Part 27 (1/2)

”What kind of ministry is this?” Matthew asked, his face flushed by Jerusalem's indecent claims. ”I think you'd better leave, sir!”

”I shall.” Jerusalem kept staring fixedly at Rachel. ”I want thee to know, Witch Howarth, that my gift of persuasion is undiminished. If thou desireth, I may do the same for thee that was done for Madam Peyton. She now lives a virtuous life in Virginia, all the sin having been squeezed from her bosom. Such release may be given to thee, as well, if thou but sayeth the word.”

”And I would be spared from the stake?”

”Without a doubt.”

”After which you would recommend that I be banished from my land and home, and you would offer me a place alongside yourself?”

”Yes.”

”I am not a witch,” Rachel said forcefully. ”I do not follow a dark master now, and I will not follow a dark master in the future. My word to you is: no.” no.”

Jerusalem smiled. The lantern's light glinted off his teeth. ”The magistrate has yet to pa.s.s sentence on thee, of course. Perhaps thou hast hopes to sway the man through this boy?” He motioned with a nod toward Matthew. Rachel just glowered at him. ”Well, thou dost have some time to think upon it. I would not linger too long, though, as I expect the timber will be laid for thy fire within a few days. Wouldst be a terrible pity for thee to burn, being so young and so badly in need of a Christian sword.”

He'd no sooner finished his last word when the door opened and Hannibal Green entered carrying a lantern and a steaming bucket full of the biscuit-and-eggs mush that would be their breakfast. Green stopped in his tracks when he saw the preacher. Exodus Jerusalem had made a strong impression on him yesterday afternoon. ”Sir?” he said, rather meekly. ”No visitors are allowed here unless Mr. Bidwell approves it. That's his rule.”

”The Lord G.o.d approves it,” Jerusalem said, and offered a warm smile to the giant gaol-keeper. ”But as I do not wish to violate the earthly rules of Mr. Bidwell, I shall immediately withdraw.”

”Thank you, sir.”

On his way out, Jerusalem placed a hand upon Green's shoulder. ”Thou hast done a fine job guarding the witch. A man cannot be too careful in dealing with the likes of her.”

”Yes sir, I know that. And I thank you for the 'preciation.”

”A thankless task, I'm sure. Thou art a good Christian fellow, I can tell.” He started to move on, then paused. ”Oh. I am speaking this night at seven o'clock on the subject of the witch, if thou shouldst care to attend. It shall be the first of a series of sermons. Dost thou know where I am camped? On Industry Street?”

”Yes sir.”

”If thou wouldst serve G.o.d, please inform your brother and sister citizens of the time. Also, please let it be known that I live from hand to mouth on the blessings of Christ and what may find its way into my offering basket. Wouldst thou serve G.o.d in such a way?”

”Yes sir,” Green said. ”I would. I mean... I will.” will.”

Jerusalem turned his face toward Rachel once more. ”Time is short for repentance, Witch Howarth. But redemption may still be thine, if thou dost desireth it.” He touched a finger to the brim of his tricorn, and then made his departure.

Seventeen.

Matthew was shocked at his first sight of the magistrate, just before two o'clock. Woodward, who entered the gaol supported between Hannibal Green and Nicholas Paine, wore a long gray overcoat and a rust-colored scarf wrapped about his throat. His face-which glistened with sweat and was a few shades lighter than his coat-was cast downward, mindful of his walking. He took feeble steps, as if he'd aged twenty years since Matthew had seen him yesterday afternoon.

When Green had brought the midday meal, he'd explained to Matthew that the course of the trial had been delayed because the magistrate had fallen very ill during the night, but what he heard from Paine was that Elias Garrick was scheduled to appear at two o'clock. Therefore Matthew had expected to see the magistrate under the weather, but not become a near invalid. He realized at once that Woodward should be in bed-or possibly even at Dr. s.h.i.+elds's infirmary.

”What are you bringing him in here for?” Matthew protested, standing at the bars. ”The magistrate's not healthy enough to sit at court today!”

”I'm following Mr. Bidwell's orders,” Paine replied, as he steadied Woodward while Green unlocked the cell. ”He said to bring the magistrate here.”

”This is an outrage! The magistrate shouldn't be forced to work when he's hardly strong enough to stand!”

”I see no one forcing him,” Paine answered. Green got the door open and then helped Paine walk Woodward through. A strong, bitter medicinal odor also entered.

”I demand to see Bidwell!” Matthew had almost shouted it, his cheeks reddening as his temper rose. ”Bring him here this minute!”

”Hush,” the magistrate whispered. ”That hurts my ears.”

”Sir, why did you allow yourself to be brought here? You're in no condition to-”

”The work must be done,” Woodward interrupted. ”The sooner the trial is ended... the sooner we may leave this wretched town.” He eased himself down into his chair. ”Hot tea,” he said to Paine, his face pinched with the effort of speech.

”Yes sir, I'll get you some directly.”

”But not not from Mrs. Vaughan,” Woodward said. ”I'll drink any tea but hers.” from Mrs. Vaughan,” Woodward said. ”I'll drink any tea but hers.”

”Yes sir.”

”Mr. Paine!” Matthew said as he and Green started to leave the cell. ”You know the magistrate has no business being here!”

”Matthew, settle yourself,” Woodward cautioned, in his raw whisper. ”I may be somewhat ill... but I have my responsibilities. You have your own. Be seated and prepare for our witness.” He glanced through the bars into the next cage. ”Good afternoon, madam.” Rachel nodded at him from her seat on the bench, her face grim but well composed. Paine and Green left the cell and made their way out of the gaol.

”Sit and prepare,” Woodward repeated to his clerk. ”Mr. Garrick will soon be here.”

Matthew knew there was no point in further argument. He put the Bible in front of Woodward, then opened the desk drawer into which he'd placed the box of writing supplies and placed it atop his own desk. He sat down, lifted the boxlid, and removed the quill, inkwell, and paper, after he began to ma.s.sage his right hand to warm it for the exertion that was to follow. The noise of Woodward's husky, labored breathing was going to be a considerable distraction. In fact, he didn't know how he could concentrate at all today. He said, ”Sir, tell me this: how are you going to ask questions of Mr. Garrick when you can hardly speak?”

”Mr. Garrick will do most of the speaking.” Woodward paused, securing a breath. His eyes closed for a few seconds; he felt so weak he feared he might have to lay his head down upon the desk. The pungent fumes of the liniment that even now heated his chest, back, and throat rose around his face and up his swollen nostrils. He opened his eyes, his vision blurred. ”I will do my task,” he vowed. ”Just do yours.”

In a few minutes Edward Winston entered the gaol with Elias Garrick, who wore a dark brown suit that appeared two sizes too small and bore fresh patches on the elbows and knees. His gray hair had been combed back against his scalp with glistening pomade. Garrick looked fearfully into the cell at Rachel Howarth, prompting Winston to say, ”She can't harm you, Elias. Come along.”

Garrick was motioned toward the stool that had been positioned before Woodward's desk. He sat down upon it, his gaunt-cheeked face cast toward the floor. His sinewy hands clasped together, as if in silent supplication.

”You're going to be fine.” Winston placed his hand on Garrick's shoulder. ”Magistrate, you can understand that Elias is a bit nervous, with the witch in such close proximity.”

”He won't be kept long,” was Woodward's rasped reply.

”Uh... well sir, I was wondering, then.” Winston raised his eyebrows. ”What time should I bring Violet Adams?”

”Pardon?”

”Violet Adams,” Winston said. ”The child. Mr. Bidwell told me to fetch her later this afternoon. What time would be agreeable?”

”One moment!” It was all Matthew could do to keep his seat. ”The magistrate's only seeing one witness today!”

”Well... Mr. Bidwell seems to think otherwise. On the way to get Elias, I stopped at the Adams house and informed the family that Violet was expected to testify this afternoon. It was Mr. Bidwell's wish that the trial be concluded today.”

”I don't care whose wish it was! Magistrate Woodward is too ill to-”

Woodward suddenly reached our and grasped Matthew's arm, squeezing it to command silence. ”Very well,” he whispered. ”Bring the child... at four o'clock.”

”I shall.”