An Unexpected Sin (6 page)

Chapter Eight

Josiah must have dreamed the whole event. Anne surprised him endlessly, but never more so than to enter his bedroom with her parents so nearby. She had left him undone in the greatest sense of the word. He had never intended such intimacies, but his own sensibilities had been lost to the pleasures she granted. It had taken all of his willpower to put an end to what happened between them, but he had meant what he said.

He would deny her no more.

Anne kept her distance the next morning. Josiah worried briefly that their encounter had been discovered, but Susannah Scudder’s terse greeting was as it usually was. Odd, the comfort he took in that. That concern out of the way, he settled into a stomach-churning fear that she harbored regrets for what had happened between them.

Or worse, had she discovered the truth about Samuel?

Josiah was taking his frustrations out on the weeds behind the garden when George Scudder approached. Handing Josiah a hunk of bread, the goodman said, “You missed the noon meal.”

Josiah missed many meals, though he usually took a small portion of bread, if any remained. He performed the work asked of him as well as anything else he found that needed tending. He did not feel the minor tasks sufficient to earn his keep. The room he occupied came at no added expense to the Scudders, but accepting food from the table was another circumstance. He left that for the family and the patrons of the inn.

“Thank you, sir,” Josiah said. “I skip the table as I do not wish to become a burden on your home.”

George waved a hand. “Worry not,” he said. “Our means are plentiful enough. Come, son. Walk with me.”

Startled, Josiah looked to the goodman. The bite of bread Josiah had just taken saved him from forming an immediate response—a circumstance for which he was exceedingly grateful. Though he would not deny Anne’s father, his initial shock would likely bring on suspicion, for a man with nothing to hide would not startle so.

George looked on expectantly, so Josiah nodded his agreement as he settled his hat further on his head and fell into step alongside the goodman. He wanted to ask if something was wrong, but thought better of it. No matter how suspect the timing, George did not appear angry—assuredly nothing like a man whose only daughter had been caught cavorting with the hired help—and there was little value in drawing attention to a problem that had not made itself known.

Unlike the village of Salem, which was widespread but sparsely populated, the side of Salem known as Town was dense and crowded. The Scudder Inn rested near the western edge of town, somewhat out of the way of the more boisterous trade and nestled alongside the road that led to Salem Village. The distance between the two populations was not much, but to Josiah the differences seemed great, for the small farming village existed a world away from the crowded merchant town.

George led Josiah east into the most populated section. Upon passing a tavern, he said, “That was Bridget Bishop’s place.”

The name was familiar, but Josiah could not place it. “Bridget Bishop?”

“She was recently hanged for her witchcraft. She was Salem’s first witch in many years, but with the arrests there will doubtlessly be more. I try to keep from the news, tragic as it is, but every now and then it finds us.”

“I see.” But Josiah did not. Was this the goodman’s attempt at small conversation, or was there a greater threat beyond his words? Salem’s first for many years. Had he learned of Josiah’s secret? A crossways glance revealed nothing of his intention.

“The hangings are great talk,” George said. “Verily, folks these days seem to speak of little else. Accusations, arrests, trials…fear is rampant. Tell me, son. How did you find yourself here with so little knowledge of these terrible events?”

Josiah swallowed. When the goodman had first approached him, he worried for the man’s ire. But in quick time Josiah had come to realize anger was something with which he could more easily contend than the cryptic nature of George’s conversation.

Of course, a man with nothing to hide would not give pause to the goodman’s statements. The reminder sat heavily in Josiah’s gut as he sought for words that were neither revealing nor untrue. “I am of Cambridge,” he finally said.

“Born there?”

“No. I attended school,” Josiah said, praying he would not ask further.

The goodman raised an eyebrow. “Schooling in Cambridge…you are of Harvard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet you pull weeds as my hired man.” His tone hinted at amusement, but his face revealed nothing.

The words lay thick with challenge, as if something was at stake. Though he knew not what it might be. “Respectfully, sir, there is honor in all forms of work. It is the man who sits idle who brings shame upon himself.”

George’s footsteps slowed, though he did not look at Josiah when he spoke. His attention fixed heavily ahead, he said, “It is a good man who lives his life by such a rule.”

Rife with fret, Josiah had not noticed the direction of their walk, though he was foolish not to consider it, for there was but one option. Situated where the North and South Rivers converged and met at the bay, the whole of the town existed alongside one waterfront or another.

But none was so painful as the one sprawled before them.

George Scudder stood for a long time staring at the bay’s calm ripples before speaking. “Not a day passes I do not think of my son.”

Josiah looked over the water without really seeing it. The serene waters and brilliant sunshine faded, and from the darkness came a chokehold of painful memories—memories he did not deserve to forget.

He was the one who had brought Samuel to the water that day. He was the reason Samuel was dead. And all because waves had been rumored to lash at the sky and Josiah had not wanted to travel alone to see them.

“His death was a great tragedy for our family,” said the goodman.

Josiah cast a sharp look at the elder. He did not speak as if to a stranger.

He spoke as if to someone who knew.

Josiah searched the horizon for answers, but the sea remained silent. After a long moment of indecision, he said, “I am terribly sorry for your loss.”

George Scudder said nothing, but the bob of his throat as he swallowed said enough.

Josiah averted his eyes, privacy the only thing he could give this man who had lost so much. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough. But the irony was as cruel as it was well placed, for Josiah had not just taken this man’s only son.

He was claiming his only daughter, as well.

…

Though Anne had at first been panicked over being sighted leaving Josiah’s room, in quick time her defenses rallied. What she and Josiah had indulged in thus far was no different than what other young couples shared—in fact, some did so without the intention of marriage. Anne and Josiah were far from such a scandalous affair. They cared about each another, and if her parents failed to see how ideal the match, she would not acquiesce.

She would fight.

The storm clouds that gathered that afternoon matched her mood, and the darkness seemed to have infected more than just her. Anne’s mother had kept to herself, even retiring to her room after the noon meal. Josiah, too, had remained scarce. She had last seen him pulling weeds behind the garden but now he was not to be found. Even her father had disappeared, which was most unusual, for he seldom ventured off the property. With their boarders gone to their jobs for the day, the inn sat forlorn and silent under the troubled sky.

Silent, but not empty. Anne cast a look toward the front room where her grandmother sat. Though Anne could not see her, the elder woman’s face was doubtlessly as pinched and set as it always was. Anne could not remember the last time she had spoken more than a word or two, but if ever she had a reason, it was now. Surely in her grandmother’s day, a young girl would not visit a young man’s bedroom without facing dire consequences. Still, Anne was exceedingly grateful it was she who had visited Josiah and not he who had been discovered creeping from her room, for her parents were more apt to forgive her than the so-called servant boy her mother insisted was determined to soil Anne.

A clap of thunder struck Anne to the core, sending her to her toes in surprise. A deluge of rain soon followed with such vigor she thought certain the sky had been ripped in two and the roof would soon follow. Would these storms never end? They tore at her, inside and out. Her mind again drifted to Josiah and she realized her grandmother might know the circumstances of his mother’s death, for she had lived in the farming village during that time. She pondered that as she walked around the inn to ensure the windows were closed against the storm. The shutters were markedly easier now to close, and she said a silent word of praise for the man responsible. She was grateful for the ease of the repaired shutters, but she more so admired Josiah’s skill in every task he took on. Her parents would have to see what a fine man he was—that would have to matter more than sad memories from the past.

She worked until one room was left unchecked. The room in which her grandmother sat had remained dark all day, suggesting the shutters were secure, but Anne did not leave it to chance. Despite her worries over her indiscretion, she entered the room, her grandmother watching her every move.

When Anne neared, the old woman placed a hand on her arm.

Anne jumped, then pressed a hand to her heart. “You startled me,” she said, nearly dizzy with alarm. “Are you warm enough? Do you need a drink?”

“Sit.” Though at times her grandmother’s speech was difficult to understand, the lone command was clear.

Anne lowered into the chair adjacent her grandmother and waited.

The elder seemed to bear none of the urgency of the storm, for the silence stretched on for several terribly long moments before she spoke. “You risk much.”

“You do not understand, Grandmother—”

The old woman held up a hand. “I understand more than you know.”

“But Josiah—”

Her grandmother gave a sharp, disapproving shake of her head. “Stay true, young Anne.”

Anne sat back, unsure of her meaning. Her grandmother did not sound angry, but her words carried a warning. But of what?

“He is no stranger,” she said softly. “He is nothing if not true to me, and I to him.” She wondered if she could ask about Josiah’s mother, but her grandmother’s mindset was so terribly hard to ascertain. Would she keep her confidence?

Outside, the thickening clouds must have turned day to night, for little light found the crevice between the window shutter and its frame. Anne peered through the small crack to find the road empty but for the deluge.

“It is the guilt that ruins her.”

Anne turned sharply toward her grandmother. “Who? What guilt?”

The old woman remained silent, her stare fixed on the window as if she could see through the shutter, now held secure by Josiah’s makeshift rope.

“What guilt?” Anne tried again, more softly this time.

“Anne!” Her mother’s sharp voice echoed through the inn.

Anne stood. “I was just seeing to—”

“See to the bread for the evening meal.”

“But Grandmother—”

Her mother glared, bracket faced with anger. “She needs her rest. You tend to your chores.”

For all the words Anne wanted to sputter, she chose silence. She cared not if her mother found her rude. A simple nod was the best she could muster as she stalked past her to the kitchen, knowing full well that bread was not needed.

Her mother wanted her away from her grandmother, but for what purpose?

Guilt.

Was her mother the guilty one? Was it because of Samuel’s death? Did she somehow feel she had failed her son? Anne tried to remember the circumstances of his death, but so little had ever been told her. Only that he was gone, lost to the sea.

It was then that everything had changed.

Anne worked mindlessly on the dough she had left resting that morn, her hand practiced from years of performing the task. Though she most often found the chore tiresome, this day it proved a respite, though of no benefit to her jumbled thoughts. The world had once seemed so simple. Even in the face of great loss and with their move to the inn, Anne had managed to form a routine that got her through the most sorrowful days. She found it of comfort when nothing else would console her.

Josiah’s arrival had changed so much. No longer was Anne content to exist in her routine. She wanted to live. It had been there all along—the proof was in the roguishness of which her mother so often accused her—but Josiah had given her something she hadn’t had before.

He had given her the promise of a life with him—one she couldn’t bear to lose.

A sudden clatter at the back door drew Anne’s attention from the dough on which she had taken out her frustrations. Just as quickly as the knock began, the light noise turned into pounding. With haste, she wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the door. When she flung it open, she found Prudence, rain-soaked and frantic.

“Prudence! What brings you here? Is something wrong?” Though her friend was no stranger to the inn, her responsibilities most often kept her at home. Her brothers and sisters numbered many, and her mother had been poorly of late. Prudence suspected her mother was with child. If so, the babe would be the twelfth for their family.

“It’s Elizabeth,” Prudence sobbed. “They are taking her to the gallows.”

Anne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

Elizabeth had been in prison for the many months since she had been accused and subsequently convicted of consorting with the devil himself. No one in all of Salem—aside her accusers and the court—believed Elizabeth guilty of witchcraft, but to take the side of a so-called witch would only bring accusations on oneself. There had been nothing to do but hope reason would come to the minds of those who accused, but these were dark, terrible times in Salem. The innocent could only pray the worst might somehow pass, but instead the trouble seemed only to mount. More accusations were made every day, and arrests quickly followed. Those tried and found guilty were to be hanged. Anne could not fathom how anyone could honestly think Elizabeth guilty of wrongdoing, let alone that so many would believe it that she would be found guilty in the court. The verdict had been devastating and terrifying, but still Anne held hope for Elizabeth’s life to be spared.