Chapter Eighteen
It was on a blustery Friday afternoon in early January, when Mary-Michael learned the grand jury was indicting her on charges of a******y and lascivious behavior. Her heart lurched as Frank Baxter spoke about a possible defense for her. The prosecutor, he said, was going to present the state’s case to the circuit judge when he visited their village the following week. She rested back in Mr. Watkins’ favorite leather wing chair and caught a whiff of his favorite pipe tobacco. The scent made her wish all the more that he was here to counsel her through this enormous travesty of justice. Suddenly, a tiny, inward burst of frustration hit her. Clenching a fist, she brought it to her lips and did her best to make it sound like a cough. She didn’t know why she tried to hide it.
