*Alexander*
We get to the meetinghouse around mid-afternoon, at Hezekiah’s insistence. He leans forward beside me, eager, his eyes scanning the men gathered in clusters around tables. He’s here for the gossip, for the stories that move faster than any official word ever could.
“They’ll be taken this eve,” one man mutters to his companion, his voice low but sharp. “Constables will come calling soon enough.”
“For those two?” another asks, shaking his head. “I thought this fuss over Tituba would settle everything. Let her go, and all would die down. Alas, it seems the town’s aflame again.”
Hezekiah elbows me, whispering with a grim look on his face. “Can you imagine? They’re really going to haul someone off.”
I shrug, keeping my voice light. “Tituba went free. Nothing came of her trials.
