*Alexander*
The meetinghouse is stifling. The air presses heavily, thickened by unease and sweat despite the winter outside. My boots creak on the floorboards as we follow my father down the aisle. He walks with his shoulders square and his chin high, as though he alone might steady the madness if it comes to that. My mother clutches her cloak at her throat, her lips pressed into a tight line, mostly due to fear of the urge to speak. She’s afraid she may try to slip some sense into a neighbor’s ear before the hour grows even more dangerous.
Beside me, Phineas bumps my shoulder, and his eyes alight with the restless gleam of curiosity. He wants to see it all, to miss nothing of the spectacle. On my other side, Hezekiah claims he came for the drama, but his fidgeting and apparent discomfor
