if she got her mother’s looks and her father’s charm, she’d be a force to be reckoned with a dozen years hence.”
Talking about her young niece seemed to comfort the poor girl, but Wilson could not allow her prattle to take up the court’s time.
“You are dutiful to tell us so much, Miss Margaret,” said Wilson, and this time he was smiling gently. “But we do not require such detail, only the bare bones of the tale. Frankie turned up at your parents’ house that morning, then, with the baby, did she not?”
“She did.”
“And what did she say?” “She was bragging. She said she had been working since sunup, chopping wood and scrubbing the cabin floor. . . .” She faltered a moment when the gasps from the spectators nearly drowned her out.
Perhaps it was the first time the poor girl had realized the significance of those words. “What else did she say?” “She wanted one of the boys to feed the cattle. Said Charlie was gone from home. So we sent Alfred
back with her.” “Did she say where Charlie was supposed to have gone?” “Over to George Young’s. Most of the men get their Christmas liquor over at George’s place.” “So you had no reason to doubt her story?” “No. It sounded like Charlie, all right.” Thomas Wilson permitted himself a perfunctory smile. “Tell us what happened then, Miss Margaret.” “Well, Frankie took herself off then, but the next morning she was back, saying Charlie still hadn’t turned
up. After a couple of days we took to searching the woods, but we never did find no trace of him. Not ’til Mr. Collis went to the cabin, after Frankie went home to her people.”
“Did you see the Stewarts at any time during all this?” Margaret Silver thought about it. “I never did,” she finally admitted. “They didn’t stop by to sit a spell with us, or to ask after Charlie, not one bit.”
“But they said nothing about his disappearance? They were not seen at Charlie and Frankie Silver’s cabin?”
“Don’t reckon they were.” Beside me Colonel Erwin stirred in his seat. “There it is, Mr. Gaither,” he murmured. “Wilson has established that there is not one whit of evidence linking the Stewart woman or her boy to this case. They said nothing and no one saw them. They will have to be let go. Wilson has done his best for that poor family, no doubt, but at what a cost!”
“What do you mean?” I whispered back. “He has put a rope around the neck of Frankie Silver.” I am alone now, but I do not mind the solitude. I have lived all my life in one-room cabins, first with Daddy and Mama and my brothers, and then with
Charlie and the baby. It seemed strange at first to have so much space on my own, and so much quiet. I had Mama and Blackston to talk to for the first week or so, but they were afraid that someone was listening, and we found that apart from that one big thing, we had not much to say to one another. Fear is
like a stone in your mouth. When you have it, you cannot talk of anything else. So we passed the days in near-perfect silence, with dread kicking in our bellies. Then there was the hearing, and Mama and Blackston got bond and were let go. After that it was only me, to sit here and wait ’til spring.
I think I would not mind the prison cell but for the idleness. I don’t know what to do with my hands. They move in my lap and will not stay still. I asked the jailer’s wife if I could help her do the chores so as to pass the time, but she said I mayn’t be let out, and that she could not let me have an iron or a needle, for fear that I would use them for mischief. Her name is Sarah. She has a baby, and I ache to hold it, for it reminds me of my Nancy, but of course she will not bring it near me. I watch her sometimes when she plays with it out in the garden. Its golden curls glint in the sunshine, but if she looks up and sees me watching them, she frowns and takes the baby away. Her man has told her that I am mad, and although she sees that I am as mild as milk and never angry, she is