When the Black Roses Grow by Angela Christina Archer Page B

deafened my ears.
    My eyes glanced between the men. I held my breath as I gazed into each of their eyes a few seconds before moving onto the next. What did they wish to know? And, how honest should my answers be to their questions?
    “Miss Hawthorne?” Sheriff Corwin pressed again.
    “Yes.” I shook my distracting thoughts away. “My apologies, I . . . yes, certainly, what can I do for you gentlemen today?”
    “Mrs. Pruett,” Reverend Perris interrupted. “An individual informed me that you convened with a peddler along the traveling road several days ago. Why did you meet him? How do you know him? And, did anyone else cross thy path?”
    My teeth grit together. “Call me Miss Hawthorne, please, as I said I am widowed.”
    Sheriff Corwin gave the reverend a swift, hard glance, clearly irritated for, yet, another interruption. “We apologize for troubling you this afternoon, Miss Hawthorne, however, we hath been advised of a few . . . disturbances . . . around the village, and we were wondering if we might ask you a few questions?”
    I nodded. “Certainly, you may.”
    “Did you encounter a strange peddler a few days ago?”
    “I met with a man to trade his cow for my goats. He seemed kind, though he did offer . . .” Confusion of how to explain the situation without painting the old man wrongly plagued me.
    “Mr. DeKane informed us he happened upon the two of you embroiled in an argument.” Deacon Pruett finally spoke, his Bible tucked under his arm. “He mentioned the man retreated as soon as he intervened.”
    “I believe the peddler was simply confused regarding the value of the goats. However, he decided the trade suited him and went along on his way. I never knew his name, and I do not know where he lives. The cow is in her pen, do you wish to see her?”
    “No, no. Thank you,” Sheriff Corwin nodded.
    “Did you see anyone else on the traveling road?” Reverend Perris fidgeted, his hands gestured toward the road and exaggerated his bold tone. “Anyone at all who was out for a stroll along the road?”
    I stared into his brown eyes. The crinkle in his forehead deepened with his furrowed brow. Lord, how I despise this man that stood on my porch.
    “Miss Hawthorne?” Sheriff Corwin stepped forward. “Did you see anyone else?”
    The image of a tall dark haired man and a young white blonde girl flashed in my memory. Instinct whispered in my ear and told me to lie. Why, I did not know. What did I care for the strangers, or if anything happened to them? Certainly, nameless faces who mattered very little.
    However, the man could hath done me harm, and yet, he did not. In protecting the young girl, perhaps his daughter, he fled away from me and protected me as well. Although considering he actually desired to protect me proved a foolish notion more than not, however, such was still a favor a part of me desired to show in return.
    “No.” I lied—my decision perhaps made in haste, but I did not care.
    “To lie is a sin against God.” Reverend Perris lunged forward and pointed his finger at my face.
    “I do not lie.”
    “I can see it in thy eyes and in thy hesitation. The Devil whispers on thy shoulder. God does not show favor to one who lies to another.”
    “And, what of thy lies against my mother?”
    “She was a witch.” His fingertip jabbed into my collar bone with a strength that forced me to take a step back to keep my balance.
    I retreated a few more steps, and the reverend further advanced toward me—an equal glare of loathing flashed through his eyes. I proved nothing more than a thorn in his side that he needed to remove.
    Sheriff Corwin intervened, and gently patted the reverend on his shoulders. “Why do you not give me and Miss Hawthorne a moment alone?”
    “I will not allow this woman to rudely question my loyalties to God and His work or to question me.”
    “Reverend, please give me a moment with Miss Hawthorne.”
    Before consenting to the sheriff’s request, he shoved