An Unexpected Sin (12 page)

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.”

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 complicate 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.