Page 50 of The Witch

The certainty in his voice is chilling. Moreover, he sounds as if he could not care less that there is a chance I might be publicly executed.

“I will not be hanged,” I say coldly. “I have committed no crime, and in the time of judgment, I shall demonstrate so.”

“Your judgment will not be fair,” he says. “Magistrate Putman will accept spectral evidence. Your trial will go as Hitty’s did.”

“Spectral evidence?” I repeat, having never heard this term before.

“Putman will allow testimony in the form of people claiming they saw spirits or specters.” His voice is low and flat, reverberating in the vacant cellar. “You shall be found guilty on the basis of this evidence. Then you shall face the gallows.”

“That will not happen, Mr. Reeve,” I say confidently. I am aware that Hitty was found guilty, but she had nobody to stand up for her. I have Archie to vouch for me. I have Hiram and Judith Hatch. I am a respectable woman. “The trial will prove the truth. I shall then be freed from this terrible place.”

“The trial will find you guilty of practicing witchcraft,” he insists. “Take heed: In one week’s time, you will be condemned to hang in Town Square. Woodhaven will revel in your execution.”

There is a maddening certainty in his voice that allows no room for argument. He speaks as though he has heard a prophecy.

“Your crimes are far worse than anything they have imagined I have done,” I hiss at him. “You shall meet death more surely than I shall.”

Perchance it is my fancy, but Jonas’s hands, which are gripping the bars, seem to whiten at my utterance. I envision those fingers constricting around the throat of poor Leonora Rowley. That menacing gaze was the final sight she beheld as the life ebbed from her body. And now those same eyes stare across the void between our cells, piercing through me.

“’Tis true,” he says. “That I shall.”

The terror I feel at this moment penetrates deep into my bones. But though Jonas is locked up behind bars, his execution a certainty, there is no fear on his face. Perhaps when he murdered those women, he knew that this day would come. Perhaps he has had time to accept his fate.

Or perhaps he has other plans.

37

PRESENT DAY

JULIA

I wake up five hours later, completely disoriented.

I was not going back to sleep in that same bedroom—Caroline’s bedroom. I almost woke up Ethel, but it would be cruel to wake an eighty-year-old woman in the middle of the night to tell her I couldn’t sleep, like I’m a toddler or something. Thankfully, there are plenty of bedrooms at Pemberton, and all of the beds had been made up. I finally passed out in the bedroom that used to be mine when I was a little girl—the one that once belonged to Ethel when she was young. Despite what happened in that room, there was comfort in going back to the same place I stayed when I was a child.

The first thing I do after dragging myself out of bed is go to the window. This room also has a window that overlooks the grounds at the back of the house. Mick actually has the mower going, although he seems to be taking it around in a small circle and ignoring most of the grass. My gaze zeros in on that oak tree on the periphery of the yard and…

No noose. Not even a rope.

It’s like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

I don’t even bother to put on pants or a T-shirt. I go right downstairs in my pajamas and slippers, taking the stairs two at a time, and I head out through the back door. The mower is so loud that Mick doesn’t even notice me at first. It’s only when he pauses to wipe sweat from his forehead that he spots me and waves.

I walk through the freshly shorn grass in my slippers, knowing that they’re going to become filthy from the soil. I don’t even care anymore. I can see the oak tree much more clearly now, and there is definitely nothing hanging from it. No rope, no nothing.

Mick cuts the motor on the mower when I get a few yards away. His T-shirt is damp with sweat, and his gray hair is sticking to his scalp. When he speaks, he seems out of breath. The whole time I’ve been here, the man has seemed on the brink of a heart attack. It’s clearly too much exertion for him to push the mower across this entire lawn, which is why it seemed so neglected when I arrived. I’ll continue mowing it while I’m staying here, and then when I leave…

Well, we’ll figure something out. And it’s not like I have any immediate plans to go.

“Hi, Julia,” he says. “Everything okay?”

Not in the slightest. “Um, this is going to sound weird…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Was there…?” I glance over at the oak tree, checking one more time to make sure the rope has disappeared. “Was there a rope tied to that tree over there when you got here this morning?”

“Oh.” Mick looks over his shoulder. “You mean like a noose?”