An Unexpected Sin (3 page)

Chapter Three

Josiah kept his promise and followed Anne to her night’s quarters, a small farm near the road toward town. Though he had not spent time in the house there, it, like so many others in Salem, brought back a number of memories.

He tried to force them back. To focus not on what he had lost, but what he had found.

A chance.

Long after his last glimpse of Anne, he waited outside at the edge of the trees, his mind flush with the memory of their kiss. He should not have taken liberties, but he harbored no real regrets. The childhood crush he had carried with him for many years had exploded into purpose, and though he could not explain the reason, he wanted nothing more than to know her.

The possibility of a real relationship with her flitted through his mind, and with it a reminder of his need to win her parents’ favor. He could not fathom they would be as forgiving as Anne. Truthfully, he could not imagine what kept her heart so open after her brother’s death, but he could only be grateful for the unexpected turn. Many years had passed. He still harbored guilt, but it was likely her heart had begun to heal. He hoped so, for to think she still carried a terrible ache six years later pained him almost as much as knowing he had put it there.

The walk to Salem Town took about three hours—perhaps longer in the pitch of night—and he spent every minute questioning his choices. He wanted to be near Anne and he needed a place to stay. Securing employment at her family’s inn would allow both, but he had hoped for a more profitable job—one that made use of his education and would better provide for Anne should he find his way into her graces. He could assist a barrister in town and verily earn a greater wage than he would as a laborer, but then he would lose his proximity to Anne. Now that he had seen her again, he could not bear the thought of distance. But to work for her parents…he would not be dishonest about his identity. Josiah had drowned in enough guilt over Samuel’s death—he could not add to the burden with lies, which left only the bitter truth.

He would have to take his chances.

He spent the remainder of the night on a stack of shipping crates near the harbor. There he dozed but could not sleep—not with the water so near and the past so heavy on his mind. He had never liked the sea, but he suspected the proximity that night was his price to pay for returning…a penance for his sins, though verily the true price could not be measured.

Or could it? The cost had been Samuel’s life.

The streets of Salem Town remained empty until just before dawn, at which point the area around the docks began to wake from its nighttime slumber. Josiah slipped away from his resting spot and walked until he spotted an open shop, where he went inside and inquired as to the whereabouts of the Scudder Inn. The elderly proprietor barely glanced at Josiah before indicating an establishment across town, far from the waterfront.

Not surprising they would want to keep their distance from the sea.

The walk took several minutes, and with each step his reflection seemed to gnaw deeper at his conscience. He passed a number of establishments before coming upon the Scudders’, a generous, box-like two story building comprised of aged wood and little else. A man Josiah faintly recognized to be Anne’s father stood outside struggling with a board when Josiah approached. Settling his hat further on his head, Josiah asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

George Scudder—Josiah was sure now of his identity—looked up and spent several endless moments studying Josiah’s face.

Though he withered inside, Josiah fought to keep his expression neutral. He had been just a lad the last time he had seen the Scudders. And a great deal had changed since then. Josiah now stood two heads taller and had long lost the lankiness of boyhood. His hair, once light, had deepened to brown. But still, the pendulum swung tightly. Even if George Scudder did not recognize him now, Josiah’s name might ring a painful bell, bringing forth memories and associations best left silent.

Stomach tight, Josiah removed his hat and addressed him once more. “I hear you need a hired man.”

After a long, expressionless appraisal, Goodman Scudder nodded. “I do. My hands grow weak. Things come more difficult to me now. Pay’s no good, though.”

Josiah knew he could not win Anne’s hand without a good wage, but his desire to be near her overtook his sensibilities. The opportunity was one he could not deny. “I need only a place to reside. And my hands are in fine working condition.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Josiah.” A common name, but common enough? Despite a conscious effort to relax, his breath caught.

The old man’s eyes dimmed. The name surely triggered his memory, but would recognition end with the name, or would it extend to the person standing before him? After another endless moment, Goodman Scudder spoke. “Well, then, Josiah. If you can fix this loose plank and have the wherewithal to see to a great many more, you may consider yourself hired on.”

“Yes, sir.” Heart racing with unspent adrenaline, Josiah knelt on the ground and easily fit the board back into place.

When he stood, he did so under fierce scrutiny from Anne’s father.

Josiah swallowed. The fragile moment of indecision carried with it the weight of the world. Perhaps his slight relief had come too soon. Did the man recognize him? And if he did not, could Josiah live with the burden of the truth?

For Anne. Yes, he would.

Goodman Scudder cleared his throat. “It seems you have earned yourself a room. But you need to keep earning it, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Josiah did not exhale until his employer turned his back and shuffled toward the steps, his gait that of a man far beyond his years. Life had aged George Scudder. Life…or loss? Guilt stabbed Josiah—a twisting, dull knife tattering the edges of a six-year-old wound.

And the innkeeper seemed none the wiser.

Josiah lifted his chin and had taken only one stride after Goodman Scudder when a face in a window caught his eye. An old woman he did not recognize, yet he deemed her somehow familiar. He quickly averted his eyes, though deep unease suggested he was still being watched.

Inside, Goodman Scudder called for Anne’s mother, Susannah, who came quickly, wiping her hands on her apron. When she saw Josiah, she stopped short.

“New hire. Name’s Josiah,” the goodman said gruffly. “Can you set him up in a room?”

“Of course,” she said after a slight hitch in time. Was she wary? Perhaps it should be expected; what he did not know was whether the scrutiny had taken on a personal nature.

He was a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And one rocking chair bothered him more than the others.

From the corner, an old woman stared with bold green eyes. Anne’s eyes. The elder woman’s years numbered many, her wrinkles marking her face like the lines of a tree. A shawl covered her lap so he could not make out her frame, but she appeared slight. And her appraisal of him was unapologetic. Demanding.

Her lips moved. Or had they?

Josiah looked around but Anne’s parents had left. He was alone. He took a step closer, both captivated and pinned by the woman’s uncanny attention. Then, realizing he could not simply stare, he said, “Good morrow.”

Again, her lips moved, and with that motion came the faintest whisper of sound. But she remained stoic in nature—not at all like a person who attempted conversation. Had he imagined it?

Uneasy, Josiah looked over his shoulder. Though he could see little past the doorway leading to the back half of the inn, for the time he and the elder woman remained alone.

And if she had addressed him, she appeared in no hurry to repeat her words.

“Pardon me?” he asked. “Are we previously acquainted?” He edged closer, startled by the hue of her eyes. They were Anne’s. The old woman’s were not as bright, but they were no less piercing. He had been to Cambridge and back, and though the vision of Anne’s eyes had stayed with him, never had he seen such a hue outside of his mind.

Today, he did.

The woman made no indication of having heard him. He considered whether or not he should address her again when footsteps sounded in the parlor. He turned to see Goodwife Scudder, who had stopped and stared at them in surprise.

“She does not speak,” the goodwife said, nodding toward the old woman. “And has long taken leave of her manners. Forgive her undue attention. This way, please.”

The old woman did not react to the insult, though verily it left Josiah unnerved. Anne’s mother, even as she sought forgiveness with her words, seemed to be warning him away from the elder. Perhaps the old woman was ill, though she might easily have said as much. It was more likely the goodwife preferred the hired help to not disturb her guests…or in the case of the elder, her family, for she had to be a relation of Anne’s.

Josiah followed Anne’s mother to a back room on the lower level of the large, two-story inn—likely a room intended for servants. Inside was the first bed he had seen in days. The room smelled of clean, dry foliage, suggesting the mattress had recently been freshened.

“Thank you,” he said.

“There is no need for gratitude. You will earn it or you will move on.” She did not wait for an answer before leaving him, but it was just as well, for he had none.

Gone was the utter warmth she had exuded when her son had been alive.

Josiah turned around. The tidy room was basic—small, but his belongings were few. He had only a pack and he needed only a place to set it down. He would have been happy for permission to sleep on the porch for the chance to be near Anne. Best of all, the room was steps from where Anne would sleep. He sank onto the bed.

He had found her and against all odds, she seemed to have forgiven him. And he had been given a second chance to prove himself to her parents. Josiah had finally escaped his past.

The truth could be anything he wanted it to be.

Everything in his entire world hung on the wisdom of that choice.

Chapter Four

After enduring a sleepless night at Prudence’s—Anne’s every thought consumed with Josiah—she refused a proffered wagon ride from John Howe, the merchant friend of her father’s who frequently granted her passage to and from Salem Village. Though the walk was long, she wanted the time to think apart from Prudence’s incessant questions and teasing nature. Anne had not yet confessed Josiah’s identity—nor had Prudence guessed—so Prudence was left to believe Anne harbored intense affection for a complete stranger. The ruse would not likely stand to Prudence’s penetrating scrutiny, but for the time, Anne wanted to keep Josiah’s return to herself.

Her thoughts were heavy, and in the solitude she hoped to sort them.

But there was no sorting through what Josiah was to her—or the memories his appearance stirred. Though bittersweet, they brought such great warmth she could not help but draw near—a naïve moth to a burgeoning flame. So many questions lay at the tip of her tongue, but her heart wanted nothing more than the proximity of this man. A decade before, he had tipped the innocence of her girlhood with every forbidden stroke of his fingers against her flesh. Now, his touch kindled a womanly fire within—one that left her thick with emotions she dared not address.

She recognized the thinning woods as a sign she neared town. Her family’s inn was but a short distance away. Might Josiah await her there? Her heart raced and skipped. The walk, meant to settle her mind, had only provoked her desires—desires not even the cloud-thick sky could temper.

Sudden movement in the nearby woods altered the cadence of her heart. Her steps faltered, and with her mind divulged from its haze she realized how terribly still the forest sat. The usual sound of birds hid under a cloak of silence. Though her mother had long warned of the dangers of a young woman traveling unescorted, Anne had always found the path to be one of solace. But now, in the terrible stillness, she thought only of the stranger rumored to haunt the woods near Salem Village. Who but the devil himself could lead to the wrongful accusation of so many of Salem’s most trusted neighbors?

Wanting no more for the solitude of the forest, she turned…and walked straight into something. Someone. Hands closed on her arms.

Blinded by fear, she tried to scream but could force no sound from her throat.

“Anne!” Though insistent, the voice came in low tones. “Worry not, for it is only me.”

“Josiah!” Relief threatened, but before the feeling could find its course he took her hand and softly pressed it to his lips. At the feel of his intimate caress against her bare skin, a white-hot cataclysm of emotion burst forth, rendering her knees weak and her senses sharp. She found her tongue. “Tell me,” she said breathlessly, “why do you linger in the woods?”

He smiled crookedly. “I expected you along the path.”

“You waited all these hours for me?”

“I have waited six summers to return to you. What is one morning more?”

She swallowed, but could not diffuse the heat from her cheeks. When his thumb traced the back of her hand, she found his eyes. He had evaded her question the day before, but she must know. “Why did you stay away so long?”

He tipped his face skyward. Light—filtered by clouds and foliage—made a delicate pattern over his skin. “I was granted opportunity for schooling, a privilege from which I could not walk away.” He paused and looked to their hands, now joined. “Though that is what kept me from you, I must confess I worried for my return. I feared how you might react to me.”

His admittance startled her. “Whatever is there to fear?”

“Samuel.” Josiah’s eyes made a plea for understanding and she could not help but wonder as to his intensity. He had been her brother’s closest friend and—in so many small ways of great importance to her young heart—much more than a friend to her. Though he had left her red-faced and sputtering more times than she could count, she and Josiah had never exchanged a truly cross word. In time, she had come to believe that Samuel knew of the clear affections between his sister and his closest friend, but he made no acknowledgement. She knew of no real reason why Josiah should fear her reaction—whether related to Samuel or otherwise.

She opened her mouth to inquire, but before words formed the cadence of hoof beats sounded farther down the road. Wordlessly, Josiah tugged her off the path, past a stand of heavy summer brush into a small clearing she knew well. Though they were close to town, the thick vegetation hid the road and any hint of the population nearby. Wild ginger grew robustly in the space, where to one side lay a gathering of tinder.

Josiah must have noticed the slant of her attention, for he said, “Your mother has sent me to gather cooking wood.”

She braced against the inclination of his words, barely glancing in the direction of the road as a wagon rumbled past. “Are you saying…?”

“Indeed, I am. Your father hired me this morn.”

Joyfully, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. The vast dismissal of propriety lashed at her conscience, but as quickly as he returned the embrace she found she cared not for the advisability of her actions. She was neither in her mother’s parlor nor a meeting house, but in a quiet place of seclusion where there were no witnesses to prattle their ill-gained gossip.

Though, not even the threat of discovery could pry her from his arms. Her insides coiled and spun, never more so than when he lifted his hands to cradle her head. Then he claimed her mouth. Gone was the hesitance from the night before, and in its place was an urgency upon which she feasted. He didn’t need to press for entry, as her mouth opened on a gasp and he quickly found his way inside.

Nothing had ever tasted sweeter. He must have intended to devour her, for he took her breath with his demanding exploration. He caressed her, gently and wholly, until she feared she might drop from the thrill. When he pulled away, it was just long enough for him to offer a smile before he again leaned close, teasing her swollen mouth with a gentle nip of his teeth.

She scarcely felt his hand trail her spine but for the shivers he evoked, and when he found the small of her back he pressed until their bodies found flawless alignment. He was solid, warm, and unmistakable in his desire for her.

“The years have been too long,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “I have wanted for no one else.”

His words wove beyond her defenses, if they were to be found at all. “I am the same,” she said shyly. “My affections have never been granted to another.”

With her declaration, stiffness fled his limbs and he seemed to relax. “I feared…,” he said softly. “I expected you would move on. You were just a girl.”

“But my feelings cared not for my years. I yearned for you then, as I have ever since.”

He grinned, easing the lingering ache. “Yet, you did not recognize me.”

Though he teased, she could not deny him an explanation. “I could only remember the boy I knew. I could not guess the man you have become.”

He pressed a kiss to her mouth, smiling gently as he withdrew. “Time has forced change,” he said. The sudden hollowness of his expression led her to believe he spoke of Samuel, but Josiah did not mention her brother’s name. Long-suppressed questions ventured forth, and though the answers likely existed in the man before her, she did not want to taint their reunion with a piece of their past that could not be changed.

“Yet,” she said, “our paths have once again crossed.”

“No,” he said over a distant growl of thunder. Humidity soaked the summer sky, its promise of a storm as great as the rumbling. “Years ago, our paths crossed. It is my hope this time they will not merely intersect, but continue together along the road ahead.”

The words were soft and sweet, but their meaning came at her with heft. Their meeting had not been by chance. He had come for her, and her chest threatened to burst with the pure joy of his return. But in the burst of light, there existed a single point of darkness.

He could not claim her in courtship without her parents’ blessing—a couple who had lost their only son.

And that loss would forever be linked to Josiah.