“What do you think will happen to it?” she asked.

“I heard Charlie and Becca were going to try to buy it. They could use the space since the twins come along.”

“Oh, yes, that would be just the thing for Becca,” Elizabeth said. “But Jemima will hate it.”

Nathaniel took firmer hold of her arm. “She might not be around to see it happen.”

The meetinghouse was crowded so that to get from one side to the other they had to wind their way around benches and stools and settles, all dragged here by people who wanted to be entertained in comfort. Baldy O'Brien sat at the very front at a table with Jed McGarrity and Ethan, and directly before them was the witness chair.

Elizabeth studied Jemima, something she had not been able to do for a very long time. She didn't show her years, even with the trouble at hand; instead she radiated . . . what? An angry heat, a fierce purpose, a conviction of sorts, and it came to Elizabeth that for all her faults, Jemima was one of the bravest women she had ever known. She faced the crowd and the law with courage that bordered on religious fervor; were they to burn her at the stake, Jemima would use her last breath to spit on them.

Across from Jemima sat Nicholas Wilde. Elizabeth had thought that after his testimony yesterday he might have gone off to hide and nurse his sorely wounded pride, but he sat with the Fiddler brothers. The three of them were silent and untouched by the loud and almost cheerful crowd that surrounded them.

“Scoot on over,” Curiosity said, coming up beside Elizabeth with Jennet. “Baldy's about to get started.”

The voices died away as O'Brien began to talk. He had to shout to be heard anyway, over the noise of a rising wind, the scuffling of feet and sneezing and coughing and whining of children. It was inevitable that everyone be here, Elizabeth knew, but she wished again for the blizzard that would send them home in a hurry and leave this sad business to the injured parties.

Jemima's voice brought her up out of her thoughts, and Elizabeth realized that she had missed the first question.

“Yes,” Jemima answered in a clear, almost impatient voice, the same voice she used to answer all his questions. She understood the charges against her, she understood the nature of the hearing, she understood that she could be bound over for trial in Johnstown.

Baldy O'Brien had a sharp manner, but it was no match for Jemima, who met him straight on and without apology. Like a dog up against a bear, Elizabeth thought.

O'Brien was studying the papers before him. “What do you say to these charges, Mrs. Wilde?”

Jemima looked over the crowd, her expression imperious. “Damn you all to burn in everlasting hell.”

A ripple ran through the room, part disapproval but mostly, Elizabeth knew, excitement. They had come to this hearing as they had come to see the firecrackers on the lake, wanting the noise and the shock, and Jemima would not disappoint them.

Dryly O'Brien said, “I take it you are pleading innocent to the charges.”

“I am. I do. I never laid a hand on Cookie nor on Dolly.”

That brought her a sharp look from O'Brien, shot up through the tangle of eyebrows. “You never struck Cookie Fiddler?”

“I didn't kill her. I didn't hit her in the head or throw her in the lake.”

“Answer the question, Mrs. Wilde.”

Jemima shrugged a shoulder. “When she was a slave at the millhouse I hit her, and more than once. Is that a crime, taking a hand to a slave with a smart mouth?”

Elizabeth's gaze shifted to Levi and Zeke, who sat straight backed and never flinched, even while O'Brien led Jemima through a list of questions about her relationship with their mother.

“So it's fair to say you hated Cookie Fiddler,” O'Brien concluded.

“Fair enough,” Jemima said, looking directly at Levi. “As much as I hate snakes. But I wouldn't go out of my way to step on one.”

“Mrs. Wilde, it sounds to me as if you had a motive to want Cookie Fiddler dead.”

At that Jemima looked directly surprised. “You mean, so I could get Nicholas to marry me? You think Cookie could stop that?” She snorted softly. “She didn't stop me marrying Isaiah, did she?”

There were sharply indrawn breaths all around the room, and whisperings that were meant to be heard.

“Oh, listen to them,” Jemima said. “As if they ain't had their heads together talking about that very thing since you read Isaiah's letter out loud yesterday.”

“Mrs. Wilde,” O'Brien said. “You'll restrict your comments to answering questions put to you. You heard Mr. Wilde's testimony yesterday, and his statement that he would petition for divorce on the grounds that you lied to him.”

Jemima's mouth twitched. “I heard him. You want to know if I lied?” She looked up, and seemed for a moment seriously amused. “Of course I lied to him. I lied and I let him into my bed. If that's a trick, then it's an old one and I'm not the only woman here who used it to advantage.”

“That's all very informative,” said O'Brien gruffly. “But it has nothing to do with my line of questioning—”

“Oh, but it's what they want to hear. Look at them, like crows ready to peck out a lamb's eyes. They want the dirty details. They want to know what I had to do to get Nicholas Wilde to marry me. Now see how he goes pale, my dear husband, to hear the truth told. Did you think I'd keep still, Claes, and let you go free so easy?”