One Big Mistake

Chapter 13: Ups and Downs

Where...in the hell...did this little thing come from?
Just like all of the men in this assembly, the mercenary found himself shocked and confused at the girl's strange nature. Scheisse, everything about her is strange! Somewhere in his dark and perverse mind, a niggling thought almost had him decide to just throw up his hands and give up.
Since he had met her he had tried to make sense of her, of who she was, what she had done, why she was here...and every time he tried to grab and tear off the flimsy disguise that she had used as protection, nothing enlightening came.
So...? He placed a hand over his mouth,his cool fingers rubbing his face thoughtfully. What we have here is a woman who couldn't be over 25, judging by her height, yet she still insists in acting like a brat of thirteen; She has skin as soft as a baby's, didn't know a bible when it stared at her in the face, let alone recite the formal oath. Her accent, he couldn't even place. Her hair, bizarre. And her face...

Suddenly a strange feeling seeped into him, pricking his insides like poisoned barb. He hadn't felt it in years. Just like her face; she was unique. An unseen rarity in these parts.
But oh Gott, he had seen it before.

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There was that awkward silence from that man again. But this time Jodi couldn't take it anymore. She wanted out, she wanted to end the suspicion and hostility that could very well be the hands that will kill her.
The hand she had placed behind her neck clenched into a fist, dropping to the side. There wasn't any hope anymore. Just desperation. She opened her mouth for only a couple of minutes and probably already ruined the chances she had.
“Can I start now?” She said, she hadn't intended for her words to come out snappish, but it happened.
The man's brow deepened over his nose. “What?”
Exasperated, Jodi shook her head and stepped closer to the crowd. A notable few of them quietened at seeing her move. Had she haven't been under threat, smacked around but cosy in some secure place, she would have noted cynically how her frustrated boldness were now quickly sapped out of her.
“That being said!” She bellowed; she had always been a mild-mannered person, so she didn't trust herself in resorting back to her normal tone of voice. “I would very much like to tell my own story, if---if that's no trouble to you people!”
“Oh, Good! She's going to spin us a tale!” Shouted someone in a mocking tone. The whole crowd seemed to frown and grunt knowingly. Right in front of her, Mme. Wimund was glaring at her with eyes that clearly spoke volumes. With a good effort, Jodi straightened her shoulders.

“I kinda noticed how you all must have thought of me as something that belonged the rebels,” She began, her hands at her sides began to twist and pull at the material of her dress. She can't look nervous, she vowed, she won't wring her hands before them.
“But have you gu--, have you all thought that I might not be, though? There is a war going on, I know that, but do you think that everything revolves around it?”
Quickly she shot her open palm before her, “Th-that's a rhetorical question, my lords and ladies. But my point is--”
“Get--ON with it!”
“Shut your mouth and sit down if you have nothing to say, you trollop!”
Jodi flinched at the sudden outbursts from the crowd, scattered that they are. They saw the chink in her armour, she realized. She couldn't handle crowds.
Realizing that she'll have to plough on, she said, “Muh-MY POINT IS, is that there are still people TRYING to live their lives as it was BEFORE the war came along! It's pretty hard—I mean difficult, for a farmer to abandon his harvest, pigs, whatever just because war happened.”
Jodi swallowed, there are still noises coming out of the crowd. Christ, she's taking on a preacher's approach and not in a good way.
I guess I'll have to just 'get on with it' then! She thought frantically.
“Th-this leads me to my identity, which I'll tell you.” She exclaimed, the phrase gradually worked like magic as soon as it fell on their ears. It didn't take long for the bitter-sweet silence to come in.“My name is Johanna Keese, which you all know already. I'm a daughter of a tenant farmer. What we produce, we depend on. We use it pay our rent, and we live on it. A-and you know that already. Unfortunately, my father, um, weakened by age and work, lost the control of his legs. He can't walk anymore.”
Slowly and loudly, Jodi recalled in her own words of Anna's knowledge in the current harvests, or the lack thereof. With a stiffened resolve, she made sure she made herself far from pitiful-looking; that would be a course a true rebel would find as an easier take. Instead, she acted like a mildly frustrated individual who has complained already, and knew that simply stating the facts is more than enough.
“...We're reduced to scavenging on the wilds so we could save our crops for the rent, and that was the reason why I was often in the woods, even though I only go at night, so I won't get noticed by the soldiers. But I got careless. I was looking for mushrooms in the roots of the trees when the rebels found me. I swear they were going to rape me if the corporal hadn't saved me.”
A few of the spectators gasped at her blunt words, but Jodi dived head-first into her next point.
“See?” She demanded, pointing at her grass-stained jeans on the ground. “ Check out the pockets! There's two at the front and back. See that there were even some at the bottoms? Perfect for slipping in anything like roots and stuff without having to carry them. The dirt around where the knees should be? Imagine what I often have to resort to, crawling around the soil and digging. I'll leave you to imagine what would happen if I came back empty-handed, and you'll see why!”
“Now just one minute!”
Lord Westmorland emerged from his seat once more, his tired, sallow face pinched inwards from anger.
“You have quite a eloquent mouth for a peasant, 'miss'! You still haven't given proof of your identity, as you called it, least of all the christian name of your father!”
“Michael.”
“What?” Westnorland cried, squinting up at her.
“My dad's—uh, he's my father, w-we call him dad. His name's Michael Hamish Keese.”
“Don't tell me he's a Scot...” He muttered.
“What? No way!” Jodi exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously. “Maybe he is, by some long-dead ancestor, but he's a good old man of the British.” She said promptly, knowing full well of the centuries-old, but still vivid, hostility between the two nations.
“Poppycock! With a second name such as that?!”
Jodi stared at the english noble, realizing for the first time what he was purposefully doing. He was jabbing at everything she ha said, preventing anyone from swallowing the story. If she loses her nerve, or her cool, then she's done for.
“Way-ell, I don't think he's named himself.” She said, crossing her arms, “Isn't it a custom to keep ancestors alive in memory by naming the next generation the same names?” She asked slowly. “What does that have to do with a man's loyalties anyway?”
Wesmorland responded with a slow, black-toothed grin. The sight was creepy to Jodi's eyes.
“How typical to call yourself white by naming your parents such common names.” He replied, his words drawn out just as slowly as her very own.
“How strange to see a girl with such pale skin, yet have the nose and mouth like a Negro, and...is that a yellow tinge upon that skin?” Westmorland asked, his face a mask of wonder. “How could a man with such a name produce a child of such features?” He said, almost to himself. The words were caught by those of the front row. She heard it grow to the rest through whispers, and felt her stomach tighten. Oh god, She thought, her mind spiraling in anxiety, How did he see it? Even though she had long lost her tan, making her sharper features from her father's side stand out more, he saw it. What's she supposed to do now? Either way they won't believe her. They'd shun her!
“Muh—m-my—I...” She stuttered, sweating.
“Miss Johanna Keese!” Westmorland snapped, “Have you been lying about your heritage under the oath?!”
Jodi's short ragged nails nipped at her skin as it ran restlessly over her hand, fingers twisting and pulling at each other, almost as if the anxiety has suddenly made them turn on to each other.
“MISS KEESE!”
“MY MOTHER'S LATINA YOU--” Jodi chomped down on her bottom lip before the insult got out, and she visibly trembled under the pressure. Lowering her gaze down on Westmorland, she glared at him with shaken malice.
“YOU HAPPY NOW?!” She snapped.
Much to her surprise, the man before was clearly struggling between confusion and victory. He stared at her with wide, hollowed eyes beneath a very furrowed brow.
“What the devil are you talking about?” He asked.
“I meant, “She said between gritted teeth, “That my mother, the woman who gave birth to me and my brothers, and is currently nursing my father and worrying where the hell I've b--”
“Just get to the point, miss Keese, thank you!” Snapped the man beside them.
“Where I've been.” Said Jodi regardless, “She is a latina. A mexican.”
“A MEXICAN?!” Westmorland echoed.
“Aye, from Mexico. It's down south, look it up.” Jodi drawled acidly.
“So you're telling me that a farmer has taken an indian bitch from that far a nation for a wife?!”
Jodi raised an eyebrow, keeping her lips shut this time. There were a million things she wanted to say, but one, they might disregard them, and two, most of them are for insulting him.
“Much to my shame, yes.” She said, “But my father isn't exactly a man of great honor, according to people like you.” She said more quietly.
“Come again?”
“My father is a spy, Lord Westmorland.” She declared, throwing her voice in the air loud enough for everyone to hear, “A retired one, I should say, but still did his duty.”
“I can't believe I'm hearing this!” Westmorland cried.
“Hey! You wanted to hear about my parents--”
“Shut it!” Westmorland shouted, “We have enough of your lies!” He turned around, stomping down from the scaffold. “I DECLARE THIS TRIAL OVER! This wench is a liar as she is half-colored!”
Jodi panicked, “Lord Westmorland!” She cried.
“I declare this web of lies she had created before us irrelevant to the case! She is clearly an enemy that must be dealt with!” Westmorland said, “ Why are we still sitting and wasting our time?! Have we not all more crucial things to do?”
“I AM THE ONE WHO ORGANIZED THIS TRIAL, AND NOT EVEN THE LIKES OF YOU, LORD WESTMORLAND, SHALL SPEAK OUT OF PLACE!”
The roar that answered him was made by none other than Mme. Wimund, rising white-faced from her seat like a banshee of vengeance.
“How DARE you take over this trial without my permission?!” She demanded, “ You're behaving like a tyrant, Commander! Shame on you and that tainted bloodline that is yours!”
“MY bloodline is not of your concern!” Westmorland shouted back, “ Can you not see--”
“The hypocrisy that you embody? Nay! I see it very well!”
She twisted back to the crowd, snapping open her fan and fanned herself vigorously.
“Is this what we have become?! We're acting like what the Americans have long accused us, forgetting what our forefathers had fought hard to preserve! Law and order! My great-great-great-great grandfather fought for the power of parliament! How terrible it would be if we slackened our hold of the rules and regulations our forefathers have made so England could function well.
This is why we are at war now, because the colonists, spoilt by the fair hand that is the King's, have thrown a tantrum over their duties, and are now demanding to withdraw from the mother country that made what is their precious society. Are we to let anarchy rule in front of us?! At the heart of the British Army?! NOT while I live!”
She closed her fan with a snap, using it to point at the minuscule commander that dared to speak against her.
“I let you question the girl, and find you leading the testimonies into your own favour, even taking decision of the verdict! Have your northern roots blinded you, made you ignorant of the procedures of courts?! It is the jury that decides, the men you see before you! After the testimonies were described by the accused and all witnesses present, the jury is to decide, and thus the case is resolved and finished. Were you trying to proclaim the role of the men here, the generals, the commanders, the sergeants, as obsolete?!”
She turned back to the crowd, nodding respectfully to them. “I request from all of you the continuation of the trial. Not only do I feel that we all deserve to understand the situation that we see before us, but also, as a woman, would detest to see a young girl be punished by the misunderstanding, and the wrong circumstances she was placed in.”
Finally closing her mouth, she opened her free hand. With a grace long ingrained within her, she waved it in the direction of the speaker with his bible, a gesture inviting him to come forwards.
Blinking, the man obliged.
“All those in favour, please raise your hands.” He exclaimed.
The crowd, most of them hesitatingly, all lifted their hands to the air. A faint grumbling came from the crowd, but it quickly vanished as Mme. Wimund drew her gaze from one side of the jury to the next, staring down at every face before her.

“General Keaton, may I have the responsibility in questioning this Johanna Keese?” Mme. Wimund asked smoothly.
Keaton hesitated, his fingers tightened over the thick bible that had been the possession of his own family.
“Of course, my lady.” he murmured, bowing his head.
With the swish of a silken hem, Mme. Wimund walked towards the scaffold, her head held high.