The Sins of a Few (8 page)

Smiling to herself, Faith slipped out the back door and closed it gently behind her. Nathanial heard her and looked up, returning the grin. He ducked inside the henhouse, reappearing seconds later without the poultry. “I know not how many nights of introduction they will require, but soon they will enter on their own. There are nesting boxes inside for the eggs, so in time your search will be contained to those four walls.

“Thank you,” she said. “Your kindness is much appreciated.”

“I should apologize,” he said, his words gentle. “For earlier. I never meant to suggest your honor had been compromised.”

The topic was uncomfortable. He had no right to suggest she had given herself to another man—no more right than he had to assume she would fall at his feet and beg him to take her anywhere his wandering heart desired. “If you did not mean to suggest it, then why did you?”

He offered a crooked grin. “I am quite embarrassed by the truth, but I suppose it is the least of what I owe you. Your kisses…they unwound me, and I could not fathom how someone without experience could entice me in such a way.”

“Is that the truth?”

“It is.”

She fiddled with her skirts. She managed to evade looking at him for a moment, and then her curiosity got the better of her. “You do not find me boring?”

“No, little one,” he said softly. “Never have I felt a touch like yours. I am as thrilled by your touch as I am your intelligence and sharp tongue.”

“A sharp tongue could be problematic.”

“Indeed, but your wit enthralls me. Come,” he said, “I want to show you something.”

Faith looked around, her heart and mind protesting in unison. Not too long ago, Salem had been even more dangerous at night than it had by day. “In the dark?”

“The moon is bright.”

She had to concede that point. The moon beamed down over them like a second sun. She crossed her arms against the growing chill. He warmed her. Made her long for something more than what existed in the four small walls in which she had barricaded herself. “Show me.”

“It is not far,” he said. As he spoke he shed his coat and settled it over her shoulders.

She breathed deeply, enjoying his scent emanating from the fabric, and fell into step next to him. “Not too long ago, walking at night would have begged trouble.”

“Are you so sure it does not now?”

She looked at him sharply, but he was grinning. “I suppose you are the trouble in question?”

“You are quick to trust, little one.”

“And you should not be so quick to judge. You have proven yourself a gentleman.”

“Any man can pretend for a short while.”

She pressed together her lips so she would not smile. Had she not had this very exchange with her mother? Only then it was she who had argued, and now it was Nathanial while Faith defended. Perhaps she should have been wary, but she found the turnover delightful. “The body may fool, but the eyes never do.”

“I must agree,” he said. “Such observations are learned in my trade.”

“Then you know Jeremiah is not to be believed.” She held her breath, waiting for Jeremiah’s name to cast a pall over their exchange. But it did not.

Nathanial nodded. “I do. And you know of my sincerity.”

She hesitated. “I suppose I should, but why me? I have nothing. My mother pays a stipend to reside in the home, but we own no property.” She knew her argument held a flaw, for women were forbidden from owning property—Nathanial would not gain land from any marriage transaction, not just one with her—but she still could not fathom why he would hold interest in her.

“Property is essential to security,” he said. “And security is the key to happiness. Marry me, and you will want for nothing—you will have everything life has to offer. What more could you ask?”

“That’s a wishful notion, Nathanial,” she said softly. “But I want a man who wants for me, not one who only seeks more riches. A man who understands that a fortune means nothing without love, and that the most important things in life are those which cannot be purchased.”

“But without stability, there is suffering. Love will not put food on the table or provide shelter from the storm.”

After several long moments, she spoke. “Your life has taken you far from Salem, but I have never traveled farther than the harbor. I cannot imagine you have gone so far and have not found anything more suitable than what you left behind.”

“Have you considered the whole of my journey was to bring me back to you?”

Her face grew hot, and she was grateful for the cool night that whisked the heat from her face. “I might if you had ever shown an interest in me before you left.”

He laughed. “Is that what you thought? That I had no interest in you?”

“I…suppose.”

He stopped and drew her around so she faced him. “I adored you, but last we met you were a girl of sixteen and I was a man of twenty and one. To pursue you would be to dishonor you, your mother, and your aunt. I wanted for you, but I could not bear to repay your aunt’s kindness in such a way.”

“You seem truthful,” she admitted. She had not fathomed the answer could be so clear. So logical.

Blue eyes saturated her. “Have you any reason to believe otherwise?”

She turned and began walking, though she knew not where they were headed. His attention was too much—too sincere. Not that she did not believe him, but after months of living in fear and heartbreak, the prospect of anything good in her life scared her as much as it thrilled her. She knew not which aspect to embrace.

He caught up easily.

“If your words are true,” she said, “then you have already left me once.”

“You were not mine to leave.”

“Your family was your own, and you discarded them.”

He put a hand on her arm, drawing her to look at him when he spoke. “Do not make light of the fact that they first discarded me. It was they who ceased ties…not I. I would never walk away from a promise, Faith. My father cast me aside. That is why I left, and you are the reason I returned. I have never walked away from a commitment, and you have my assurance I never will. Now, to whom do you pay the stipend for your home?”

With the change in subject, the knot in her chest loosened and she turned to walk on. “William Burton.”

“Jeremiah’s father?” Nathanial fell in step with her, his tone dark.

“He would be the one. He owns the home and a large parcel surrounding it, which is why it is best that in the future you refrain from damaging his son’s face.”

Nathanial grunted. Now that her eyes had adjusted, the night seemed bright as day and she had no trouble discerning the scowl that marred his face. “Does he use that against you?”

“Jeremiah?” But she need not ask, for he could mean no one else. “He has tried. I stopped him, though not as handily as you did.”

“What do you mean you
stopped
him?”

“He tried. I stopped him.”

“He tried
what
?”

She hesitated. Though he talked overmuch, Jeremiah had only attempted to force himself one time, many months ago. He had not been as successful as he led others to believe, but that did not stop him from his suggestions. “Do not be a brute. It matters not what he tried—only that he did not succeed.”

“It matters a great damned deal. No man should
ever
…” He caught her eye and the hardened shell he wore melted. “What of his father?” he asked. “Is he fair?”

“More than fair. He asks only for eggs, butter, and bread in trade for rent.”

“That is most generous,” Nathanial agreed. “I expect he will want more aggressive terms if we marry.”

Faith frowned. “We cannot afford to pay more.”

He straightened. “If we marry,
we
can afford to pay any price.”

She fought the edge of a smile. “And how long will you be content for that arrangement?”

“For as long you want to stay.” He touched her shoulder. “But with or without me, Faith, you need to prepare for the fact that you will one day have to move. Jeremiah will take the coward’s way and try to use that property against you.”

His words doused all traces of the smile that had threatened. “He cannot make me favor him.”

“No, but he can force you to leave if you do not align with him.”

His blunt assessment did not come as a complete shock, though she had done well to ignore the threat until he voiced it. Suddenly she felt quite small. “Where will we go?”

“As long as the elder Burton remains,” Nathanial said, his voice soft and gentle, “I expect he will prefer the benefit of your occupancy.”

Her shoulders slumped with the weight of reality. “There is little security in hoping.”

He touched her chin, drawing her to look at him. “Marry me, Faith, and you will never have to worry. I will live in your aunt’s house for as long as you want—you and me and your mother until you are ready to build a home of our own.”

She eyed him warily. “You will not ask me to leave Salem?”

His gentle smile was her undoing. “I want you to see what else the world has to offer, but I will not take you from Salem against your will.”

His offer tempted her. Whether or not she married Nathanial, she would refuse Jeremiah. Despite Nathanial’s assurances that the elder Burton would allow them to remain in the home, the old man had little to gain from their tenancy, and if he asked them to leave, she would be without options. She had tried so hard for so long to stand on her own, to stay strong for her mother, that she had not realized how good it felt to have someone stand for her.

Nathanial was that someone, and he truly did offer her the world.

She swallowed. “I suppose it could be nice to see other places if I knew Salem awaited my return.”

“It matters not where you go. Salem will always be your home.” He took her hand and lifted it to kiss her fingertips, then his expression darkened slightly. “What of Jeremiah? Does the elder Goodman have expectations that his son’s claims are true?”

She shook her head. “That he and I are to be together? I cannot know, though I certainly hope not. He has never mentioned it and I have heard no talk.”

Nathanial did not respond, and for that she was grateful. She cared not to discuss Jeremiah. The deepening beauty of the night was a much better place to focus her attention, though it did not have it for long.

“Here we are, just up this path.” Nathanial reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it as he led her to a clearing at the top of a small hill. “This is one of my favorite spots in Salem. Look up.”

She did, and her breath caught. There, without the cover of trees, the night burst into a million points of starlight. “I never knew the sky could be so beautiful,” she said, breathless.

“With the trees so wide, it is almost like being on the ship. At sea, there is nothing but water and sky, both of them endless.”

“Were you not frightened by something so vast?”

He looked from his observance of the sky to meet her eyes. “The ocean is a funny thing. It makes some men feel larger than they should. Others are humbled. I am one of the latter, though not as a product of fear. Respect comes from awareness.”

“In other areas as well.”

His focus shifted to her mouth, though he quickly found her eyes. His fingers tightened over hers. “Verily, this is true.”

“Your question, Nathanial. Does it still stand?”

The softest of smiles played at his lips. “Indeed, it does. There could be no greater honor for me than to take you as my wife. Will you grant me your hand?”

Though her stomach churned and her heart hammered, her doubts had been eased. She could offer but one answer. “Yes, I will.”

Chapter Ten

Faith took her time tending to the outside chores the next morning, knowing Prudence would pass by on her way to deliver eggs to some of the elders in the village. She wanted to tell her friend of her engagement before Prudence learned it elsewhere. She would be full of questions, and Faith could not blame her. Faith entertained many of her own.

But doubts were to be expected with a decision so big. Nathanial had promised her a home, but moreover, he had promised her the home she loved. She would give him her hand, and in return she would have the stability for a comfortable life—one that extended to her mother. His thoughtful inclusion of her mother assuaged her concerns about his leaving Salem years before. He had not done so because he had cared not for his family, but because his family had not cared for him. Truthfully, it was not hard to see that the pattern extended long before Nathanial had left for Cambridge, then London. His father’s insistence that Nathanial not attend school was what put him at her aunt’s table to begin with. Even then—as a boy—he had not suffered under his father’s wishes. He had simply found a way.

She had a feeling he would always find a way.

He was a powerful man. He could have easily forced himself on her, but he had immediately stopped his attempts at intimacy when she’d asked. He pursued her with words, but gave her nothing to fear from his body.

Life offered no guarantees, and her aunt’s death was a sorrowful example of that. But Nathanial was right in that he would give her security. She would never call anywhere but Salem home, but if she ever left the village, she knew the strength of that security would travel with her. She would want for nothing.

She would become Nathanial’s wife, and she could only hope Prudence would not drop her basket when Faith shared her news.

As it turned out, Prudence came dangerously close. They both grabbed for the errant basket, and when it was steady Prudence stared at Faith, her jaw slackened. “What?”

“Nathanial and I…we have agreed to a marriage.”

“And was it not just a day ago you attested to knowing nothing of his backside?”

“At the time I did not.”

“And now?”

“And now I am of the opinion you should marry Arthur.”

“Do not try to turn my attention, Faith. Tell me of that magnificent man. Is he as big…everywhere as he seems.”

Faith nearly choked on thin air. “I would not know.”

“And you are turning a brilliant shade of red.”

“I would be more concerned if I did not. Such talk!”

“To listen to Jeremiah,” Prudence said slyly, “it is nothing you have not done before.”

Faith’s eyes narrowed. “He is a pompous ass, and a liar to boot. He tried, but he did not succeed.”

Prudence looked quickly around. “Your words! Do you wish to be punished?”

She tightly pressed her lips. She had indeed been careless, for profanity and gossip could result in brutal public shaming. After a quick glance confirmed no one paid them any mind, she lowered her voice. “Forgive me, but he is precisely as I stated.”

“I suppose his current state is a result of having made his claims to your intended?”

Warmth coiled within her. “That is the case. And be assured my chastity remains, despite what Jeremiah said. I have given of myself to no one, including my intended.” Faith lowered her voice. “Not that I have not sampled enough to look forward to the rest.” Her thoughts whisked her to the moments she had spent in his arms and her face heated.

“Are you in there?” Prudence asked, tapping gently against Faith’s head.

“I was just thinking.”

“Of Jeremiah?”

“Of course not. Although I cannot help wondering why Nathanial went after him as he did.” Jeremiah had been out of line with his implications, but she clearly sided with Nathanial. What would he have to prove?

“Did you ask him?”

“One does not question the actions of a man.”

Prudence pursed her lips. “I have never known you not to question anyone. Are you concerned he is violent after resorting to such a thing? He was gone many years.”

Faith shook her head. “Nathanial was terribly angry, but he stopped his pursuit of Jeremiah at the touch of my hand to his arm. I have seen in…other ways that he will defer, quickly and without question. I worry not for my own safety, but I suspect Jeremiah will have a differing fate.”

“You witnessed the fight?”

“It was not much of one. Jeremiah suggested I would tire of Nathanial and return to him. He further implied he and I had been intimate. Nathanial responded with his fist. Jeremiah hit the ground and made no haste in getting up.”

“One blow to the face and one to his pride,” Prudence observed. “I suppose I would have stayed low myself. One strike from Nathanial would be enough.

“Did his father approve of the engagement?”

“He said he cares not for his father’s opinion. Apparently they had a falling out when Nathanial left for Harvard, and the fracture expanded when he went to London. He does not expect to gain any of his father’s holdings.”

“Are you sure Nathanial has his own wealth?”

“I have not asked for proof, but if he lacked wealth, would he not pursue a better match? Or at the least, make amends with his father?” Faith toyed with a strand of dying grass, finding no answers in the straw. “Do you suppose his reasons could be as he stated? That he carried affection for me all these years? Or could it be he feels he’s repaying my aunt’s kindness in caring for the family she left behind?”

“He chose you. What do his reasons matter?”

“I suppose they do not,” Faith muttered. “But how can I set aside the questions?”

“Easy,” Prudence said. “Ask him.”

…

Now that Nathanial had secured Faith’s hand, thoughts of finishing what they had started dogged him without mercy. He shook them off as best he could. He had business to which to attend and could not be taken seriously while lost in carnal thoughts.

William Burton’s stead was along Old Meetinghouse Road. Several houses scattered there, but most fronted large parcels of land. Though the fields were by then resting for the year, Nathanial still hoped to catch the Goodman within his boundaries, as the time had come to gather firewood for the long winter. He was in luck. Within the boxy, plain house a fire roared.

Nathanial knocked lightly on the door and waited but a moment before a woman opened it. “Good morrow,” he greeted her. “Nathanial Abbot here to see Goodman Burke.”

“Please come in,” the woman said. “He sits in the parlor.”

Surprised the simple home had a parlor, he followed the woman to find it did not. The long, open room appeared to be the sole common area of the house, but Nathanial did not argue labels. The man could deem his home as he wished.

A frighteningly thin, frail man sat in a chair—the latter a once-fine specimen that had seen better days—quite close to the fire. He was lost to the size of the blanket that covered his lap.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Goodman. I am Nathanial Abbot.” He knew the Goodman had made no such agreement, but Nathanial had long learned that in negotiations, deference offered a much better beginning than posturing.

The old man peered at him with a disinterested frown. “I have not the energy for a social calling, and I am not well. State your business.”

Though Nathanial was taken aback by the old man’s tone, he forged ahead. “You own a home occupied by Felicity Downing and her daughter Faith.”

“I do, though they will not likely remain long.”

This was news to Nathanial. “May I ask why not?”

“The daughter is my son’s intended. When they marry, she will move on to reside with my son, and it is my understanding her mother cannot maintain the property on her own.”

Once again, Nathanial was stunned by the Goodman’s words. Did he really plan to evict Felicity after Faith married his son? The latter was laughable enough, but Nathanial could acknowledge the old man might not know any different. But to throw an old woman—kin by marriage—out to homelessness? Despite the fact the elder had sired a scourge such as Jeremiah, Nathanial had expected some kindliness from a man who accepted a meager trade as a means to pay rent. Bartering without coin was common, but from what Faith had told him, the amount they paid to live in the home was a pittance. Perhaps now he knew why. Jeremiah had clearly misled his father, and with the elder confined to his home the lie was likely easy to perpetuate.

But the lie was about Nathanial’s intended, and he would have nothing of it.

“I would like to purchase the home and property,” he said. If he secured Felicity’s home in his own name, surely Faith would be willing to venture beyond the confines of Salem.

“No. I have a son. All I have will be his.”

Nathanial straightened. “I do not believe you understand my offer. Name your price, and I assure you both you and your son will profit well from the sale.”

The Goodman’s focus, now razor sharp, landed on Nathanial. “Your posturing is an insult. Please leave.”

Nathanial held his ground. “I am not posturing. I have coin. Name your price.”

“No price.” Jeremiah walked into the room. Both eyes were black, his nose swollen. “Do not sell to him at any price.”

“Why not?”

It was not Nathanial who spoke, but the Goodman. Nathanial tensed. Why would the man even ask when he had already made clear the property was not for sale?

“Aside the fact it was he who marred my face, he has pursued my intended.” Though Jeremiah spoke to his father, his eyes fixed on Nathanial, as did the elder’s.

“Is that true, Abbot?”

Nathanial forced his tone even, his answer vague. “I defended the woman’s honor, yes.”

Jeremiah stretched to his full, pompous height. “Do not be fooled, Father. He sees the loss of your faculties and thinks he can take advantage. Speak the truth, Nathanial—not insults and lies.”

“Very well, then. As you wish.” Nathanial straightened, towering over Jeremiah, and addressed the Goodman. “Your son falsely confessed fornication with the young Downing daughter, then proceeded to further insult her character. I intervened.”

“Lies!” Jeremiah yelled. “Do you not see, Father? You cannot do business with a man who cannot speak the truth. He will mar your reputation just as his family has stained the whole fabric of Salem.”

Nathanial took deliberate steps toward Jeremiah, burying a smile when his nemesis matched each with one of retreat. But Nathanial managed to close the distance and found a great deal of pleasure in watching the little pisser cower under his height. “Watch your tongue,” Nathanial said in a low, dangerous voice, “or otherwise take it outside so it can be properly silenced.”

Jeremiah’s eyes grew wide and his smirk wavered. He first hesitated, then ran like prey, retreating to his father’s side.

The view there was not friendly. Nathanial had to bite back a smile at the Goodman’s blistering scrutiny. Jeremiah lifted a foot to take a step back, but caught sight of Nathanial’s look and opted to plant both feet on the floor.

William met his son’s company with an unfeeling stare. “Is it true you have spread word of fornication with the daughter?”

“My relationship with Faith is none of his business,” Jeremiah snapped.

“If word from your foolish tongue reaches the elders, you will be whipped,” the Goodman warned. “It matters not who the woman is or to whom she belongs, for you will bear the marks all the same.”

Nathanial had had enough. Faith was no man’s property and he would not stand for her to be discussed in such a way. “Continue to speak of Faith in that manner,” he growled, “and a public lashing will be the least of your concerns.”

“What does it matter to you?” Jeremiah snapped.

“She is my intended.”

Jeremiah’s face turned red, then the same purple as his eyes. “Take that back.”

Nathanial stood his ground. “I will not.”

“Then get out.”

Without regard to Jeremiah, Nathanial turned to face the elder Burton. Though he could not take the younger with any seriousness, he did not take lightly the threat of Faith losing her home—or that Jeremiah would push for that very thing once he was safely out of Nathanial’s reach. Jeremiah clearly held some control over his ailing father’s stead, and Nathanial would be without defense once he left the property.

As would Faith.

Though his insides boiled with fury, he ignored Jeremiah and offered the elder Burton a polite nod. “My offer stands. Please send word when you have a price.”

“I am afraid you misunderstood,” Jeremiah said. He approached his father and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are not only to vacate this house, but the other one as well.”

“What other one?” Nathanial spoke slowly, as if controlling his voice could somehow control the agony of what he had just heard—what he understood, but could not bear to acknowledge.

Jeremiah sneered, clearly in belief he had the upper hand. “The one occupied by that whore of yours and her mother. I want you all out. Tonight.”

Nathanial turned to the Goodman, hoping for reason. “Sir?”

The old man shot his son a look of disgust, but any hopes raised by the gesture were soon dashed, for when he returned his attention to Nathanial his expression was no less sour. “I want the house vacated by the end of the week.”