TWENTY-NINE

Caitlyn watched through the branches from fifty yards away as townspeople followed a drummer and the local Elders across the bridge. The Elders wore silent grimness like cloaks, their bearded faces straining with the seriousness of their task, but their bold vestments gleamed in the sun. A young woman, not yet thirty, walked in front of the Elders on the far side of the drummer, and it took several minutes for Caitlyn to see her without obstruction. The woman was draped in a brown girdled blanket, her hands bound and hanging in front, and her recently shaven head bowed. The church herald, sweating heavily in a tasseled cassock often worn for these ceremonies, stepped in front of the men and children in the crowd. Caitlyn knew they were all headed for the pile of fist-sized jagged rocks piled like a cairn.

Above the beat of the drum, the herald called out a singsong proclamation of ritual, as if he served an audience of hundreds instead of only the population of a tiny town. Caitlyn strained to hear him, but after he repeated the proclamation, she picked out his words.

“Jaala Branigan, daughter of Michael Branigan, is going to be stoned because she has dishonored him and Bar Elohim through the act of rebellion. If anyone knows anything in favor of her acquittal, let him come and plead it.”

The herald stopped and the entire procession followed, with the children straining to peer around the larger bodies of the adults. The herald turned to face the woman with the shaved head.

“Make your confession,” he commanded her. Caitlyn knew a formal confession was required by Appalachian law, a practice the preachers said was based on Old Testament law.

She could see that the woman raised her head and looked at the herald. She had folded her bound hands together. From what Caitlyn could tell, she had the build of a laborer. Caitlyn imagined that any beauty Jaala had was in her eyes and wondered what lights glowed there now in the face of such terror.

“Make your confession,” the herald demanded again. While Caitlyn had never witnessed this type of execution, her father had taught her all about Bar Elohim’s rules and punishment. The woman was supposed to say, “May my death be an atonement for all my sins.”

Caitlyn watched as Jaala silently shook her shaved head.

Wanting guidance, the herald looked to the town Elders, who stood away from the crowd to his left.

“Let her die without peace then!” An Elder declared this to the crowd. He was the largest of the trio, with the face above his untrimmed beard flushed red.

He waved the townsmen to move forward and push the woman toward the pile of stones. They grabbed the woman’s arms and forced her forward. She shook them off and walked alone to her place of execution.

Caitlyn silently moved a branch to see Jaala. Now that the woman was close enough, she saw the tears trail from her eyes and her large hands clench and strain at the bounds of rope.

The Elders still had not taken any rocks from the nearby pile. Instead, two of them marched toward the woman. Wordlessly, they stripped the brown tunic from her body and left it at her feet. Because of the watching children, they allowed her undergarments to remain in place. The renewed humiliation appeared to lower her head once more.

The two Elders returned to the group. The first spoke loudly, facing another man in the crowd. “This is your daughter, Michael. You are bound to throw the first stone.”

This man, same square face as the woman, stood as if paralyzed.

The large spokesman Elder began reciting. “If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother…then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city…and all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die.”

“She will obey!” the anguished father said. “I promise! Give her another chance.”

Caitlyn thought she saw the Elder smile, as if waiting for this response from Michael. He turned to the young woman. “Jaala Branigan, will you give up your defiance? Will you stop serving the evil of the Clan?”

“Don’t call the Clan evil.”

“So you admit again that you are part of the Clan?”

“I have never denied it.” The unexpected sound of joy replaced the remnants of fear in her voice.

“Will you tell the authorities who led you to the Clan?”

She didn’t answer.

“Please, Jaala. Save your life.” The woman’s father sobbed now.

“And lose my soul?”

The large Elder was the first man to step to the pile of rocks. The other men followed and armed themselves.

At that moment, wind came up from the valley and kicked a cloud of dust over the bridge. Caitlyn thought she heard a branch crack and thought Billy might be shifting in his tree. Somewhere in the crowd, a voice wailed.

The group waited for Michael Branigan, her father. Caitlyn knew the stoning could not begin until he threw first, but he remained stone-still in place. Men returned to drag him forward. The spokesman Elder forced a rock into Branigan’s hand.

He dropped it at his feet, weeping.

“As required by law, the first stone has been cast.” The Elder hefted his own rock, only a few paces away from the young woman.

“No!” she cried. “Allow me to speak.”

The men hesitated.

With both bound hands, she raised her arms above her head. “Since childhood, like you, I was told to serve the church. But I learned that God is different than the church.”

The Elder spoke. “You had your chance. You have no say.”

She ignored him and yelled to the crowd. “The church is a prison!”

“Enough!” The Elder hurled his rock, and it struck her upper arm, gashing a streak of bright red.

Caitlyn saw the woman’s father fall to his knees and bury his head beneath his arms.

“We must be free to believe.” Jaala continued her shouting as the stones were hurled. “God’s love is not a prison.”

“You blaspheme, woman! God has commanded us to purge this evil from the people,” the Elder shouted. He lifted another rock and threw it. The woman chose not to duck; she stood very still, and Caitlyn thought her lips were moving as the stone hit her cheekbone, knocking her to her knees.

As all the other men threw rocks, Caitlyn turned away.

On the road, the body was still beneath a pile of stones.

The crowd was gone, and Caitlyn put an arm around Theo’s narrow shoulders. She felt how he shook with sobs, fighting to keep them silent.

“Don’t…” He could hardly speak.

“What?”

“No…matter…what…”

“What are you trying to say, Theo?”

“Don’t…take…me…to…a…doctor.” His shaking was rapidly becoming more than silent sobs.

“Theo?”

“The stoning. That’s how my parents died. I had to throw the first rock. I’d…rather…be…dead…than…go…back.”

He fell against her shoulder. She saw his eyes roll back into his head.

Caitlyn gently took his chin in her hand. “Theo! Wake up!”

No response.