Anna started at the pounding on her door.  She brushed the flour off of her hands and as she walked to the door, she wiped them on her apron.  Tucking a stray wisp of long blond hair back into her kerchief, she tried to smooth the thin linsey-woolsey of her ankle length skirt.

She opened the plank door to find the Bailiff standing there.  Behind him she could see some of her neighbors, the mostly female crowd whispering to each other and pointing toward her from the safety of the lane outside of her fence.

“Bailiff  Martin, Good Morning to you.”

“Goodwife Fielding, you are being called before the Magistrate.  Come with me.”  He reached out and took her elbow.  He was firm but gentle.  He looked into the room before he closed the door, the beginning of the bread making on her table.  He raised his left eyebrow but said nothing to her in front of the neighbors, now thick on the lane.

The crowd parted as they came out the gate, following them to the center of the village and into the Court Building.

The room was divided in half; the half nearest the door empty space, a place for any on-lookers to stand while proceedings were underway.  Separating the empty space from the Magistrates desk and the few chairs facing it was a banister.  The bailiff escorted her though the small gate in the center of the banister and sat her in a chair facing the magistrate to the right of the table.

Anna refused to turn around but she could hear the murmuring of her neighbors.  To the left and facing the Magistrate’s table, were four men.  She knew who they were.  The chandler, who made all of the candles in the area, the baker, the weaver and the cheese maker were all seated there.

The Magistrate came into the room by a door behind the table.  The Bailiff called, “All rise.”

Anna and the tradesmen stood as the Magistrate sat down.

“Be seated,” the bailiff called out.

The Magistrate, Howard Witherspoon, picked up his gavel, rapping it once on the table, calling the court to order.

“What is today’s complaint?”  He glanced at Anna, then turned his attention to the men.

Each man urged the others to stand and speak.  Eventually, the Weaver, John Pettigrew, stood up to speak for them all.

“Your Honor, we want to file a complaint against Anna Fielding.  She goes against all custom; making her own bread, candles, and cheese and weaving her own rugs.”  He sat down quickly, his comrades slapping him on the back and muttering “Well done.”

The Magistrate turned to Anna, “Do you deny these complaints, Goodwife Fielding?”

Anna gave the men a withering glance then stood up, folding her hands in front of her to stop their shaking.  “I do not, Magistrate Witherspoon.”  She could hear the crowd behind her gasp and mutter like a flock of chickens.  She remained standing, keeping her chin high.

The Magistrate banged the gavel once on the desk, “Quiet!”

The crowd settled down and he turned to the tradesmen, looking self-righteous.  “Stand up gentlemen.”

They shot smug looks at Anna as they eased up out of their chairs.

“Gentlemen, why do you bring this complaint?”

John Pettigrew tried to push another forward but it was three against one so he stopped resisting, his hat twisting in his hands.

“Magistrate, it is against all custom for a person to work in another person’s guild without the proper apprenticeship.  It takes the bread right out of our children’s mouths when that happens.”

Witherspoon turned to Anne, “Goodwife Fielding, you’ve already admitted that these men’s complaints are true.  Why have you done this?”

Anna could feel the pressure of the eyes behind her.  “I do it, Magistrate, because I don’t have any money.  If I want bread to eat or clothes to wear, I must needs make them myself.”

The crowd buzzed and the Magistrate had to pound his gavel again.  “There will be quiet,” he boomed over the noise.

“Please continue.”

“Magistrate, I was as all of the Goodwives behind me, I purchased my goods as they do.  However, after my husband died, and his guild price was paid back to me and spent, I had to do something.”

The Magistrate raised an eyebrow at the men, and Thomas Longfellow, the Baker, spoke up.  “Charity is always offered the widow, Goodwife Fielding.”  The crowd picked up his words, agreeing with him.

Anna snorted, “Grudgingly, baker, very grudgingly.”  Thomas went red from collar to hairline.  “It is the same with all of you and the rest that are not here today.  I have a daughter to feed and a house to keep and in each shop, it’s the same.  ‘Not much left over today.  Maybe tomorrow.’ ”

All of the men went red and the crowd couldn’t be heard at all.  “I am not ashamed to say that I don’t want charity, especially when it’s so grudgingly given.  My late husband taught me to bake bread and I’m glad for it, guild rules or not.”

“Magistrate!”  Ronald Highgate, the Cheese maker spoke up.  “There are trade secrets involved.  A person outside the guild should not know those secrets.”  His chest puffed, daring her to respond.

“I have only the common knowledge my granny taught me when I was a child.  I have a right to keep body and soul together and if I can do it by making my own bread, or by turning rags into rugs to sell and make a little money, who are you to say I cannot!”

The fickle crowd began agreeing with her.

The Magistrate slammed the gavel again, bringing silence to the room.

“No laws have been broken, complaint denied.”  He smacked the gavel again and disappeared into the back room.

Anna’s neighbors swarmed her, hugging and pulling her out of the court while the guildsmen glared after her.

The End

993 Words

Find more of the Forward Motion Flash Friday Group here:http://www.fmwriters.com/flash.html