Page 120 of The Clifftop Cottage

Erica cleared her throat. “I want to thank you all for coming,” she began, her voice steadier than she felt. “Today marks the anniversary of the witch hunts that took place across this region – accusations fuelled by fear, ignorance, and power. But today isn’t only about remembering what was done to those women.”

She paused, glancing across the faces in front of her, familiar ones now and strangers who had come because they’d read the story and cared enough to stand in the cold.

“It’s about recognising their strength. Their courage. And making sure their voices aren’t lost again.”

Andrew Peters leaned into the microphones. “And of course,” he added cheerfully, “the council is delighted to support initiatives that celebrate our region’s⁠—”

Erica smoothly lifted the velvet cord from his hand. “And,” she continued without missing a beat, “Councillor Peters was kind enough to make sure the funding appeared very quickly once the story gained national attention.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.

Andrew Peters blinked once, and then smiled broadly, deciding that sounded excellent.

Erica turned back to the memorial. “With help from many of you, we’ve created a place not just to remember the past, but to honour the women who lived through it.”

She pulled the cloth free.

The bronze figure emerged into the grey winter light.

A woman stood there. Her hair loose around her shoulders, a small book held against her chest, herbs gathered in her other hand. Her gaze looked forward, steady and unafraid.

Around the base, names had been carved into the stone.

Some full. Some only fragments. But no longer lost.

For the women accused of witchcraft in this region.

Healers. Mothers. Daughters.

Misunderstood. Not forgotten.

Say their names. Let them be heard.

For a moment the crowd stood silent.

Then the applause came. First a few hands, then many.

Erica stepped back, her throat tight. Her eyes moved across the crowd and found Dylan with his arm around Leah, Maisie perched between them on tiptoes trying to see.

Erica winked at her.

Maisie beamed.

Reporters began calling questions.

Cameras shifted closer.

Andrew Peters immediately positioned himself beneath the plaque.

“Yes yes, thank you all for coming,” he announced, raising both hands grandly. “Erica and I are absolutely delighted to unveil this important cultural contribution. If the photographers would like a few pictures.”

He stepped squarely in front of the statue.

Flashes began popping.

Erica slipped quietly away.

She moved through the crowd, past familiar smiles and warm congratulations.