Cards & Caravans by Cindy Spencer Pape

care how they get rid of the so-called witches. I don’t believe the charges and trials are being handled in a legal manner,” Connor said. “I’d like the Home Office to invalidate Belinda’s death sentence as soon as possible. There’s no way she has the power, let alone the desire to cause a cholera outbreak.” Odd how it had never occurred to him she might be guilty of something, if not actual witchcraft. Yes, her gift was a soft shimmer rather than the hot glow of real power, but that was no guarantee a person was good. Something in him rejected the idea of Belinda being evil. Certainly her fear had been genuine when she’d been planning to kill herself rather than be burned and again when she’d offered to flee alone, on foot, rather than put him in harm’s way. He shuddered at either thought. The world would be just a little less bright without Belinda in it.
    “At the very least, she deserves a proper trial,” William, Connor’s grandfather, said. He shot Belinda the piercing gaze Connor knew all too well from childhood, the one that William’s children and grandchildren swore could see into your soul. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Mrs. Danvers? Why do you believe you were accused?”
    Belinda repeated her tale is a calm, no-nonsense voice, her spine straight and her eyes on William. Connor slid his hand under the table again, this time to cover hers, which were knotted together in her lap, her only obvious sign of discomfort as she recounted what he already knew about her arrest and incarceration.
    “With regard to why,” she said at the end, “all I have is supposition. I will say that one of our village aldermen, Mr. Ian Douglas, is a vindictive brute. He’s always believed that because I was a gypsy, I ought to be...available, particularly after I became a widow. I managed to avoid his veiled suggestions and snide propositions for several years, largely by pretending not to notice and by staying away from the man, even though I was a friend of his wife’s. Last spring, his wife passed away in childbirth, leaving behind a baby girl and an older boy. Over the summer, Douglas renewed his attentions to me, growing more and more insistent that I become his mistress. Three weeks ago, he came out to my farm and cornered me in the barn.”
    Connor saw red, literally. A crimson haze filmed his vision for a moment.
    “Were you able to escape?” Geneva asked, the compassion that made her such a good doctor evident in her gaze. Connor could have hugged her for her kindness to his bedraggled blackbird.
    “Yes.” Belinda’s smile held a grim resolution. “I hit him over the head with a water bucket and kicked him in the privates.”
    “Good for you.” Connor squeezed her hand. “So he went away?”
    She nodded. “I ran and locked myself in the house. After that, I let it be known that I carried Micah’s revolver with me to guard against ‘snakes’ in the barn and fields.”
    “Go on,” Fergus said. “What happened then?”
    “About ten days after that, his four-year-old son Johnny died of cholera, along with two other children in the village. His cousin, Mr. Engle, arrived in time for the funeral. In less than a week, he proclaimed himself a bona fide witch-finder, and managed to convince the entire village that I caused the epidemic to punish the alderman for coming out to the farm to discuss the perilous state of my soul.” She used a deep voice on the last few words, obviously quoting the so-called witch-finder.
    Connor forced down his temper and asked, “And the magistrate, Squire MacLellan, how does he come into this?”
    “He and the alderman have been friends since their school days. For what it’s worth, I think the squire actually believes I’m a witch, unlike the alderman, who bloody well knows better.” She wrenched one hand away from his and clapped it over her mouth. “Pardon my language, my ladies.”
    “Not to worry, dear,” Evelyn said. “We understand