All the Truth That's in Me (23 page)

XI.

Horace Bron looks up from his forge and sees Goody ready to leave. He sets out across the road.

XII.

Lottie’s face showed fear when he appeared, but not terror. She didn’t expect to die.

XIII.

Horace is nearly here.
Now. I make myself speak.
“Ring the alarm, Ghoody. Ring the bell.”
She blinks once, then offers her arm to Horace. They venture down the stairs, Goody chattering all the way.

He leads her to the road.
“What are you going to do?” you whisper.
“I’m not sure,” I confess.
Goody thanks Horace and ventures off toward the church.

He retreats into the smithy. Goody’s slow steps seem quick enough now.

XIV.

I climbed down from the tree and tiptoed across the clearing to where Lottie’s body lay. I crouched beside her and touched her neck. Her mouth was open, her tongue distended.

She looked nothing like herself. If it weren’t for her dress, and what I’d seen before, I could almost wonder if it was her.
I backed away.
Then hands seized me from the back and wrapped themselves around my neck.

XV.

Goody reaches the top step and disappears through the door. Just an old widow, making afternoon prayers. It must be around half past two.

XVI.

Something crashed into us like a boulder rolling downhill. I fell to the ground, crushed under the man’s weight and whatever had hit him.

It was another man. They rolled off me, struggling. The boulder man quickly overpowered the first, pressing his face into the dirt, facing away from me. I couldn’t see the face.

XVII.

The church bells ring. Again and again they clang the alarm.

Doors open and villagers come streaming out, their faces astonished. Reverend Frye hurries out from Alderman Wilson’s house and limps toward the church as fast as he can. What will happen to Goody, I wonder?

The bells stop ringing.

Abijah Pratt comes around a corner. He glares at us on his way into the building.
Rupert Gillis and his students come around the pillory from behind and pass us on their way to the church. We take a few pinecones flung at our backs.
Villagers pour into the church, then neat as you please, Goody Pruett slips out and makes her way down the steps. She is the only one moving against the tide, and several heads turn to watch her. They go into the church, but in a few minutes they return.
Now she stands on the grass at our feet, looking up at us expectantly. She watches me, nodding slightly, encouragement shining in her beetle eyes.
The church disgorges its occupants and they move as a body to where we are. The latecomers approaching from out of town come straight toward us.
I can’t squash this panic. What have I done?
“Judith,” you say. “I believe you.”

XVIII.

“What is the meaning of this?” Reverend Frye demands. “Who rang the bell?” He and the aldermen have caught up with the rest of the village. Without their robes they lack some of their fearfulness. The tips of their noses are red with cold.

“I did,” Goody Pruett says. “Miss Judith Finch here has something to say.”
This is so unexpected that for a moment no one speaks.
I find Maria’s face looking up at me intently. Her face is pale and swollen, and then I know: she’s going to have a baby. Goody Pruett’s insight is rubbing off on me.
I want to kiss Maria’s baby on its christening day. I want her to kiss mine someday.
Out on the road I see Darrel and Mother approach. Mother halts when she sees the gathering on the common, and starts to turn back. Darrel grabs her arm and makes his way forward on his crutch. Mother, reluctant, follows.
“This is ridiculous,” Alderman Stevens says. “We all know she can’t speak.”
“Pratt said she can,” Alderman Brown says. “Well, young woman?”
I swallow several times, which hurts my throat. There is no turning away from their faces. I’m stuck.
That’s the first problem.
“Releasse uss,” I say. Mouths hang open everywhere at the shock of me talking. “I will tell you the truth aboutt Lottie Pratt’s death. I was there. I ssaw it happen.”

XIX.

Rupert Gillis’s eyes grow wide. He doesn’t favor a world in which Judith Finch can speak.

“But that’s ridiculous,” Abijah Pratt says. “She went missing days after Lottie did.”
“But before Lottie’s body was found,” Dr. Brands says.
They are all a chorus of arguing voices. I hear some calling to release us, others protesting that our sentence is not yet up, still others arguing that it’s nearly up.
Horace Bron steps forward and releases the latch on the upper plank. The pain in my back when I finally stand is overwhelming, but it’s heaven to let my arms fall. I come forward and lean against the pillory post for support. At last I can see your face. Horace sets you free, too, and you stand beside me.
Every shred of flesh in me trembles. They’re all staring at me.
The aldermen aren’t happy with Horace’s decision. Alderman Brown delays judgment, but his eyes never leave my face.
“Miss Finch,” he says, “why have you concealed your speech from us?”
Maria speaks up. “She hasn’t, sir,” she says. “I’ve only just been helping her practice her sounds. Until recently she couldn’t speak at all. Or rather, she didn’t know she could.”
Darrel gives Mother a hard look and speaks up. “Our mother forbade her,” he says, to shocked murmurs.
“Well, Miss Finch,” Alderman Brown says, “speak now, if you ever wish to.”
I feel you beside me, strengthening me.
I will speak, though my sounds are crude. I will use words long denied to me, with no apology for how corrupt they sound. My listeners will hear what they choose to hear.

XX.

Like the clanging of the bell, the truth crashes in upon me. At last I understand. He took away my voice to save me. And now, to save myself, I take it back.

XXI.

You don’t touch me, but I feel your strength upholding me.

“Lottie and I were friends,” I say.
I pause and look to see how they respond to my speech. “We would talk. When she vanishedh she was fifteen. I was fourteen.”

White-capped women nod their heads. They remember. “She told me she fanssied a boy. Wouldn’t say who. Talked of eloping.”

I wait for this scandalous news to settle. Eyes rove about, searching for suspects.
“First I thought she
had
elopedh. But no one else was missing. Maybe she’dh only run off.
“We used to meett by a willow tree near the river. So I snuck out and waited to see if she’dh come talk to me. I hid in the branches.
“She came. I wanted to ssurprise her. So I made no noise.
“She was closse. We both heardh footstepss. A man. I couldn’t see him well.
“The man attackedh Lottie. He chokedh her.”
I must stop. I feel light-headed. Pressed back by all those horrified eyes upon me, the pillory is a stay and a comfort.
Abijah Pratt is openly weeping now. To dig up the dead like this . . . I hesitate. Do I do right to continue?

XXII.

“I saw his hands. Not his face. He wore a hatt.
“He left her there and ran. I waitedh.
“I keptt thinking she might wake up.”
And I begin to cry. The memory is too vivid now. Goody Pruett waves a hanky in the air, and you bend

down and retrieve it for me.
“I . . . climbedh down . . . and wentt to her. That’s when ssomeone . . .” I can feel the hands. “. . . attackedh me . . . and began to choke me, too.”

I feel my throat begin to close and my panic rise. I draw in a slow breath. And another. You press your hand on my shoulder.

“Ssomeone came and threw him down.
“My defender was Ezra Whiting.”

XXIII.

The square is buzzing. Only Goody Pruett’s eyes are surprised by nothing. They watch me steadily. She nods her head. Go on. Go on.

I take a deep breath to race to the finish.
“Colonel Whiting pinned the man on the groundd. The man dared the colonel to kill him. Colonel Whiting wouldn’tt. He made the man sswear nott to harm me. Then the colonel said, he didn’t trusst him a lick. So he said, ‘I’m deadh. I’ll take the girl. Ssee you never come where I am.’ He said he’d take Lottie and make sure she was foundh in ssome other place.
“He picked up Lottie and dragged me away. We crossed the river and hiked to his cabin.
“The next day he took Lottie’s dress and gave it to me. He took Lottie’s body away that nightt and dropped it over the falls.”

X XIV. 

Isn’t that the end?

I see from their eyes they want more. They want to know what happened to
me.
We were speaking of Lottie. Very well.
“For two years I livedh with him. I tried to esscape but he always caught me.”
I know what they’re thinking now.
But I have the platform. They will believe my voice. I look Alderman Brown in the eye.
“I sspoke truth when I said he never harmed my maiddenhoodh. He didn’t. He was tempted to, and he foughtt it. At last he couldn’t fightt, sso he cutt out my tongue and ssentt me back.”
Mothers clamp their hands over their mouths.
“He said he did it to protectt me. I thoughtt he was madd. But he knew the man who’d killed Lottie would remember me. I think he thoughtt by silencing me, he could save me.”
I swallow.
“He was rightt.”

X X V.

“But the arsenal!” Alderman Stevens calls out. “You knew of that—why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t,” I say. “Not until the homelanders came. One morning he hadd boxes and crates and barrels. He stowedd them in the cellar. I was . . . too sadd to notice much. But when I saw the village arm itsself, I understoodd. So I went to him and asked him to help at the battle. That is how he came there. Lucas didn’t know.”

Eunice Robinson looks visibly relieved. You are cleared from any taint. Never mind her or any of them noticing I saved the town.

“As for the other accusations,” I say, and I make no effort now to hide my anger, “they are falsse. I am a maidden sstill. I found Mr. Whiting, asleep and coldd and sick, in the forest. So I gott blankets to cover him, and I lay with him for warmth. As you ssaw, he didn’t know.”

“Indecent conduct,” Reverend Frye says. All eyes turn toward him, and he stops.
I point to Rupert Gillis. “How
he
ssaw us there, I don’t know,” I said, “but ssince I entered sschool, he has abusedd me with filthy words. He told me to come to his home at nightt. He says if I don’t, he’ll expel me from sschool.”
Gillis pretends indignation. I have never felt so powerful. “He says he likess a girl who can’t tell tales.”
Elizabeth Frye, the preacher’s red-haired daughter, raises her hand. “I will attest to that,” she says, in her spiderweb voice. “I have seen him embarrass Miss Finch, and I’ve received unwelcome attentions from him myself.”
Reverend Frye looks strangled himself, with surprise and then anger. Poor Elizabeth may face punishment tonight. But Rupert Gillis shrinks by about six inches, and the mothers of Roswell Station gather their schoolgirls close.
“But we still don’t know who killed Lottie Pratt,” Alderman Brown says, frowning. “You’re saying that someone among us is responsible for this?”
I step back. I feel so exposed, up here on this platform. Vulnerable to any attack. But I have come too far to crumble now.
“All I know,” I say, “is that the brown dress you held was not the dress Lottie Pratt wore when she diedd. That dress was dark blue with a triangle collar. I wore it for a year. When it . . .” I can censor my words here. “. . . tore, I ssewed it into a blankett, along with the dress I had on when I was taken, which was gray. Go look at the blankett you brought back, and you’ll see both colors of wool.
“That dress was never in Colonel Whiting’s housse, or I would have known,” I say. “It had no reason to be there. Unless . . .”
Oh . . .
Lord have mercy.
“Unless what?” Alderman Brown says.
I swallow once more. “Unless ssomeone from the ssearch party took it there. Ssomeone who hadd the dress all along.”
All eyes turn toward Abijah Pratt. His lower lip thrusts back and forth again.
“Ssomeone who has sstalkedd our house, since the battle at the gorge, when my protector diedd. Hasn’t he, Mother?”
My mother blanches with surprise, then nods her head. She paid attention at the trial, too.
“Lottie was afraidd of how her father would react if he knew she was ssweet on a boy,” I said. “I never knew how much reason she hadd.”

XXVI.

Abijah Pratt turns around suddenly, as if to run away, and collides with the human rock wall, Horace Bron, who lifts him as easily as he would a child.Reverend Frye stands gripping Elizabeth’s arm, his mouth opening and closing like a catfish’s.

Alderman Brown is watching me. I return his gaze. His eyes seem older now. His beard bends against his chest as he bows his head gravely, then looks up at me once more. He turns and fixes a sterner gaze upon Rupert Gillis, who swallows hard. Without a word, Alderman Brown turns and walks away, and the other aldermen follow. Horace Bron pushes Abijah Pratt after them, shackling his prisoner’s wrists with only his massive hand. Gillis watches them go, then retreats another way, and I wonder whether he’ll soon spend time in this pillory, or find a way to slip out of town tonight.

Goody Pruett’s dried-apple face beams at me. She raises her hands high and claps them in the air. Again and again, until a few other hands slowly pick up the applause. Leon Cartwright’s hands. Darrel’s.

Maria looks ready to burst with pride.

I fear my knees will buckle beneath me and I’ll drop to the platform like a fallen dress.
My mother elbows her way forward. She looks up at me, then looks away.
Maria mounts the steps of the platform, holding the rail tight. “Come home with me, Judith,” she says. “Let me feed you and clean you up.”
Maria puts her arm through mine, and I remember the filth that’s caked all over my face and hands. I hesitate, and she grips my arm tight to her side.
“Reverend Frye.” Your voice startles me.
The preacher looks up at the platform as if dazed.
“Miss Finch and I will be at the church tomorrow morning, ready for you to marry us.”
Mother’s jaw drops. Darrel flings his hat into the air. Eunice Robinson pushes through the crowd toward her house, followed by her sisters. Maria’s dark eyes are full of laughter as she leads me down the stairs.