Dillard Beach Mystery – 65

“How long have I been here?” Rebekah asked the darkness.

“Not long enough.” The woman sounded amused at her effort at humor.

“At least tell me what day it is.”

“Dunno. One day is just like the next. Hard to tell the time with no sun above.”

Rebekah reached her hand to one side and felt damp earth and a puddle of standing water. She guessed from the odor, it was not drinkable.

“I do not understand,” she asked the darkness. “What have I done to deserve to be locked away?”

“Not for me to say, missy.” The voice answered. “But I heard the guards talking about stringing you up for a hanging. They think ye be a witch.”

“A witch!?” Rebekah exclaimed. “It is not true,” she declared loudly. “Who accuses me of such a thing?”

“I could’na say. But once declared, the words are good as true.” The woman began to cackle. “Ye be in sore trouble now, missy. Sore trouble.”

Rebekah attempted to stand but in the darkness and with her wrists still tied together, she lost her balance and fell back against the cell wall.

“I need to speak with the Magistrate, immediately. There has been some horrible mistake. I am not a witch. I am a midwife.”

The woman cackled again. “Some might say there be little difference ‘tween the two.”

“You are sadly mistaken. I help women bring life into the world. I do not harm them.”

“Not what I have heard, missy.” The voice whispered. “Your kind deal in magical spells and who knows what else.”

Rebekah realized arguing with the woman was useless. She tried to free her hands but made little progress. The rope cut into her wrists and the more she pulled, the tighter the rope became.

“This is all a grave mistake,” she declared into the darkness. “A mistake, I tell you.”

“Shut your trap or I’ll do it for you!” It was a man’s voice coming from the next cell, followed by the sound of a fist pounding against wood.

Rebekah sat up. “I am a midwife from Hyannis, only just arrived in Saybrook. I have done nothing wrong. Please. You have to let me out of here.”

As she spoke, her fear increased and caused her voice to get louder and louder. Suddenly, there was a loud bang from the other side of the the wall.

“I said silence!”

Rebekah turned and faced the direction of the voice.

“Help me please, whoever you are. My name is Rebekah Rand. I am being held against my will and for no good reason. You have to let me out.”

A small wooden door high on the wall was suddenly slid to one side and light streamed into the cell where Rebekah stood.

“I said silence!” The voice demanded, “or it will be the lash for you.”

Rebekah stepped back from the light. A man’s face filled the small opening in the wall. Two dark eyes from under a deeply hooded brow studied her. She stared back. “I demand to see the Magistrate.”

“Oh you do, do you?” The voice mocked her. “Sorry to say, the Magistrate is busy.”

“Then I demand to see whoever else is in charge.”

“That would be me, missy and the answer is ‘NO!’”

The man slammed the small wooden slider shut and walked away. Desperate, Rebekah knocked on the door demanding the man to return. He did not. Finally, Rebekah sat on the dirt floor by the wall, hugging her knees tight to her chest against the cold. She waited and listened. It was several hours later before the small wooden slide was finally pulled back.

“Is there a Rebekah Rand in there?” A man’s voice demanded.

Rebekah stood up, stepped back from the wall and gazed up at the face peering through the slide. “I am Rebekah Rand.”

She heard the sound of chains being pulled through metal bars. A door opened before her. “Come with me,” a voice demanded.

The jailer moved to one side and stared at her as Rebekah stepped forward. She was immediately aware of how poorly she must look. After several days of confinement, her hair was tangled, her dress badly stained and her body smelled of feces.

“This way,” the man demanded, and pointed towards an open door at the end of a short hallway.

Rebekah peered over the man’s shoulder and could see a stone walkway and trees.

“You should count yourself lucky, miss.”

“Am I free to go?” she asked.

The jailer shrugged. “I ask no questions, just do what they say.”

She followed the jailer towards the open door and stepped out into sunshine. Standing just outside was the local constable who had arrested her earlier that week. He stepped forward blocking her path. “Mistress Rand.”

“Constable!” Rebekah answered. “You are here to set me free?”

“It seems you have important friends, Mistress Rand. The new manager of the Trading Post just gave witness on your behalf.”

“Mister Ballard?”

“He swears you are not a witch.”

“He is correct, sir. I am no witch.”

The constable stared at her dirty dress and tangled hair. He covered his nose and gagged at her odor. “I still think you guilty.” He paused, considering his words. “But it is not my decision to make. The Magistrate declares you are to be released, and so it is done. But, if I were you, I would make myself quite scarce before another accuser comes forth.”