The witness's turn

An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

Miriam had been seated beneath the courthouse clock for twenty minutes, though its minute hand seemed nailed in place. Through the closed oak door came the murmur of the court. Occasionally, a voice sharpened into a question and then vanished again. She pinched the frayed edge of her glove between two fingers, winding the loose thread tighter and tighter.

The clerk appeared. "Another moment, Miss Bell," he said, before shutting the door with a decisive click. At the far end of the corridor, sunlight lay across the steps leading down to the street. Miriam counted the panes in the tall window beside her, lost her place and began again.

At last, the latch lifted. "Miss Bell." The corridor seemed suddenly too narrow. She rose, and the chair legs cried out across the tiles. When the door opened, the courtroom fell quiet before she had even crossed the threshold.