Page 79 of The Frozen River

I clear my throat. “Members of my household.”

“And was this information delivered in the form of a confession?” he asks.

“No. Absolutely not. My daughters attended a Frolic the evening before with their brothers. Burgess was also there. And when he tried to force my eldest girl to dance, Cyrus stopped him. There are at least ten people in this room who saw the altercation and can attest to those facts. They all saw Burgess leave the dance in good health, and that Cyrus did not follow. But I do not think it has any bearing on this investigation.”

“Is that your professional opinion? Or your personal one?” he asks.

“Both.”

“And after the dance? Where did your son go?”

“He escorted his sisters home, then went to bed.”

“Can anyone account for where he was in the middle of the night?”

What a poisonous bunch-backed toad, I think.

“He was in bed when I was called to a birth. At two o’clock that morning,” I say, and it takes a great effort to keep the venom from my voice.

Obadiah Wood looks at his copy of Henry Sewell’s court record. He asks, “When you first gave your testimony on cause of death did you include that information?”

“I did not.”

“Why? Your son beat the man.”

“There’s no law against it,” I say. “Not when he was protecting his sister from unwanted advances against a man who had already been accused of rape. And besides, Burgess walked away from that altercation. As witnessed by many people. Whereas the man I inspected in this tavern would not have been able to walk at all. Whatever happened to him occurred after he left the Frolic.”

“Is your son in the courtroom today?”

I feel Cyrus’s presence before I see him. He’s come to stand behind me now.

“He is.”

“State your full name for the court, please,” Obadiah Wood says.

There is a long, painful stretch of time in which Cyrus says nothing.

“He has no speech, Your Honor,” I explain.

The judges look at one another, mystified.

“He cannot speak at all?”

“Cyrus is mute.”

I cannot bear the wave of embarrassment that washes over his face. The way he clenches his teeth then straightens his jaw.

“Is he deaf as well? Can he understand our questions?”

Acid laces each syllable of my reply. “He. Is. Not. Deaf. He can understand all your questions, and he can reply with the language of his body or in writing. Cyrus is fully literate.”

Of all the men on the bench, Judge Parker seems most fascinated by this turn of events. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Did you get into a physical altercation with Joshua Burgess the night before he died?” he asks.

Cyrus nods.

“Did you kill the man?”

He shakes his head. Plainly denying the accusation.