One Big Mistake

Chapter 12: In Morning Light part 3

“Ah, I see Mme. Wimund has decided to attend.”
Westmorland spat the name out with vehemence, then sipped from his glass, a swirling mess of chocolate and wine. Rubbing his lips to savor it, he glanced sideways to see Christoph of Swabia, who had decided to sit with him for today's trial.
“You don't think that woman is going to speak for her defence,do you?” He asked thoughtfully.
“Hm?!” Christoph jumped in his seat. The English lord's face scrunched up in exasperation.
“Sorry my lord, I was rather distracted,” Christoph exclaimed, hiding his smile with the back of a delicate hand. His grin wavered as he continued to stare ahead, towards the scaffold-like area before them.
“My lord.” He said, as he leant closer to help in speaking clearly over the din. “Doesn't that girl look like a mulatto to you at all?” He asked.
Westmorland hardly gave a glance before barking a mirthless laugh, “Negroes are thus called for a reason, old chum!”
Christoph chortled uneasily, “Well, I don't have my slave to help me see past the distance, after all. Although you can't disagree, she doesn't look very white, doesn't she?”
Westmorland sighed, “Your distance away from society has taken a toll on you. Back in London not all of them are like the inbred peasants you get in that country of yours. The cockney mix and breed with almost anyone that steps into our borders; so I've rutted with a fair number of her like.”
Christoph's face turned bright red; for a brief moment, his thin face creased with distaste, but he quickly hid it with the ease of a man used to hiding his true opinions through sycophancy.
“Very interesting.” He said bemusedly, “I'd like to know the kind of women in your society. It is so tiresome to live in such secluded areas in such a bleak country like mine.”
Westmorland tried to hide the smirk that was threatening to appear on his face. He had always enjoyed the subject they were coming into. But the fact that they were on trial, and that he now had to depend on his eloquence, was like a great weight threatening to crush him. Scowling, he pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed it viciously about his face, checking for any stains.
“That is what you get for being German.” He spat, “You people have no idea how to hold anything together to stay as a country—but let us not dwell on this, if you don't mind, I have a testimony to prepare.”
“My Lord!”
Westmorland was already snapping his fingers for his errand-boy; he didn't look back to snarl a reply.
“Leave me be! You know well enough how crucial this is.”
“But--”
“NO.” Westmorland snapped, “Go bother some other man! Or a wench if you're desperate!”
“It's not that!” The baron sputtered, “It's Mme. Wimund! She has left the girl to her own devices!”
Westmorland immediately sobered and sat up, noticing for the first time that for once, the so-called Johanna was alone before the crowd. The realization barely sunk in before a sly smirk curled his mouth.
“Huh.” He said, he leaned backwards to his chair, laying his interlaced fingers over his rounded stomach. “This is odd. I didn't think she would dare do such a thing.” He said. His voice sounded oddly smug.
“My lord?” The baron was staring at him now.
“It's all right.” Said Westmorland, shrugging, “the girl wouldn't go anywhere. I've made sure of it.”
***************************************************


The Hessian strode past the trees, heading towards the clearing where the so-called trial was to be held. Glancing at his right and left, he spotted the soldiers at their assigned positions; some lying low upon the ground, others peeking behind the green foliage. They hadn't bothered to lay aside their bright jackets to better camouflage themselves, and the glint from their pistols would have given them away.
He shook his head, he supposed they weren't supposed to hide well in the first place anyway. Should the wench flee, she'd do so like a frightened animal, running blind to all the subtle dangers around her. There would be no chances of mercy for her.
Yawning, the Hessian brushed away a branch that was in his way, using the same hand to shield his eyes as he stepped out of the trees. He grimaced as the heat of the sun suddenly hit him with full force, and marched on with determination. He'd do whatever he can to get out of this in a short amount of time.
But how?
He mulled on this matter as he allowed himself further out, squinting at the morning brightness around him. The assembly were now settling themselves, shouting and calling out to one another into their own positions. Unless the lords were in a fitting mood, it might be a long while until they were well prepared for the start of the trial.
Verflucht...
He let down his arm. Blinking, he looked over to the lone figure that was standing more closely before him and did a double-take.
The mercenary stared at the girl with wide eyes, shocked at her appearance. But it had nothing to do with her being bedecked with a more standard attire, making her more obviously feminine in turn.
Her skin was far different than that he had seen, and he had seen a lot more than a common serf would if he had lived through a hundred years. Her skin was smooth, completely untouched by any blemish or dirt, not even a single indication of the pox. Her skin seemed to be struggling in deciding to become either white or pale yellow, but it still shone brightly past the dark green fabric. Her hair, although an unremarkable color of brown, looked like she had recently washed it—vigorously. Perhaps with the strongest kind of soap that could put it into such an uncontrollable-looking frizz. He also noticed how her hair was arrayed in an impressive collection of pins as an attempt to make her pretty little head normal; truly, he never knew how many a woman could own. Tracing his gaze over its pattern, it was then, did he realize that her hair had been deliberately cut and shaped in a way that was not proper for a lady, or anyone.

So sure...for a moment he had been so sure that she was simply an oddball or a village idiot from some nearby hamlet. Of course, he knew her speech was as odd as her appearance, but somehow he couldn't imagine that in a cultural sense that she was neither American or English. If this was true, then there was a lot more which he didn't know about the New World.
If he could just see her face, then he will be able to see the kind of race in which she descended from.

“ORDER NOW! ORDER!”
He watched as the obviously flustered wench fidgeted with the loose lock of hair that hung awkwardly behind her ear, herself staring at the crowd with apprehension as the lords finally began to quieten, the barking orders of General what's-his-face becoming louder and more prominent.
Not a time was wasted as the trial began to move forward.
“Gentlemen! We're gathered here today to think and judge upon a CRUCIAL matter!” Bellowed the general, who had put apparently put himself with the responsibility to controlling the present procedures. The Hessian had seen him before, but having never met him he couldn't place a name on him. Nevertheless, he saw that he clearly had a formidable talent to shaking the crowd to his will by mere voice alone. He continued to watch as the general spoke in front of his peers.
“...Just yesterday we had received news from our spies that the peasants were becoming more and more desperate in their throes against us! As you all know, some are even making their own cannons! How long will it take until they finally bow to the natural order? All we can do now is bide our time until they finally buckle and fall under our forces, and we must not let them any chances whatsoever! But now, we are gathered to judge this mere woman, who is most likely crucial for every recent happening that we have been forgoing these past few weeks!”
He stabbed a finger at the girl, still facing the crowd before him.
“This girl has arrived to our camp last evening, discovered in the company of rebels! Today is the day when we will look at the evidence,decide whether or not she is one of them, and decide what we should do with her.”
The introduction was over, but the breathless man barely paused before saying, “First, we shall hear the testimony of Commander Westmorland, lord of Westmorland, Durham, and Kendall; you may begin.”

Murmurings were reawakened within the crowd as the general shifted to one side; and Jodi scanned the crowds for the familiar figure of the man that would most likely want her dead. She finally saw him when, in front of a couple of servants, carrying along with them a couple of chests, did he quickly brought himself before his peers, waving a piece of paper in his ink-stained hands.

“It was I who first saw to it for this Johanna Keese to be questioned, when that hessian had brought her upon arrival.” He declared, “This parchment here is a formal account of the events of her arrival, in the words of the hessian himself. Although I did not have the time to approach Ms. Keese for her side of the tale,” He paused intentionally to glance at the front, where Mme. Wimund sat, coolly listening, “this confession still proves invaluable, nonetheless!” He continued, “The document simply states that she was caught with a group of American rebels in the Western Woods, most of them present in the skirmish from yestereve. A fight was ensued between the rebels and our mercenary, resulting in the necessary killing of the men. The mercenary told me that it was precisely that moment did this young woman take flight, and he was forced to chase after her...”
Jodi fought the scowl that threatened to twist her mouth. Listening to Lord Westmorland's take on the events, she felt a growing sense of outrage in her. He was even using suggestive words, the fat bastard, and this will make making her own story more difficult. Inevitably, by blackening the rep of the rebel boys, it will make the crowd more inclined to go for his side.
She listened along with the others with the rest of his speech. The servants were there to show off the contents of one of the chests, which turned out to be her clothes. Jodi wasn't surprised; his next tactic was to alienate her from the role of a normal young innocent, who had nothing to do with the war.
The nervousness was making her feel queasy. Taking a deep breath, she prayed that her go won't be immediately as Westmorland paid his thanks to the audience, and left to take his seat.

The same man that had spoken earlier didn't move from his position, but merely nodded. “Very well. Mme. Wimund? Could you share your viewpoint in this?”
“Of course, my lord.” Mme. Wimund said, airing herself with an ornate fan. The sun was slowly reaching to the middle of the sky.
Wait a minute, Jodi thought, Shouldn't the horseman go next? She wasn't even there when he got me here...speaking of which...
Her eyes darted at the crowd, Where is he?
Maybe they decided that he shouldn't attend; Westmorland seemed the type to twist a story and then bury the damning evidence, and since he probably only had a few hours to prepare, he probably dismissed the soldier in this case. But...isn't he on Westmorland's side?
Jodi knew she had to watch Mme. Wimund with a keen ear, but the fact that the horseman was missing made her feel more uneasy. As the woman made her appearance before the assembly, she took a look around, and found that he had been standing. Right. Behind. Her.
She quickly turned her head back to the front. Christ! She thought, When did he sneaked up here?

The Hessian let out a frustrated snort; he had been so close! He was being attentive towards the trial before him, and by a mere whim, did he look towards the girl once more, only to see the blur of her dark hair as she looked away. Verdammt! Why did she have to be so damn elusive?!
Scowling, he crossed his arms over his plain-clothed chest. Soon she will look back again, and by then he will find another piece for the puzzle that is her. His mind attempted to remember what she had looked like the night before. But the time had been overcast in darkness, and after seeing her today, all of his preconceptions were shattered into pieces. Whatever had been stored within his mind were probably irrelevant by now. But he will bide his time, he decided, and he will see her as she truly was.

Jodi wasn't sure what to even make of Mme. Wimund's speech. As the older woman spoke straight-forwardly to the men before her, talking of her experience with Jodi under her roof, even though she spoke empty-handed, and without anyone else for back-up.
Apparently Mme. Wimund worked to show that Jodi couldn't possibly be an active rebel; and if she wasn't an innocent girl caught by the horseman in the wrong place and the wrong time, she was probably a clueless, or brainless, as Mme. Wimund had probably meant, confidante. Jodi did her best to look imploringly to any of those that had happened to be glancing her way, which was difficult since most of them had probably already seen her at her worst last night.
Seeing the departing back of her defence, Jodi turned to glance at the horseman, expecting the main speaker to call his name up front. Her brow furrowed at the strange, almost bewildered expression on his face. This is not good, she thought, it's bad enough being unable to act normal to them, but when you're in a situation when a lot of people look at you as if you're a freak?
“Miss Johanna Keese?!”
“Huh?” Jodi jumped at that voice.
“What do you think of these testimonies, Miss Johanna Keese?” Demanded the first speaker.
Jodi licked her lips nervously, here it goes... “They're just theories, m'lord!” She blurted out.
The statement caused an eruption of voices from the crowd. Even the speaker reacted visibly the moment she had opened her mouth.
“...What?” Exclaimed the older man, his eyes wide with bewilderment.
“I—I mean,” She stammered, she touched her forehead and sighed. She can't botch this, this is it for God's sakes!
“What I meant to say...” She said, speaking slowly as to make a clear point to those men, “Is that it seems that I should...uh, explain...explain myself for what I was doing in the woods, and with the rebels. What Lord Westmorland and Mme.Wimund gave are their---wait, what they THINK has happened!”
Grinning at her progress, she stared expectantly at the man who questioned her. Her smile faltered as the sight of his disturbed expression sunk in, and that the audience were no longer watching quietly as a patient audience.
“So you are willing to confess?” He finally said.
“Well, YES.”
“Then come closer to the audience.” He ushered. Jodi felt awkward at the notion of being led forwards by a stranger with his arm wrapped around her waist, but present circumstances disallowed the thought to be even dwelt on. Tilting her chin, she took another sip of the air, but then faltered when the man shoved a leather-bound book in front of her.
“Would you kindly state the oath, miss?” He asked, waving it before her face.
Jodi took the book gingerly in her hands, taken aback and confused of her role. Since the cover's surface was completely unmarked, she took a peek inside, but found a whole mess of signatures where the title should have been.
What the hell's this?She wondered, And what am I supposed to do with it?
The book was heavy, and resting it on the crook of an arm, she ingratiated herself by opening it fully and tossed the pages aside, until she finally found the book's true identity.
It was the holy bible, a King James' edition. She heard the man clear his throat, and knew that she must be making a total mockery of the ritual already. Somehow the fact didn't embarrass her at all.
Closing the book, she balanced it on her left hand, and cleared her throat. Raising her right in a mimicry to a boy scout salute, she stated what she knew was an incorrect attempt.

“I SWEAR”, she declared, “ON THIS BIBLE, THAT I WILL NOT ,TELL A LIE.”

Why do I feel like George Washington all of a sudden? A crazy part of her mind said all of a sudden.
“IN THIS COURT,” She continued, “AND...Err...outside of—OUTSIDE OF COURT!”
OH GOD why do I even let my mouth flap on?
She knew her face went beet-red as she handed the book back, nearly tossing it into the man's hands, being too busy being mortified that she had made the most retarded finish for the oath than thinking about common courtesy.
No sir, she will NOT get out of this scot-free.