Wonce a Witch, Always a Witch
The birth of a series? Attorney & Witch Detectives
Chief magistrate Mr. Samuel Collins said with perfect diction, “Mrs. Terese Wilkins, at your arraignment you pled not-guilty to the crimes of witchcraft, inciting pagan rituals and the seditious teaching of youths from the Houghton family as well as the natives attending our Christian school. Does your plea stand?”
Within the single room courthouse the elders of Rexton, Massachusetts cooled themselves with their hats and cleverly made fans of corn husks woven into flat triangles. The entire complement of the village’s adults, those whose jobs were not critical to the day-to-day operation of the place, were in attendance. This would be Rexton’s first witch trial. Not since the condemnation and expulsion of the prior vicar was such an event anticipated.
“My plea of not-guilty does not, your honor,” Terese said in a strong voice.
Not a voice the citizens of Rexton expected from such a diminutive figure, her bonnet pulled tight around her yellow hair, the eyelets of her corset nearly touching in their attempt to squeeze the tiny woman’s waist into contrition. At her words, they gave a collective gasp. Was she about to admit to the evil, the late night pageantry, the seduction and adultery of which they knew her guilty?
Terese stood from her place at the defendants table. Her attorney, that would be me, was no where to be found. I’d been called away to Riggs, a town on the northern coast, attending the matter of a stolen boat. Mrs. Wilkins’ trial, unbeknownst to me, had been moved to the previous Tuesday, that would be yesterday. She foolishly agreed to continue without me. But, that’s immaterial. What is critical is what my client said and did next.
She began, “I intend to change my plea to, not only guilty of all previously stated charges, but to also,” she untied the ribbon that held her hat, “the bewitchment,” she reached up and peeled back the white-trimmed bonnet allowing her trapped, golden curls to tumble down, “of the lecherous men in Rexton.” She then pulled forth a satchel drawing from within a handful of flower petals. “I’m also guilty,” she tossed the petals into the air around her, “of the ensorcellment of the village’s children, exposing them to the powers,” she cast off her shawl, revealing a full bosom, tight sleeves and a narrow waist, “of the natural world.”
She turned to the gallery, glowing and wild. “And so, I stand here guilty as charged.” She spun, bowed her head to the chief magistrate, his black skullcap askance upon his thinning pate, and said, “What will be my punishment, your honor?”
The man’s throat undulated like a snake swallowing a rat. “Mrs. Wilkins, please take your seat.” Chief Collins produced a kerchief which he used to swab his entire head, having first doffed his hat to reveal beads of sweat glistening upon his forehead.
As my client recollected to me later, a peevish faced man called out from the back, “We burn witches in Salem.” He’d arrived late to the trial, Terese told me. He finished with, “We should burn this one. Just look at her. The way she…”
“Order, sir.” Chief Collins returned the dark cap to his head. “Whomever you are…”
“Warton Wiles, your honor. I’m here at the order of our Minister in Salem.”
“Regardless, you do not represent the interests of our folk here in Rexton.” Collins leaned into his words. “And they do not burn witches in Salem.” He straightened. “They hang them.”
“Yes, of course. But, it’s obvious…”
Chief Collins whacked the top of his desk with a mallet that would kill a fox. “Order. No more outbursts from you sir, or we shall have you removed.”
The scent from Terese’s flowers had permeated the room. The constant motion of hats and fans had easily cast about the enticing odor. With the judge’s eyes back on her, she leaned back and shook her hair. From the rear of her neck she lifted her vast array of tresses to give them air. From her chin to her recessed cleavage, the slope of that plunge drew every face who yearned to witness it.
She settled back, letting her face dip. She lifted her eyes and said, “It’s ever so hot in here, your honor. Have you decided my sentence?”
The magistrate swallowed hard. “Now wait just a moment, young lady.” Collins collected a few papers and laid them down softly. “It says here you’ve been widowed for nine months. My condolences. I also see that we’ve had our clerk and minister inspect you for illness.” He looked at her nonplussed. “None found.
“And, as has been documented, your behavior, since the death of your husband, has become highly irregular. Perhaps a thing to be forgiven, given the circumstances.”
The room stirred in annoyance at those words. It was clear the village wanted blood, her blood. Or so Terese relayed to me later.
“However,” began the magistrate.
But, before he could finish, one of the Danver’s boys, Boyde I think she said it was. Remember, all this happened yesterday and yes, my client is well and good. She’s sleeping in the spare bedroom in my own humble home. Anyway, Boyde rushed in crying that the wharf was aflame and that three of their fishing vessels were burning.
Oddly enough, that did not immediately empty the room. Chief Magistrate Collins stood, cracked his gavel repeatedly, the sound a staccato of long-gun shots. When the room’s noise ebbed, he shouted loudly, “Your sentence, Mrs. Terese Wilkins, will be banishment from our town, from our colony, may your shadow never grace this land again. This court is adjourned.” He looked down at her. “You’ll clean up those flowers before you leave.”
After that, well, the administration of my client’s sentence came as an after thought. In fact, only within the last hour have we received a notice from the magistrate himself that Mrs. Wilkins is expected to vacate the vicinity by sundown tomorrow. It would seem that the fire spread from the docks to the Houghton’s warehouse where much of the village’s surplus resources had been stored. I suppose the disposal of a witch came second to securing larder for the up and coming Massachusetts winter.
“Henry? Are you there?”
Ah, it seems my client has awakened. I must see to her needs. I’ll report back as soon as we’ve established just what her future holds.