Page 26 of The Frozen River

Henry Sewall bends his head over the ledger, and I turn to leave once more. Ephraim now stands at the door waiting, my riding cloak over his arm and an expression of urgency spread across his face.

I hear Judge North call William Pierce forward. “What is your complaint, Mr. Pierce?”

“I am here with my daughter, Sally, your honor. And she has two charges to make.”

Again, I slow. Stop. Turn.

Again Ephraim curses, but audibly this time.

“Miss Pierce, what is your charge?” North asks.

Sally’s voice is shaky, and she has to clear her throat to get the words out. “I bring charges of fornication, Your Honor.”

Now Ephraim is at my side, fist clenching the back of my dress, whispering, “Don’t,” in my ear.

No, no, no. Please no, I think.

I rise onto my tiptoes to get a glimpse of Sally over the crowd. The girl is staring at the ground, face crimson, lips pinched together in shame.

William Pierce stands beside his daughter, one hand on her back, and I can see his fingers squeezing the small muscle in the dip between shoulder and neck.

“Against whom do you bring these charges?”

“Against my employer, Mrs. Rebecca Foster.”

I have been delivering testimony in this room on the last Friday of each month for a decade. But never, in all of that time, have there been two such scandalous occurrences and certainly not on the same day. The people of Hallowell will be chewing on this bone for years.

William Pierce steps in front of his daughter. “I told Sally to give her notice this morning, Your Honor, because it has come to my attention that Mrs. Foster is pregnant by a man not her husband. Sally heard her admit to this yesterday! And I feel that to remain in the Fosters’ employ would be a blight upon my daughter’s character.”

“That doe-eyed little traitor,” I hiss, and Ephraim has to loop his arm around my waist to stop me from lunging forward. “Rebecca isn’t even here to defend herself.”

“We need to go,” Ephraim says, the tone of his voice brooking no argument. “Right. Now.”

“Mr. Sewall, will you please note in the court records that Mrs. Rebecca Foster, wife of Reverend Isaac Foster, has been formally charged with the gross and immoral sin of fornication.”

While Henry Sewall records this charge, North leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “What is your second charge, Miss Pierce?”

She is terrified, that much is obvious.

“Murder.”

There is no outburst this time, only the sound of Sally’s feet shuffling across the flagstone floor as her father pushes her closer to the table. “In addition to saying that she was pregnant, I also heard Mistress Foster say that her husband did kill Joshua Burgess.”

Now there are gasps of astonishment. Whispers.

Dr. Page takes a step back. Glowers at her. I can see him try to figure out a way to explain his miscalculation.

“No!” I am astonished at the sound of my voice. As is everyone else in the tavern, for the room falls suddenly quiet, and all heads swivel to look at me. “That is not at all what Rebecca said.”

“Mistress. Ballard,” North growls. “I—”

“The reason Sally heard our conversation is because she was listening at the door while I was there yesterday. Did you hear me? I. Was. There. Go on. Ask her.”

No one does. And both she and her father remain silent, though her eyes fill with frightened tears. It is clear Sally did not want to do this. But it is already done. And I feel no mercy for her.

North leans forward. “Mistress Ballard, I will not tolerate such an outburst in my courtroom.”

I ignore him. “What Rebecca said is that she hoped Isaac had killed the man. And can any of you blame her?” I look around the tavern, then take a step forward and glare at North. “Can you blame her?”