Winter 1844 – The Unrepentant Witness

The girl avoided all my attempts to look her in the eyes. She rolled her head and tugged her filthy braids. The idiot grin remained locked to her face.

Father looked at the swiftly falling snow. The storm was not yet a blizzard but it would be soon enough. “Take her inside,” he said. “This weather will cover her footprints within the half hour. Perhaps I can discover from where she has come before that occurs.”