Page 119 of The Frozen River

“The one with the dark hair, there to the left, is Nathan Cushing.” Ephraim tips his chin slightly to indicate the judge. “He was appointed to the bench by John Hancock in January. His brother, William, is one of the five justices on the United States Supreme Court.”

“He is no stranger to the law then?”

“Indeed. It’s a family legacy. The one next to him is Increase Sumner. As solid a jurist as can be found. He’s been on the court for eight years. Also appointed by Hancock.”

“And the last?”

“Francis Dana. A delegate to the Continental Congress. Signed the Articles of Confederation. I don’t know a man who doesn’t respect him.”

“All of them Harvard men?”

“Yes.”

I sigh. “I must admit to being weary of Harvard men just now. They’ve caused me nothing but trouble of late.”

“Well, I don’t think Rebecca Foster could ask for a better set of jurists. They are nothing like the men who have heard the case thus far. If she has any chance of justice, it will be here.”

I shift in my chair, then look at Ephraim with an expression of unmasked concern. “Have you seen the Fosters yet?”

“No.” The look he gives me is equally wary. “They aren’t staying here. Or at least they haven’t arrived yet. I paid extra to reserve the last room for them. But there are a dozen places in Pownalboro they could be lodging.”

I watch the judges at their table across the room. They look like mere mortals, just men of varying ages, at breakfast. In a few short hours, however, they will don their black silk robes and their powdered wigs and transform into symbols of power and authority. Those four men will determine whether justice is available to all, or only a select few.

Baths are a luxury. It has been several years since I enjoyed a long soak in a real copper tub, but I do now as we wait for the trial to begin. I’ll pay extra for the privilege, since Captain Goodwin’s children had to haul a dozen buckets of hot water upstairs to fill it. I don’t care. It’s worth every shilling to sit here and soak for an hour. I have soap, clean towels, and a quiet room where I can sort through my thoughts.

I sit in the water until my fingers prune, until the water goes from hot to warm, from warm to cool. I sit here, wet hair dripping over the curved rim of the tub, listening to the hustle and bustle of a household I do not have to manage today. The running of this tavern is a family affair—much like it is for the Pollards—and I listen to the footsteps and muted conversations. The slamming of doors and the constant sound of children running up and down the stairs. Their laughter and happy bickering. Below me, above me, the sounds of life, of a big family, are everywhere.

It is just the respite my nerves need. As the shadows shift and the water grows uncomfortably cold, I finally push myself out of the tub and step onto the mat. I towel myself off, then dress in the green silk gown that I paid Mrs. Densmore to make for me. It fits perfectly and has the shiny, stiff feel of a dress that’s never been worn.

Ephraim is waiting for me in the room when I return, and I can tell that he, too, is fortifying himself for the afternoon. His face is to the window—watching clouds the color of steel roll in—and he doesn’t turn when I walk through the door.

“They will hear four cases,” Ephraim says. “I just got word from the clerk downstairs. North’s will be the last.”

“I thought his was the only one on the docket?”

“It was. Until last week. There are three other cases of a…” he pauses, considers his word choice, “…carnal nature that have been elevated from the lower courts. They thought it best to kill four birds with one stone—as it were—rather than wait until July. Perhaps they hope to get out of that trip altogether.”

Ephraim finally turns around. Looks at me. Whistles long and low.

“What?”

“That is a new dress.”

“It is.”

He crosses the room. Runs one finger just beneath the collar. “You look lovely in green.”

I study a spot on the wall behind him. “I thought that I should… that it matters. Today. That I don’t look like some country woman trying to make myself important.” I struggle to explain. “These are respected men. And they are deciding the fate of my friend. I wanted…”

Ephraim pulls me close, as he does every time that tears take me hostage. I am not a weepy woman. But today does matter. And we have come a long distance to finally put this case behind us.

“You look lovely,” he says again, his voice a warm whisper curling into my ear. “Now let us go find the Fosters.”

“The Supreme Judicial Court is hereby called to order,” the court clerk announces to a full room. “Please stand for the honorable Justices Robert Treat Paine, Nathan Cushing, Increase Sumner, and Francis Dana.”

Six dozen men and women stand when the four judges enter the courthouse. They look nothing like the men at breakfast this morning. Each wears his robe and his wig. Two have donned spectacles. All appear distinguished and severe. There are no smiles, no nods of acknowledgment between one neighbor and another. Only solemnity and a near-tangible sense of purpose. Despite all my years giving testimony, I have never been in a courtroom so serious as this.

Ephraim insisted that we sit at the front this time, as close to the bench as possible, even though North’s case will be the last called. Ephraim did confirm that North is in Pownalboro, having made his first appearance since the disappearing act in Hallowell.