The Sins of a Few (4 page)

“And what of the suffering for those who hanged, father? What about the loved ones left mourning? You wish for me to fix what little you have suffered, but what of the twenty?”

“The courts have determined it is over.”

“Over for those who remain. You cannot undo what the accusations have left behind.”

Richard shrugged. “What more can we do? All the more reason to move forward.”

“My thoughts precisely,” Nathanial said.

The old man’s eyes lit a notch. “So you will help?”

Nathanial edged past his father, pausing at the rear door of the home. He swung open the slab, enjoying the bright light and unexpectedly warm air that touched his skin. “No, Father,” he said quietly. “As you said, nothing can undo the atrocities in Salem. I have no choice but to move on. Despite your threats to the contrary, I do have a future.”

And in his heart, he knew there was but one place that could be.

Chapter Five

Faith was on her knees, digging through a thatch of weeds and looking for eggs when a shadow crossed her view. Her initial frustration gave way to the thunderous beat of her heart, for when she glanced up, she found blue eyes peering at her through a fallen lock of hair. Nathanial, so shockingly handsome without the unruly scruff on his face that she could do nothing but stare.

“Good morrow,” Nathanial said. His expression bordered on amusement, his mouth wavering as he pressed his lips together.

“What’s so funny?”

“Forgive me. It is not often I find such a vision plowing through the overgrowth.”

“You are a sorry excuse for a farmer’s son if you think this is plowing.”

“My apologies. What would you prefer I call it?”

Her face heated, for her own definition was no more accurate than his. “Digging.”

He laughed, wholly and heartily, and she realized just how terribly long it had been since she had heard such a joyful noise. A corner of the veil that had settled over Salem lifted, letting in some much-needed light. That it had come courtesy of an Abbot seemed infinitely unfair.

“For what are you digging?”

She sighed. “Eggs. A few weeks ago, a storm took out the henhouse. The chickens are scattered and so are their eggs. They seem to lay wherever it suits them, and never in the same place twice. They are unsettled.”

“As am I.” He reached for her arm. She held out her hand without thinking and rose, puzzled, as he pulled her to her feet. “Might we talk?” he asked.

“About eggs?”

He laughed. “No. I want to formally apologize for my family’s role—”

She shook her head. “You need not. I needed someone else to blame—I suppose to share my own pain. When I saw you I wanted to pummel you for allowing something so terrible to happen, when you of all people, were in a place to stop it, but I realize you were across the ocean. It is just hard not to hurt.”

The firm set of his jaw softened. “I am truly appalled at what happened here. My heart breaks for you and for every family here who was affected.”

“That would be all of us,” she said quietly. “Twenty among us were executed. More died in jail. Those who did not lose family, lost neighbors, and we all lived under the same shroud of fear.”

“Can you tell me…why?” He looked toward the house, and for the first time she realized how thoroughly he must share her loss…and likely many others. He still held her hand, squeezing it when hers began to tremble.

Self-conscious, she withdrew and crossed her arms over her chest. “Aunt Ruth?”

“Yes.”

Faith braced herself, waiting for the usual flood of pain. It did not come. She felt the sorrow, but the softness in his expression made her feel less alone. “Your sister was angry when my aunt scolded her over the mousers, but that alone would not have convinced everyone of her guilt—rather, it was what made her a target. Her crime, I suppose, was that she never had children.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “It was more than ten years ago when she began teaching me, and she was widowed then.”

“I was just a babe when Uncle Joseph died.”

His brow furrowed. “So that was it? Because she was a barren woman she was mistaken for a witch?”

“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.