Frank
“I have no interest in hearing you preach. I believe that a person who takes up your religion, and especially one who is a leader of that religion, should follow its tenements, not judge others and demand their deaths. You, Sir, are a hypocrite.
“As to bringing you water? There’s a sink in your cell. Turn on the faucet and cup your hands. Feel free to drink all you want.”
So saying, I turned around and let myself out of the small chamber in front of the jail cells. Then I turned back around and made sure the door was once more soundly locked.
My sharp response to the preacher should have made me feel better, but I was too worried about what would happen when the judge finally did come. He wouldn’t order Shama burned at the stake, of course, but the case might dredge up resentments. I was pretty sure the town’s folk would ignore such testimonies, but people were flappable. The sensationalism of a preacher proclaiming Shama a witch could ignite problems.
Even if all went sour, I’d keep Shama safe. I’d hand over my badge and take her somewhere else. She and the boys. Would Martha want to come with us? If she did, I’d take her, too. Besides, we were becoming a family. That’s what family was all about.
There was also the case of the boys’ father. What would the judge rule concerning that? There was no way that the murder of a wife would permit him to go free. The man had admitted to killing his wife. That part was a sure thing. But as to putting a murderer to death, would that be the final judgement? And if not, was there anyway that Shama and Martha could adopt the boys? If the boys’ father lived, could he demand that they be taken away from the people who truly loved them?
The night was still except for the crickets doing their nightly sing-along. The darned insects chittered away from nightfall to dawn, none-stop. There were those who claimed that their sleep was poor due to the pests, but I rather liked the sound they made. It was better than the night creep of silence. Not that I believed in ghosts or anything, but the crickets kept me company.
I’d been putting off looking over the paperwork and the bookkeeping. I poured myself a cup from the metal jug sent over by the restaurant. The coffee was supposed to be kept warm inside its wrappings. At least the diner claimed so, but the truth was that whenever I got around to pouring some coffee into my mug, it always tasted weak and tepid. Even so, it did keep me awake.