An Unexpected Sin (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ballance, Sarah

  And why did it matter?

  Anne’s shouted dismissal of Josiah had clearly admitted their intimacies, but from the moment her mother had seen her in a state of undress, she had known. Anne had expected her anger. She had waited for it—for the lectures of how her honor was ruined and her future cast uncertain—but instead the news had thrown her mother into a period of disquiet. Before that day, Anne had not heard Samuel’s name from her mother’s lips in years. Perhaps the memories had been too much. Her mother was unhappy—in mourning anew, it seemed—and Anne blamed herself. It was she who had urged Josiah to seek employ at the inn, and now her family teetered on the edge of shambles. Her father, already weak of health, spent too much of his energy on the tasks from which Anne had forced Josiah. The remainder he spent trying to restore his wife’s faith, but it was not to be.

  The news of Anne’s pregnancy would only tear her fragile family apart. Any hope of finding a suitable husband would be destroyed. Her father would remain without help at the inn, and her mother would fall deeper into whatever shadows sought her.

  She could not let that happen. Stomach churning, Anne cupped her abdomen and prayed, as she had endlessly, for guidance.

  And on this day it was granted, for an idea formed.

  Anne’s friend Lydia—the woman who had escaped the gallows—was a midwife. She had left Salem for parts unknown, but if Anne could find her, she would have a trusted friend as well as a midwife to see her through the pregnancy. She would have someone in whom she could confide, and Lydia’s distance from Salem meant word of Anne’s condition would likely not spread where it could bring shame to her parents. When she returned with the babe, surely the importance of those indiscretions would fade. Their neighbors would assume Anne’s husband had been lost. She would be expected to remarry, of course, but that was the way.

  It could work, though Anne could not leave her parents without explanation. Doing so would only cause more pain, but she would have to leave soon before her pregnancy showed. She looked down at the small blossom of her belly and knew the time to go had passed.

  Anne dressed and descended the stairs to begin the day. She found her mother in the kitchen and quietly took her place at her side. If she left in the morning, it would be the last time in many months they would share the morning tasks.

  “You have been quiet, child.”

  “My thoughts have been heavy.”

  Her mother did not ask why, but Anne suspected she knew. They had not spoken of Josiah since the day he had left.

  And they had not truly spoken of Samuel since the day he had died.

  “Mother, tell me about Samuel. I knew him as my brother, but tell me about him as a person. As he was.”

  Her mother stilled, but did not avert her attention from her task. After a long while, she spoke. “Your brother was a strong boy—a natural explorer. He wanted into every nook and cranny of life. He knew no boundaries, no matter how we tried to teach him to mind his place. He liked to skip his lessons and spend the day in the forest hunting. Of course, that was not allowed, so when he got a kill he knew not what to do with it. He would say he found it, as such a thing could be believed. I suppose he did not consider how easily we could talk to his teacher.”

  Anne laughed. “I remember days he would take to the path instead of going to his lessons. The teacher would ask me if he felt poorly, and Samuel told me to always say yes.”

  “And you did. I knew that, as well. He had a way about him.”

  “What of his missed schooling? Was he punished?”

  She shrugged, though a gentle grace found her lips. “He was of the age many boys stayed to help with the chores. We should have been harder on him, but when he brought home enough meat to feed us for a week, it was difficult to scold. He had endless charm, that boy, and a good heart. No matter his mischief, he harmed no one. Not a soul complained of his explorations, though he worried me to death.” Anne’s mother looked to her and smiled—the first Anne had seen in weeks. “You are very much like him, Daughter, with your refusal to be contained. Always a rogue, too trusting to be wary of strangers.”

  Anne fiddled with her tongue in her mouth, wanting to ask a question that had haunted her for years. She hated to ruin her mother’s lightened mood, but verily, it was a question for which Anne needed an answer. “How did he die?”

  Her mother’s sharp intake of breath worried Anne, but her words came steadily. “He had always been fascinated by the great water. That day there was a terrible storm at sea, and the waves it created were high and rough. He said that he wanted to experience the power of the surf. We warned him not to, many times, of course. He was not to go into town that day, let alone by the water, but witnesses say he entered the waves. The water overtook him, and he was lost.”

  Anne froze, the words sinking in like rocks. “But you said Josiah killed him.”

  “They say it was Josiah who went firstly and thus beckoned Samuel into the water.”

  Anne still had not moved. She could not. If her mother’s words were true—if someone had lured Samuel into the sea—it would not have been Josiah. Josiah had been terrified of the water—he would never have ventured into the bay. Not on the calmest of days, much less in a tempest.

  Josiah was innocent. Even if he had been the one to call to Samuel, he could not be blamed for Samuel’s decision, but she knew Josiah. It could not have been him. Why would he admit to something he had not done?

  Why would he risk everything—including a future with Anne—for a lie?

  The question haunted Anne throughout the day, but it did not change her plans. Mid-afternoon, she left the inn in search of her friend John, the merchant who had brought Prudence to her door the day Elizabeth was sent to the gallows. She arranged to ride on his wagon to Salem Village the next day, resisting the urge to ask him not to speak of it. It was commonplace for her to ride to the village when he went with his deliveries, so her request would draw no scrutiny. Demanding secrecy, however, would draw attention where she could least afford it.

  After the evening meal, Anne tucked a clean change of clothing in a worn satchel. She would have to leave behind the remainder of her possessions, meager as they were, for they would not be conducive for long travel. As it were, she knew not where she would find Lydia, but she hoped Prudence might.

  She said a long good-night to her parents, her heart so close to her throat they must have known her mind. But if they sensed anything different that night, they offered no acknowledgement…just a simple good-bye that would have to sustain them far longer than they expected.

  Very early the next morning, Anne left a short note for her parents. I have gone to Salem. Worry not, for I will return in time. I love you both. The words would not ease their worries, but it would have to be enough. Leaving the parchment where her mother would find it, Anne eased from the dark inn and began along the road to Salem. She had asked John to pick her up alongside the path—this so she could be on her way well before the day broke—and he came upon her not long after the sun began to light the sky. Despite her attempts to act as she did normally, he gave her a curious look from his spot at the buckboard as she settled in the wagon.

  “Where do your travels lead you this day?”

  “To the village, as always.” She forced calm into the words, even though nothing of this trip was as usual.

  John did not respond, but for a curious look and to urge his horse to walk on.

  The ride passed in easy quiet, as it most often did. Anne said a silent good-bye to the road she had traveled so many times. Though it was a rough path and could take hours to traverse by foot, it was a great part of who she was. She had not fully realized it until that moment, but it was the path that in so many ways had led her to Josiah. Had that always been the connection? Visiting Salem Village took her back to the days when Samuel had been alive and Josiah had teased her endlessly, soothing the inevitable aggravation with forbidden kisses—kisses that might have been counted stolen if not for h
er want of them.

  Anne did not know when she would next traverse the path, but verily her life would be changed. She would have Josiah’s babe in her arms, and her future then would be just as uncertain as it was in this moment. Her stomach lurched, and she knew not from the ruts in the road or the fear in her heart, but she would press on.

  John stopped the wagon alongside the Abernathy home, which sat on a small plot of farm land on the edge of the village. From the outside, the house appeared still. With eleven children in the home, Anne knew better. Turning to John, she said, “Fare thee well. And my thanks.”

  The goodman offered a gentle smile. “And to you, dear Anne, fare thee well.”

  Her eyes heated with unshed tears. John seemed to know something was different this day, but he asked no questions.

  It was just as well, for later, when asked, he would have no answers.

  Anne nodded her appreciation, stepped from the wagon, and walked the path to Prudence’s door. Before she could knock, it was flung open by one of Prudence’s younger sisters.

  “Why are you not doing your lessons?” Anne asked, patting the child on the head.

  “Mother is poorly, so we are helping with the chores. Charity is taking the feathers from her very first chicken, but it has grown angry and keeps trying to peck at her and fly away!”

  Anne covered her mouth to hide a smile. “Where is this poor chicken?”

  “He is running about the kitchen making a terrible fuss!”

  Anne’s smile could no longer be contained. “And where might I find Prudence?”

  “She is off after the eggs.”

  The Abernathy farm was small but offered adequate means for the family. Goodman Abernathy was likely in the fields, and with Goody Abernathy poorly, the morning chores had surely fallen heavily on Prudence, who was the oldest of the children. As much as Anne delighted in watching the little girls try to steal feathers from a live chicken, she needed to talk to Prudence. The privacy of the barn might be the best place of all, so she left the small home for the outbuilding that served as the poultry house.

  Indeed, she found Prudence gathering eggs in a small basket. “You did not send the children to gather the eggs?”

  Prudence looked up and blew stray hair from her face. “They were throwing them,” she said. “Throwing the eggs!”

  “Your mother, is it bad?” Prudence’s earlier suspicions had been realized, and her mother was indeed with child.

  “The sickness has been terrible for her, but she is well familiar with the way of it by now. She has been in the way a few months. She believes the illness will ease soon, though the babe will be a while yet.”

  “What wonderful news. Please share my joy with her.” Privately, Anne lamented her own sickness, which she had worked hard to hide, though she hadn’t needed to, for her mother had been so withdrawn in the weeks since Josiah’s departure. Anne understood her sadness, but Samuel had been gone for more than six years, and surely she remembered him often. Even with the memories Josiah stirred, how could he still bring about such melancholy? There had to be more that Anne did not know.

  Prudence grinned. “Mother is not contagious. You may tell her yourself.”

  Anne did not know whether to laugh or cry. Toeing the dirt, she said, “I need not worry that I might catch a babe from her, for it seems Josiah has already seen to the task.”

  It must have taken time for the words to sink in, for a moment passed before Prudence stopped, wide eyed, and nearly dropped the egg she held. “Are you saying you are with child?”

  “So it seems.” An odd calm blanketed Anne—a calm that existed in great contrast to Prudence’s obvious shock.

  Prudence settled the eggs and wiped her hands on her skirt before enveloping Anne in a warm hug. “I know not whether to laugh or cry. Why have you not told me of this? I never even knew of your relations! How do you feel?”

  Fierce heat overcame her. How could Anne explain? Surely she would have told Prudence if not for the way it had ended. And once it was over, Anne wanted the memories to herself. She did not want to shriek or giggle, as they were prone to do over such a topic. She did not want to speak to his size or his capabilities.

  She did not want to admit to her mistake.

  “It was the night before he left,” Anne said.

  The words took a moment to sink in, but she could see the moment they made their mark, for Prudence’s face fell. “How could he do that and leave?” she asked, her tone angry. Then she softened and she said, “I am so sorry. I know you loved him.”

  Startled, Anne looked to her friend. “I never said I loved him.”

  “You never had to. It was as plain as the nose on your face. In fact, it still is.”

  Anne shook her head. “It is long over.”

  Prudence cast a pointed look at Anne’s belly. “Is it?”

  Anne sighed. “Of course it is not. I suppose it will never be. But he and I cannot be together.”

  “What happened?” Prudence’s voice had softened, though she still wore a look of disbelief. “You will only speak of untruth, but what can be so terrible?”

  Anne shook her head. “I will tell you, but please. Speak not of this.”

  “Of course.”

  “He is the same Josiah who was Samuel’s friend.”

  Prudence’s mouth dropped. “That is why he looked familiar!”

  “Yes, and he came for me. He wanted to prove himself to my parents—to earn my hand.”

  “Have you known all along?”

  Anne nodded. “Of course, but I feared my parents would not allow his company so we agreed to tell no one of his identity.”

  Prudence frowned. “He was practically a part of your family—verily, there was often talk of whether he had another home. Your parents loved him. Why would they deny you the chance to see him again?”

  “You know they have never gotten over their grief. I thought…I thought if they had a chance to get to know Josiah again, they would see what a good man he is and would not send him away.”

  Prudence crossed her arms. “So you lied to your parents?”

  “Of course not. They never…”

  “What?”

  Anne bent over and lowered herself to the ground. “They never asked,” she whispered. “And neither did I.” She had not asked Josiah about Samuel’s death, yet she blamed him of untruth. And now he was gone.

  Prudence looked after her in alarm. “Of what do you speak? How are you? Is it the baby?”

  “No.” Anne shook her head. “Josiah told me it was he who killed Samuel.”

  “What?”

  “The day Elizabeth was hanged, I could not go home. I needed time to think, but I had not left word with my parents. They were worried after it grew dark, so they asked Josiah to come after me. The storm was terrible, and the deluge set in. We sought shelter and…we did not return until morning. My mother took one look at me and scolded me for consorting with the hired man, and I told her. I promised him the day he returned I would not reveal his identity, but I had to defend him. I told her it was Josiah, and that he had come for me.”

  “I cannot believe he returned after so many years. If not for the circumstances, it would be utterly romantic.”

  Anne shook her head. “I expected my mother would be angry, but the news broke her heart. It was then she told me that Josiah was the one to kill Samuel.”

  “But…I thought your brother drowned.”

  Anne nodded. “I should have asked questions, but at the time, I could not think. I was so stunned. I only knew Josiah had not told me, and when I asked him for the truth, he admitted Samuel was dead because of him. At the time, I could not bear the betrayal. The things he said to me…he should have told me of his guilt.”

  “But you did not ask?”

  “No.” Anne shook her head. “Of course, I never asked. But how could I know? And our night together…he promised he would never deny me anything. I guess he meant it, for when I asked him to go,
he left. I have not seen him since.”

  “But if Samuel drowned, how could Josiah be responsible for his death? Surely he did not hold his head beneath the waves.”

  Anne hugged herself. “Yesterday I asked mother about Samuel. I asked how he died.”

  “And?”

  “She said Josiah went first and lured him into the water. But Josiah would do no such thing! He was afraid of the water.”

  Prudence rubbed her face. “Wait a minute. Why would he admit to a fault that was not his?”

  “I cannot know. He waited so many years to return to me. It makes no sense at all.”

  Prudence knelt and placed a hand on Anne’s arm. “Does Josiah know of his child?”

  Anne shook her head. “He is gone, perhaps back to Cambridge where he lived after he left Salem. I cannot tell him, and I cannot bring the shame of this pregnancy on my family. My parents are too weak.”

  Prudence narrowed her eyes. “What choice do you have? Your parents will come around. You are their only child…” Apparently realizing her mistake, Prudence said, “My apologies. I did not—”

  “Worry not. Your words are true,” she said, though the reminder stabbed at her heart. “I am going away to have the babe.”

  “And then what? Will you never return? What of Josiah? What of your parents, Anne? They will worry themselves sick!” Prudence stood and gestured wildly.

  “Josiah is long gone,” she said quietly. “As for my parents, my hope is that when my mother looks into the face of her grandchild she will feel love. Until then, she will only see shame for what I have done and the state in which I currently find myself.”

  The explanation seemed to deflate Prudence, who leaned back against the dusty wall in apparent defeat. “How can I help?”

  Anne bit her lip. “I need to know how to find the midwife Lydia.”

  “I cannot help you with that. She left Salem in the dead of night and has not been seen since.”

  “Please, Prudence. You must know some way I can find her.”

  After a long moment of silence, her face brightened. “Goodman Bradshaw. He cares for the horse Lydia left behind. Perhaps he or his wife Eunice can help you.”