“You going to allow her to take off?” Mr. Barner cried out, irate because another of his plots had fallen into the dust.
“Wait,” the preacher said. “We have not told you all. She may not be at fault for what this man says, but she is not an innocent. In fact she is guilty of even more vile deeds.”
I knew what was coming next. Should I run for it? Should I hop on Frey and gallop out of Tinkle Town before they all gathered up their stones and pummeled me with them as my village had done?
I turned and spoke. “Yes, I am guilty. I trusted people. I worked unceasingly to right wrongs that were not mine. I loved an old woman who’d promised to adopt me, but was too soon taken from me. I planted goodness wherever I could, offering assistance for team sports, for non-readers, for the poor and needy. Yes, I’m guilty, because you see, I believed that people had goodness in them.”
“You speak with a forked tongue, which is to be expected, because according to the village, you are a witch.”
“A witch?” I said, looking into his eyes. “What do you actually mean by that? Did you find out why the village called me a witch? Was it because of a judge who ruled in my favor? Or was it because the mayor wanted to lie with me in sin? Or could it be that greed and evil thoughts had permeated the village, and they cast about to find someone to blame?
“Could that be the same reason that you, a supposed man of god, a god who is supposed to be synonymous with Agape love, points your finger at someone without proof, without cause, and for no reason other than it feels good to empty out your bowel full of hatred?
“I am done with all this. I shall seek nature and the justice found in peace.”
“Stop her. We cannot allow a witch to live,” the preacher screeched.
I thought about the chant I’d used on the village. I could have sung it now. I could have ridden away, freezing them all once again, but I was tired, worn down with disillusion, so I just stood there.