"Do you confess?"
The question broke through the haze that fogged up his mind. He opened his eyes, blinking slowly at the figure outlined by the sunrise, a bloody red and beautiful sunrise. It could only be that cursed Sheriff, come to pester him again.
*****
He didn't believe it. They took Martha. He watched, speechless, as Thomas and Peter escorted her out the hickory doorframe and into the mule-drawn wagon, to take her to the jailhouse. Orders from the court, they said.
On what charges, he had protested. Witchcraft, they replied. Something 'bout reading the future. Those girls testif…
