Page 50 of The Frozen River

“Very well then, the clerk will record your statement.”

Isaac Foster is just past thirty and is drifting from plain to homely, yet he still has the voice of an orator and it resonates through the room. “On the same day those scurrilous accusations were made against me, Joseph North filed fornication charges against my wife. I would like them dropped.”

“That is highly unusual,” Wood says. “Why were charges filed?”

Isaac opens his mouth to answer, but North, clearly nervous, interrupts. “Mistress Foster’s young housekeeper brought that charge, not me. She claims that Mistress Foster is pregnant by a man not her husband.”

“And would this be the same young woman, no longer in her employ, who also accused her husband of murder?” Wood asks.

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Yes. It would.”

There is ice in Obadiah Wood’s tone as he asks, “And you thought it appropriate to file these charges in a case in which you are the defendant?”

The courtroom is hushed, all eyes turned to the front of the room where this latest twist is unfolding.

North lifts his chin. “I thought to do my job.”

“In this case you overstep. I order that all fornication charges against Rebecca Foster be dropped immediately.” He turns to the clerk. “Cite a conflict of interest as the explanation.”

In the Court of General Sessions, the lone judge has great leeway in these matters. The Court of Common Pleas, however, requires a majority ruling, so I am grateful that it is one man, and not three, hearing this case today.

“May I continue? Or are there other breeches of conduct you would like to inform us of?” Obadiah Wood folds his hands on the table and looks squarely at North.

“By all means, let’s get this over with,” North tells him.

I brave a glance at Lidia who, eyes locked on her husband, seems to be flushed now. But she has the good sense to keep whatever she is feeling to herself, and refrains from making any outburst.

Wood once again scans the docket, then looks up at the gathered crowd. “The charge states that on the night of August tenth, Joseph North and Joshua Burgess broke into the home of Isaac Foster and injured the wife of said Mr. Foster.” He looks to Rebecca. “Is that the charge you are bringing before this court?”

Rebecca stands before the table, and when she speaks her voice does not waver. “No. It is not.”

I am not alone in drawing in a hard gasp. Oh God, what is she doing? I think.

Obadiah Wood looks at his docket and then back up at Rebecca. “My notes indicate a physical injury. If not that, what is your charge?”

“Physical injures did occur,” she says, and there, on the last syllable, I can hear the first break in her voice. “But they were because of a rape. That is my charge, Your Honor. On the night of August tenth, those men broke into my house and”—she clears her throat, swallows hard—“they raped me.”

Wood tightens his brow. “That is a very serious charge. Do you have any evidence?”

“They left evidence enough right here.” Rebecca sets a trembling hand to her belly and pulls the fabric tight so that the small, round protrusion is evident.

“Are you also charging that you are with child as a result of this assault?”

“I am.”

After a moment, Wood turns to North. “What have you to say to these charges?”

All of the bluster is gone from his voice. “I deny everything this woman has said. I was not at her home that evening, and I did not do the things she accuses me of.”

Wood. “Then where were you?”

“I had dinner at my home with one Major Henry Warren of the Boston militia. His regiment is in Fort Halifax now, but he will happily attest to this fact if given the chance. After dinner he left, and my wife and I went to bed.”

“Mistress North?” Wood asks.

She stands, and when she speaks her voice is small. “It is as he says. My husband was at home that evening.”

North does not look at Rebecca, but he does soften his voice. “I do not question whether someone accosted Mistress Foster, but none of what she claims happened by my hand. I have been falsely accused.”