“She certainly has great skill with the sewing needle,” remarked one of the woman, “but what a shameful way to show it!”
“Make way in the King’s name” shouted the prison officer. “Everyone will have a chance to get a good view of this wicked woman from now until noon. Come along Hester. Show your scarlet letter in the marketplace!”
A lane opened up between the spectators and Hester Prynne walked toward the area appointed for public punishment. Calmly she came to the scaffold at the western end of the marketplace next to Boston’s oldest church. The scaffold was a platform where punishments were carried out publicly so as to impress the citizenry into obeying the laws. There was a pillory there designed to hold a human head tightly and keep it in the public gaze. But Hester Prynne was not sentenced to its confinement. Her sentence was just to stand on the platform for three hours.
She climbed the steps and began her sentence. The onlookers stared at her and the Scarlet letter in solemn silence. Hester had prepared herself to face the assault of the public’s scorn and insults, her mind began to travel back into itself as memories began to surface. She could see and feel the days of her happy childhood. Then she saw her face gazing in the mirror, and its glow of young beauty much older. His eyes were dim, and his skin was pale from many years of cloistered study. His figure was slightly misshapen his left shoulder a bit higher than his right. Then Hester Prynne’s memories ended and she found herself back on the scaffolding surrounded by the townspeople. They were still staring at her and the scarlet letter on her breast. She looked down at the letter on her chest and touched it to assure herself it was real. And it was, as were the infant and her burning shame.