They had come to her in the night, years ago and warned her, telling her the truth about her “grandfather.” Now they pointed, in the mirror, to Friedrich’s body, and the blood spilling everywhere. One of them made a gesture, placing cupped hands to her lips, and Mary knew what she was being told to do: Drink.So she drank.***Mary looked into the bathroom mirror and saw nothing. She marveled, running her hands over her face, feeling her features. Do I look different now, she thought? But she would never know.She went back to the bedroom. There was nothing left of the body on the floor but a stain on the carpet and a few old bones tangled up in a dressing down. She kicked them out of the way. She stripped her ruined, bloodstained clothes off and then went to her closet, but found nothing in there that appealed to her. She fingered the fabric of the pleated dresses, shaking her head. She went to the parlor instead.There she found the other body, crushed and withered. She sighed to see. Mary was the only farewell. She stood uncertainly in the familiar position, clearly dreading what the magistrate would announce. The galleries were packed again. Everybody wanted to see her. Most, surely, hoped for a birching so we’d see her naked one last time.“Mary Whittaker,” the magistrate intoned in the silence, “this, I hope, is your final time before us. You will be released from prison on Monday but it has been decided that you will receive one final flogging to remind you of the error of your ways. You have been before me on three separate occasions to be punished, yet I fear I have been too easy on you.” Too easy? This was suddenly very interesting indeed. “It is to my grave disappointment that I learn your attitude has shown no significant improvement over the past four weeks. If two dozen with the birch doesn’t get through to you them I’m afraid I have no option but to impose the most severe sanction.” In the silence I heard her whimper. Everybody seemed to sense what was.
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