Page 25 of The Frozen River

After a moment North clears his throat. “Mistress Ballard?”

“Yes?”

“When you inspected the body did you find a rope on or near his person?”

“I did not.”

“And the men who found him, did they see a rope?”

“No.”

“You inquired about this?”

“I did.”

“Because you found it curious as well?”

“It was something I noted given the rope burns on his neck.”

I slide my eyes to the left and see the faint flicker of a crooked smile warp the corner of Dr. Page’s mouth.

I do not consider myself a scribe of any repute. I am a chronicler of facts, not feelings. However, the knowing look that passes between North and Page inspires a sort of enraged doggerel that Shakespeare himself might salute with his quill.

Thou crusty open-arsed babbling liar!

Thou craven hag-born malt-worm!

Thou dankish prick-faced leprous carrion!

North steeples his fingers beneath his chin. Considers. “Rope burns without a rope? Is it possible you misinterpreted what you saw, Mistress Ballard?”

“It’s possible the rope came off in the water. Or was cut away. Or reclaimed.”

“I see.” North smirks, then scribbles something onto a sheet of paper and hands it to Henry Sewall.

Clearly Page had been sent to Pollard’s not only to contradict my assessment, but to follow behind and interrogate the witnesses on all that transpired before his arrival. I curse myself for having left so quickly yesterday. I should have stayed with the body until he left.

The tavern is silent now, all eyes on the three of us and our battle of wills. I stare at the doctor. Page looks only to North. But when North speaks again, his words and gaze are directed at me.

“I thank you both for coming today. And for taking such care to examine the late Mr. Burgess—may he rest in peace—but, after hearing the evidence, it is the court’s decision that the death of Joshua Burgess was an accidental drowning—as stated by Dr. Page. This matter is settled. Mr. Sewall, please record these findings in the official record.” He looks to the crowd. “Who is next?”

I do not stay to hear some ridiculous complaint one neighbor might have against another for taking the Lord’s name in vain. Truth be told, I am more than a little tempted to do so myself. So I turn on my heel and walk away. I have half a mind to request that Amos Pollard drag Joshua Burgess into the tavern so the entire town can see for themselves. There is no possible way the river did that damage to his body. But I am halfway to the door—Ephraim moving to intercept me—when an idea flashes bright through my mind.

“Wait!” I stop. Turn. Take one step back toward North.

I can hear Ephraim curse under his breath directly behind me.

“My decision is final, Mistress Ballard.” North’s composure is broken now, his voice louder than necessary.

“I understand that. And I am not challenging your decision. I simply ask that Mr. Sewall record in the official court documents that there are contradicting views as to the cause of Mr. Burgess’s death. One that states accidental drowning.” I pause for effect. “And one that states murder.”

“I don’t think—”

“It is my right before the law and the state of Massachusetts to request this.” I give him the smile held in reserve for my enemies. “As a trained medical professional.”

I am correct on this point. North knows it. And so do any number of other people in the room. As a midwife I am granted a unique legal status most women do not enjoy. If he publicly refuses me, I will have cause to appeal to a higher court, and—should things grow contentious—North could be stripped of his appointment as judge for failing to uphold established law.

He does not capitulate immediately, however, but rather twists his mouth in calculation for several seconds. Seeing no way out of it, he finally says, “Very well. Mr. Sewall, please note that my verdict lies with Dr. Page’s assessment but that there is—as Mistress Ballard has noted—a contradicting opinion.”