Page 120 of The Frozen River

“Do you see the Fosters?” I ask. Thirty minutes of inquiring up and down the main street of Pownalboro did not yield our friends, and a hard knot of worry has begun to grow in the pit of my stomach.

Ephraim cranes his neck from one side to the other, looking for Isaac and Rebecca, then shakes his head. “Not yet. I don’t blame them for not wanting to sit through other people’s misery as well as their own.”

“What about Seth?”

“At the back of the room. Keeping quiet and out of sight until the Fosters’ case is called.”

“Good,” I say, then turn to look at him. “That’s a good sign.”

As usual, Seth appears nondescript in his wool breeches and coat, boring but not shabby. He’s shaved and trimmed his hair for the occasion, and I can see that all the buttons on his waistcoat have been polished. I try to catch his gaze, but he’s watching something out the window.

Judge Nathan Cushing stands. “As stated, and then later codified in the laws of this colony, on December 17, 1623, all criminal acts, and also matters of trespass and debts, will be tried by the verdict of twelve honest men, impaneled by the authority of this court, to form a jury upon their oath,” he tells the room. “Look to your left to see the men gathered today for this purpose.”

The men sit, stone-faced, in two rows of six. They range in age from twenty to eighty. Some bearded, some shaven. They are local men. Farmers. Merchants. Sailors. Blacksmiths and carpenters. To the best of the court’s knowledge, they have no relationship with any of the defendants.

Cushing holds up his copy of the docket. “Our first cause is an appeal, that of Hannah Barker who was convicted by the Court of General Sessions of Lincoln County for slandering one Polly Noble, Miss Noble being a daughter of a justice of the peace on said court. All parties involved in these proceedings come forward, please.”

Four women and one man approach the long table where the judges sit.

“How do you plead, Miss Barker?” Cushing asks.

Hannah Barker is so thin she wouldn’t leave prints if she walked across a muddy road. Nor is she pretty, her face pocked and scarred from chin to hairline. But she stands straight and doesn’t waver when she speaks. “Not guilty. I ain’t said nothin’ but the truth.”

The truth, or at least Hannah’s version of it, could have been stated a bit more politely, because when Cushing asks the two witnesses what Hannah told them about Polly, their answers are ruthless.

“ ‘God of Heaven!’ That’s what she said, Hannah, I mean,” the first woman tells Cushing. “ ‘What do you think has happened to Noble’s family? Polly has gone up to Boston and had herself a Negro bastard.’ She said it to me just like that, last summer coming out of church.” This last word is whispered, as though the real sacrilege was the location and not the accusation.

“And do you have any children, Miss Noble? Illegitimate or otherwise?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever been to Boston?”

“With my father. And he can testify that I never left his sight.” Cushing looks to the father, and he nods. Notes are made on the docket, and Cushing continues. “Next witness.”

A second woman steps forward. She bears such a resemblance to the first that I assume they are sisters. “Hannah told me that ‘Poll has been with several men and that her father had even catched her under the counter once.’ ”

These accusations are also denied, and the father swears his daughter was up to no such behavior. Polly, when her turn comes to address the court, weeps and says her reputation has been “ruin’t.” She begs the jury to uphold the conviction.

And they do. When Cushing hands the case over to the jury, they leave the room to deliberate alone in the tavern but are gone less than fifteen minutes.

Cushing reads the verdict aloud. “We the jury find Hannah Barker guilty of slander.” Cushing makes his note on the docket, then adds, “This court sustains the previous conviction and fines Miss Barker the sum of seventy-five dollars.”

More wailing, but from Hannah Barker this time. It is a fee large enough to financially destroy Miss Barker and her family. I look over my shoulder, searching for the Fosters. I fear Rebecca will take the judgment to mean that the justices will show partiality to North. For once, I am relieved not to see her.

Increase Sumner bangs his gavel on the table this time, calling the court back to order, then stands to announce the next cause to be presented.

“The court will hear the cause of Thomas Meloney, who is charged with living in sin with his own sister, Johanah, and murdering the infant born of her body. Please bring forth all witnesses,” Judge Sumner says, then takes his seat once more.

Instead of Johanah, two men come forward. One from the back of the room and the other through a side door, from the jail. Father and son, if I have ever seen a pair. One old and bent, the other stiff and defiant. Neither of them has acquired a lawyer.

“Not guilty,” Thomas Meloney says, when asked.

His father, however, tells a different tale. “They is brother and sister. And they has lived in one house together ever since Johanah had her first child. Three of ’em she has now, but I don’t know who is the father of them children.”

Neither the act of incest nor the murder of an infant can be confirmed by the court as there are no witnesses who saw either take place. All that can be confirmed is that brother and sister live under the same roof, and that Johanah has a habit of bringing illegitimate children into the world. This causes some consternation between the judges, because it is obvious the law has been violated and a child is dead. But without Johanah or her testimony, the case is sent to the jury on speculation alone.

Ten minutes later, Sumner reads the verdict. “We the jury vote to acquit Thomas Meloney on charges of incest and murder due to lack of evidence.”