“No mistake, to be sure. Naming witches became a pastime for many.”
“It seems impossible to believe such a thing could be allowed. What happened to common sense? These baseless accusations would never occur among a society such as that of London. They are not so close-minded as to allow it.”
Irritation gripped her. “Witch hunts are not new to the colonies, nor are they exclusive to Salem. For that matter, a great many of the people, ideas, and prejudices you admonish arrived via ship from overseas, just as you recently did. Before you mount your high horse and don your king’s airs, you would be well served to realize as much.”
“Such beliefs come from the dark corners, little one. Not from the rational and well-heeled.”
“That’s just as well, for no one ever accused your family of being rational, and few around here care for the state of their heels as much as they do.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Could no one speak in defense of the accused?”
You could have. A twinge of anger twisted at her heart, but this time it was not focused on him. She was angry with all of them—herself included. Was there really nothing they could have done? But she knew the answer. When even the clergy were accused, it was clear no common man could stand and prevail. Those who tried, despite the odds, had been killed for their efforts. “To speak in defense of the accused only served to bring the accusations on oneself. Who would defend a witch but another witch?”
“Surely if someone had just spoken—”
“Do you think we did not think of that? That we did not try?”
“I keep saying the wrong things. I apologize…it just does not make sense this could have happened.”
“When innocent people die without cause, there is nothing about it that makes sense.”
He touched her arm. “Please, I do not mean to be critical. I am struggling to understand.”
“Let me save you the trouble, Nathanial. The only people who can understand such evil are those who purport it. If you want to understand, go ask Abigail.”
“Perhaps one day I will,” he said, “but in truth I came with something else in mind.”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “If your plan involves me, I am afraid I will have to decline. As you can see, I am already well occupied.”
“Your tone intrigues me. Perhaps we can be occupied together.”
“I can only imagine what fascinates you about my looking for eggs.”
He laughed. “I find myself more intrigued by you.”
“Take your flirtations elsewhere, Nathanial,” she muttered. In truth, his words warmed her, and that was frightening.
“Why are you so opposed to my attention?”
“Because my mother needs me. Her health fails, her heart is broken, and this rented house and this flock of escaped chickens are all we have. I do not have the time for courtship.”
“Has it occurred to you that a husband could make things easier?”
She required several moments to formulate an answer, and all the while her heart and mind raced. She lacked intention to marry at all—especially not to join with a man who had so easily sailed away from family and the only roots he had ever had. Salem had been her home her entire life. It may be broken now, but those who remained needed one another. They turned to one another for healing, while this man knew of nothing but turning away. To align with an Abbot would be a betrayal of everyone she loved. But the man in front of her was more than his surname. He was a piece of her past—a familiar stead of warmth and a reminder of much-happier times. He was also infinitely handsome and, with his sky-blue eyes fixed on her, undeniable. She swallowed and prayed her voice would not tremble as did her hands. “How? Should I marry, I would be expected to relocate. I cannot leave my mother, and I will not leave this house.”
“You make a lot of assumptions about something that has not yet happened.”
She wanted to look at him—to snap back in defense. But all she could do was straighten her spine and conversely mumble to the ground. “And you care too much about something that does not involve you.”
He touched her chin, drawing her gaze. A corner of his mouth tipped upward and the world ceased movement, nary a breeze ruffling the tall grass. There was only him and her and the thunderous repetition of her heart. And his lips, forming words. “And if I want to be involved?”
“Then you will have to find someone else. Salem is my home, and your words have made clear your distaste for the small-minded people here.”
“You have misconstrued my intentions.”
“Your intentions, perhaps, but not your words. It is clear you think little of the people here.” She fixed her gaze on him, staring down the storm brewing in his eyes and the tightness of his expression. “And lest you take defense or try to explain, remember I am one of them.”
“You are wrong, Faith.”
Her jaw tightened. “No, I am not, Goodman. For when you put down the people of Salem, you start with me.”
…
Though Nathanial could do little to help Faith’s immediate opinion of him—one he would alter in time—he could help with the eggs. To that end, he took matters into his own hands, procuring a small henhouse from a neighbor in the village who was more than willing to trade for coin. As the man filled his pockets, he gave Nathanial a curious stare.
“You are Richard Abbot’s boy?”
Nathanial nodded and tried not to appear wary, though he had had his fill of that question. Perhaps if not for the antagonistic relationship he had with his father, he might experience a degree of pride, but it was hard to extract any from a man who was so bitterly disappointed with his son, let alone one who would allow his daughters to turn an entire town upside down.
“I heard from Burgess you were back.”
“Burgess?”
“The barkeep.”
Humphrey Burgess. The old man’s name came readily now, and it was no wonder he had recognized Nathanial. He had at one time worked for Nathanial’s father, and no doubt bore witness to Richard Abbot’s shame. “How did he end up at the tavern?”
“The proprietor Creasey took ill and hired Burgess on. Between you and me, I think he was right to get out from under your old man. Bad things happened there.”
“Where?”
“On your father’s farm under his employ.”
“What kind of bad things?”
“I hear your father had relations with a man’s wife, and not long after she came under with child.”
“This is publicly known?”
The man shrugged. “People talk, and quite a few passerby were privy to your momma’s loudly detailed thoughts on the whole ordeal. Might as well call it known.”
“Why was he not arrested? Adultery is punishable by death.”
“I reckon that might be why. ’Course, about that time those girls of his started crying about witchcraft and the whole of the town turned to worrying about the devil in the woods.”
Nathanial searched the man’s face for a hint of a smile—anything that might indicate the old man was telling tales—but found not a flicker. “Is this true?”
“The timing? It is a bit odd, is it not?”
Nathanial could not agree more, nor could he bring himself to admit it. “What of the woman and child?”
“They were both lost during childbirth.”
He did not dare ask the circumstances thereof, for he had already heard enough. Further details would not matter. Instead, he thanked the man for the trade and thereafter sought a merchant with a wagon suitable for delivery, then headed for the home Faith shared with her mother.
When he arrived, he found the house quiet. He waited a bit, expecting Faith to come outside for him, and in her absence he finally knocked on the door. When no one answered, he peered inside to see Faith’s mother sitting at the table, her attention on a scrap of cloth. He eased open the door and called her name. When she did not turn his way he crossed the small
room and placed a hand on her arm.
She looked up, and through her misted eyes he saw pain.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Only my heart, Son. This was Ruth’s.” She held up the cloth as she revealed its significance. “A kerchief she received from a man who fancied her as a young woman. She resisted, but the old goat did not give in and she married him. I do not expect she ever felt a moment of regret…at least not until he died. By then, she probably regretted the time she missed making him chase her.”
“And what of your young man, Goodwife? Did you run as he pursued?”
Felicity gave a watery smile. “Oh, no. In fact, he might have been the one running away, but we had a great love. More than one could hope for when forced to marry.”
“You and he were forced?”
“Not against our wills, but ours was an arranged marriage. We liked one another well enough, but property was at the heart of it.”
“At the beginning.”
“Yes, and then we experienced our first night together.”
Nathanial blinked. Did she refer to intimacy? He could not ask an elder such a thing, but the sly smile and twinkle of her eyes suggested as much. Unsure how to proceed, he opted to change the subject matter. “Faith is worried about you.”
“She worries too much.” Felicity gave him a long, searching look. “She is young…she should concern herself with finding a husband.”
“Perhaps, but she does not want to leave you alone.”
Felicity waved a hand. “I am an old woman. One day I will leave her, then what? In her foolishness, she will be left exactly as she fears I will. Her father has been gone a long time, and though I miss him, I treasure the memories. We had a good life, although a short one. I want that for my daughter, but she is stubborn.”
“I am in fact here to discuss your daughter’s stubbornness, Goodwife.”
“Felicity, please.”
“Felicity.” Nathanial tried the name on his tongue, unsure he was worthy of uttering it. “I care a great deal about Faith, and I wanted to discuss with you the possibility of joining with her.” He toyed with his collar, more nervous and uncomfortable in that moment than he had ever been facing London’s fiercest barristers. “Would you consider granting me your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Felicity gave him a long, searching look. He worried, though it was without malice, that the hesitation did not bode well. Nor did her lack of response.
He had not expected to hit a wall with her. “Perhaps if you can tell me why you do not approve,” he said, “I can assay your concerns.”
She turned the kerchief in her hands, pulling one corner after the next through bent fingers. “I would not say I do not approve. I am just concerned for my daughter’s happiness, for when I leave this earth she will truly be alone. I have to trust whoever takes her hand will honor her as a husband should. You have spent a great many hours in this house, but you have been gone years. A man can change a great deal in that amount of time.”
“And my family has done this horrible thing to the whole of the town,” he added. There was no point in pretending that would not factor into…everything.
“That Abigail…there is no doubt she wanted to bring pain. The younger of them, one cannot be sure. But though they share your name, it is not my right to judge you based on their actions.”
“That is a most progressive viewpoint.”
She waved a hand. “It is a practical mind. I may be fading, but I know firstly there is but one judge.”
Nathanial remained silent for a moment, his thoughts heavy. “Your daughter,” he finally said. “She is a lovely woman.”
“She is stubborn. Independent. Not at all as a lady should be.”
He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, “Perhaps that is why she intrigues me so.”
Felicity studied him with a depth and intensity he had not expected. “She will refuse you.”
“She loves you. She will respect your decision.”
“What do you mean to do with her?”
Nathanial had many an answer to that question, but none he wished to share with Faith’s mother, despite her forthcoming reference to her wedding night.
His hesitance did not go unnoticed.
“I refer, of course, to her lodging.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, also not unnoticed. Felicity actually smiled.
“Whatever is her desire,” he said. “I will not attempt to take her to my family home. I own no land, but I have a worth that will buy any piece she pleases. We can make a home in Cambridge or London or any of the great European cities.”
“And if she wants to stay here?”
“She will visit as often as she likes. You will see one another often, and even after we settle elsewhere I will continue to take care of all of your expenses.” He softened his tone. “Faith believes wholly in the people of Salem, but she has never traveled beyond its borders. She is, as you say, stubborn. But I can offer her the world, and in time she will see enough to accept it. A person who has never ventured beyond the confines of the village simply cannot imagine what the city offers. Once she discovers this, I dare say my trouble will not be that of getting her to travel beyond Salem’s borders, but in convincing her to return.”
“You believe she will be so easily swayed?”
“I have been across the great ocean and back, and no woman has intrigued me the way Faith has. To find her unattached was unexpected and a blessing, and I can only hope exactly as we were meant to be. But I will not deny your wishes.”
“Her heart will be hard to win.”
“Goodwife…Felicity, I ask only for the opportunity to fight for it.”
“In that case, dear Nathanial, I can only wish you the best.”
Sweet relief ran its course through him. “I suspect I might need every one of those wishes,” he said. “Do your words mean you offer your approval?”
She raised a finger, shaking the kerchief at him. “It is not my approval you need. It is that of my daughter…and if I know my daughter, I suspect she will give you a fight.”
Nathanial stood and placed a hand on Felicity’s shoulder. “Rest assured, she may resist at first but she will soon be won. Your daughter will have a life far better than what Salem offers, and I am just the man to give it to her.”
Chapter Six
Someone had lit fire to the sewing circle. Not literally, of course, but not a goodwife among them was not rife with whispers. Faith had not seen such a commotion since the witch hunt had begun, and only then when a new one among them had been accused. Terrified that the accusations had begun anew, that the horror was not yet over, she stood in the doorway clutching the small bundle of linens until Prudence grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. Faith placed her items on the table but did not sit. “What is going on?” she whispered to Prudence.
“Nathanial Abbot, of course.”
Faith turned to her friend, her jaw slackened. “This talk is for him?”
Prudence grinned slyly. “You have to admit, he is quite striking.”
“It matters not how handsome he is. Most of these women are married.”
“Married or not, they have eyes. And he has a fantastically firm behind.”
Faith looked to the ceiling and blew out a breath. “Is Arthur aware of your opinion of Nathanial’s behind?”
Prudence immediately flushed crimson at the mention of the man who had shown an increasing intent to court her. “I am certain it is none of his concern.”
Grinning, Faith leaned closer. “I might suggest the direction of your attention is very much his concern. I have seen how he looks at you.”
Before Prudence could respond, one of the goodwives called Faith’s name. “Faith, do tell. Is it true you entertained Goodman Abbot?”
“If you are referring to Nathanial and not his father, it is true he visited my house, but take nothing from it. I certainly would not refer to our meeting as entertainment, for he cam
e only to share his condolences and pay his respects. He and Aunt Ruth were quite close.”
“If there is nothing more to it, why did he visit more than once?”
“His presence serves as a comfort to Mother.”
The conversation drifted away from Nathanial, and Faith breathed a sigh of relief. But it was not complete, for one Goodwife had yet to turn her attention.
Rebecca Mather.
Though she had always been nice enough to Faith—or at the very least, not outwardly hostile—Faith could not forget Rebecca’s terrible testimony against one of the first accused, the midwife Lydia Colson. What made it doubly troubling was the fact that Rebecca and Lydia had seemed to be friends until the moment Rebecca had pronounced Lydia a witch, a turn that had left Faith entirely unsure whether Rebecca could be trusted. Had there been something else between them, or was Rebecca simply cruel? Despite the dissolution of the court, Faith could not help but worry as to her intentions. To have the woman’s attention so firmly on her felt at once dark and dangerous, and with the group yet to settle into their sewing, there was nothing to abate the look.
Faith fidgeted from one foot to the other, torn between wanting to escape and wanting to take her seat in hopes the others would follow. She ended up doing neither, as Rebecca sidled up between Faith and Prudence.
Rebecca looked Faith up and down, then spoke with a smirk. “Dear Faith, you are the last one I would expect to consort with one of the Abbots. Your heart must be most pure.”
“I struggle with forgiveness, Goodwife, but as I said, my mother enjoyed his visit a great deal. I was in no hurry to rush him from her company.”
“And what of the time you spent alone?”
Faith bristled. “At no time was I alone with him. Who told you otherwise?”
Rebecca offered a saccharine smile. “You were seen together.”
“Then we were not very well alone, were we?”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond the room was called to order and the ladies began to take their seats.
Faith breathed a sigh of relief. It was time for the work to begin. Verily, the talk would once again evolve to gossip, but with Rebecca across the room Faith thought herself safe from the woman’s questions. And what of them? Faith was a grown woman and neither she nor Nathanial were married. If they chose to have a conversation behind closed doors, it was none of Goodwife Mather’s business.
The Sins of a Few (Entangled Scandalous) Page 5
