Inside the warehouse attic, Margaret and Fishy were reduced to mopping Calvin’s brow as he lay delirious in his fever-racked stupor. Body and soul were together again, but only, it seemed, in time to die.

After a while a third pair of hands joined them. A Black woman who moved slowly, hesitantly. Her speech was slurred when she asked a question or two; it was hard to understand her. Margaret knew at once who she was. She laid her hand on the Black woman’s hand; on the other side of her, Fishy did the same. “You don’t gots to work today,” said Fishy. “We take care of him.”

But the woman acted as if she didn’t understand. She kept on helping them take care of Calvin as if she had some personal stake in keeping him alive. Or maybe she was simply loving her neighbor as herself.

13

Judgment Day

John Adams didn’t even bother to seat himself comfortably on the bench. It was supposed to be routine. Quill would read out the charge. The young lawyer for the defense would plead his client guilty or not. They’d be back out the door in a few minutes.

It started right. Quill read the charge. It was the normal collection of allegations of dealings with Satan, and as it became clear it was more a peroration than a simple reading of charges, John gaveled him down. “I think we’ve heard all the charges and you’ve moved on to opening arguments, Mr. Quill.”

“For a full understanding of the charges, Your Honor, I—”

“I have a full understanding of the charge, as does the defendant,” said John. “We’ll hear your elaboration of the particulars at a later time, I’m sure. How does the defendant answer to the charges?”

Verily Cooper rose from his chair, his movement smooth, a perfect gentleman. By contrast, the lanky smith seemed to unfold himself, to come out of the chair like a turtle out of its shell. His chains clanked noisily.

“Alvin Smith, how do you plead?” asked John.

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Alvin sat back down, and John started to announce the schedule for tomorrow, when the trial would begin. Then he noticed that Cooper was still standing.

“What is it, Mr. Cooper?”

“I believe it is customary to hear motions.”

“Peremptory motions to dismiss are never granted in witch trials,” John reminded him.

Cooper just stood there, waiting.

“All right, let’s have your motion.”

Cooper approached the bench with several petitions written out in an elegant hand.

“What is all this?” demanded Quill.

“It seems,” said John, “that the defendant has some interesting requests. All right, Mr. Cooper. Relieve Mr. Quill’s curiosity and read out your motions.”

“First, the defense requests that since the prosecution intends to prosecute a witness named in the records of the parish as Purity Orphan on the same evidence as my client, the trials be joined.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Quill. “Purity is our prime witness and the defense knows it.”