyrus looked around the room, his eyes searching the crowd. They lit upon someone in the back and lingered. He popped his jaw to the side, deep in thought.

  I knew without looking that it was Rebecca. I braced myself for the ugliness to come. To save himself, he’d expose her secret—Sam’s secret—and the crowd’s anger would shift. It wouldn’t take much to set off a blaze, just a little spark of indignation, and the whole town would be in an uproar. It would be her ruining.

  Sweat trickled into his eyes, and Cyrus blinked heavily, but his focus stayed unwaveringly on his daughter. After a moment, he shook his head.

  “I wasn’t anywhere near those fields,” he said, and I dared to let out the breath I’d been holding. Was he truly going to keep silent about Rebecca and the baby?

  “I’m not a friend of the Downings, it’s true, but I’d never go after another man’s land.” Cyrus let out a derisive sniff. “Hell, I wouldn’t step foot on that property if it held the bridge to Heaven and I heard the angels of the Rapture blowing their horns.”

  Sam stepped forward, balling a fist. “You barged into our yard, on the day of my sister’s birthday, swinging punches.”

  “In retaliation for—”

  “Retaliation?” Samuel grabbed my wrist, pulling me alongside him. He fumbled at my cuff, snapping off buttons in his haste to expose the series of purple fingerprints bruised into the soft flesh of my arm. “What has my sister ever done to you?”

  The room, which had fallen into a hush at the volleyed accusations, now broke into outraged chaos. Several men pushed their way to the front of the Gathering House, apparently ready to come to my defense with violence of their own.

  Jonas Marjanovic, a young man who’d been a grade ahead of me in school—and hopelessly sweet on me, Sam had teased—reached the front first and slugged his meaty fist into the side of Cyrus’s jaw. For the second time in less than a day, teeth flew out of his quavering lips, knocked free by the blow.

  Everyone gasped, mania sobering as the very tangible evidence of their anger landed at the feet of the Elders.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Cyrus spat blood into Joseph Abernathy’s face, and whatever bit of decorum the room had momentarily mustered evaporated.

  “Untie these ropes at once and let me defend myself! This isn’t a fair fight!”

  “Neither is picking on a young lady half your size,” Jonas said, getting in a second strike to Cyrus’s gut before his brother pulled him away.

  “You’ve got to stop,” the younger Marjanovic said, unable to keep his grasp on Jonas. “He’s headed for the Gallows anyway. He’s not worth the split knuckles.”

  The Gallows.

  I stilled at its mention.

  It was a small stage erected in the center of Amity Falls—nothing more than a wooden platform, really—and though it had only ever been used once before, its presence was a daily reminder to us to keep our eyes on God, the good of the Falls, and the Rules.

  Decades ago, a skirmish had erupted between two neighbors over property lines. It would have gone on for years as petty bickering, trotted out at church picnics and harvests, had it not been for the vein of gold discovered running right alongside the boundary. Sensible men would have mined it together and split the profits equally, but Cotton Danforth and Elazar Downing had been anything but sensible.

  They fought endlessly over that stake of gold pebbles. The first Elders ruled in favor of my great-grandfather, giving the Downings the land on which the vein lay. That night Cotton Danforth snuck into his neighbor’s farmhouse, a gleaming scythe at his side. Finding him deep in sleep, Cotton whacked off both of Elazar’s hands. Ellerie, my great-grandmother and namesake, woke covered in her husband’s blood, and later recounted to the Elders that Cotton had danced a mad jig about the room, rejoicing that his nemesis was no longer capable of collecting the gold himself. She said he wasn’t even aware that Elazar was already dead.

  As quick as a wink, the Gallows were built and Cotton Danforth was sent out as its first victim. The Elders declared that the Gallows remain as a grave warning to deter others who’d seek to harm their fellow men.

  “What did you say?” Cyrus asked, noticeably cowed. />
  “You stand accused of attempted murder,” Matthias Dodson said, voice booming as he attempted to bring order to the room. “Where else would you end up?”

  “You can’t be serious,” Parson Briard scoffed. The crowd shifted, leaving a clear path between him and the Elders.

  “You’ve no say in the matter, Clemency,” Amos said, a touch of warning in his voice.

  “I should think I do. I should think we all do. A man’s life hangs in the balance. Who are you to cast judgment upon him?”

  “We’ve been charged with the power to—”

  “Power,” the parson sneered. “And what of mercy? What of grace?”

  Matthias Dodson shook his head. “Why don’t you write a sermon on it and leave us to our work.”

  “I will not!”

  “Don’t make us remove you from the Gathering House, Clemency,” Leland pleaded.

  The parson sputtered, his face red. “I—I never—”

  “Get out of here,” hollered someone at the side of the room. “He shows no remorse for his crimes!”

  “Let him hang!”

  Someone else cheered, and Calvin Buhrman helped escort Briard out the back.

  “No!” Rebecca screamed, watching as her only ally was tossed unceremoniously from the hall. She pushed her way toward the front of the room, holding her hands out toward the Elders. “You can’t hang him! You’ve no proof.”

  “He was overheard making threats toward Gideon Downing and later seen carrying a bottle of moonshine and rags.”

  “He was drunk,” Rebecca shouted. “There’s no crime in being an old drunk. Send him to the stocks—but not the Gallows!”

  “The same bottle was later found at the edge of the Downings’ fields,” Matthias said, and he withdrew a clear glass jug from a bag propped against his chair. The fire had misshaped it, leaving it half-flattened and bubbled on the edges, but the heat’s deformities couldn’t mask that it was a Danforth bottle.

  Cyrus kept a small still at the back of his property, where he made moonshine with his surplus of corn after the harvest. It was immensely popular with the ranch hands, potent and strong. Cyrus was so proud of his spirits, he made his own bottles for them, giving the glass handle a distinctive, colorful flourish to represent the Danforth D.

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open, and the protest in her eyes died away as she spotted the bottle. After walking to Matthias with stiff steps, she took it from him and examined the shot of color running through the small handle. “I made a batch of these last week,” she murmured. “They’re a different blue than we used last year….Papa?” she asked, turning to him. Doubt clouded her face, making her look impossibly small.

  “So one of my bottles was found. It doesn’t mean I was the one who left it there.” Cyrus drew his brows together, struggling to make his features hold a look of contrition. “I admit, I was upset with Downing. I still am. One of them”—he pointed at my siblings and me—“destroyed my storeroom. You’ll never convince me otherwise. But I wouldn’t have burned down a man’s farm, no matter how drunk I was. And I’d certainly never go after Sarah. I’d never hurt a woman.”

  “The bruises on Ellerie say otherwise,” Jonas reminded the room.

  Cyrus snorted, disregarding the accusation. “I’m telling you, I was nowhere near that shed!”

  Joseph Abernathy perked up. “What shed?”

  “The supply sh—” Cyrus paused, suddenly aware of the trap.

  “We never mentioned anything about a supply shed. Only that Sarah was burned in the fire.” Philemon turned his gaze on the Elders. “He’s implicated himself. Amos, you must see that!”

  “What—no, that’s not what—I must have overheard you mentioning it.” Cyrus shook his head, edging back, poised to run. “I was not there. I was not—Rebecca!” he cried out as his eyes fell on her, a drowning man grasping on to whatever driftwood he could find. “Rebecca knows I was home all night. She’ll tell you! She’ll—”

  “You were at the tavern late,” she reminded him with a shaking voice. Rebecca had always been painfully shy, and I couldn’t imagine how she felt now, having this conversation with the entire town listening. “I went to sleep before you returned. Mark did too.” She ran her fingers over the blue handle of the melted bottle before looking up with resolute eyes. “I don’t know when he came home.”

  “Then there was—” He stopped short, whirling around to see who else he could call on. “There was that woman…at the tavern. I don’t—I don’t recall her name, but she was there, with me.” He frowned as if drudging the memories from a pool of spirits. “Calvin Buhrman—you must know her. New to town.” He shook his head. “Why the devil can’t I remember her name?”

  Calvin looked warily about. He ran one hand over his closely cropped hair, his expression grim. “I don’t recall seeing you with any woman last night, Cyrus.”

  “Of course you do. I bought her drinks—several drinks! Surely you remember all the money I laid down.”

  “There was quite a bit of that,” Calvin agreed. “But it was only you drinking through it all. No one else.”

  Cyrus’s neck turned purple, and I feared he might keel over from a stroke long before the Elders could decide what ought to be done with him. “That’s a lie! She was just a slip of a thing, dark hair, silvery eyes. A real beauty. But…her hands…they were awfully funny, though. Not like…not like they were supposed to be.” He glanced about the room. “Judd Abrams—you were there. You saw her.”

  The rancher shook his head, blushing as he was called out. “Don’t recall seeing nobody.”

  Cyrus nearly howled in frustration, jerking to and fro as he searched for allies. “Winthrop Mullins, I know I saw you staring at her! Tell the truth now, boy.”

  Winthrop scratched at his freckled ears. “I suppose I might’ve been staring, but it wasn’t at any lady. You just cut such a strange picture last night, talking and ranting to yourself.”

  “Myself?” Cyrus echoed.

  Winthrop worked a bit of chewing tobacco to the side of his cheek, looking uneasy. “There just weren’t no one with you, sir.”

  Amos McCleary swayed back and forth on his cane, mulling over the situation. “Do you recall what time Cyrus left the tavern, Calvin?”

  “I do. Everyone else left around ten o’clock, but he just kept drinking. At midnight, I finally had to kick him out, told him we were shutting down for the night. The missus wasn’t pleased I’d let him linger for so long. Gave me a right earful about it.”

  “It was that woman!” Cyrus insisted. “She kept asking about the storeroom, wondering who’d done it. She said we needed to make the culprit pay.”

  The Elders exchanged weighted glances.

  “She said we ought to go over and take something from that bastard Downing. Said we ought to…” His words tapered away as his eyes rolled into his head. He sounded drunk now, and I wondered if Jonas’s final swing had given the man a concussion. He listed forward, like a small child on Sunday morning, fighting sleep in the first pew. Then he snapped back awake. “I went home after the tavern. Thought I might sample some of my new batch. Make sure it was just right.” He glanced at the bottle in Rebecca’s hands. “Looked so pretty in the moonlight, all that new, blue glass.” He laughed, though nothing about this moment was funny. “New, blue.”

  Merry reached out to me, her face looking as troubled as I felt. What was wrong with him?

  “It was as silvery and shiny as that lady. That beautiful, beautiful lady. She said we ought to take a bottle out into the woods. Have some fun…” He closed his eyes again, swaying unsteadily and sinking to his knees. “But then we heard the shouting. Heard the crackling. Went to see. Went to watch.”

  Rebecca frowned, aghast. “Why would you go watch? They needed help; they needed…” Realization dawned across her face, and she turned to the Elder
s. “He didn’t set the fire! If he wandered over to watch, someone else started it!”

  Cyrus blinked heavily, his head nodding like a fishing bobber out on choppy waves. “She did it. That woman. The one with the silver eyes. It was her. Said she loves a good blaze.”

  “You saw someone set the fire, and you didn’t try to stop them?” Joseph murmured, his face slack with horror. He took a step away from Cyrus, as if physically repulsed by this strange admission.

  “There was no one with him,” Calvin reiterated, his words weighted with exasperation. “He was at the bar alone. He left alone. Look around—do you see any newcomers to town? There is no woman. He’s gone crazy. All that moonshine finally addled his mind.”

  Prudence Latheton shook her head, on the verge of laughter.

  “What is it?” Calvin asked.

  “It’s just funny….You sell all that devil’s brew, and now you’re blaming it for this mess.”

  “That’s not what I said at all,” Calvin sputtered. “You’ve been trying to shut my tavern down for years, lording your trumped-up pious sobriety over all of us. Tell me where in the Good Book it says that alcohol is a sin. Christ himself served wine at the Last Supper, or did you just skim that bit?”

  “Now, look here—” Prudence said, stepping forward with her finger pointed, as sharp as a dagger.

  “Stop it, the both of you!” Amos ordered, his reedy voice carrying with surprising force over the chaos.

  Prudence’s eyes flashed. “Just seems to me, if he’d not been intoxicated last night, Sarah Downing wouldn’t be knocking on death’s door this morning.”

  “Mama’s not dying!” Sadie shrieked, bursting into tears. “Why would you say that? Papa is taking her to the city. The doctors will help her! Isn’t that right, Merry?”

  “Of course it is,” Merry said, rubbing Sadie’s back as Sadie pressed into Merry’s skirts, sobbing. “What is wrong with you?” Merry hissed at Prudence.