An Unexpected Sin (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ballance, Sarah

  Anne jumped to her feet and ran to her friend, clasping hands with her. “Many thanks, my friend.”

  Prudence’s smile fell. “So that’s it? You are leaving?”

  Anne nodded. “It is the best thing for everyone.”

  “When will I see you again?”

  “In a few months’ time I will return. But until then, please, tell no one I seek the midwife.”

  “Of course.”

  Anne might have detected a tear in Prudence’s eye if not for the water clouding her own vision. “Be well.”

  “I will,” Prudence said, sniffling. “And you…”

  “Worry not. I will return. And then you will be an aunt.”

  Prudence pulled Anne into a final hug. “Do you remember the Bradshaw house? It is just down the road from where Lydia once lived.”

  She remembered. Fighting tears, Anne straightened her back and gathered her courage. Her life would change after this. Would her parents understand and accept their grandchild?

  Or was she making the biggest mistake of her life?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anne had spent much time in Salem Village, but seldom in the years since her family moved away had she ventured beyond Prudence’s home. And never, in all those years, had she passed the home in which she used to live.

  Today, she did.

  It was just a box of a place, much smaller than she remembered. From the outside it looked to be a single floor, but inside her father had fashioned a loft in which she and Samuel had slept. The roof had sloped overhead so she could not stand straight and it had been terribly hot in summer, but it had offered a view of the entire house, save for her parents’ bedroom directly underneath. To her young eyes it had always seemed a secretive, wonderful place…even though she had to share it with Samuel, who had found great delight in brotherly torture. One time he had left a green snake in her bedding, and when Anne came screeching from the rafters her mother had scolded her until she had learned the cause, at which point she, too, had succumbed to fits. For weeks thereafter, she had worried over the evil that had entered the home in the form of that snake.

  Anne had felt that the evil was to be found in her brother, but she had dared not say such a thing. No such talk was allowed.

  It was not clear now if someone else lived in the home. Puritan possessions were typically sparse and seldom left to the elements, but she suspected the home empty, for the grass was tall and unruly and the windows closed. After so many damp days, surely if anyone lived inside they would have thrown open the shutters for the warm sunlight to be allowed inside. And there would be chickens scratching the grass, for nearly every family in the farming village had a small flock.

  The small barn still stood out back, a little worse for the wear, but upright. It appeared empty, but she knew better.

  It was full of memories.

  She glanced again at the house, and still seeing no sign of occupancy, walked through the yard to the outbuilding. One section was just a lean-to. The other had a large swinging door that had seemed much bigger to her as a child than it did now. Cautiously, she eased it open and peered inside.

  Sunlight filtered through sparsely broken boards and revealed heavy spider webs thick with dust, but otherwise the space looked much as it had when she was a child. It was funny how time could change so little in some ways and so very much in others. She was unsure whether to embrace or fight the melancholy in this place she had once shared with both Samuel and Josiah—in this place that at once filled and emptied her.

  It mattered not, for her path was set.

  She had just turned to go when a corner post caught her eye, triggering her memory. Could it still be there? Heart pounding, she crossed the barn. Kneeling, she wiped at the thick dust. Several seconds passed before the carving revealed itself, but it was there. J+A. Josiah had scratched their initials there not long before Samuel’s accident. He had only teased of it at first, but when she assured him he would do no such thing for fear it would be seen, he had grinned and dropped to the floor, marring the post low enough no one would likely discover it. But she had known.

  How could she have forgotten?

  Why would he let her go so easily?

  Heart heavy, she let herself from the barn and, with a final glance at her past, headed for her future.

  At the Bradshaw home, she found the goodman tending to a loose board in his fence.

  “Good morrow!” she called. He did not know her well, though they had met before. Would he help her? The worried knot in her throat traveled to her stomach.

  He paused in his struggle with the fence. After raising his hat to wipe his brow, he addressed her. “How do you fare, Neighbor? Anne, is it?”

  “Anne Scudder,” she said. “Now of Salem Town. A friend of Lydia Colson.”

  The goodman stiffened. Though his eyes remained kind and his smile gentle, he now seemed wary. Verily, Anne’s mention of Lydia seemed to draw his defenses. “What brings you here this morn?” he asked.

  “I seek Lydia. A friend said you might know where to find her.”

  “I fear I cannot say. The goodwife has asked that I maintain her confidence,” he said, his tone cautious. Absently, he patted a sleek bay horse nudging him over the paddock fence.

  “Please, good sir. It is urgent I reach her.”

  “Truly, I regret that I cannot help, but Lydia and her husband have asked for privacy.”

  “I know of her arrest. And that she was found guilty and was granted freedom. I do not wish to bring harm to her or her reputation. Please, this is a personal matter of great importance.” Anne felt silly pleading in such a way, but could he not see how important her cause?

  If he did, he chose not to say.

  “Please,” she tried anew. She forced tears away. She would not cry. She was no child…she was a woman with child, and she sought only to care for her babe. She could not tell the goodman that, but she prayed for his understanding. “Can you at least tell me in which direction to travel?”

  “You cannot simply wander until you find her by happenstance!”

  Anne gathered herself to say she would do just that, but did not get the chance. A woman approached, her belly round with child. As with the goodman, she was familiar to Anne.

  “My wife, Eunice,” said Andrew. Turning to her, he said, “This is Anne Scudder. She seeks Lydia.”

  “You are of Salem?” Eunice asked.

  “Much of my childhood was spent here. My parents now own an inn in town, though I return here often.”

  “Not many young women brave the road.” Eunice looked crossways to her husband before returning her attention to Anne. “Why do you seek the physician? She has a successor here in Salem, though surely there is a suitable doctor in town.”

  Without forethought, Anne placed her hand to her stomach. The small sign must have been bright to Eunice, whose eyes widened in the face of her immediate scrutiny. Too late to change the observation, Anne could only hope the other woman would understand. “Lydia is a friend, Goody Bradshaw. Please. I must find her.”

  The goodwife exchanged a look with her husband. “You cannot travel alone, child.”

  “The choice is not mine. I must go to her. I can put one foot in front of the other well enough.”

  The goodwoman offered a kind smile. “We know not where they are—not precisely—but have heard from a messenger.” To this, Andrew gave a sharp look, but his wife returned it and continued on. “Do you ride?”

  “I have, yes.”

  “Then you will take Lydia’s horse. His name is Benedict, and he aims to eat us out of house and home.”

  Anne offered the horse a second glance, seeing he was indeed on the thin side. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Continue along the road. When you get to the next town, ask of the Dunhams. Someone will know.”

  Anne’s jaw loosened. The Dunhams were one of the wealthiest families in all of New England. Could it be the same family? If so, did such news complic
ate her cause? “Lydia is of the Dunham family?”

  Eunice smiled. “Her husband is of the blood. Go, child. Take the horse and with him our regards. Lydia will understand your arrival soon enough.”

  “I cannot thank you—”

  “Worry not,” Eunice said. “Lydia surely misses Benedict and will be grateful for his safe return. It will be thanks enough.”

  Anne gave the woman an impulsive, enthusiastic hug, which she returned in kind. In short order, Andrew returned with the horse’s tack and set to preparing the mount. The saddle wasn’t a sidesaddle, but the low pommel would allow Anne to ride properly, albeit with some discomfort. Still, the option was far better than taking to the task on foot—a prospect that could take days, should Lydia’s location be hard to center.

  Now, Anne nearly shook with relief. She had not realized how foolish her plan until forced to face its reality. Some combination of fear and honor had kept her intentions true, but now she knew not what she would have done without the Bradshaws’ kindness. As it were, traveling alone would be a difficult, dangerous task but on horseback she could outrun trouble. For a woman, the only chance of fighting it would be to catch a man off guard, and though she had stitched a knife into her skirts—in a hold that would easily break free—she wasn’t sure of having to use it. Perhaps now she would not need to.

  Andrew had softened somewhat, and now he offered a gentle smile as he assisted Anne onto the mount. “Henry Dunham is a good friend,” he said. “Please send him my regards.”

  “I will, good sir. Thank you.”

  She turned Benedict, only to see Eunice rushing from the house with a small sack. She handed it to Anne. “It is only bread, but it will help you along your way.”

  “I cannot speak of my gratitude,” Anne said. “Your generosity is a great blessing to me.”

  “Be well,” said Eunice.

  “And to you.” Anne nodded a farewell, then turned the horse. After a quick tug to ensure her bag was secure, she nudged Benedict into an easy trot, then a canter. Quickly the trees closed her view of the village behind her, and as the horse’s strides ate up the ground Anne realized she was doing far more than leaving behind her old life.

  After clearing her last hurdle, she was well and truly headed forth into a new one.

  …

  Anne reached the next town by sundown and had little trouble receiving direction to the Dunham home. From what she had heard of the Dunham name, she expected a rather grand estate, but instead found a small, neat homestead surrounded by extensive, well-tended grounds. Anne had merely paused on the dirt path leading to the home when Lydia herself stepped from the house. She wore a simple dress—not at all how Anne would have imagined someone so wealthy—but her smile was bright, if questioning.

  Questions or not, the sight of her old friend had Anne sagging in relief.

  “Anne Scudder?” Lydia approached. “Is that you?”

  Sliding from the saddle, she replied, “Indeed, and here with Benedict!”

  “However did you find…?”

  “Worry not, for it was not easy. I hope you are not angry with the Bradshaws. The goodman protested, but Goody Bradshaw took pity on me.”

  Lydia gave Benedict a firm scratch on the head. “The oaf misses you,” she said to him, “as do I.” Turning to Lydia, she laughed and said, “Be assured the oaf in question is not Henry, but his horse, Willard. He has been quite lonely without his pasture mate. And you, Anne. What brings you here, my friend?”

  “I do not want to impose, but I…I am afraid I am in need of your services.”

  “Is something wrong? Are you ill?”

  Anne hesitated. “No, nothing like that. Not exactly.”

  “You have traveled some distance. I understand Salem has a new physician. You are of town, are you not?”

  “I am, but this is a…confidential matter. I could not risk the gossip.”

  Lydia’s eyes widened, then drifted lower to Anne’s belly.

  “I was to marry the father, but…he is gone.” Anne bit her lip, ill at ease over her small untruth. Because their relationship had not been approved, Anne doubted it fair to claim betrothal. But her heart claimed Josiah to that day. “After what happened…I hope to have my baby away, so as not to bring shame to my family, and I will return to them in time. I know I ask a great deal, but perhaps I can do something to earn your assistance?”

  If Lydia doubted Anne’s story, she made nothing of her misgivings. “Think nothing of it. As you can see, I find myself in the same state.” She laughed and patted her own round stomach. “It will be a while yet, but it is quite a state indeed. I grow quite lonely when Henry is away tending to business. Besides, I owe you a debt of gratitude for warning me of the accusations back in Salem. That could have turned out quite differently.”

  “It has for most. Many have been arrested since you left. They are to be hanged,” Anne said, her emotions somber. “Innocent lives will be lost.”

  “It is a terrible sickness that has descended over the village. I have heard of the arrests.”

  “I lost a good friend,” Anne said.

  Lydia gave Anne a warm hug. “I am so sorry. I pray they will soon see the error of their beliefs, but my hopes are not high. It will be hard to come to reason when they arrest anyone who does not agree with them. All we can do is pray.”

  “Is that how you avoided the gallows?”

  “I did pray, but I cannot say I did not lose hope. If not for Henry…he used his influence with the governor. I was ordered from Salem and forbidden to speak of it, but that is a small price for my life. But this is terrible talk, and it seems we have good news to share. Come, let us reunite Benedict with his old friend Willard so we can see to your stay.”

  Lydia took Benedict, who had begun to tug earnestly on his lead, and walked him toward a small, neat barn behind the house.

  Long before Anne saw another horse, a fierce whinny split the air. “That must be Willard,” she said.

  Lydia laughed. “The one and only.”

  Anne’s memory of the big black stallion did not do him justice. He was larger than life—impossibly tall and wide, with heavily feathered legs and a thick, flowing mane and tail. Looking at him, it was not difficult to see how he had gained the reputation of the devil’s horse, for Anne had seen nothing like him in her lifetime. She suspected the same of most residents of Salem’s small farming village, which is likely where much of Lydia’s trouble had begun. The devil, gallantly dressed and sitting atop a magnificent black steed, was rumored to seek souls in the woods surrounding Salem. When Henry had arrived in Salem dressed in finery and straddled atop just such a creature, the rumors had flown in haste. Then, Lydia had been spotted on top of the so-called devil’s horse, and shortly thereafter was arrested for practicing witchcraft.

  Though her story had ended differently than most.

  Once Benedict had been fed and watered, Anne gathered her things and followed Lydia into the house. Although it was indeed smaller than the estates of most of the wealthy, it was well appointed and far removed from Lydia’s one-room home in Salem. Yet it still carried the same quaint charm, which Anne found delightful. And the room Lydia offered Anne was simply opulent—in particular the bedtick, the contents of which were the softest Anne had ever touched.

  “It is made of down,” Lydia explained of the feather mattress. “A bit warm in the summer, but a good night’s sleep.”

  “I can only imagine,” Anne said.

  “You will soon know,” Lydia replied with a grin. “Now come sit with me and tell me your story. Henry will be in for the evening meal soon, and I cannot leave him hungry, for he is as insatiable as his horse.”

  Anne’s attention shot to the bulge of Lydia’s belly and both women laughed. But the light mood did not last, for despite Josiah’s betrayal she found she missed greatly the family she would never know. But she would have her babe, and with any luck she would earn her parents’ forgiveness.

  And that would
have to be enough.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Josiah’s worry could not be tempered. Weeks ago, he had sent word to Anne of his relocation to Cambridge. Upon returning there, he had found employ under a barrister, even though he held no real aspiration for becoming one himself. Though he made a good wage, he remained unsettled. Each day without Anne was longer than the last, and deep in his chest settled an ache that had grown sharp with its fury. It mattered not that his decision to protect Anne had been the right one—she had given him the most precious of gifts, from which he had simply walked away. Surely by now, her anger had been tempered by hurt, but he had left her without remedy. He had taken her faith and honor and left her, all in an effort to run from his past. The guise of keeping her safe was honest, but it was just as much a lie, for he loved her fiercely—there could be no greater protection for her than the circle of his arms.

  Josiah had suffered a great deal in his years, but nothing had ever broken him. Nothing, that is, until he lost Anne. And nothing would matter until he got her back.

  Perhaps then he would find the answers that had eluded him in Cambridge.

  The nature of his employment allowed him the ability to search records without drawing speculation, but to no end. It was almost as if his mother had never existed. Perhaps he would find answers if he had known about his mother’s family, but his father had not shared any of that information. It seemed he had succeeded in eliminating all trace of his first wife, which begged the question…how had the old woman known?

  There was only one explanation that made sense—she must have known Josiah’s mother. And if the old woman was related to Anne, as he expected, had she told the Scudders of his lineage? If so and he returned to Anne, her parents could have him arrested—accusations had been based on far less. But in doing so, they might implicate Anne. Verily, they would not risk their daughter in such a way…but they kept to themselves. What if they did not know how dire the situation had grown, or how quickly accusations had spread?