The old flourmill creaked and came to a halt as the news of the witch spread through the town like wildfire. The angry crowd around Mary grew bigger and bigger. It was like a Sunday Mass, with the choir eagerly chanting for a witch’s blood. Father Mathew led the herd, tiptoeing his way as if to the beats of some unheard music. This vindictive self-serving man, joyously trotting to church, hiding behind religion and fooling the entire town, made Mary’s insides turn in disgust. Since her arrival Mary kept avoiding him; his persistent requests to use her ship for shady shipments were getting on her nerve, and refusing him repeatedly was exhausting. He tried to gain her confidence by telling her stories about an unreal friendship he had with her father, but she knew better. When they reached the large wooden building he looked up at the statue on top, turned to glance at Mary and then opened the gate. People flooded in filling the benches at each side. She was taken to the front of the church as the clergy man climbed the altar and Sheriff Nightingale sat next to it with his wife.

Mary felt the rope rip into her skin as she was tied. She kept glancing at the door… Waiting… Hoping.

- We are gathered here today in the sight of God, began Father Mathew, clutching his leather-bound Bible. Because this woman had been accused of witchcraft.

The reverend was tall and his body was muscular for someone his age. He was charismatic and his reputation as a well-known and a talented preacher preceded him even before he came to settle in the new world. The sheriff knew this very well but he also knew that the purer a person seemed, the darker their intentions were. He was not going to let him take charge of this trial.

- Thank you Father Mathew…

He was about to stand up when his wife whispered something to him and he sat back.

- Is there anyone who would like to speak for the sake of the accused? Asked Father Mathew.

Everyone in the church stared at each other. Who would dare defend a witch? It is undeniably true that Mary was kind to them on certain occasions, but she always made sure they remembered it. All of them felt like deep down they always knew she’s a witch.

- I will, said a figure at the opened gate. It was an out of breath voice yet still deep and masculine. The figure stepped in; a tall man with auburn hair and green eyes. His clothes were covered with flour from the mill. Everyone knew him as the miller’s son.

Mary raised her head and saw Christopher. She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. He smiled at her and she knew it was his way of telling her that everything will be all right. She remembered his kiss on the back of her neck last night, and the way he whispered her name. She longed to be in his arms, but from the stories she heard of witches, she knew she’ll probably never feel his touch once again.

- I grew up with this woman, said Christopher catching his breath. We played together as children. I knew her family very well. They were kind people, and I remember some of you were saddened by their departure. She is no witch! Believe me; just a very clever woman. And may I say that there’s no evidence against her. An accusation does not make a case. If it did, we’d all be hanged, burned or rotting in a cell by now.

- That is a lie, Miller’s boy! A foul lie to protect the witch, said the Reverend, violently slamming the closed book on the podium .It’s no secret that this woman has a strong and willful hatred for us, and everything we believe in. She was an ingrate child, always running off into the dark where no one could see her… She was never one of us. She couldn’t have been more eager to leave. Mary Blanche severed herself from this town and in the process, had become rootless, faithless and loveless. He emphasized the last word intentionally just to remind everyone that she, a twenty six year old woman, was yet unmarried and childless.

The watchers nodded in agreement. Her pride had come back to haunt her. And those ignorant idiots were out for her blood.

- Sometime during the years she had been gone, continued the priest. The seed of evil found its way within her and a powerful vicious weapon she became; a weapon to destroy us.

- Sir! You are spinning tales out of nothing, responded Christopher. You have no idea what may or may not have happened to Miss Blanche while she was away. All we know is that a caring daughter was by her father’s side until his last moments.

- And isn’t that convenient. For her father to die just at the perfect time and leave her everything.

- That is just cruel what you’re implying! Christopher was enraged; Mary loved her father so much, she even left for ten years to join him on his travels.

- Then let her speak and unravel the mystery of her father’s death.

Mary felt her throat tighten as the memories rushed in. The sparkle in her dad’s eyes every time they reached a new port, the smoke rising from his pipe, his gentle firmness that kept their crew in order. That’s how she chose to remember her father; strong and loving. She will not satisfy these people with stories of her pain; of her father hallucinating with a burning fever during the night, almost throwing himself off ship more than once, the endless tears as she rocked him in her arms until his last breath. Those were days of endless sorrow; a sorrow that can only be described as having a piece of your heart torn out…

- Speak! He shouted in her face. No? It’s all part of her master’s plan to take over our promised land! She spent years scheming and learning the unholy arts, giving herself to the devil and offering him her soul and body.

The priest’s arms reached for Mary’s dress and she wished to slap him. If only her hands were not tied.

- What are you doing! Shouted Christopher, full with rage.

- You shall see. We all shall see the truth of this woman, said Father Mathew, taking hold of Mary’s hair and pulling it so her head was at an awkward angle. He pulled the black silk back revealing her bare shoulder. Mary came to a realization as a girl gasped and everyone else followed.

- Here it is! The devil’s kiss! He directed everyone’s attention to a red weirdly shaped bump on her shoulder.

Mary’s eyes lingered on Christopher’s clenched fists.

- We called it a miracle when this woman showed up with her ship full of supplies on our shore. It was perfect timing since we were on the brink of starvation. But was it not her master’s work that rendered our land barren in the first place?

The crowd nodded again. How ironic was it; saving those ungrateful fools’ lives just so they would become puppets against her. The ridiculousness of this whole trial was so great that Mary unintentionally smirked. The next thing she felt was a quick hard smack across her face.

- You will not laugh again, said Father Mathew.

Christopher’s face twisted with anger and he pounced but the priest intercepted him and said;

- Christopher! Didn’t you suggest to this woman that we needed god’s help in order to restore our land to its greatness? And what did she say?

- How far are you going to take this Father? Stop this madness now! Insisted Christopher.

- I am told her exact words were “foolish” and that “prayer was worthless”, he let that sink in for a second. “Prayer”, “worthless”. He emphasized shaking his head in disapproval. Ask yourselves why we have never seen her at church until this day? Wasn’t it she who was against us praying for that little boy because her potions and herbs could help him? We all knew what was wrong with that boy; he was possessed and she let him be sacrificed for the devil. The boy’s mother is still in mourning until today, and cannot bear witness.

Mary was filled with regret. She remembered the little boy’s sickly face as she tried to lower his fever. Sadly, she didn’t have the skills to figure out what was wrong with him. The day he died the mother screamed at the top of her lungs and called her a murderer. Mary herself cried her eyes out blaming herself over and over again to Christopher. He listened to her patiently and told her it was not her fault. “I tried to save him’’ She murmured to no one in particular.

- That boy was sick, Father. Everyone with half a mind knows that, Christopher said looking through the benches and when his eyes met the Sheriff, he realized something. Sheriff I noticed that you have yet to say something. Would you please break your silence and end this?

- Father Mathew, said the sheriff. You present a compelling argument but I would like you to explain the reason behind this trial. Why Miss Mary? Why now?

- Well sheriff! Why don’t we ask the accuser? Shall we?

Mrs. Nightingale stood up for what seemed like an eternity, and said nothing. Mary thought that maybe the Sheriff’s wife was at a loss. The silence that filled the church felt suffocating.

- I have a witness Father, said Mrs. Nightingale finally.

Christopher was confused. Mary grew even paler.

- And who is it Mrs. Nightingale? Said the priest.

An ugly young woman stepped out from the benches and came close. She was wearing shabby clothes and her face was spattered with cinder and dust. She was covering her hair with a very pale scarf. Everyone was staring at her as she made her way up the aisle. Mary looked at the witness in awe.

- My name’s Laura and I have been Miss Mary’s housemaid since her return, she said rubbing her hands together nervously and looking at the ground.

- And did you ever witness anything strange with this woman? He asked knowingly.

- I can tell you that she always gathered people in her home and told tales about magic and faeries.

- Oh please, sneered Mary.

- And? Father Mathew glared at Mary

- Many times she went out to the woods and collected herbs. When she comes back she always asked to have the kitchen to herself. But I saw her making potions and chanting and then giving them to people.

The maid went on retelling Mary’s life, twisting details to fit the accusation, omitting and exaggerating whenever she felt like it. To almost everyone that was present, she built a convincing case.

- I heard her once singing, she went on. I went up to her room and she was fully naked and dancing. It was definitely a ritual.

Christopher has had enough of this he stepped in front of the woman.

- These are wild claims. You have nothing to support them.

- Oh but I do Mister, I do! She kept looking away from him and with her hand reached inside her pocket and recovered a cloth.

Father Mathew snatched it out of her hand and lifted it high.

- What is this? The crowd gasped again.

Mary’s eyes widened in amazement as Christopher lowered his. Everyone stared at the bloody piece of cloth.

- I believe she heard me in the hallway and tried to burn it. But when I went in to tidy the room later I found it.

- Traitor! Screamed Mary at her little ugly servant.

- So you confess, cheered the old man.

Mary looked at Christopher, then at Mrs. Nightingale, and then shook her head. People started shouting “witch” again but this time more intensely: Some of them even stood up. A riot was about to start. Mary felt like the final nail had been driven in her coffin. She looked at Christopher almost apologetically and closed her eyes. Yet she wasn’t praying.

Not even a miracle can save her now.

TO BE CONTINUED…