Page 82 of The Frozen River

Rebecca lifts a trembling hand and sets it over her left breast. “He flicked it,” she says. “Over and over until Burgess had to hold me down with his knees so I’d lie still. After a while I couldn’t feel anything else but that flicking. But it was the ‘Indian lover’ he kept repeating as he flicked. I couldn’t scream,” she gasped, the tears coming. “What if I’d woken the boys? What if they had come in crying? What would I have said to them? What would those men have done to my babies?”

North had taken her then, with Burgess holding her arms against the bed so she could not scratch or hit. It was well into the deepest hours of the night by the time he exhausted himself.

You’ll not say a word of this to your husband. Or to anyone else. Do you understand? North said, pulling on his trousers with the drowsy movements of a man satisfied with his work. She had deserved it, he said, for bringing those Indians into their town after the militia had worked so hard to beat them back into the wilderness. They’d had no choice but to teach her this lesson. North told her this even as he wiped the beads of sweat from his brow.

They left her alone and naked and weeping in the soiled sheets. And she lay there, unable to move her limbs, listening to them tromp through the hallway toward the door, laughing, jesting about the way she’d begged them to stop. For one excruciating moment they paused at the bottom of the stairs and her heart pounded in her chest with the terror that they might go in search of her children. But they didn’t.

The three judges sit there and stare at her for several long moments, unsure what to make of her accusations.

Finally, John Hubbard speaks. “And did you tell anyone? That day or the next?”

Rebecca’s eyes are deep pools of grief when she finally opens them. “Who could I tell? Judge North was the one who would hear my complaint.”

“And yet you have a witness?”

“Yes. Martha Ballard.”

Hubbard calls me forward again. “It seems you are a busy woman, Mistress Ballard. How came you to be a witness in all of these matters?”

“They fall under the duties of my profession. I do not seek out such experiences, Your Honor.”

“Go on then, tell us what you know of Mistress Foster’s claims.”

Once again, I tell the court exactly how I found Rebecca, the same as I had in Vassalboro last month. I tell them of her injuries. I show them my diary and the entries I’ve made, along with the interactions I’ve had with Judge North since.

“Thank you, Mistress Ballard, for your testimony,” Parker says. “We will hear from the defendant now. Mr. North?”

He steps forward.

“How do you plead in this cause?”

“Not guilty. I have done nothing to this woman. She has no proof. No witnesses to the act she claims happened. Nothing but a friend who saw her much later. I ask that you dismiss these charges. They should have never been brought in the first place!”

“It is worth noting,” Judge Parker says, “that there was a witness to the purported crime, but he is now dead. And that is a fact that this court finds both curious and rather convenient for you.”

“Am I being accused of murder now?” North asks, hissing the words through his teeth.

“I am simply stating an observation, Mr. North. And reminding you that we will pursue all avenues of investigation as it relates to both Mr. Burgess and this case—seeing as how they are intertwined.” Parker looks to Henry Sewell. “Please enter Mr. North’s not guilty plea in the court records.”

“My wife can testify that I was home, with her, on the night these events allegedly took place,” North continues.

Lidia has gone from looking gaunt in Vassalboro to positively ill now. Pale. Lips thin and pressed together. Two fingers constantly massage her left temple. “He was home,” she says.

“I would ask you to consider my own reputation in this town,” North tells the judges, “versus that of Mistress Foster and her husband. These accusations are nothing more than a bit of petty revenge, a way of getting back at me for dismissing him as minister. He is suing the town for unpaid wages! Need you any more proof of their duplicity than that?”

I watch Lidia sink back into her seat and wonder how often she is awake these days past eight o’clock. How easy it would be for North to slip from bed with his wife unaware.

And so it goes, back and forth, becoming less about what happened to Rebecca and more about her husband versus the man accused of raping her. As if Isaac had any bearing whatsoever upon what happened to Rebecca in August. As if his insistence on being paid the full amount agreed to in his contract has any relevance on the situation.

“Have you anything else to add regarding the actual charges, Mr. North?” Wood finally interrupts.

“No.”

“Then please take your seat. The court will now recess for a short time so that we might deliberate.”

He bangs the gavel, then he, Parker, and Hubbard retreat to the storeroom to converse amongst themselves.

I sit with Rebecca. Hold her hand. We wait as the onlookers mill around the tavern and refill their mugs. Some go out to use the privy, sending a blast of cold air into the room every time they open the door. Others stretch their legs.