February 9, 1692 Dear Little Book, The trial is this morning - I can scarcely believe I have enough strength to leave this cell! I have not been permitted to have any more visitors - but through my small window, Father and Marrett managed to assure me that everything would be all right. I will write more later, Little Book. I am sure I shall know my fate by the end of the day. Later ..... Where shall I begin? I will begin by saying that I am writing this from the warmth of my own room, by the light of my small candle. The trial began terribly - with Martha to take the stand first. Even as people began to enter the room, she played her role well, as one of the 'afflicted.' Her eyes rolled back into her head and she looked faint, being supported by her mother. She opened her eyes and our eyes met, and she gave me a strange smile, which I recognized from the night she visited our family for dinner. This time, I knew what was behind the smile - it was a smile of pure malice, the smile of a young girl who had believed too much the strange stories of witchcraft that we told for sport. She knew very well I was not the cause of her affliction, but the act of accusation brought her attention and she thought nothing of taking others lives. After everyone had filed into court, a hush came over the room. Before Reverend Parris could even speak - father stood up to address the crowd. "Yes Mr. Harris?" He said. "Reverend, before we begin to try my innocent daughter - I have in my hand a letter from the Governor that states that intangible evidence can no longer be allowed in trials." Everyone looked on in amazement! "So," my Father continued," if this accuser, one Martha Abbott, cannot produce actual evidence that she is bewitched by my daughter, or anyone else for that matter, the accused must be set free." My heart leapt when I heard those words, and my mother began to sob with joy. Voices filled the room and Martha looked quite awake and aware all of a sudden. My father handed the letter to the Reverend. As he studied it, the room fell silent. We all waited for his words. I felt Martha's eyes on me, but I didn't look her way. We would never be friends again, but I did not feel loss. I felt only hope. Hope for my future, and the future of a town that had suffered enough loss, and could perhaps begin to look into the light of a new day. The reverend looked up from the letter and fixed his gaze on me. "Rebecca, you may step down and go home with your family," he said quietly. The crowd spoke in hushed tones, but I could tell by the tone of their whispers that the feeling overall was one of relief. Then the Reverend turned to Martha. He told her that she too, was free to go. "I do not expect to hear from you again," he said sternly. She did not look up, nor did she respond. She slipped silently away with her mother's arm around her. I promised myself that I would pray for her every night. So Little Book, I am home now, and hopeful that soon things will return to normal. And I will pray for us all, a town darkened by tragedy, but eager to come back into the light of normal life.