The Sins of a Few (7 page)

She quickly ended her crossways glance. Her body screamed frustration at the sudden loss of him, but she would not relent. It mattered not how was gentle his touch, or how much she desired it. His words suggested he thought her without honor, so he was the last one deserving of it. His presumption that she would marry him only served to show his true nature. He was a man whose only compromises were self-serving—a man whose craft was manipulating others to see his way.

He would not manipulate her.

“My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to act improperly.”

“Leave it be,” she muttered, struggling to sit. Once she did, she had to fight mightily to ignore the beautiful sight of him sprawled over her bed. No boy, as was Jeremiah’s thin, lanky form, but a man of strength and thickness. Her eyes drifted to the bulge in his pants and lingered. She marveled that his desire for her had caused such a thing, but her attraction was thoroughly doused knowing his manly affections most likely made an appearance for any woman who happened nearby.

She sighed, pushing away the thoughts. She might forever be marked by his touch, but he would forget her soon enough. Adjusting her buttons seemed to formalize that thought…until he placed his hand on her arm.

“What of my proposal?”

He looked at her through half-lidded eyes…the kind that belonged on a man with no better pastime than tangling linens in pursuit of primal urges. He should trim his hair so she would not itch to sooth it with her fingers, or grip it to pull him close. She should not be so tempted by him…but she was.

“To bed me? I believe that has been settled.”

He slid his fingers through hers and tugged her closer. “No, little one. I want you to be my wife.”

To her great irritation, she found the endearment did not rile her as it always had.
Distance
… She desperately needed distance. But she did not reclaim her hand. “I realize I cannot hold you responsible for what happened in your absence,” she said, “but your callous dismissal of what happened here is almost as painful as your sisters’ betrayal of the community. My loss is real, and no amount of your purporting the ridiculousness of what happened will change the truth.”

Nathanial’s look was so sorrowful it nearly tore her apart. “I lost her, too, Faith, and I know it was not in the same way, but we honor no one by holding on to the past.”

“The
past
was but a month ago,” Faith said. “And what we lost were lives. Not possessions, but
lives
.”

“I do not discount that,” he said. “And I never would. But would Ruth want you to mourn until you had no happiness of your own?”

Faith gave a humorless laugh. “You are of the opinion that refusing to marry you would be to give up on my own happiness?”

“It would be to give up on a chance of happiness.”

“A chance I can find nowhere else?”

“Faith, dammit. I want to share my life with you. What is so wrong with that?”

“Why?”

“Because you are strong. Because you are your own person and you will stand at my side because you wish for it, and not because you see no other way.” He caressed her hand with his thumb, his touch so gentle that tears threatened. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known, and kind, and our children will be as blessed by you as am I.”

“Nathanial…” But what? What could she say? She would not leave her mother, and she would not leave Salem. The village had suffered a great loss—they all had. Allowing Nathanial to take her to parts unknown would do nothing to change that.

“Worry not for an answer now. Think about it. Make your decision with your whole heart.” He stood and released her hand, taking the time to press a kiss to her fingertips before he rose to leave. “I will wait, Faith. You are worth that.”

She watched the bedroom door long after he closed it and winced when the exterior door shut hard against its jamb.

Only then did she find the words she needed to say—words heard only by an empty room and a broken heart.

“I’m sorry.”

Chapter Nine

Nathanial intended to stay at Faith’s until night fell, but thought better of it. He would need to wait for darkness to find her roosting chickens and relocate them to the henhouse, but he could easily return. He thought she needed space, and if the tears that filled her eyes meant anything, she seemed to agree.

He went first to his family’s home. He remained unconvinced he had heard the whole story behind the witchcraft accusations—or of his father’s supposed involvement—and he wanted to catch Abigail without his parents near. He expected to find her relegated to one chore or another, but if that was the case, he was assured not to find his mother anywhere near the work. Abigail, given the option, would not behave any differently, but she had little choice in the matter. Still, she had always been content for interruptions and he suspected time had not changed that.

The house was surprisingly devoid of activity. Perhaps it was the absence of Luddy, who—unlike the majority of the hired help—had remained with the family through many years. His thoughts darted to the rumor of his father’s affair and he could not help but wonder if such behavior played a part in the number of employees who passed through and did not stay long. For such a small community, the numbers were a bit out of sorts, but his father claimed to have taken on a number of transient workers over the years. Nathanial believed him, insofar as they were so near the harbor it stood to reason there would be men looking for temporary work.

But now he questioned that. He questioned everything. If he had stayed, would he have been able to talk sense into his sisters? Could he have stopped the whole terrible thing from happening? He had always been a man of strong faith—nothing else would have gotten him on the ship to cross the vast ocean in pursuit of a dream, but now that belief was shaken. Had losing Ruth been some kind of punishment? And if so, what of the other men and women who had lost their lives? Could he really be blamed for not putting an end to the accusations before they’d gotten out of hand? Did he owe it to the people of Salem to stay? But what difference could he make now?

And what of his belief that Ruth’s death had brought him and Faith together? He had not forgotten her, but he could have easily come home to find she had been promised to another man. Had their shared grief given him a chance? And if so, what kind of man was he to take it?

He did not expect his sister to have those answers, but with any luck she might offer something of reason…something solid that might build a foundation of understanding. Of healing.

He found Abigail in the cooking room, her jaw set in a scowl.

“Good morrow,” he greeted her.

She did not bother to glance his way. “You are fortunate,” she muttered, “to be a man. Nothing is expected of you.”

He forced a grin. He and Abigail had never been particularly close, and he did not expect the direction of his conversation to change that, but perhaps time had softened some of those old hostilities. “The truth is to the contrary,” he said of a man’s expectations, “but you will believe as you must. Can you spare a moment?”

A flash of vulnerability colored her face, disappearing as quickly as it came. “If you order it. I cannot volunteer my time without risking punishment. Father is ill of his moods of late.”

“Does that have anything to do with the accusations you orchestrated?”

She glared, and he wished he could take back the unwise words. He wanted to forge communication, and laying accusations at her feet would not be conducive to that goal.

“Forgive me. I know he needs no such excuse.”

Abigail begrudged him a halfhearted smile. “What is it, Nathanial?”

“Is it true there was some trouble here before everything started?”

Her eyes narrowed, though the slits did not hide the surprise and worry that huddled there. “What sort of trouble?”

He glanced around. Seeing no one, he crossed the room until he could speak at a whisper. “Father had an altercation with one of his employees.”

Abigail regarded him with blatant suspicion. “Does he not always?”

“This was different,” he said, his voice firm. Perhaps too firm…he did not want to discourage her from talking, but he wanted her to know he was not taking mere stabs at scandal. He wanted her to know he
knew
.

She studied him for a moment. “Perhaps I know the one to which you allude.”

“If you do, then perhaps you can answer a question for me. Was it his child?”

Abigail’s jaw dropped. She looked quickly around before lowering her voice to the faintest of whispers. “Never speak of that.”

“I shall not have to. That is answer enough. How long after did the afflictions begin?”

“Mary began feeling poorly soon after.”

“At whose suggestion?”

Again, Abigail’s gaze snapped to his. “No one’s
suggestion
.”

“Father did not come to you in search of a way to distract from rumors?”

“I did not speak an untruth for him, if that is what you are getting at.”

“Perhaps he convinced you of an untruth.”

“Nathanial—”

“It is over, is it not?” Now it was he who spoke the untruth, for it could never be over. Not until everyone who had lived through it had passed on, and even then the stories would continue. “I just seek to understand what happened. I need to know why you said those things.”

“Then you would be wise to take care where you lay your blame. It began with Tituba.”

Nathanial nodded, somewhat relieved to hear some consistency in the retelling.
But consistency in the repetition does not make it truth
. “Perhaps, but were the accusations not yours? And then the testimony?”

She nodded with hesitance. “Yes, but my words were spoken from truth.”

“The physician woman, then? She put her hands on you? Then what? Came to you as a specter in the night?”

Abigail pressed her lips tightly together and crossed her arms over her chest. She said nothing.

He forced patience despite the fact he was losing ground. “Please,” he implored. “Help me understand what happened here.”

She looked down and busied herself with the task of tidying the table. “There is nothing to understand. The accusations were truth. If the accused were not the cause of our afflictions, then perhaps it was Tituba or another practicing witch. I was just as much a victim as were those hanged.”

Her final, selfish utterance stunned him so greatly that he required a moment to process it, and once he did, anger boiled dangerously close to the surface. He would not hit a woman, but in that moment he would be well content to have that bastard Jeremiah pass within striking distance. “You cannot expect me to believe you have suffered as much as they,” he said through a tight jaw and clenched teeth.

She shrugged with an indifference that further infuriated him. “I am still here and I face scorn every day. What do the dead suffer?”

Nathanial stared. How could his sister be so heartless? He had thought for a moment they had opened a dialog, but the way she smirked at him left him doubting her every word. It was a damned shame he learned more from strangers than his own blood, though in that moment he could only appreciate the detachment. He did not want to be one of them.

“There are rumors about you and Faith Downing.”

Though his mind came to clear, immediate focus, he was careful not to give her the swift reaction for which he suspected she hoped. Instead, he spoke causally. “What might they be?”

“That you were fornicating. In daylight, right in her yard.”

Fornicating
? As if he was some kind of rutting beast, though was he not? Kissing in public was criminal in this town. How he longed to take Faith to a place where passion was not precluded by archaic laws of the small-minded—a place where love was celebrated rather than punished. And soon he would, but it would not be soon enough.

Nathanial spared his sister the explanation she expected, instead offering a grin at the memory brought on by her words. “Did the source of that rumor have a bloodied nose?”

Abigail nodded. “And both eyes were beginning to blacken.”

“Good.”

Her mouth twisted in disgust. She was her mother’s daughter, and she would loathe to hear such a thing—irony not at all lost on him. “You are an Abbot,” she said. “You cannot resort to such crimes.”

“Hitting him was no crime. In fact, I dare say it would have been more of a crime to leave him unscathed.”

“He did nothing wrong.” She spoke with such feeling he suddenly wondered if she had her sights on him. His father had land, and though Abigail was a bit young for marriage, Nathanial had heard enough from their father to know he would welcome such an arrangement. Frankly, Nathanial thought Abigail and Jeremiah would be well matched.

“What of your actions with Faith?”

He shrugged. “I kissed her.”

Abigail’s lips flattened until they nearly disappeared, her arms pressing more tightly than they had before. Before she had a chance to voice her reasoning, Nathanial’s father entered the room and wasted no time in greeting.

“Is it true you and the Downing girl are engaged?”

Abigail’s eyes grew round as saucers.

“What of it?” Nathanial bit out, though privately he could not begin to figure from where the news came. Surely Jeremiah would not spread such a story when it only served to dispute his own lies. “You parlayed your involvement as my father. I need not ask for your permission.”

Richard took Nathanial’s arm and once again pulled him from his sister, then from the room. When they entered the parlor, Richard shut the door before he spoke. “Forget permission. That was a bloody brilliant stroke.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She lost her mother—”

Bastard. “If Faith is the woman to whom you refer, she lost her
aunt
.”

He waved a hand. “It matters not. By agreeing to marry you, she has exonerated this entire family.”

A feeling of growing dread tangled with the inherent wariness that came with his father’s proximity. “How so?”

“Her approval, son. If she takes the name, our entire family will be free of scrutiny. You are a better strategist than I ever thought possible, for you will end this for us for certain.”

Nathanial’s heart sank. He brushed off his father’s attempts to shake his hand, as if some great deal had just been acquired. He had never intended his proposal as a way to benefit his family. His father was a pompous, arrogant man and would no doubt use the situation as proof in his campaign to clear the family name. The effort would be futile, but apparently Richard Abbot was too foolish to realize twenty murders could not be forgotten by the joining of two hands. Nathanial knew better, but would Faith? She had made clear Nathanial’s last name was not the only reason she would not marry him. There were more reasons. The odds were already stacked against him, but in the face of his father’s misguided assumption, a new worry formed.

If she felt as did his father, would she even give him a chance?

…

Faith picked up the spoon she had dropped and wanted nothing more than to hurl it across the room. Imagining the thud as it hit the wall gave her the first moment of satisfaction she had experienced since Nathanial had left. It was a realization that annoyed her to no end. She should be at ease. She and her mother had a home, a warm fire, and food to eat. They could never fill that empty spot at the table, but they were doing okay. Healing. She saw that now.

Nathanial had helped her to see that.

I want to share my life with you
.

You will stand at my side because you wish for it, and not because you see no other way.

Was that true? He had said she was strong, but she had never seen herself in such a way. She had merely done what she needed to survive, and while that might fit someone’s definition for strength, the truth was Nathanial had found in her the greatest weakness she had ever known.

He had made her want for him.

Frustrated, Faith gave in to her urge to throw the spoon—not at the wall, but the table, where it landed with an unsatisfactory
thump
.

“What bothers you, child?”

She turned to see her mother smiling. Faith had nearly forgotten she was there. She would never have done that before she had tasted Nathanial. Tasted passion. She pasted on a smile, knowing her mother would see right through it. “You had a good day out?”

“I did, as you well know because you asked me upon my return.” She paused, her face alight. “I must say, however, the best part of my day was my talk with Nathanial. His asking for your hand has brought me great joy.”

Faith stared imploringly. “How can you think that is a good idea?”

“He is a good man. You forget, I knew him well. He was a daily visitor to this home.”

“Yes, and then he left for four years and came back as an unfamiliar man.”

Felicity’s gaze drifted toward Ruth’s chair, and Faith wondered if she had done so with purpose. When she spoke, she did so quietly. “I have seen nothing to indicate his heart has changed.”

“But other things have,” Faith said, still following the direction of her mother’s attention. “What if he demands I leave Salem? He has no love for the people here, and I have no desire to be anywhere else. I cannot leave here. I cannot leave you behind. I cannot leave Aunt Ruth.”

Felicity shook her head. “Worry not for your aunt. Heal, Faith.
Heal
. Nathanial has much to offer, and I am an old woman. My end years will be much better to know my daughter has found the stability afforded by such a good man.”

Faith found herself blinking back unexpected tears. She quickly turned and busied herself with the meal, though her mother’s words stayed close as she served the meal and cleaned up afterwards. She helped Felicity to bed, then faced her own.

The place where Nathanial had touched her. Where he had made her want. She had come so close to allowing it. Did that mean her heart could be his in spite of their differences? As she pondered the thought, a motion through the window caught her eye. It took but a moment for her to recognize him, and a moment longer to realize what he was doing—carrying chickens to deposit in the henhouse. She smiled to herself. Once the animals roosted for the night even the wildest among them were easy to catch. She should have thought to do exactly as he did, yet she had not. And here he was, with so many unsure words between them, seeing to her chickens…just as he’d seen to their house.