“I… I…” There’s nothing to say. I look to Maple.

“Yes, Maple told me all about it. To think I let such a godless creature into my house.”

My insides are quivering.

“You watch her, Maple, while I get your Master.”

As soon as she’s out of the room, I hiss at Maple, “What did you tell her?”

Maple draws her close-set eyes closer. “I can’t stand to look at you no more.”

“You know what they’ll do to me,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I don’t want you punished,” she says. “I want you gone.”

A second later, Master comes stomping in, frowning, with Missus scurrying up behind him.

“Now, please tell me what’s so important that you had to pull me away from our guest and leave him sitting in there on his own?”

“It’s Sarah,” Missus says. “Maple discovered the truth of it tonight.”

I close my eyes. My body’s already tensing up for the punishment of my life.

“She’s been suspecting it for a while, but now she’s caught her in the act, out by the kitchen garden, under the full moon,” Missus says.

My eyes snap open. That ain’t right.

“What’s this about?” Master says, more annoyed than concerned. “What do you accuse her of?”

“I hate to say it, Master, but there can’t be no other truth to what I seen.” Maple pauses till she’s sure she’s got every lick of attention in the room. “That creature right there, standing right in front of you now, is a bona fide witch.”

I can’t tell if my hearing’s going crazy or her mouth is.

Master laughs. “This is preposterous,” he says. He smiles down at Missus. “My dear, don’t let the superstitions of simple minds trouble you. Come.” He holds out his hand to her. “We must not neglect our guest.”

Missus seems unsure, but gives him her hand, just as obedient as any of us.

Maple don’t waste a second. She digs into her pocket and pulls out the toad that Red smashed dead against the kitchen house doorway. “I found this in a pot.”

Missus yelps like I did when I stepped on it and felt it squirm underfoot. She shields her eyes with one hand and, pulling away from Master, reaches for a chair with the other. She sits, fanning herself with her flat hand, more for show than for air.

“Put that disgusting thing away,” Master says to Maple. “Have you lost your senses, bringing that in here?”

“Sarah’s making witch potions,” she says. She drops the dead toad on the tray of glasses. Then, from her aprons, she pulls out my dried Joe-pye weed, squawroot, boneset and ragwort, and she waves them over her head. “She been gathering to make a brew.”

“Lord almighty preserve us. Matthew, what have we let into our home?”

Master looks confused. Not rightly believing, but not sure otherwise either.

“That’s for healing,” I say. “For helping.”

“Witch’s work is the Devil’s work,” Maple says. “Ain’t no wonder she been turning white men’s eyes. The overseer and the blacksmith both. She probably brewed it up like she was fixing to brew something up tonight. You just a stronger kind of Christian, Master, that she didn’t get you too.”