The Life of a Misunderstood Criminal

My husband was a cruel man. We had an arranged marriage so I had no other choice. My parents cared for me and thought that he would take care of me and I met him he seemed like a nice man so I told my parents that I liked him. But I soon realized what a cruel man that he was. We soon had two daughters and were supposed to have a third child when my I had a miscarriage. My husband was outraged, he started beating me and my children saying that that was going to be his first son. I knew that there was nothing else I could do, I had to take my children and run away.

One night when that awful man was sleeping, I woke up my daughters and we ran into the streets. We didn’t have any money and the only food that we had was the loaf of bread that I had packed with us. After two days we were starving, so I went out to find some work or a way to get some food. I started walking and soon came across a bakery. The delicious smell of cooking bread reeled me inside. There I found a table of bread laid out for people to purchase. I was so hungry and I was starting to feel dizzy, so quickly when I thought no one was looking I grabbed a loaf and snuck in under my dress. I quickly walked out of the bakery feeling guilty but relieved about what I had done. When I got back to the corner on the sidewalk where me and my daughters had been living in, I split the bread up into three uneven pieces, giving my daughters most of the bread. I would have given them all of it but I was so hungry I felt like I was going to pass out. I took I bite and felt the world becoming light again. As I regained my strength I started off to find work again. As I walked through the town I found myself receiving looks. Was this about the bread?

“There she is!” a man said pointing at me to two sheriffs trailing behind him. “That’s the women who killed her husband!” I started to panic, I didn’t kill my husband. I turned the other way and started to run as fast as I could, but not fast enough to get away from the man who was chasing me. They soon caught me and I was being dragged to the jailhouse.

“I didn’t do it!” I kept yelling, but it was no use. I was thrown into the jail cell and locked into shackles that were connected to the wall. I wondered what my daughters were doing. How would they feel when they realized that I wasn’t coming home? I had taken them away from their home and then left them in danger. What kind of mother am I? The next day I had my trial. I went into the big capitol building and they sat me in a stool facing all of the burgesses. I lost.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking about how my daughters would be sitting there, just waiting for me. The room was small. All it had was a throne to do my business, my shackles and a big space for where my coffin would sit. The only light came from a small barred window on the side of my cell. A huge door, that covered the entire wall, shut me in on the other side. There was no way of getting out. In three weeks I would be hung.

The following week, the tailor came to measure my body for my coffin. I tried to ask him how my daughters were, if they were okay. He ignored me and quickly went back to his shop. He didn’t look me in the eyes once. I don’t understand how this happened! I didn’t kill my husband. I shouldn’t be being hung. I should be in the pillory if anything, as a punishment for stealing bread.

Today is December 16th, 1682. I am sitting on my coffin thinking about my daughters. Tomorrow I will be hung. Unfortunately it won’t be a quick death. I will be hung until I am almost dead, and then I will be drawn and quartered. Drawing, to draw out my blood. And quartering, to split me into quarters. I’m not upset about the execution, infact I’m glad to be leaving this horrible world. I’m just worried about my daughters, without me there is no one taking care of them.

I don’t think I will writing anymore. If you ever see my daughters, please tell them I’m innocent. Make sure that they are safe? Thank you. Goodbye.