interest in the gory details of the tragedy was Morganton’s fascination with the widow—and accused slayer—of the murdered man. The jailer’s wife had done her share of gossiping as well, letting all and sundry know that a handsome young woman was locked away in the upstairs jail cell. News of Frankie Silver overshadowed talk of the other unfortunates, her kinfolk, for a mature woman and a youth were less interesting subjects for speculation.
Even my Elizabeth pressed me for details about the case, but I was able to tell her only what I had heard from the constable, and even that I softened for the ears of a gentlewoman.
“They say that she cruelly murdered her young husband and chopped his body to bits,” said Elizabeth. She had met Constable Presnell’s wife Sarah on the street and had stopped to “pass the time of day,” the term used by our womenfolk for the giving and receiving of local gossip. “Can this be true, Burgess?”
“That is for a jury to decide,” I said, hoping to deflect her attention from the matter. “There are two other souls in custody for the crime.”
“But the body was found in pieces?”
“Constable Baker said that it was,” I said grudgingly. My efforts to protect my wife from the unpleasantness of this case were proving futile, thanks to the incessant curiosity of the town folk.
Elizabeth leaned forward, her eyes shining, eager for news. “And you have met this creature, Burgess? What was she like?”
“She is small and fair. No more than eighteen years of age. She spoke but little. I saw no hint of madness in her.” I shrugged. “She seemed like any backwoods girl.”
“So she is not mad.” Elizabeth considered this. “That makes the story all the more strange. Whyever can she have done it, then? Or do you think her brother did it to protect her honor?”
“I have heard nothing to implicate the boy,” I admitted. “He is but fifteen, I think.”
“And the mother?”
“Little has been said about her. It is the young widow Silver who was caught in a lie, saying that her husband was gone from home when in fact he lay in pieces within the cabin.”
Elizabeth had obviously heard these details before, for she evinced no dismay upon hearing the particulars from me. “Perhaps her husband was paying court to another woman? That is the only reason I can think of to take an ax to him.”
“I shall take your warning to heart, madam,” I said, smiling.
“See that you do, Burgess Gaither,” said Elizabeth, and she laughed at my expression of mock alarm. But the levity left her almost at once. “It is a terrible crime. Do you know what her motive was?”
“The trial is two months away, Elizabeth,” I said. “Let us not convict her or her family just yet. You are a lawyer’s daughter. Must I remind you that it is the job of the prosecution—not the town gossips or the clerk of court—to fix upon a motive?”
“I think it must have been jealousy,” said my wife, as if I had not spoken. “Men are too cruel. Perhaps he was unfaithful to her. And I have heard that the unfortunate couple has a child. Was anything said about that?”
“The prisoner has a baby girl, according to Constable Baker.”
“Poor child! Is it imprisoned with its mother, then? Have you seen it?”
“No. Frankie Silver had no child with her. I suppose it is with its father’s family.”
“How cruel for both mother and infant!” cried Elizabeth. I knew that she was thinking of our own child William, who was not much older than the Silver baby, and it made me shiver to think that any fellow feeling could exist between my wellborn wife and that ignorant girl in Will Butler’s jail. I could not imagine William deprived of his parents and left with a legacy of shame, and I wondered what would become of the child of the murderess.
“Do not forget the fate of the baby’s poor young father,” I said. “Charlie Silver was nineteen, and his family grieves for him, you may be sure.”
“A pretty young woman with a baby daughter,” said Elizabeth. “How could she have committed such a crime?”
“They live in a savage wilderness. They are not like the gentlefolk in your society, my dear. How can we hope to understand their ways?”
Two days later I was back in my office, working once more on county legal business. As clerk of court, I had deeds and wills to record, and a thousand