“That’s enough, Jimmy,” Sheriff Murphy says. “Turn her around and I’ll cuff her again.”
I laugh. “You mean you ain’t gonna shoot me while I’m an easy target?”
“If I wanted you dead, girl, you’d’a been dead with that first shot. We’re takin’ you back to town, and you’re gonna act right this time, hear?”
“I’m dead now or dead later. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather face your gun than burn.”
Sheriff Murphy just grunts and cuffs me. I can barely walk, but they pull me along until we’re out by the open road again. It’s high noon and the sun is hot as shit.
They haul me into the cab of the truck, and this time I’m wedged in so tight any hopes of escape are impossible. I rock my head back against the seat. Stars flicker behind my eyelids.
Sheriff Murphy nudges my chin with something cool. I open my eyes. It’s a flask. “It’s just water, girl. Drink up.”
The water is crisp and cold, soothing the dry scratch at the back of my throat. “Thank you,” I manage, licking my lips to moisten them.
He grunts again and shoves the flask under his seat. Hosea starts up the truck and heads toward town. I try to use my magic again, but in the suffocating heat, my thoughts bounce all over the place. My concentration breaks every time Hosea hits a rut in the road. I’m weak. Wrung out like a mop. A few people linger alongside the road, watching us go by. The church steeple rises in the distance. Sure enough, on the square, right in front of the statue of Andrew Jackson, they’ve got a new scaffold built, a gallows at its center.
So, I’m to hang, not burn.
“That’s just for me, ain’t it? Don’t I feel special. First time there’s been a hangin’ in what, twenty years, Sheriff? And a woman, at that!”
Hosea pulls up in front of the church steps. Bellflower stands there, all dressed in black robes, like he’s done this before. When I climb out of the truck, he looks down at me coldly. “Now that our lady of the hour has arrived, shall we begin?”
The church is packed, the pews so crammed that wives are sittin’ on their husbands’ laps. Everybody’s turned out for the spectacle. Heads swivel toward me as I’m led up the aisle, flanked by Bellflower and Sheriff Murphy. They sit me down at the front of the church, at a table facing the pulpit.
“Can you at least uncuff me now?” My voice shakes, betraying my nerves. I’ve never been more terrified.
“Not with what you pulled in the back of that truck,” Sheriff Murphy says.
I scan the crowd for any friendly faces, and finally see Abby toward the back. She meets my gaze and gives me a sad smile. She looks pretty today. She’s wearing a different black dress that does wonders for her figure. A wave of sadness washes over me. If I end up dyin’ today, I’ll be glad we had what we had. I never thought I’d fall in love or feel any kind of wanting after what my daddy did. But I’d felt it with Abby.
Ebba and Caro aren’t there, and I hope that means they’re keeping vigil with Granny. All I’ve done is worry about home since I got arrested.
Bellflower knocks a gavel against the pulpit. “Good people of Tin Mountain, we have gathered to bear witness against the enemy in our midst. MissGracelynn Doherty has been accused of arson, murder, and witchcraft. Let it be known that as a god-fearing people, it is our duty to cast out transgressors. We must purge the canker of evil before it festers and grows.”
Somebody cries out. It’s Aunt Val, standing off to the side of the altar. She grips her stomach like she’s in pain and howls. More theatrics.
Bellflower points at Val and shakes his finger. “See how the witch tortures this woman. How she suffers in the grip of wickedness?”
A murmur goes up from the crowd. Before long, other people are twisting in their pews and crying out. Some start speaking in tongues. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. These people have gone insane. Every last one of them.
Bellflower hammers the gavel on the pulpit like he’s driving nails into my coffin. “Do we have anyone who would bear witness?” he intones.
“I will.” A woman stands off to my left. It’s Nadine Clark, the woman whose baby died of colic after beinghealedby Bellflower. A baby I’d delivered two months ago, healthy and perfect.
She comes forward. Bellflower holds out a book—most assuredly not a Bible—and Nadine puts her hand on it. He murmurs something and she nods, then takes a seat next to the pulpit, crossing her legs at the ankle. She seems calm and sure of herself, and it frightens me more than Val and the folks who went into hysterics moments before. Calmness is credibility.
“Mrs.Clark, can you tell me how you know the accused?” Bellflower asks.
“She delivered my baby and checked in on us after his birth.”
“And was there anything unusual about her behavior when she attended you?”
“No ... not then. She was nothin’ but kind and helpful.”
I wrinkle my brows.Not then.What the hell is she getting at?
“I see. But in the days after?”
