Monday in September, the Superior Court of Burke County convened to hear the fall docket of cases. One minor matter in terms of the court’s time, but uppermost in the mind of Morganton, was the sentencing of the convicted murderess Frankie Silver. Her time was drawing nigh, and already people were talking of the crowds that would flock to town for the execution. No woman had ever been hanged before in Burke County, or indeed anywhere that we had ever heard of, and excitement was running high at the prospect of such a cruel yet extraordinary spectacle. No traveling circus or tent revival meeting could rival the thrill of watching a pretty young woman die at the end of a rope, or so the local pundits said in the tavern. I seemed to be the only one present who had no wish to see such a dreadful event, but I kept my opinions to myself.
This was Will Butler’s last Superior Court as sheriff. A county election would be held in November in conjunction with the presidential election and various statewide offices, and since sheriffs are not permitted to serve consecutive terms in North Carolina, Butler was already preparing to leave. He looked every inch a gentleman as he entered the courtroom that brisk autumn morning in a russet-colored waistcoat and shining brown boots, but his expression was that of a worried man, and I wondered what was amiss.
The courtroom was not as packed with spectators as it had been for the trial of Frankie Silver, for no momentous crimes were set to be tried and no sensational testimony was in the offing, but since no court day goes unmarked by the curious and the scandalmongers, there was no shortage of spectators for the proceedings.
Gabriel Presnell brought the prisoner in through the great double doors, and my first thought upon seeing her was that her borrowed dress fit better now. Her collarbone, sharp as a split rail, no longer protruded above the bodice of the garment, and she was not swallowed in a shroud of blue fabric as she had been last spring. The months of incarceration had left her rested and less gaunt than I had seen her at her trial. She eats better in prison than she did at home,I thought, and this saddened me.
I reminded myself that this woman had killed her husband without pity or remorse, and that she had cruelly butchered his body and left it as carrion for the scavengers of the sky and forest. It is a crime past human forgiveness; only divine mercy could pardon such a sin. But how odd that the wickedness had left no mark upon her person: there was no hardness in her features, no coldness of eye or scowl of unrepentant scorn. Her skin still held the blush of the summer sun, and her pale hair was bound up into a knot at the nape of her neck, framing her face with wings of gold. I remembered John Milton’s poem
Paradise Lost,wherein Satan is described as the most beautiful of all the angels. Surely this is Milton’s parable made flesh, I thought, but I could not wring any outrage from my heart, only regret and pity for a frightened girl who would never see her child again. Nearly a year had passed since the death of Charlie Silver, a man I had never even seen. It is easy to forget the victim when he is a stranger; it is especially easy to forget him when the accused is a forlorn and fragile creature who seems incapable of evil. Perhaps this is why the law is so inflexible in its strictures on punishment for those convicted of murder. The blindness of Justice protects us lesser mortals from the weakness of pity.
The prisoner followed the constable into the courtroom with the same careful detachment that I had seen before, but when Thomas Wilson rose to greet her, she shrank back and I saw her eyes widen in surprise. An instant later her face was expressionless again, and she nodded to him with grave courtesy, but as the attorney turned to sit down again, I saw her eyes searching the courtroom. I did not think she was seeking the faces of her family.
Nicholas Woodfin is not here,I wanted to tell her. He lives in Asheville, a long way from here, and he had no paying cases before the court here today. Besides, an attorney is not really needed at a sentencing hearing.