“He-he gave the services at our church. And he came out to visit Mama and Dada sometimes.”

“And what did he do when he came out to visit?”

“He’d come to dinner,” Clara answered. “And sometimes he’d go for walks with Mama. Dada didn’t like to go. He said the air was bad for him.”

“Did your mama ever take you or the boys along?”

Clara shook her head. “She said it wasn’t our place.”

Mr. Picton reached into the box to touch the girl’s left arm, looking very relieved. “Thank you, Clara,” he said. Then he added, not caring whether it was loud enough for anybody else to hear him, “You’ve been a very brave young lady.” Turning to walk back to his table, Mr. Picton then stood and looked at the judge and the jury. “The state has no more questions for this witness, Your Honor.” He sat down, leaving Clara exposed to the full power of her mother’s eyes.

Libby had reacted to her daughter’s testimony very much the way that the Doctor had predicted she would: first she’d tried quiet tears and hand-wringing, then she’d bobbed her head around, trying to get Clara to look at her. Then, when Mr. Picton stepped in to make sure Clara couldn’t see her, the tears and head bobbing had stopped, and she’d settled into still silence, while her eyes filled again with that cold, hateful glare.

But had the jury been able to see that? Or was it only the few of us what knew her full history who’d been able to read Libby’s face?

Looking terribly alone without Mr. Picton nearby, Clara turned her eyes downward once more, and started moving her lips silently. Seeing the near desperation on the girl’s face, the judge leaned over toward her. “Clara?” he said. “Are you able to go on now?”

With a start Clara looked up at him. “Go on?” she asked softly.

“The defense must question you now,” the judge answered, with just about the only smile I ever saw him exhibit during the trial.

“Oh,” Clara answered, like maybe she’d forgotten. “Yes. I can go on, sir.”

The judge sat back, looking to the defense table. “All right, Mr. Darrow.”

During the whole of Mr. Picton’s examination of Clara, Mr. Darrow’s hands’d been folded in front of his face, so that it’d been pretty tough to tell what he was thinking or how he was reacting. But when he stood up for his cross-examination, all the deep worry and occasional outrage what we’d seen him exhibit to this point seemed gone, and his features became open and relaxed in a way what Clara pretty obviously considered a relief.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow said, gently smiling and moving toward the witness box. But he moved at an angle what made it impossible for Clara to get any more looks at the Doctor: life is never more tit-for-tat than when you’re in a courtroom. “Hello, Clara,” he said as he got closer to her. “I know this isn’t easy, so I’m going to try to get you out of here as soon as I can.” Clara just dropped her eyes as an answer. “Clara, you say the next thing you remember is waking up in your house, is that right?” At another nod from the girl, Mr. Darrow went on, “But I don’t guess you thought you’d had a bad dream, did you?”

“No,” Clara answered. “I was-hurt…”

“Yes,” Mr. Darrow said, fairly oozing sympathy. “You were hurt pretty bad. And you’d been asleep for a long time, did you know that?”

“They told me later-the doctors did.”

“A long sleep can make people confused sometimes. I know if I sleep too long, I sometimes don’t even know where I am or how I got there, when I wake up.”

“I knew where I was,” Clara said, softly but firmly. “I was at home.”

“Good girl,” the Doctor whispered, craning his neck in an effort to get a look at her but not wanting to be obvious about it.

“Of course you were,” Mr. Darrow said. “But did you know everything else? I mean, as soon as you woke up, did you remember everything else?”

As if she couldn’t help herself, Clara again glanced over at her mother, who had her hands folded on the defense table like she was pleading for something, while her eyes’d filled with tears. Seeing this, Clara bobbed her head back down like she’d been jerked with a rope, and said, “I remember Mama screaming. And crying. She said that Matthew and Tommy were dead. I didn’t understand. I tried to get up and ask her, but the Doctor gave me some medicine. I went back to sleep.”

“And when you woke up the second time?”

“Mama was next to my bed. With the doctors.”

“Did your mama tell you anything?”

“She said that we’d all been attacked-by a man. A crazy man. She said he’d killed Matthew and Tommy.” Tears now slowly streaming down her face again, Clara added, “I started to cry. I wanted to see my brothers, but Mama said-I couldn’t ever. Ever again…”

“I see,” Mr. Darrow told her. Then he pulled a handkerchief-one what was a lot neater than the clothes it’d been concealed in-out of his breast pocket. “Would you like to use this?” Clara took the white piece of linen and wiped her face. “Clara, how long after that did your mama go away?”

“Soon. I think. I don’t know, not for sure.”

“But was she with you all that time before she left?”

Clara nodded. “Her and Louisa-our housekeeper. The doctors, sometimes, too. And Mr. Picton visited.”

“I’m sure he did,” Mr. Darrow said, looking over at the jury. “And what did your mama tell you before she went away?”

Stealing another look at Libby, Clara answered, “That she had to go find us a new place to live. So we didn’t have to live in that house. It was too sad, she said-Dada was dead, and Tommy and Matthew, too. She told me she’d find a new place, and come back to take me away when she did.”

“And did you believe her?”

“Yes.”

“Did you usually believe your mama?”

“Yes. Except-”

“Except-?”

“Except when she got mad sometimes. Then, sometimes, she would say things that-I didn’t believe her. I don’t think she meant them, though.”

“I see,” Mr. Darrow said, turning his body away from her without moving from his spot on the floor. “So-the last things you now remember about that night on the Charlton road are your mama touching you with a gun, then pulling the trigger-and after that there was a loud noise?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t remember it when you woke up?” Clara shook her head. “And you can’t remember anything about what happened to Tommy and Matthew?”

“I didn’t-I didn’t see-what happened.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“And so your mama went away, and you went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Weston-is that right?” Clara nodded. “And did you remember anything about what happened that night during the time you lived with them?”

“Not-” Here Clara worked very hard, pretty obviously to remember something. “Not so’s I could talk about it. Or show it. Only so’s I could see it. In my head.”

Mr. Darrow spun quickly to the girl, causing her to start a bit and try, without success, to look at the Doctor. “That’s quite a mouthful, for a little girl. Not so’s you could talk about it or show it, but so’s you could see it in your head. You think of that all by yourself?”

Clara looked down quickly. “It’s the way it was.”

“Did you think of that all by yourself, Clara?” Mr. Darrow repeated. Then, without waiting for an answer, he moved in closer. “Or isn’t it in fact true that Dr. Kreizler led you to see it that way, and told you to use those words when it came time to tell the story in court?”

Mr. Picton was out of his chair like the seat was lined with hot coals. “Your Honor, the state protests! We asked for special treatment of this witness, and what do we get? Leading and badgering!”

Before the judge could answer, Mr. Darrow was holding up a hand. “I will withdraw the question, Your Honor, and try to make my questions more palatable to the state.” Again smiling at the witness, Mr. Darrow asked, “Clara, when did you first start to remember what happened that night? I mean, remember it so that you could talk aboutit?”