Sadie on the head, then guided the three to their chairs with the other witnesses. Sheriff Curtis unlocked the iron door and went back in the jail. He returned with Virginia Christian. She stood, the sheriff holding an arm, by the door.
“Hello, Virgie,” the little girl called from her chair.
The black girl smiled faintly and lowered her eyes.
Dr. Vanderslice beckoned the jurors, who took their seats behind the table. He immediately seated himself with them.
“Coroner’s inquest, Virginia, County of Elizabeth City, here continued. I now call Miss Harriet Belote,” he said.
When the girl stood, she wavered, and her older sister reached for her hand and held it a moment. The girl’s black hair hung in a long braid down her back. Pace leaned forward. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the new wood in the fire and the wind sighing in the flue. The girl stepped forward and sat in the chair, erect, not touching the chair back.
“Harriet Belote, you told me you went to school yesterday?” Dr. Vanderslice asked.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“About what time did you leave home for school?”
“About a quarter after eight.”
“Was everything all right when you left for school?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Cahill, who boards at your house, had he gone to work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you returned from school, was everything all right?”
“Everything was quiet. My little sister was out playing. I thought my mother was out.”
She sat perfectly still, her back to us. Her voice was calm and musical, like the middle range of a piano. Dr. Vanderslice and the jurors never took their eyes from her face.
“Did you see anything unusual when you went in the kitchen yesterday?” Dr. Vanderslice asked.
“I noticed the bloody water in the basin.”
“When you saw the bloody water what did you do, did you go in the room?”
“I looked at it and then started in the front room to get my lessons and something told me not to go into the room; I saw my mother’s hair and combs lying on the floor, and I called my sister.”
“Did you see any blood on the floor?”
“I saw two little splotches; I did not go into the room where it was.”
“Why didn’t you go into the room?”
“My heart just failed me, that’s all.”
“Where did you go then?”
“I ran out and called the Warriner and Richardson boys and told them to go in there.”
“What did they do?”
“They went in there and saw the blood and they were frightened too, and they went down to the depot and called two men.”
“What two men did they call?”
“Gus Stewart and another man. They work at the depot.”
“You stated that your mother was all right when you left home that morning. Had your mother had any difficulty of any character, or any kind, at any time?”
“I know about the skirt.”
“Well, what about that?”
“Sunday a week ago when my mother was getting ready to go over to my married sister’s in Newport News, she missed her best black skirt.”
“Had you missed any sort of articles before?”
“A gold cross and chain of mine, but I got that back, and another time a ring that was missing and she looked around and found it behind some things. And Momma missed a light apron and my little sister missed her gloves, and once a locket. Momma did not say anything about these but she said that she could not afford to lose a skirt.”
“And Virgie once quit washing for your mother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did your mother discharge her when she quit washing that time?”
“No, sir, she didn’t discharge her. She stopped on her own accord, she said her mother was paralyzed, and she said she could not wash any longer.”
“You always found her amicable, and of a pleasant disposition?”
“Yes, sir, she seemed to be pleasant; we did not miss anything the first time she washed for us, not a thing.”
“Thank you, Miss Harriet; I have no further questions for you.”
She stood and faced us, pale and rigid. I heard Pace breathe next to me and realized I had been holding my breath, too. She glanced quickly at Virginia Christian and sat down.
“I now call Miss Sadie Belote,” Dr. Vanderslice said.
The girl popped from her chair like a jack-in-the-box and stepped lightly toward the table. Dr. Vanderslice chuckled and gestured toward the chair. She sat, looked once over her shoulder at the small woman, her sister, who nodded, and then back at the coroner.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Eight years old.”
“You know how to tell the truth, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you know what will happen if you don’t tell it?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl said, nodding solemnly. “Momma will tan my hide.”
Dr. Vanderslice touched his moustache, hiding his reaction. A juror smiled, remembered himself, and coughed into his hand.
“And you will tell me the truth about everything I ask you, won’t you?” Dr. Vanderslice asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who is your mother?”
“Mrs. Belote.”
“Mrs. Ida Belote?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Harriet Belote is your sister?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you go to school yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“About what time did you get out of school?”
“A
