And the sun is setting low…Thank God I’m a country boy …(John Denver)…
So that it has been written, so let it be done… Those poor local cops, scratching their heads…the good folk of the town wanted more…more explanations, more dirty laundry now that Misfit Molly had left them a treasure trove of information…like everyone, end of day, wondered…had their names made it in the journals? Had she found out about the time…..??? You know what I mean….
The consensus was no one should be charged for a harmless hobby….well except the Judge who put away someone’s son, father, cousin nephew or friend on trumped-up charges….did not even keep him local but sent him off to a tough provincial prison where you are lucky to get out with your life…now that was a chargeable offense,
And what about the Organ Lady? Sometimes in life, especially if your country born and bred,( like for the last eight generations), you stumble upon deep, dark secrets which never should see the light of day… like the Organ Lady who righteously played the organ in the local ‘All ye who are sinners‘ church, must be going on forty years now… so high and mighty, if a farmer would cuss in front of her she would slay him with a haughty look and put him on her naughty list……telling anyone who would listen that he was uncouth, past redemption, Amen! Shoe was on the other foot now…
That being said, Misfit Molly had plenty to say about the Organ Lady in those volumes of journals….Seemed all these years, the Organ Lady had been stepping out, with a married man…with children. Like a Satellite, outside human command, Misfit Molly recorded all activities, benign or toxic and ‘Let the Good Lord Sort It Out.’ Let’s see the Organ Lady in Court for Perjury, pretending to be a Vestal Virgin (a stretch, but did she not break an adultery commandment?) Nah, it was decided that would be vindictive…she’ll have to face St. Peter at the Pearly Gates soon enough…now was a good time to start working on cleaning up her act.
From Morguefile.
Scrying in some form (like gossiping) had been going on in that area since Moses was a pup. Yet no money changed hands…and it is not like they killed people although sometimes they foresaw dark shadow gather over certain unfortunates. Darned if there was any criminal activity in a hobby that predicted such mundane things as a good crop one year and a bust the next.
That left the Judge to stand alone, much like the Cheese in the Farmer in the Dell. And so it was that a Grand Jury was convened by a recruited city-slicker (Gasp) Lady Prosecutor, with no skin in the game, so-to-speak, that had never stepped foot in the county or even the country side before.
There were many outstanding citizens (whose names so far had not surfaced in Misfit Molly’s journals) who volunteered their services to be part of the panel, just to hear the lurid details. They swore to decide, based on all evidence, if the Judge, a proud member of the Secret Society of Scryers had actually, in bad faith (or even better a bribe) and without the evidence to support the charge, locked up someone’s son, father, cousin nephew or friend, whether for personal (come election day) or monetary gain.
We got a Prosecutor (even if it is questionable since she was a Lady). Check. We got a Jury. Check. We got a questionable abuse of power. Check.
Let the games begin….
