“Why don’t you be the first among us to confess your sins? We shall do it publicly, like lancing a boil before its poison can spread. Once our misdeeds—all of our misdeeds,” he added, glancing across his flock, “have been spoken and cleared, the healing process can begin.” He beamed, pleased at his phrasing. “I think even Dr. Ambrose would agree, that was a rather well-worded metaphor.”
At his seat, the doctor remained still, his face grave.
“Go on, Prudence,” the parson urged. “Confess.”
She blew a long breath through her lips. Her eyes were wide and pleading, darting about the tent for help or escape. As much as I didn’t care for her, I ached at her embarrassment. Before I was even aware of it, I stood.
“I’ll do it,” I volunteered with more confidence than I felt. “I’ll confess my sins.”
Briard’s eyebrows rose with surprise, but he released Prudence. She stumbled back to her seat, relieved by her temporary reprieve. Letitia Briard beamed with malicious anticipation as I made my way to the front. I felt Merry’s eyes on my back, but when I turned to face the town, I couldn’t see her within the stifling shadows.
“How should I begin?” I asked, pushing a damp lock of hair behind my ear. My head was light, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the heat or the enormity of what I was about to do. “Should I—should I kneel?”
The parson nodded darkly. “Yes. Kneel before God. Kneel before the Falls. Kneel before the weight of your sins.”
Slowly, keeping my eyes on the wash of faces before me, I sank to my knees. “I’m Ellerie Downing.” My voice quaked and sounded three pitches too high. “And I…I have come forward to confess…” I paused, racking my mind as unwelcome tears pricked, threatening to spill free. “To confess…”
I caught sight of Ephraim, leaning forward with concern. His anxious face strengthened my spine.
“I’ve come forward to confess that…the parson is wrong.”
Gasps of surprise flew across the tent.
“There are things in the woods. Twisted wolves and strange mutations, yes, but there’s also a group of…others. They’ve come to Amity Falls and have been…pitting us against one another. It’s a terrible, elaborate game to them. They—”
“Stop this. Stop this all right now,” a voice called out. Gran Fowler stood, shaking his head. “This girl hasn’t done anything to warrant a public confession. These theatrics are cruel and useless. Listen to her—she’s scared witless. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
I shook my head. “But I do, Mr. Fowler. Ephraim will tell you—”
“Ephraim?” Gran looked out over the crowd. “There’s no Ephraim here.”
“Ezra. My uncle—only he’s not. Not truly. He and Thomas are Fairhopes, not Downings.” I could hear myself not making sense. It was too hot to string together reasonable explanations.
Ephraim started to stand, but Matthias pulled him back into his seat, whispering furiously.
“They’re here to help. They’re here to stop the creatures.”
“Get up, Ellerie. The heat has you muddled.” Gran pulled me to my feet. “Get back to your sister. Get some water.”
Parson Briard tugged my elbow, casting me to the side of the tent. He looked like a wheel spun too fast, struggling to regain control of the situation. “I can’t believe my ears. Cruel and useless theatrics?”
Gran nodded.
“What has happened to you, Gran? You’ve always been one of my most faithful parishioners.”
“I have. But I can’t sit by and watch this play out. This isn’t the work of the Lord you’re doing here, Clemency. No one should compel another to air their sins. Contrition means nothing if it’s forced.”
The parson bristled. “You think yourself above confession?”
“Certainly not. I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but I pray to the Lord every night for grace, as he intended. I see no reason to parade it out before the town, when I know I’ve already been forgiven.”
“Forgiven by God perhaps, but not your neighbors.”
Everyone turned, trying to see who had called from the darkness of the tent. Someone stood, their silhouette crisp against the open flaps of the tent.
Gran squinted at him. “God’s mercy is all the forgiveness I need.”
Judd Abrams stepped forward, filling the aisle like a great barge coming down a channel to dock. With his closely shaved hair and smashed nose—broken years before in a fight at the Buhrmans’ tavern—he reminded me of one of Matthias Dodson’s anvils. His left cheek bulged with a wad of chewing tobacco pocketed within it.
“Ellerie, get out of here.” Gran nudged me, but there was no way to leave without passing Judd, and the fury radiating from him seemed too formidable to approach.
“You may have your forgiveness, but I still have a broken auger and no way to fix it. Think God will show some mercy on me?”
“The auger I borrowed last fall? I didn’t break that.”
“The bit had completely snapped off when I went to use it.”
Gran shook his head. “I cleaned every inch of it myself before returning it. I would have noticed any damage.”
“He’s lying!” Judd snapped. A vein in his temple throbbed, a rattlesnake about to strike. “In front of all of you—and the parson—he persists in his lies!”
I edged toward the side of the tent, pressing against a swag of canvas, and wished for a way to escape this brutal confrontation. Even though the words were not directed at me, I felt their force like a swift punch to the gut.
“Papa?” a voice called out, small and uncertain.
Judd whipped around as his youngest daughter rose on trembling legs, urged by her mother. “It…it was me. I broke the auger.”
“What?” he roared.
“We were…we were playing in the barn—I know you’ve told me not to, but…I bumped into some of your tools. They fell and then…” The girl made a motion of something breaking into two.
“That’s not possible. That auger weighs more than you. How could you possibly—”
“It just did,” the girl cried, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I was going to tell you, I swear I was, but she said how mad you’d get, how you’d beat me bloody. She said I should bury the broken part—make it look like it had always been like that.”