9. The Trial

Chapter 9

The Trial

T he kettle whistled throughout the kitchen. Steam poured out and then disappeared like a ghostly apparition. Johanna Newes tempered the blue gas flame and removed the kettle from the stove burner. She poured the hot water into a burnt orange teapot. The tea steeped within an internal strainer. Johanna placed the kettle back down on the stove. She grabbed the teapot and proceeded into her living room.

A brass floor lamp with a navy hood was the only source of light in the room. Gold tassels hung down, concealing the light bulb underneath. The grandfather clock stood like a sentinel guarding the entrance to the kitchen. Its tick was the only sound echoing off the barren walls. A darkened lamp rested on a black stained oak side table next to the front window. The navy curtains blocked out the sights transpiring outside.

The gold wingback chair, filled with elegant flora designs, moved to the middle of the room. A side table waited next to it with a white teacup and saucer situated atop. The muted floral pattern matched the wingback chair. Johanna set the teapot down next to the cup and saucer. She snapped toward the window; the noise outside drew her attention. She heard them—the voices of excitement from the ghouls and monsters and creatures that roamed the night.

Trick or treat. Beggar’s night.

What a wretched excuse to celebrate something so profane , she thought. So blasphemous.

She hurried over to the front door to verify the porch light was off. It was. She double tapped the cloak clasp pinned to her lapel. She then cupped her hands together and bowed her head as if she was giving a silent prayer. After a moment, she focused on an antique, carved oak display stand resting along the wall facing the wingback chair.

Elizabeth’s picture frame, the one given to her by Hugo, rested in the back corner of the table. Johanna stood up straight with her shoulders pulled back and arms at her side. She marched toward it with brief steps as if she were in a funeral procession.

Twisting legs rose from the ground to the flat top of the display table. A shelf beneath connected the four legs together. Built into the table were two rectangular drawers, intricately carved with images of a tree branch and oak leaf patterns. A chiseled wolf’s head served as a handle. An engraved oak leaf, with a brass key in its center, separated the two drawers. Johanna turned the key until a mechanical bolt unlocked. She gripped under the wolf’s jaw and pulled open the right drawer.

She removed a box from inside and placed it atop the table. It was a plain, black jewelry box with a tarnished metal hook clasp. She pulled on her hair tie behind her head. It slipped down and off the ponytail before she tossed the hair tie onto the table. Her brunette hair flowed behind her shoulders. She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then drew out her exhale.

She unlocked the metal hook clasp methodically. A mixture of hesitation and determination. The clasp was free of its lock. She gave two rapid taps of her cloak clasp and moved her hands to the lid. Holding both sides, she opened the lid of the box. Her eyes looked away from the item inside, but she knew she had to face it.

Especially on this night.

She opened the left drawer and removed a black twisting stick. She held the anti-magick wand in her right hand and examined the twisted patterns leading to the point. It was twice as long as her hand. The thicker end rested on her palm. Her thumb followed the ridges of the twisting wood. She rotated the stick, her thumb now pressed against the flat bottom side of the wand. She held the wand above the box, ready to strike at the item held within. Her hand shook, and her arm tensed.

Do it, you coward , she thought. She reeled back with the wand higher in the air. Her arm now vibrated her shoulder and upper body. End it now. End the suffering. Do it!

Her nostrils flared. Anger in her eyes. Malice in her heart. Poised, she was ready to strike with hell’s fury at the item held within the black box. She gritted her teeth. Tears welled in her eyes. She held it for as long as she could.

Her arm lurched forward, but missed the intended target. She slammed the wand down onto the table. Her open hand held it in place. Johanna hunched over the table; her hair now covered her face. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

“I can’t do it,” she cried. “I can’t do it. I want it to end. Please make it end. Why did you do this to me? Why?”

She threw the wand back into the drawer, slamming it shut, and then buried her face into her hands and bawled. She removed one hand from her face. Johanna traced the circular pattern of the cloak clasp with her fingers. She snuffled twice and regained her composure. She pulled her hair back behind her shoulders.

Johanna extracted a jeweled amulet held within the black box. A golden disc, worn with age. Interlocking links of gold passed through a metal loop at the top of the disc. Johanna cradled the disc in her hands. She circled the amulet with her thumb, feeling each precision cut into the eight burnt orange gems that encircled a golden jewel in the center. It was heavy—heavy with the burdens of multiple lifetimes lived.

Johanna focused on Elizabeth’s photograph. Her bright smile and hazel eyes. Elizabeth’s auburn hair, which matched the golden leaves in the background, reminded her of Abigail.

“Abigail!” Johanna shouted. “Abigail, are you in here?” Johanna entered the wooden barn. The smell of hay and animals lingered in the poorly filtered building. The room was dark and foreboding. “Abigail. This isn’t funny.” Her hand stretched out for the wood pillars of the empty livestock pins. Johanna took small steps as she moved through the straw covered dirt floor. “Abigail, are you in here?”

The room went dark as two hands cupped her eyes. A woman’s voice whispered, soft like it was telling a secret only they knew, “I’ve taken your sight. What will you give me in exchange for your sight back?”

Johanna spun around. Her dark brown eyes locked with Abigail’s hazel-colored ones. Johanna’s heart beat against her rib cage. Her breathing intensified. Johanna brushed Abigail’s auburn hair behind her ear. She leaned forward and whispered softly into Abigail’s ear, “I give you my heart so that I may look upon thee with mine own eyes and not suffer a day longer.”

Johanna wrapped her arms around Abigail’s body. Johanna’s hands carefully traced her spine down her black petticoat until it found the small of her back. She pressed her hands, drawing Abigail in closer. Abigail held her breath and closed her eyes in anticipation. Johanna leaned in and kissed her soft lips. Abigail’s hands worked their way up to the back of Johanna’s head, fingers intertwined with her brunette hair. Johanna stopped momentarily for a quick breath and then gave her a small kiss again.

They touched foreheads, both gasping for air .

“I have missed this,” Johanna said. “What about William?”

“Out in the fields. He’s far from here,” Abigail replied. She pulled back. “I have something for you.” She pulled out a ringed silver cloak clasp from her apron pocket. She showed Johanna the intricate, filigree design that interwove around the flat surface.

“What is this?”

“This is an old family heirloom.” Abigail flipped it over. The words ‘For My Eternal Love’ were engraved into the silver ring. “I want you to have this. Since I’ve taken your heart, you can keep this close by knowing that my love for you will always be eternal.”

Abigail pinned the cloak clasp to her black petticoat below her left shoulder. Johanna touched the silver ring. Her fingers traced along the interwoven lines. Their eyes locked again. Abigail gave a slight nod.

Johanna grabbed Abigail’s waist and tossed her onto the hay of the animal stall. She climbed on top of her. Johanna undid the buttons running down her chest. Abigail’s hands tried to find their way up Johanna’s long, flowing skirt and became tangled in the folds of the fabric. She hurried to expose Johanna’s body underneath. Johanna paused and locked eyes with Abigail once more.

“I love you,” she said.

Abigail paused her pursuit. “I love you too,” she replied. “I—”

“What is happening here?” A man’s voice interrupted.

Johanna rolled off of Abigail, covering up her exposed legs.

“William,” Abigail shouted. Her hands shook as she buttoned back up. “I thought you were working in the fields?”

“I came back for the fork. What in God’s name is happening here?”

“We, uhh…” Johanna tried to think of words, any words. They locked their desperate eyes, hoping either would find the right answer. Johanna concentrated on William and continued, “We—”

“She bewitched me,” Abigail yelled.

Johanna snapped her head back toward Abigail. Her eyes widened, and she held her breath. The taste of straw in her mouth erased the taste of Abigail’s lips.

A week later, Johanna was on trial for witchcraft, accused of bewitching her true love, Abigail. Her secret love. She was the furthest thing from being a witch. She had heard the stories—rumors that a witch had taken up residence in the woods surrounding their small town.

She never believed them. She thought the townsfolk were merely superstitious and worried about what was out there in the dark woods.

The knock of the judge’s gavel echoed through the makeshift courtroom. She stood on a raised wood platform and held the rails to her side. Her stomach pressed against the rail in front of her. Murmurs and whispers filled the air. The gavel echoed again. At the front of the room, the judge sat at a long table with a half dozen of the other town elders.

“This court shall come to order,” the judge’s voice echoed through the largest chamber of the Town Common House. The room fell silent. “Johanna Newes. You are hereby accused of practicing witchcraft by William Anderson. How do you plead?”

Johanna scanned the room; her eyes widened at the horror set before her. Their eyes focused on her, judging her. Afraid of her. Condemning her. She tried to clear the lump in her throat. She held back tears in her eyes. Her eyes finally rested on their eventual target: Abigail. Her head held low.

“How does the defendant plead?” the judge asked again.

“Not guilty,” Johanna responded with a crack in her voice, trying to find the strength to defend herself.

The crowd’s whispers and murmurs filled the air. The gavel struck thrice more.

“Order. Order.”

The room fell silent.

A man at the table rose and proclaimed, “The court calls on William Anderson. ”

A man in his mid-thirties stood up and marched to a chair set before the table, holding his hat.

“Do you, William Anderson, proclaim before God that you shall tell the truth and only the truth?”

“I shall,” he responded and sat down.

“Please recant for the court what you witnessed the accused of doing,” the judge commanded.

William shifted in his seat as he gathered the words needed. His eyes focused on Johanna’s horrified expression. “Your honor, I returned to the barn to get my pitchfork to help work in the fields. That’s where I found her. She was laying on top of my wife, Abigail, trying to—”

He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I found her trying to remove the clothes from Abigail and have her way with her.”

Gasps and rising murmurs broke out in the courtroom. The judge beat the gavel to regain control. “Order. Order,” his words flowed out to fight against the crowd noises. “There will be order in my courtroom.”

The room fell silent again.

“I must have disrupted her spell because Abigail looked at me and pleaded that Johanna bewitched her.” William leapt to his feet, pointing his hat at Johanna. His eyes blazoned with anger. “I knew she was a witch. She lives alone, unmarried. She is the witch who lives in the woods. She’ll bewitch all of your wives too. Maybe even your husbands as well.”

The crowd erupted in noise once again. The gavel knocked against the wood to silence them.

“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. You’re dismissed.”

He strode back into the crowd and sat down next to Abigail. Her gaze was still forward. Her bonnet shielded her eyes from Johanna’s terrified face. Tears streamed down her face.

“The court now calls on Abigail Anderson,” an elder’s voice commanded.

Abigail sat there for a moment and then stood. Her head remained low, unable to look at Johanna. She trudged toward the chair and addressed the town elders.

“Abigail Anderson, do you proclaim before God that you shall tell the truth and only the truth?”

“Tell them the truth, Abigail. Tell them,” Johanna blurted out.

“Witchcraft,” a voice yelled as the crowd erupted into noise once again.

“Order. Order,” the judge yelled.

Abigail raised her head. Her eyes reddened. Her lips pressed firmly together. Johanna saw the deluge of emotions on her face. Her eyes locked with Abigail’s. She wondered if Abigail wanted to tell the truth, or even if she did, she would lie as to not suffer the same fate.

“I do.” Abigail’s words were barely audible. She sat in the chair, lowering her gaze back to the floor.

“Please inform the court of what transpired that day,” an elder’s voice instructed.

Abigail sat in silence, her gaze unmoved from the spot on the floor.

“Please inform the court of what transpired that day,” the elder repeated.

Abigail remained silent.

“I won’t ask again,” the elder threatened.

Abigail raised her head and locked eyes with Johanna. A tear rolled down her face. She mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

Tears flowed down Johanna’s face. She nodded her head and mouthed back, “It’s okay.”

Abigail closed her eyes and slumped forward. She folded her hands in prayer. “I was in the barn. Johanna entered. She bewitched me with a kiss. She threw me onto the hay and then—” Abigail paused for what felt like an eternity. “Johanna tried to have her way with me.”

Chants of “hang the witch” erupted throughout the room. The judge banged his gavel, and the room fell silent once again. The men at the table conferred with each other. They paused for a moment to glance over at Johanna.

The judge stood and leered at Johanna. “Johanna Newes, you are hereby found guilty of practicing witchcraft. The sentence is that you shall be hung by the neck until dead.”

Johanna fell to her knees. She buried her head into her left arm, crying. She clutched the silver cloak clasp with her right hand. Abigail stood and ran out of the courtroom.

“Your honor,” a booming voice said from the back of the room. “They may hang witches in Salem, but I have a more efficient way of dealing with them.”

The judge stood and surveyed the back of the room. “Come here and identify yourself before the court,” the judge ordered.

A burly man took a final sip of tea and set the cup down on a table in the back. He approached the front of the room. All eyes focused on him. The leather soles of his brown boots tapped against the wooden floorboards and echoed throughout the room.

He wore a green coat. Gold buttons running down the center held it closed. He wore an oversized leather tricorn hat. The leather was tanned and brown with age. He removed the hat as he approached the front of the room.

“Your honor, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Thaddeus Price, witch-finder appointed by his majesty, King William the Third. I have been tracking witches to this area for some time. It seems you have found one.”

He approached the town elders. Thaddeus produced a piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to the judge. The elders examined the paper.

“Okay, witch-finder, what do you propose we do?”

Thaddeus turned to address the crowd. “We burn the witch.”

Johanna let out a cry of sheer terror. The crowd burst into confusion and horror.

“You’re mad,” an elder shouted. “Mad and barbaric. We are a civilized society. ”

“I assure you I am neither mad nor barbaric, unlike the rest of you,” Thaddeus proclaimed. “Fire. Drowning. Hanging. None of these work on a true witch. Witches can use their black magick to survive after your means of death. I have something that’s a little more… permanent.”

“What do you have in mind?” the judge asked.

He yanked a chain from his coat pocket. A golden disk twisted in the air at the end of the chain. Eight orange gems encircled a yellow jewel in the center. He held the amulet aloft for the crowd to see. “Behold the amulet of witch’s fire. Anyone wearing this while facing the setting sun shall have their insides set ablaze in extreme agony. This is the only way to be certain a witch is truly dead.”

His words mesmerized the crowd. Their eyes focused on the jeweled amulet dangling from his hefty hand. Thaddeus lowered the amulet. He withdrew a black, twisting wand from his other coat pocket as if he was unsheathing a sword. He twirled it around and stretched it high into the sky for all to see.

“This is an anti-magick wand, used to dampen the witch’s powers and cause her great pain.” He charged over toward Johanna. She cowered in fear to the back of the podium. “See, even now, she recoils at the sight of the wand without me having to use it.” Thaddeus beamed at Johanna with a devilish, knowing grin on his face.

They paraded Johanna through the town shortly after being given her fate. The citizens shouted obscenities at her and threw rotten vegetables, accusing her of killing their crops. They proclaimed she was the one responsible for the children falling sick. They cursed her very existence. She had done none of this.

She was no witch.

Johanna tripped and fell. The town guards picked her up by her arms and dragged her. She screamed and kicked and pleaded as they pulled her closer to her fate. Her protests fell on ears out for vengeance. A frothed up vengeance for no other purpose than to preserve her true love from suffering a similar fate .

“There! That tree will do,” Thaddeus commanded. “Face her to the setting sun.”

The guards picked up Johanna and threw her against the oak tree. She struggled, but they were too strong for her. They bound her hands behind the tree. Thaddeus sauntered toward her like a stalking predator. He smiled as Johanna’s eyes widened with fear and desperation. He placed the amulet around her neck.

“Please,” Johanna pleaded with him. “I’m not a witch.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “But take solace in the fact that your sacrifice will help me find the true witch. No hard feelings.” He took a step back to admire his handiwork with a devilish grin.

Johanna squirmed and pulled at her ropes, each tug fiercer than the last. “Please,” she cried out to the crowd. “Please stop this. I don’t want to die.”

The sky turned bloodred as the sun descended behind a line of trees. The amulet glowed as the last of the dying light shone on the town. An intense heat exploded through Johanna’s chest like a fire burning within.

“Please. Please stop this,” she wailed in agonizing pain. “I’m not a witch.”

Johanna did not erupt into fire, as there were no flames. An imaginary force wasn’t burning away at her body, but her soul. She writhed under her constraints. Her hands turned red and the ropes tightened, while she lashed and pulled to break free. She let out a final screech that echoed through the town. The women shielded the children’s eyes at the horror of Johanna’s torment. Thaddeus grinned with a low, wicked laugh. Johanna’s face scrunched and contorted in agony before falling silent. She hung lifeless against the tree.

There was a knock at Johanna’s front door.

She turned around to see where the noise came from. The knock sounded again. She heard muffled words on the other side. She stood still, holding her breath, not wanting to alert them that someone was in the house that evening. The knocks stopped.

Johanna breathed a sigh of relief. She retreated to the wingback chairs. She lifted the teapot and poured the hot liquid into her cup. She sat down, picked up the cup, and took a sip. I hate this wretched night .