Anne’s older brother, dead.
“I miss him every day.” Just a girl of fourteen at the time, and the incident not spoken of since, Anne had never been privy to the details. All she knew was that one horrible day her brother was lost forever, and it was not until much later that it really hit her that Josiah was gone, as well. When she had finally surfaced above her grief, she had spent much time wondering what had become of him. But her questions were for naught, for she had not seen him in all the years since.
“I have never quit wanting for a way to change his fate,” Josiah said. “I am so, so sorry for your loss.”
She let go of a shaky breath. “No one has ever said that to me before. We mourned—everyone did—but I was overlooked. The sorrow was my parents’ to share. None of the regrets were ever directed at me.” Though most families were large—commonly numbering ten or more babes—she and Samuel were their parents’ only children. And when he had died, she had been left utterly alone. She was two years her brother’s junior, but she always believed herself somehow responsible. As if she should have been there to somehow save him from his fate.
Anne did not doubt the sincerity of Josiah’s condolence, but rather than look at her, he averted his eyes. A scuffle sounded from his feet, like he kicked the ground. Did he live with similar regrets? So many questions suddenly begged for release, but dredging up a painful past would not bring back her brother.
But somehow she had been given a second chance with Josiah.
The heaviness of a frown toyed with his lips. “If this is too painful…if you want me to go,” he said. “I will.”
“No!”
Her sudden proclamation snapped his attention from the vicinity of her knees to her face.
“I… I do not want you to go,” she said. “Please. Stay.”
Josiah exhaled, and the weight of the world seemed to lift from his tense shoulders. Straightening, he entertained a long moment of silence before he said, “The years have been long. How have you fared?”
She, too, breathed deeply, grateful for his lighter, less troubled tone. “My family operates an inn in Salem Town. I stay busy there.”
“Oh? Have you any vacancies?” His tone teased.
Sharing a roof with Josiah? Her mind immediately brought forth the forbidden touches and stolen kisses of their past. A thrill shot through her before she could contain its implication. “We do.”
His grin lit the rapidly fading summer sky. Fireflies were out in full force, but she took little notice of their brilliant display. She was lost in unexpected comfort—that a long-lost piece of her had found its way home.
Josiah.
She had loved him in the irrepressible, impudent way of a child. He had stolen the first kiss from her young lips—and countless more thereafter—and though she had never dared to tell a soul of their intimacy, the impression he made had remained a piece of her. Perhaps that was why no other man had ever captured her interest. At twenty years, she had nearly reached the age of matrimony and, while her mother’s talk of late had grown increasingly preoccupied with the topic, Anne had had little interest. Until now. She had supposed Josiah long gone from her life. To have him standing before her left her in a mixed state of excitement and disbelief.
“How long will you remain in Salem?” she asked.
“I would like to make it my home, but I must find work.” He gestured to the newly built home. “Paying work, that is.”
He sought work? “My father seeks help at the inn. Perhaps you would consider his employ?”
Josiah paled, a change visible even in the fading light. “Forgive me, Anne. My suggestion to stay there was in jest. I can only guess how difficult it would be for your parents to see me. Your brother…”
“You and Samuel were inseparable.”
“Yes. And my presence would be a terribly harsh reminder.”
An idea formed more quickly than the frown threatening to sweep her lips. Unable to stop herself from grinning, she said, “Then we simply will not tell them.”
Josiah raised a curious brow. “You cannot be suggesting duplicity.”
His words gave her pause. Though denial was fast to her lips, the words froze. His mention of duplicity led her to believe he had entertained the very thought she now harbored, but time had long passed. Surely her parents would not deny work to a man simply because he had known her brother, but the reminder might indeed be painful. She measured her words. “It would not be fair for you to be kept from honest employment because of something that happened so very long ago.”
Utter pain canvassed his face, twisting and contorting his features into terrible sadness. “If asked of my identity, I cannot reply with an untruth.”
Did Samuel’s death still bring him such pain so many years later? “You were a boy,” she said softly, “and you have changed a great deal. After so many years, they may not know you. You are certainly not the only one named Josiah. If they do not ask your surname, there will be no worry of untruth.” And if they did ask, she could not imagine he would be sent from the inn. Her father indeed required help, and Josiah had proven to be more than capable for the tasks, as he had helped build the newly married couple’s house. He could doubtlessly prove the same ability to her father.
Josiah looked unsure, and for a brief moment she wondered if there might be more to his worry than she realized. But the sudden urge to cling tightly to him overwhelmed her. She fell into an awkward state between knowing him and having to admit that after a half dozen years he was far more of a stranger than a friend. But that uncertainty could not erase the feelings in her heart.
She wanted to know him—fully and without caution. Though the consideration of such knowledge brought a scalding heat to her cheeks, she clung to it. Perhaps if she savored its recklessness, she might have a chance to know Josiah rather than blithely watch him walk away, his fingertips heated with the marks they had left on her skin.
To that end, her time was short. Darkness had fallen at earnest speed. Everything that had become familiar about the small plot of land on which she had spent the day fled with the sinking sun. Long shadows stretched fingerlings over the grass, pointing diligently toward the darkening eastern sky.
After a long moment serenaded by crickets and lit by dancing fireflies, Josiah spoke quietly. “Walk with me?”
Anne glanced around. Aside Prudence, who waited at some distance and made no apparent attempt to avert her watchful eye, no one seemed to pay them any mind. Anne thought twice for the propriety of leaving the company of others, but they were no longer children. She was an adult, and the village of Salem had far greater issues than her stepping into the shadows with her childhood friend.
Salem was obsessed with witches.
A shudder wound down her spine at her first step out of the warm circle of light thrown by the fire. After seeing Josiah again, she had nearly forgotten the horror of the witch trials, but the rumors of a well-dressed stranger lurking in the woods came quickly to her mind when she entered the cool, dark edge of the forest. Rich summer foliage whispered ceaselessly, stirred by the evening breeze. Salem by night—especially in the face of bedevilment—was an entirely different place. One in which she could very well imagine the rumors being true—that a stranger lurked the woods, seeking the innocent to sign their names to his book. These lost souls were said to practice dark magic, for which they were arrested as witches. Anne knew many of the accused, but none so well as her friend Elizabeth. She was Anne’s own age and her arrest had come as a terrible shock—a horror that had only been eclipsed by her trial and conviction. Times in Salem were terrible, indeed.
Just a few paces into the woods, Josiah stopped and turned toward her. “I have wanted very much to see you again,” he said softly.
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, clutching her upper arms to ward away the sudden chill. He spoke tenderly, and under his attention, she truly was the only woman in the world. “Why did you not return sooner?”
He glanced around before answering. “Trust the time was not right.”
“And now?”
He reached for her, hesitating only slightly before touching her cheek with his thumb. His fingertips traced her jaw, a touch that raced hotly from her head to her toes. She had to forcibly stiffen so as not to lean against the light caress.
“I could no longer deny my desire to reunite with you,” he said.
The low tremble of his voice shook the very earth upon which she stood, but she had nothing by which to steady herself. Just a growing weakness she had no desire to tame.
He leaned close. “What do you think, Anne? Have you wanted for me, as I have you?”
Anne had to look up to see his face, and her focus went straight to his mouth. For all of the rigid, muscular planes visible through his damp shirt, his lips were strikingly sensual. Memories of his touch raged…teased…taunted…
Then his mouth found hers and obliterated the memory. She gasped. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss, lighting forbidden sensations deep in her belly. Never had emotion so sweetly taken over her body. She reached for him, gripping his shirt tightly as his arms circled her waist and pulled her close. Propriety long forgotten, she clung to him, lost in feelings so breathless and intense she could have never imagined they existed.
The kiss ended when she could breathe no more. He nipped at her lip and dropped his forehead to hers. “Forgive me,” he murmured.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she whispered, her lips brushing his with every word. Desperate confusion charged over forbidden desire, a swirling of storm clouds in a heart suddenly light with joy. “But I must go. The darkness…it frightens me.”
He loosened his hold of her, but did not let go. “Surely you are not afraid of the night.”
“Not the dark, but the accusations.” Elizabeth had not been the only arrest that had affected Anne personally. Months ago, Lydia, Salem’s midwife, had been arrested and had subsequently disappeared from Salem, and the frenzy had only grown since. Lydia, like Elizabeth, was one of the kindest, purest women Anne had ever known. If they were not safe from the accusations, no one could be.
Tension stiffened his body that held hers so tightly. “You believe in these arrests?”
Anne hesitated. “There is nothing to doubt, for they exist. Ever since the accusations began, Salem has been thick with hatred. The accusations are surely the work of the devil. Though I fear not for my own soul, I do fear the evil which lurks in the dark. Too many things have happened. Terrible things. This is no place for talk of witches.”
He had put distance between them now. In the night-steeped forest, she could not read him but for the wariness of his tone, now edged with discomfort. “Can I walk you home?”
“I am staying with Prudence this night. She likely no more recognized you than did I, so she is assuredly rife with anticipation of my return.” Anne looked quickly over her shoulder, a bit worried by his abrupt change in subject. The waning fire threw weaker shadows now but she caught a glimpse of her friend through the trees. “I will go home to the inn in Salem Town tomorrow.”
“I will not dishonor you by walking with you from the forest,” he said, “lest anyone pay us undue attention, but know I will watch at a distance until you are safe inside for the night.”
The possessive nature of his tone sent forth another round of shivers. Aside from her parents—and at one time, her brother—no one had ever acted so protectively toward her, but their attentions had never made her feel such delight. Anne started to thank him, but before she could speak he pressed another kiss to her lips.
“Go. I will find you soon.”
She had gone but a few steps when he softly called her name.
Anne turned, but in the darkness saw nothing but shadows. “Yes?”
“Say nothing of our encounter,” he said in the same low voice. “I do not wish to sully your reputation.”
Anne tensed. She would have to plead Prudence’s silence on Josiah’s identity…if her friend had not already spread the news over the entire village.
“No one here knows you are of Salem?” she asked.
“I have given my first name, but not my last. I could not risk my hopes of seeing you again.”
His proclamation settled warmly in a corner of her heart that was already his. She wanted to speak, but found herself unable to find the words to say what had quickly become truth.
She cared not for her reputation. Precautions came far too late, for Josiah Cromwell had already stolen her heart.
And she did not want for its return.
Chapter Three
Josiah kept his promise and followed Anne to her night’s quarters, a small farm near the road toward town. Though he had not spent time in the house there, it, like so many others in Salem, brought back a number of memories.
He tried to force them back. To focus not on what he had lost, but what he had found.
A chance.
Long after his last glimpse of Anne, he waited outside at the edge of the trees, his mind flush with the memory of their kiss. He should not have taken liberties, but he harbored no real regrets. The childhood crush he had carried with him for many years had exploded into purpose, and though he could not explain the reason, he wanted nothing more than to know her.
The possibility of a real relationship with her flitted through his mind, and with it a reminder of his need to win her parents’ favor. He could not fathom they would be as forgiving as Anne. Truthfully, he could not imagine what kept her heart so open after her brother’s death, but he could only be grateful for the unexpected turn. Many years had passed. He still harbored guilt, but it was likely her heart had begun to heal. He hoped so, for to think she still carried a terrible ache six years later pained him almost as much as knowing he had put it there.
The walk to Salem Town took about three hours—perhaps longer in the pitch of night—and he spent every minute questioning his choices. He wanted to be near Anne and he needed a place to stay. Securing employment at her family’s inn would allow both, but he had hoped for a more profitable job—one that made use of his education and would better provide for Anne should he find his way into her graces. He could assist a barrister in town and verily earn a greater wage than he would as a laborer, but then he would lose his proximity to Anne. Now that he had seen her again, he could not bear the thought of distance. But to work for her parents…he would not be dishonest about his identity. Josiah had drowned in enough guilt over Samuel’s death—he could not add to the burden with lies, which left only the bitter truth.
He would have to take his chances.
He spent the remainder of the night on a stack of shipping crates near the harbor. There he dozed but could not sleep—not with the water so near and the past so heavy on his mind. He had never liked the sea, but he suspected the proximity that night was his price to pay for returning…a penance for his sins, though verily the true price could not be measured.
Or could it? The cost had been Samuel’s life.
The streets of Salem Town remained empty until just before dawn, at which point the area around the docks began to wake from its nighttime slumber. Josiah slipped away from his resting spot and walked until he spotted an open shop, where he went inside and inquired as to the whereabouts of the Scudder Inn. The elderly proprietor barely glanced at Josiah before indicating an establishment across town, far from the waterfront.
Not surprising they would want to keep their distance from the sea.
The walk took several minutes, and with each step his reflection seemed to gnaw deeper at his conscience. He passed a number of establishments before coming upon the Scudders’, a generous, box-like two story building comprised of aged wood and little else. A man Josiah faintly recognized to be Anne’s father stood outside struggling with a board when Josiah approached. Settling his hat further on his head, Josiah asked, “Can I help you, sir?”
George Scudder—Josiah was sure now of his identity—looked
up and spent several endless moments studying Josiah’s face.
Though he withered inside, Josiah fought to keep his expression neutral. He had been just a lad the last time he had seen the Scudders. And a great deal had changed since then. Josiah now stood two heads taller and had long lost the lankiness of boyhood. His hair, once light, had deepened to brown. But still, the pendulum swung tightly. Even if George Scudder did not recognize him now, Josiah’s name might ring a painful bell, bringing forth memories and associations best left silent.
Stomach tight, Josiah removed his hat and addressed him once more. “I hear you need a hired man.”
After a long, expressionless appraisal, Goodman Scudder nodded. “I do. My hands grow weak. Things come more difficult to me now. Pay’s no good, though.”
Josiah knew he could not win Anne’s hand without a good wage, but his desire to be near her overtook his sensibilities. The opportunity was one he could not deny. “I need only a place to reside. And my hands are in fine working condition.”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Josiah.” A common name, but common enough? Despite a conscious effort to relax, his breath caught.
The old man’s eyes dimmed. The name surely triggered his memory, but would recognition end with the name, or would it extend to the person standing before him? After another endless moment, Goodman Scudder spoke. “Well, then, Josiah. If you can fix this loose plank and have the wherewithal to see to a great many more, you may consider yourself hired on.”
“Yes, sir.” Heart racing with unspent adrenaline, Josiah knelt on the ground and easily fit the board back into place.
When he stood, he did so under fierce scrutiny from Anne’s father.
Josiah swallowed. The fragile moment of indecision carried with it the weight of the world. Perhaps his slight relief had come too soon. Did the man recognize him? And if he did not, could Josiah live with the burden of the truth?
For Anne. Yes, he would.
Goodman Scudder cleared his throat. “It seems you have earned yourself a room. But you need to keep earning it, you hear?”
An Unexpected Sin (Entangled Scandalous) Page 2
