THIRTEEN
I wrapped my arms around my waist and squeezed them tight. Not even the comfort of the pressure calmed me.
Along with the silent crowd, I watched as Sheriff Corwin waved his hand, motioning to the deputies. With a nod from each, they obliged the unspoken command and simultaneously kicked John’s legs, forcing him to his knees.
Sheriff Corwin marched toward the prisoner. “Mr. Coleman, do you wish to confess thy sins and beg for the Lord’s forgiveness?”
John remained silent and motionless. Love spoke for him without using words. He would never betray his beloved, and the sheriff, the deacons, and the reverend needed to realize it. Loyalty would win out this time, though unfortunately, not without pain and suffering.
Unfaithfulness would not eat away at his conviction in the one who he loved should he speak, and so he did not. He would stand tall against anyone who fought against his love, or at least stand as tall as allowed. Although, what did it matter if he suffered on his knees or feet when he defied the ones in the wrong?
We should all be so brave.
Reverend Perris strode toward John’s side with his Bible in his hand. An evil glare glimmered in his eyes as he looked upon the criminal and cocked his head to one side and then the other.
I clutched my throat. My fingers wrapped tightly around my neck. Part of me desired to will John into saying something. Although, what, I did not know. He remained silent to protect Rebecca and I certainly did not wish for him to convict the love of his life.
To live with remorse of such a betrayal would be worse than the death he faced.
“Mr. John Coleman, if you refuse, be damned to Hell.” With Reverend Perris’s denouncing release, he spun on his heel. His black heeled boots became dusty from the dirt as he strode back to the line of deacons standing in front of the courthouse and nodded to Sheriff Corwin as he passed.
His words churned in my stomach, the same vile words he spoke to my mother. The last words she heard on this earth, though I desperately tried to counter them.
Sheriff Corwin motioned for the deputies to begin.
The deputies kicked John’s knees and forced him to lie on the ground. They outstretched his arms and shackled his wrists to stakes out to the side and above his head. Next, they shackled his legs to two other stakes out to the side and below his feet. With the chains secure, the deputies grabbed the wooden box and laid it on top of him, securing each of the four corners to the stakes so the box would not slip and fall off.
John closed his eyes. With a calmed breath, his hands, fingers, and legs lay limp against the steel cuffs.
Nervous energy flowed through the townsfolk, feeding off the fear of all who watched. Each of the deacons read from the Bibles open in their hands. Some barely whispered, while a couple of them, like Deacon Pruett, read with a boom in their voice that echoed through the stunned silence of the crowd.
Women around me hung their heads. They whispered prayers of their own or hid their children behind their aprons in fear of the horror the young eyes faced.
I rocked my weight from side to side, folded my arms across my chest, and rubbed my clammy hands on the sleeves of my dress.
Suddenly, John’s eyes opened, his hands and feet jerked in the cuffs, and he screamed from the top of his lungs. “It was me. It was me. I cursed Rebecca, I cursed her. She is innocent, and if you do not release her, I will curse all of you, too.”
Women gasped and the deacons hastily retreated as they held their Bibles tight in their hands. John’s last effort to save the woman he loved caught the whole village off guard, and rendered them all, speechless.
All, but one.
Julia stepped forward and dropped to her knees, wailing a shrill scream.
“She haunts me every hour,” she cried. “His words are those of a deceitful man—he is bewitched by the witch to perjure himself so that she may go on living and cursing us all. Both of them need to die or we are all doomed.”
“In the name of God, I speak the truth. Rebecca is innocent.”
Not one single soul in the crowd held their shocked gasps silent with his bold choice of words. For the accused to claim innocence to witchcraft, using God as their witness proved too much for anyone to bear.
Julia’s mother and father rushed to Julia’s side.
“Get her home, now,” her father ordered.
Her mother cried as she wrapped her arms around her sobbing daughter and guided her away from the scene. As soon as they vanished from sight, Julia’s father strode to Sheriff Corwin. He halted in his footsteps as he reached the box where John lay still screaming about Rebecca’s innocence.
“I want both of their cursed souls to compensate for my daughter’s pain,” he shouted. “I call upon the magistrates to bestow me justice, to bestow her justice. I demand justice.”
Sheriff Corwin held up both of his hands. “Silence.”
While Julia’s father bit his tongue, John kept shouting, and Sheriff Corwin motioned for Deputy Thomas to gag him with a rag.
John jerked his head as he struggled against the binds that tied him. His words muffled even though he continued to shout.
“In the name of Magistrate Duncan, my word and my conviction are final. I do not accept his confession for I doubt the validity in his words.” Sheriff Corwin’s eyes scanned the townsfolk before setting his gaze upon Julia’s father. “Thus, you will hath thy justice.”
With another wave of his hand, the two deputies each fetched one of the large boulders sitting in the pile. Deputy Thomas set the first rock on John’s chest. John’s once limp fingers flinched for a brief second and a few women standing near him slapped their hands over their mouths. Deputy Cloyce laid the second boulder on John’s chest next to the first. John’s fingers squirmed once again and his hands clenched into fists for a few moments before they released.
“She . . . she . . . is . . . innocent. She . . . is . . . is . . . innocent.” John gasped for breath and sobbed under the weight. His tears streamed down the side of his head and landed in the dirt below his ears.
A few men in the crowd shook their heads, while a couple of the women scurried off with their faces buried in their hands. Sheriff Corwin motioned for the deputies to linger a few moments as though he waited to see if John would confess. Why, I did not know. No amount of words would ever mend the strife or prove them free of guilt.
“She . . . she . . . is . . . innocent. She . . . is . . . innocent.”
“Continue,” Sheriff Corwin muttered.
Both of the deputies chose another boulder and laid them with the first two. Unlike before, John’s clenched fists did not release within seconds. Instead, they remained tight and trembled, his pain obvious.
One mother covered her mouth, clutched her son’s hand in hers, and dragged him down the road away from the courthouse. My eyes darted between Sheriff Corwin, Reverend Perris, the deacons, and then to John—a dance I repeated as more and more women and children left.
Certainly, they noticed everyone’s apparent disapproval. However, the disgust and disappointment was only reflected as amusement in their own eyes—they desired the fear, they desired the pain. And, even if they did not, it did not matter. Once they issued a sentence, they would not rescind it.
As the two deputies laid down a third and fourth boulder, John’s feet kicked under the weight. His body squirmed and his lungs gasped for breath.
The lingering women all around me began to cry.
I covered my mouth with my hand and closed my eyes.
Speak, John, speak. Say the words to help guide you in this moment.
I fought the words begging to leave my lips. To speak out in defense of the condemned never boasted well for the outspoken.
Several other women left the scene as the deputies placed a few more sto
nes upon the box lying upon John. His fists trembled, his feet quivered, and his gasps for breath became louder and louder as he cried in pain.
Seconds bled into minutes as the deputies moved the pile of stones from the ground to the box. As Deputy Thomas placed the second to the last stone, Sheriff Corwin and Reverend Perris strode toward John. Both men towered over the dying, wheezing man for a moment before speaking to him.
“Mr. Coleman, do you wish to confess?” Sheriff Corwin asked.
John drew in as much air as he could and fought a coughing fit. As he exhaled, he screamed with as much effort and volume as he could. “She is innocent.”
Sheriff Corwin retreated from him. “Finish the punishment.”
Deputy Thomas gave a nod and fetched the last heavy boulder. However, instead of placing it with the pile on John’s chest, he placed it up near his throat where one of the boards laid across John’s neck.
John’s eyes flung open, he struggled more with every second that passed. His hands writhed in the cuffs, and his feet kicked against the chains. He gasped for the last breaths of his life while everyone watched. The panic in the whites of his eyes nearly brought me to my knees.
I slapped my hands over my ears to drown out the sounds around me and closed my eyes.
Suddenly, a warm set of fingers intertwined with mine, drawing my hand away from my ear and squeezed it tight.
I glanced at the body that moved beside me and met a pair of deep blue eyes—eyes that I had missed, and yet, not until this moment, had not known exactly how much.
James wiped the tears from my cheeks. His supportive gesture needed and I desired nothing more than to curl up in his strong, protective arms.
I should hath jerked my hand away from his. I should hath recoiled from him and retreated far away until nothing but distance remained between us—a distance so great no one would show suspicion of knowing what just happened between us.
I should hath done so much and yet, I could not.
All I could do was what I should not hath done.
I held his hand and returned his gaze.
However long or however brief our eyes locked it did not matter. They locked, and as my eyes glanced around afterward, I knew our connection was noticed.
Reverend Perris, Deacon Pruett, and several of the other deacons glowered at me, their eyes burned into mine.
I shook my hand from James’s grasp and recoiled from him as I tucked my hair behind my ears and stared at the ground. My heart pounded. My nerves began to itch with an irritating prickle spread throughout my whole body until I swore I could claw out of my own skin and not even hold concern.
James faced me, his eyes furrowed together in confusion.
“Emmalynn?” His voice not but a whisper, and his perfect blue eyes that I loved now tarnished with the terrifying truth.
“We cannot . . . cannot . . .”
With my words, a sense of a loss enclosed upon my fears and my eyes darted to each of the faces in the sea of darkness that haunted me.
“Pay no heed to them, Emmalynn, you hath to close thy eyes to their thoughts.” James stepped toward me with whispered breath. “Refuse them, you hath to refuse them. Break free from their yoke, allow thyself to the truth you wish to live.”
I shook my head.
“You desire contentment, you desire love, you desire liberty, and you deserve to attain all what you desire. Please, believe that you do.” His eyes and voice begged, pleading for me to listen. “Why hold concern for what people deem? Why hold concern if they witnesses us together? Why allow the turmoil and strife the control over thy soul?”
In one blinding instant, my anger consumed. James’s words stroked the fire deep inside.
How dare the dark mock the light? How dare their resentment creep in on my happiness and loom like a dark cloud to feed off my melancholy without reprieve?
In the blink of an eye, with just a single touch, the darkness appeared with its evil smile, and threatened to exile the sun and hinder the light. How dare these men steal my life away from me? What gives them the entitlement?
And, why hath I allowed them such a privilege?
I am such a fool.
James held out his hand for me to grasp.
Love tugged at my heart, but as I gazed at him, Mary stepped forward from the crowd. Her fiery glare spied upon us from mere feet away. She watched our movement, heard our conversation, and witnessed the bond between us. An evil smile spread across her face.
Seconds later, her smile vanished as she clutched her ears with her hands and screeched shrills that echoed. She flung herself down upon the ground and her body convulsed violently. Dust puffed into the air around her.
Women and children near her screamed and recoiled from her in terror. A few men scrambled onto her body. They grabbed her flailing arms and legs in an attempt to restrain her as Deacon Pruett lunged for them.
“She is burning me. She is burning me with fire,” Mary screamed. “The devil is with her, I see him. I see his red eyes.”
Mary’s mother flung herself against the trunk of a tree. She clutched her chest, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mouth gaped open.
Deacon Pruett reached his daughter and collapsed at her side. He shoved the men restraining her away, and drew her into his arms, employing his weight to force her immobile. His arms wrapped tight around her trembling body. She resisted for only a second, before she curled her legs into her chest.
“Mary, look at me, Mary.” Deacon Pruett gasped her chin, drawing her gaze toward him. “What do you speak of? Who is burning you? Who is burning you?”
Mary continued to wail her shrill shrieks and jerk her body.
“Mary, who is hurting thee? What happened?”
She whimpered in pain and without saying a word, she lifted her wobbly arm, pointing one single finger directly at me.
I clutched my throat and covered my mouth to stifle any sound that toyed with the idea of leaving my lips. My stomach writhed as it threatened to empty my breakfast onto the ground.
“She is a witch.” Deacon Pruett’s voice rose with each syllable, and yet, the words hushed through my panic as though he moved his lips, but sounds did not roll across his tongue.
The crowd around me withdrew from me with looks of terror and horror on all their faces. Only one remained by my side—James—whose eyes fixed upon Mary just as mine.
Still shivering in her father’s arms, she hinted toward me once more. “She employed the devil with a smile on her face and burned me with her powers.”
My knees hit the dirt. My weight suddenly too heavy to hold up.
Sheriff Corwin and Reverend Perris shoved through the gawking crowd toward Deacon Pruett. They knelt down to offer aid and spoke to one another in a tone too whispered for me to hear.
I retched my breakfast onto the ground.
Everyone began to whisper and pointed in my direction.
Deacon Pruett rose to his feet. He helped Mary to stand and handed her over to his wife, who wrapped her arms around her daughter, and helped Mary limp away from the courthouse. Deacon Pruett strode around Sheriff Corwin and Reverend Perris with his eyes fixed upon me—his glare held so much hatred, it chilled my blood.
“I knew you were vile when you married my son. Did you murder him, too? Did you murder my son?” he shouted.
I knelt in the dirt and clutched my throat with both my hands. I shook my head, unable to find words to say. Not that it mattered, even if I knew what to say, the thought of speaking seemed impossible at this moment in time.
Deacon Pruett inched closer to me with a glower of loathing. “He lived a healthy life and was never ill once . . . until he married you. She is a witch just as her mother. She murdered my son and has now cursed my daughter. I demand justice from the church. I
demand justice from the magistrates. I demand her head.”
Heat tickled through my skin. Fury bubbled along with my panic.
No, no, no. This cannot happen to me now.
With his hands in the air, James impeded Deacon Pruett’s advance toward me. “Deacon Pruett, fever has thieved many lives, even from the healthy. Surely, thou cannot mean to accuse thy own widowed daughter-in-law.”
“And, why do you hold concern, Mr. DeKane? You defend her—defend the witch, like a love-struck suitor when you should hath protected my daughter.”
The heat radiated further through my skin—fire hot and full of anger building upon anger. I drew in a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly in hopes to calm the flames burning deep inside.
No, no, no, Emmalynn, do not allow them. Do not allow them.
I closed my eyes.
Please, God, send me a vital distraction.
James retreated a few inches, closer to me until his hand could grasp my wrist.
As suddenly as the flames ignited, they died, and left not but tranquility to my soul. I opened my eyes to the distraction I longed for—the gentle, but firm touch of his fingers.
A sudden twinge of revelation twisted in his Deacon Pruett’s eyes. They glimmered with accusation and malicious claim. “Is she the reason you renounced my daughter? You spineless waste of a man, I ought to—”
“Ought to what? A man is not spineless for not fancying Mary—such a man would be quite intelligent, actually. Thy daughter has such a sincere lack of empathy for anyone other than herself and ‘tis very unbecoming. No wonder no man desires her.”
When the Black Roses Grow Page 14