Alis

27
Still confined to the prison room in the guesthouse, Alis waited, swinging between terrified despair and irrational hope. Although the weather grew chilly, she insisted on the shutters being open at all times. If they were closed she thought she would choke to death, so trapped did she feel. The window looked out on a lane that led to one of the farms. She watched the scene for hours, though there was little enough to see, only a farm cart, and the people coming and going. They never looked up.
Sometimes she tried to pray but she felt that her words disappeared into a void.
She was allowed some visitors: her father and mother; Elzbet with the baby. Mistress Elizabeth had gone back to Two Rivers with Lilith, but she had come every day until her departure, putting aside her grief for her husband, whose frail heart had given out at last. She blamed herself for letting Alis stay in her household and bringing Thomas’s wrath upon her. She had not thought him so far gone in wickedness.
Minister Seth spent time with her also, doing his spiritual duty. Close up, the skin of his face and scalp looked scorched; it flaked and peeled as though he had been too long in the sun. He meant well, no doubt, speaking to her of the Maker’s mercy, trying to ease her terror of dying. But Alis saw that he thought her guilty and that he hoped for a confession, so she closed her mind to all he said.
Luke, she knew from his grandmother, had returned to Ellen’s. He was helping on the farm, for two of her men had gone elsewhere, frightened away by her willingness to stand up to the Elders. Alis longed to see him, but of course she could not. She must not even mention him, for it might confirm the suspicion that she had sought her husband’s death so that she could be with another man.
In the midst of it all, Alis’s parents brought the news that Joel had returned to Freeborne. He was very sick they said, and not fit to visit her. She tried to be glad for their sakes, but Joel’s homecoming did not seem real to her. Fear was her only reality now.
She found herself wishing that Edge would be caught. Then she was horrified and tried to stifle the thought, but it would not go away. It was not right that she should die for another’s crime. Afterward she wept for her wickedness in wishing evil on Edge, who had meant no harm to Galin, and who had been her friend. It was no wonder the Maker did not hear her prayers. But she was so afraid of dying.
Then Master William sent for her.
When she entered the room, he was seated at a table. On the dark polished surface lay a rolled-up document whose seal was broken. To the right, Minister Seth sat with paper, ink, and a pen before him.
The Judge looked up as she came in. An empty chair faced him and he motioned her to sit. She had not seen him since the day of the verdict. His gray hair had been recently cropped, and his dark face was as stern as ever. He looked at her in silence. Finally he said, “Well, Mistress Alis, I have some news for you.” He tapped the document sharply with his forefinger. “We know who attacked your husband.”
The blood pulsed in her head. Surely Edge had not been caught. Hope, treacherous but irresistible, sprang to life. He picked up the document and unrolled it.
“There has been a series of thefts on farms many miles to the south. And one unfortunate man who tried to protect his property has a nasty wound in the forearm for his trouble. According to this report, the assailant evaded the farmer’s attempt to detain her by slashing at him with a knife that she carried in her hand.”
He looked again at the document. “She said, it is claimed here: I did for the Minister in Freeborne and I’ll do for you if you don’t get out of the way. She goes by the name of Edge, it seems—a city girl—and she had in her possession a shawl stitched in the Freeborne pattern.”
Alis felt herself go cold. The shawl was hers; she had given it to Edge that night. Fearfully she said, “She has been caught then?”
William frowned. “Unfortunately not.”
She willed herself to keep still, not to show relief. He looked at her and said in a voice edged with anger, “And now, Mistress Alis, I will tell you what I think. I think that you knew this girl, that you kept silent to shield her, and that in doing so you condemned your husband to death.”
“No!” She almost shouted it. “That is not how it was.”
His expression was hard. “Then you had better tell me how it was.”
She did not speak. He leaned forward. The light from the window fell upon his face and the pupils of his eyes were tiny slits. Softly he said, “Would you not like to be free? To walk under the sky again, and feel the fresh breeze on your face?”
She turned her head away. She had meant to be like stone before him, but the shameful tears ran down her cheeks. It was cruel of him to torture her so.
When she did not speak he added in a sharper tone, “Do you mean to hang, Mistress? Will you dangle at the end of a rope rather than break your silence? I must know the truth of what happened that night.”
She said angrily, feeling the wetness on her face, “Why must you know any more than you do already?”
His voice was tight with anger. “Because I must decide what is to be done with you. And if you will not confess your part in this, I must hang you, however little I wish to. Can you not understand that?”
She was trembling. Perhaps it was a trap. But she would die if she did not speak, and it could make no difference to Edge, who was condemned out of her own mouth.
So, fearfully, she told him how it had been. She said that Edge was someone she had known in her time away, come to say good-bye because she was going over the sea. That she had lashed out in fright, thinking herself attacked. They had tried together to staunch the bleeding of the terrible wound, and Galin had said Edge must be given clothing, money, and time to get away.
When she ceased speaking, William said to her, “There is one thing that puzzles me still. Why should Minster Galin put his life in jeopardy for a girl he did not know and who had so savagely attacked him? I cannot credit it. Did you plead for her because she was your friend?”
“No. I was afraid for him. I did not want him to die. It was terrible.” She shuddered, remembering the dreadful gaping wound and how the blood had oozed through the dressings in spite of their efforts. “But he would not let me go for help. He said he had blighted my life and he would not do it to another. He knew she would hang if they caught her.”
William frowned. “What did he mean, that he had blighted your life?”
She paused, unsure whether he would believe her, or whether it was safe to speak the words.
“Well?” He sounded impatient.
Nervously she said, “He meant by marrying me. He said it had been wrong.”
She held her breath. To voice such a view was to defy the Great Council’s edicts. There was a sardonic expression on William’s dark face. “I can well imagine that Minister Galin thought so. He was ever a rebel.”
Minister Seth’s pen was scratching away. William waited until he was done and had sanded the page to dry it. Then he said to Alis, “You must read this, and if it is a true record of what you have said, you must sign it.”
She took it in her hand but the words blurred before her eyes. She said huskily, “I cannot read it.”
William took it from her and handed it back to the other man. “Read it aloud, if you please.”
When he had finished, William said to her, “You accept this?”
She nodded. He motioned her to take the pen that the Minister had prepared for her, and placed his finger at the foot of the page to show her where she should sign. Then he signed it also and Minister Seth added his name as witness. The Minister went out, leaving Alis alone with William.
She tried to still her trembling. She did not know whether she was saved or not, but she would not weep and plead. She watched him in silence. He stood by the window looking out for a long time. When he turned to her there was a brooding expression on his face.
“Well, Mistress Alis. You have done ill, there is no doubt of that. I do not know that you deserve your life.”
He stopped and frowned, as if he were still in doubt. She pressed her hands together. Would he never speak? When at last he did, his voice was somber. “We cannot have such as you among us, but—you may thank the Maker for His mercy, sinner that you are—I will not hang you.”