POLLARD’S TAVERN
FRIDAY, MARCH 26
Cyrus stands before the table and faces all three judges. Once again the Court of Common Pleas has come to Hallowell with the honorable Obadiah Wood, James Parker, and John Hubbard presiding. As Judge North hasn’t been seen by anyone in the Hook since the end of January, he was automatically removed from this hearing.
Seth Parker stands beside Cyrus ready to assist in this legal matter. He has assured us that the court has no legal grounds to keep our son imprisoned, but I have a bad feeling about these proceedings. Cyrus’s case is the only one on the docket today. He has arrived freshly shaven and in his Sunday best. He looks more like his father than ever today. A man in his prime. But he’s got a cheeky air about him that leaves me fidgeting in my seat. Cyrus looks like he’s gunning for a fight.
“How do you plead?” Obadiah Wood asks Cyrus. “In the charge of murder against one Joshua Burgess in November of last year?”
There is a stack of papers on the table beside him, and he bends over the pile, quill in hand, to write his response.
Not guilty.
Once again, half the town is here. The tavern is packed. Beer and cider flow freely, but the room is silent. The accusation against him—though invalid—is one that most of the people here would consider just. No one is whispering today.
Judge Parker leans across the table. “As you have heard, there are seven men here who testify to the fact that you got into a physical altercation with the deceased on the night of November twenty-fifth. Do you deny having done so?”
No.
Parker notes this in his ledger. “What was the cause for your altercation?”
Cyrus takes his time writing out his response. After a moment he shows the paper to Seth—who nods—but before he can hand it to the judge, Parker interrupts. “In order to keep these proceedings expeditious, we will allow your attorney to read your answers, Mr. Ballard.”
Cyrus hands the paper to Seth instead, who reads his answer aloud. “Joshua Burgess put his hands on my sister. I defended her honor.”
This, too, was verified by the judges earlier in the hearing, when seven different witnesses came forward to describe the events of November’s Frolic. But they want to hear from Hannah directly, so she goes to stand beside her brother.
“Please state your name for the court,” Judge Parker says.
“Hannah Ballard.”
“And what happened on the night in question?”
I can see Moses standing beside the fireplace next to Barnabas Lambard. His arms are crossed, and he scowls at the sight of her interrogation. He doesn’t like her being put on display in this manner, and I can’t say that I blame him. The boy is in love and protective, but Hannah insisted on defending her brother. As did Dolly who—for her part—sits with a stiff back and lifted chin doing all she can to ignore Barnabas.
“Joshua Burgess asked me to dance all evening, and I refused him,” Hannah says. “It wasn’t just me, though, he went around the room several times, but never found a partner. But I was the last one to tell him no. So he got angry. Grabbed my arm and dragged me onto the dance floor. He left bruises.”
Moses was not aware of the bruises, I think, and he takes a step forward, fists balled. Calmly, casually, Barnabas sets a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back. Whispers something in his ear.
They’ve become friends, I think. And I am glad to see it.
“Is that when your brother came to your defense?” Judge Wood asks.
“Yes. It didn’t take long. Five or ten seconds, maybe. And the fight didn’t last much longer than that. Then Cyrus and a couple of other men tossed Burgess into the snow.”
Wood taps the table with one finger. “Who were these other men?”
“Sam Dawin and my brother Jonathan.”
“Are they in the courtroom today?”
They are. And they quickly confirm Hannah’s testimony. Jonathan looks testy, and Sam uneasy, but the judges don’t question them further. The Ballard family has taken up an entire table and two benches at the tavern. Seth and Sam have joined us as well, and I like to think that the sight is a bulwark for Cyrus.
“Cyrus had nothing to do with Burgess’s death,” Hannah says. “He stayed inside the remainder of the night, and then he took me and my sister home.”
It’s Judge Hubbard’s turn to speak. “And what of your other brother?”
Again, Jonathan stands. “After the dance I left with Sam. We had an order of lumber to deliver. That was the night the river froze. We got locked in at Bumberhook Point.”
“That’s where the body of Joshua Burgess was discovered?”
“Yes sir, we were the ones who found him.”
Hubbard looks to his colleagues, then directly at me. “Mistress Ballard?”
I stand. “Yes.”
“You testified previously that your children returned home from the dance shortly before you were called to deliver a child?”
“Yes. Roughly an hour or so.”
“And are you certain that Cyrus remained in bed after you left?”
This talking in circles is exhausting, and it takes more effort than I would like to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I have no reason to believe that he didn’t.”
“And when the rest of your household woke later that morning, was he among them?”
Young Ephraim. God bless his little lion’s heart. The proceedings have been too much for him. He’s scared for his older brother and smart enough to know that the judges are looking for something—anything, really—that will give them cause to proceed with a trial. He leaps to his feet and says, with a voice that cracks on the first word, “I can answer that!”
At first there is a titter of laughter behind us, and his cheeks blaze. But he stiffens his back and sticks out his chin.
“Young man? Your name?” Wood asks.
“Ephraim Ballard. The s-s-second,” he stammers.
There’s a smile at the corner of Wood’s mouth. Just a flicker of kindness. “Continue please. Can you verify that Cyrus was home when the household awoke?”
“Yes! We share a room. And he was right there in bed when we were woken at five. Sam Dawin fell through the ice, and it caused a big ruckus when he was brought to us. At first we all thought he was dead.”
This seems to be enough for Wood and Parker. Both of them lean back in their seats. Nod. Set down their quills. But Hubbard—it would seem—is feeling obstinate today and is not so easily charmed by my youngest son.
“And what of the three hours in between?” he asks. “Can you verify that your brother was home? Three hours is plenty of time to sneak out and finish the job he’d started with Burgess.”
“I was asleep,” Young Ephraim says, as though it is the most obvious answer in the world. “And so was Cyrus.”
All this time Seth has watched the proceedings. He’s taken notes of his own in some scrawl that I can’t read, but now he folds the paper in half, stands, and approaches the judge’s table. “If I may speak, Your Honors?”
It is his right as Cyrus’s lawyer, and they allow it.
“I move to have these charges dropped immediately. Nothing has been accomplished during this hearing apart from dickering over the hours between two and five in the morning. It has been established that Cyrus Ballard did not go after Mr. Burgess that night. It has been established that he escorted his sisters home, went to sleep, and was there, in his own bed, when Sam Dawin was brought to the house. No witnesses have come forth saying otherwise. Nor has the court produced a single shred of evidence tying him to the murder. Every judge on this bench has argued at least once that charges in the Foster case could not be brought because there was no witness to the actual crime. Yet here, in the case of murder, that same standard is not upheld? No. This hearing is not only a gross misuse of the judiciary but a colossal waste of time. The court has no cause whatsoever to proceed beyond this point.”
Somewhere, at the back of the tavern, there is scattered clapping, and the judges retreat to the storeroom to deliberate.
Friday, March 26.—Cloudy and cold. The Court of Common Pleas convened at the Hook to consider the charges brought against Cyrus in the matter of Captain Burgess. They agreed that Cyrus should be released from the jail yard but the charges remain pending.