Dancing in the Palm of His Hand (26 page)

Ignoring Frau Brugler's intrusion, Lutz spoke insistently to Eva. “Have you ever had any dealings with the Devil?”

Eva shook her head. The worms in her stomach still gnawed, twisting her bowels into knots. She desperately needed to purge, but could not shame herself that way in front of the lawyer.

“Would you swear, in the presence of Father Herzeim,” said Lutz, “that you have never met with the Devil?”

Eva made the sign of the cross. “I swear it, Herr Lutz. I've never even seen the Devil. You must believe me.”

“I do...I think.”

Eva studied his face. “What do the other commissioners believe?”

He was silent, unable to meet her eyes.

“They have evidence then?”

“They have evidence.”

“When will I be questioned again?”

“Monday morning.” Lutz took a deep breath. “Frau Brugler, could you leave us now?”

“
Nein
, not allowed, unless the priest is with you.”

Lutz stooped down close to Eva and whispered, so that Frau Brugler couldn't hear. “Listen, Frau Rosen, you could claim to be with child. Legally, they cannot torture a woman who's with child.”

“But that would not be true, Herr Lutz. And it would mean that I had not been chaste, as I have claimed.” She spoke loudly now. “God will protect me only if I speak the truth.” She saw Frau Brugler nod.

Lutz stood and tucked his ledger under his arm. “God and I, we will do what we can.” He walked slowly to the door, then turned. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“
Bitte
, tell Father Herzeim I would like to see him. I need to hear the story of Job.” Eva knew the story, nearly word for word, but she needed to hear it from the priest, to be reassured in her faith. God felt so far away.

As soon as Lutz had closed the door, Eva shouted, “Quick, the bucket!”

The jailer's wife rushed to fetch the bucket, which was already half full. Pain ripped through her belly as Eva, hampered by the shackles, struggled to pull the shift out of the way before the foul-smelling liquid splattered into the other wastes. She felt as if she were shitting her own bowels. When the worst of the pain had passed, she wiped herself with straw and tossed it into the bucket.

Frau Brugler made a face at the stench, but then looked upon Eva almost kindly. “I had to dress the others' wounds – a misery. Did they hurt your daughter?”

Eva didn't know how to answer. Katharina bore no visible wounds, but yes, they had hurt her.

Frau Brugler moved closer to the girl, who shrank away from her. “It's all right, child. I won't hurt you. I'm not like Herr Freude.” She looked into Katharina's pale face, studied her eyes, then held up her arms, one at a time, and examined her small
hands and fingers. “She seems all right. Her eyes are clear.” She blew a puff of air through her snaggled teeth. “Pfpft! This girl is not possessed. I've seen women possessed by demons, and there's nothing scarier.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Those commissioners make me mad, they do. I bring the prisoners food twice a day, clean up the messes, and tend to the wounds. You'd think they'd want to know what I think about who's guilty and who's not. But they never ask. Not me.” She started pacing. “Oh sure, most of those accused of witchcraft are guilty. That's clear enough. But I'm not so certain about some...like you and your daughter...or that poor Fraulein Spatz.”

Frau Brugler wagged a finger. “What I'd like to ask those fancy commissioners in all their fancy silk and satin is why there's never any of their wives or daughters in here. Always beggars and whores. Or spinsters. Or widows like yourself. How come there's never a Frau Lutz, a Frau Hampelmann, or a Frau Brandt? That's what I'd like to know.”

Eva was hardly listening. Her gut – and her heart – still ached.

“I'm willing to bet there's some witches among the high and mighty, but their husbands and fathers protect them.” The jailer's wife leaned closer to Eva. “Makes sense, doesn't it? Why wouldn't the Devil choose followers from among the rich and powerful instead of carousing with ugly old spinsters and widows?” She laid a finger on her chin. “Well, you're not old and ugly, and I don't mean to offend, but, honestly, why would the Devil waste his time with you or Fraulein Spatz when he could be seducing somebody who has some real power in this world?” She shrugged. “But they never ask what I think.”

Frau Brugler picked up the bucket and left, locking the door behind her.

Still holding a hand over her mouth, Katharina came to her mother and sat in her lap. Eva wrapped her arms around her. Dear
God, she wondered, what would the commissioners do to them now? Why had Katharina told them she'd seen her mother with the Devil?

“Why, oh why, child, do you see the world the way you do? Herr Freude is evil, but he is not the Devil.”

“Oh, but he is.” Katharina was silent for a long time. “When I was over there by the wall and that old woman was talking, I was wishing I'd never been born.”

Eva put her fingers over Katharina's lips, but the girl pulled her hand away. “You were right to hit me, Mama. Because of me, they're going to hurt you. I'm a curse to you.”

“
Nein, Liebchen
!” Eva said the words, but felt the terrible truth of what Katharina had said. She had thought it herself.

Tears stung her eyes. Had her heart and soul died? How could she wish that Katharina, the only good thing in her life, had never been born? She hugged her daughter to her chest. “You are not a curse,
Liebchen
. You are a blessing. A wonderful blessing.”

Eva was startled awake by the rasp of the key. Yellow light shone at the small barred window. The door creaked open, and a wedge of light sliced through the dark. A rat scurried along the wall until it found the shadows. Carrying a lantern before her, Frau Brugler came in. Wilhelm stepped in behind her, a lantern in his own hand.

Eva gasped. What could he want?

“Such an hour,” Frau Brugler said nervously. “Decent folk are asleep in their beds.”

“Leave us,” Wilhelm said quietly, but firmly, breathing through his pomander. “And give me the key, then you can leave and go to your bed. I'll leave the key with the guard downstairs.”

“That's not allowed,” said Frau Brugler.

“Leave us,” he shouted, the black plumes on his hat fluttering. “Or do you forget, old woman, that I am head of the
Malefizamt
?” He held out a gloved hand.

Katharina crept from Eva's arms to crouch in the shadows against the wall. Eva held her breath. Would he try to force her the way Herr Freude had? The way he'd once tried? Would he force Katharina?

Frau Brugler set down the lantern, unscrewed a key from the ring at her waist, and placed it into Wilhelm's palm. “This is not right, sir,” she mumbled. She picked up the lantern and scurried out the door.

Wilhelm slipped the key into his breeches and walked slowly toward Katharina. Flipping his cape over one shoulder, he stooped down beside her and held the lantern close to her face. She edged away from him, but he reached out and cupped her chin in his gloved hand, turning her terrified face from one side to the other. With a forefinger, he traced her nose, chin, and jaw. He touched the stubble on her scalp. Finally he stood and came toward Eva. The gold thread in his brocade doublet gleamed in the candlelight.

“Who is that child's father?” he said bluntly.

“Jacob Rosen.”

“Doubtful. The line of her nose and jaw bears a certain... nobility. Jacob Rosen was no noble.”

“Her father was Jacob Rosen.” Eva's voice shook.

“And you would swear that to be true...just as you have sworn to all your other lies before the commission?”

“Everything I've told the commissioners is true. I am not a witch, Wilhelm. You know that. How can you possibly believe that I am?”

“Would you swear before the commission that Jacob Rosen is the father of your daughter?”

Eva pressed her lips together.

“So I am right.” Wilhelm bared his teeth in a grimace. “How did you seduce my father?”

“I didn't. I swear I didn't.”

“It hardly matters what you swear – daughter of Eve.” His eyes were an icy blue. “You rejected me...then seduced him.”

“I was forced.”

“Forced!” Wilhelm barked a harsh laugh. “Never would my father do such a thing. Never.” He pointed at Katharina. “And there's the evidence, Eva. You conceived a child.”

“He forced me.”

“But conception requires pleasure.”

Eva ran a hand over the prickly stubble on her scalp. “There was no pleasure, Wilhelm. Only shame. Only shame.”

“My father was an honourable and righteous man. How could you do such a thing?” Wilhelm held the lantern close to her face. “You are truly a witch. You will pay for this with your life.” He started toward the door, then turned back. Towering over her, he raised an arm. Eva readied herself for the blow.

His arm dropped to his side. “Damn you, Eva. Damn you.”

Eva watched a black rat creep along the wall, sniffing, perhaps drawn to the scent of her blood. There was nothing but dirty straw to soak up the darkness of her womb. She closed her eyes. She would not think of rats licking at bloody straw.

The morning bells rang out, prompting memories of the bakery and the warm fragrance of yeast and bread. Were the journeymen even baking bread anymore? Was anyone buying it, or did everyone believe the accusations against her?

Eva had been awake all night, her mind and heart roiling with contrition, sorrow, and deep foreboding.
Daughter of Eve
, Wilhelm had called her. A wicked temptress who'd seduced his father. She leaned against the wall, her whole body weighted down with shame. Wilhelm was right: she was a seductress. But it was not his father she'd seduced, but Jacob, as soon as she'd realized she was carrying a child. She couldn't bear the thought of being publicly dismissed from the Hampelmann household and having all of Würzburg know her shame, so she'd had to choose, quickly, a man who would marry her, a man who would believe her when she claimed the child was born early. Eva chose Jacob, an old childless widower, who was astounded and delighted by her attentions.

She had seduced a man, and she had lied to him. And for her sins, God had crippled her daughter. Jacob had been right to beat her.

Katharina dozed in Eva's lap, her arms held out to embrace the white dog. In the darkness before dawn, she'd stirred from her
sleep to tell her mother that the white dog had kept the Devil away. She'd seen no visions in the night.

The white dog. Why did her daughter see it? What in the world was it? Mother of God, Eva prayed, please don't let her speak of the dog to anyone, especially the commissioners.

The commissioners. Her bowels twisted in her gut. All through the night Eva had wondered, again and again, what Wilhelm would do. Now that he knew Katharina was his sister, would he find a way to protect her, or, in his wrath, would he be determined to see her die, as if she had never been?

Eva had little doubt what he'd do to her. She'd seen the fury in his icy eyes. And Herr Lutz had no power to protect her. She'd seen that, too. But God had the power to save her. And surely he would. She might be guilty of other sins, but she was innocent of witchcraft. God protected the innocent.

She put her hands to her face and felt the wetness of tears. She knew the story of Job all too well. God had permitted Satan to test Job, a man who was righteous and upright in all ways. God had allowed Satan to destroy all that Job owned, to kill all of his sons and daughters, to make him ill and despised. Yet Job never lost faith.

Was God allowing Satan to test her, a woman who'd grievously sinned? Eva tried to wipe the back of her hand across her cheek, but the shackle scratched her skin. Was her faith strong enough to withstand the test? To withstand losing everything, even her only child?

The rat scuttled into a crevice. Eva turned toward the sound of the key and saw Father Herzeim's face in the window. Stepping quietly into the cell, the priest made the sign of the cross. “Herr Lutz said you wanted to see me.”

“You must tell me the story of Job, Father. I must be strong in my faith. Like Job. I am to be tortured on Monday.”

His haggard face paled.

“
My soul is weary of my life
,” she recited, recalling a lament from the Book of Job. She could not stop the flow of tears. “
I should have been as if I had not been, carried from the womb to the grave
.”

Father Herzeim knelt down in front of her. He placed his breviary by his knee and laid a hand on Katharina's forehead. A blessing. “Job was a righteous and faithful man,” he said. “Yet he suffered – suffered horribly. He was not the author of his own suffering, Frau Rosen. Just as you are not the author of your suffering. Remember Job also said:
If we have received good things at the hand of God, why should we not receive evil
? Suffering is a mystery only God understands. But you must continue to have faith. And to insist on your innocence...no matter what they do.”

“I am innocent.” Eva looked away. “At least of witchcraft.”

Father Herzeim put a hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear with his thumb. His touch was warm, and she tried not to flinch away from the fragrance of soap. His dark eyes held hers, and Eva saw not only kindness and grief, but also despair at her despair. She realized, in that moment, that she could love this man, his gentleness and his strength. But it would be a sin. He was a priest, a man of God, not an ordinary man. Were there no bounds to her sinfulness?

“If I tell the truth, will God protect me?” she asked.

His hand dropped. “God protects the innocent – in his own way. But you must help. No matter what the commissioners do, you must give them no grounds to continue the torture.”