Chapter 4: The Poisoner’s Face

I woke the next morning in a narrow bed at Aunt Martha’s cottage. The sun streamed weakly through the lace curtains.

A crackle of static filled the air from the old radio on Martha’s kitchen counter. Then, a stern voice announced a paid message from the New Canaan Covenant council.

Ezekiel’s voice, amplified and distorted, followed. He spoke of spiritual corruption, of a greedy widow who had betrayed her husband’s memory for worldly wealth. My name hung heavy in the air.

“They’re calling you a husband-poisoner, Hannah,” Martha said, walking into the small living room with a cup of herbal tea. Her face was grim.

I stood, moving to the window. Across Lancaster County, bright red flyers dotted the roadside, stapled to utility poles and mailboxes. A grainy, fifteen-year-old mugshot from a minor trespass arrest stared back at me. My face.

“Ezekiel works fast,” I whispered, the paper image a cold shock.

A moment later, the rumble of a vehicle on the gravel driveway caught our attention. Two local sheriff’s deputies climbed out of a patrol car.

“Looks like he’s escalating,” Martha observed, her grip tightening on her teacup.

The deputies approached the porch. One of them, a younger man with a neatly trimmed beard, spoke.

“Afternoon, ma’am. We’ve received multiple formal complaints from Elder Gable, alleging commune assets were stolen.” He glanced pointedly at me.

Martha stepped onto the porch, her small frame radiating a surprising authority. “Stolen, you say?”

She disappeared inside for a moment, then returned with a crisp, official-looking document. She unfolded it carefully, revealing a 1994 property deed.

“This is my land,” she stated, her voice clear. “And that young woman is my guest.”

She then produced a handful of Mother Abigail’s handwritten banking notes from her apron pocket. The deputies exchanged uneasy glances.

“Perhaps,” Martha continued, pointing a gnarled finger at the notes, “Elder Gable should explain *these* before making wild accusations. Seems there’s more than just ‘stolen assets’ at play here.”

The younger deputy picked at his uniform collar. “We’ll… we’ll just advise him to keep the peace, ma’am.”

They retreated to their cruiser, leaving a cloud of dust behind them. Martha watched them go, then turned back to me.

“That was just the beginning, Hannah,” she said. “Ezekiel won’t stop with a few flyers.”