The Sins of a Few (Entangled Scandalous)

by Sarah Ballance

  “Wrong again, Nathanial. A man can be convinced of anything. You just lack the proper equipment to do the convincing.”

  …

  Faith shook with every fiber of her being as she walked away from Nathanial. She should not have goaded him with her suggestive comment about Jeremiah—certainly not when she knew the two men carried such disdain for one another—but she needed Nathanial to know what she felt. He had assured her of his truthfulness, accepted her vow, and taken her to bed…all the while intending to force her to leave Salem. And he could not have crafted a neater circumstance. Without their home, Faith and her mother had nowhere in Salem to go. What defense would she have against Nathanial’s wanderlust ways then? That Nathanial might have planned this all along sickened her.

  Had she made a horrible mistake?

  No. She had fallen in love with Nathanial the moment she had seen her mother smile, and nothing he did would erase that gift. She could not and would not regret his presence in their home, but her heart had just begun to stitch together after Aunt Ruth’s death and now he had ripped it apart all over again. She felt as if the wound would never heal, but she would find a way to go on. She was not wholly without purpose. Her mother had Miles, and that brought joy to all three of them. It would be enough.

  But first she had to deal with Jeremiah.

  She found him at his home. Despite his absence earlier, she expected him to be nowhere else, for he was the laziest creature ever to grace the green earth. He claimed he needed to care for his father, but in doing so he did not step foot in the fields. They were overgrown to ruin, leaving William without income. It was a terrible situation, but Faith had felt far more sorrow for the elder before learning of her eviction.

  Jeremiah sneered upon opening the door. “Well, if it isn’t Faith.”

  “I would like an audience with your father.”

  “I handle his affairs now. You may speak to me.”

  She did not mention her earlier visit, though she found faint amusement in Jeremiah’s clear ignorance of the fact. “Very well then. I have asked Nathanial to leave. I hope you will reconsider ending my tenancy.”

  “Nathanial is gone?”

  “I cannot say whether or not he will leave Salem, but he is assuredly gone from the house I share with my mother. Please, Jeremiah. You can convince your father. We have been good to the house and have always paid our dues. My mother cannot perform steady work, and we have nowhere else to go.”

  “Why not an inn? There are rooms for rent in town.”

  His false concern bristled her. “Because unless you are a traveler or a proprietor,” she said, “an inn is not a home.”

  “It is shelter. Is that not what you purport to need?”

  Faith clenched her fists in her skirts. “Jeremiah, we have long been friends. I beg of you, please reconsider.”

  “Nathanial is gone?”

  “As I said, I have asked him not to return.”

  “Then I will see to your living arrangement in exchange for one favor.”

  “What is that?”

  “Agree to marry me.”

  His words did not shock her, though they hit her as a swift blow. “You—you will have to ask my mother for my hand, as is proper. It is she you will need to convince.”

  “Not if you want to keep your home.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, though a dreadful pit in her stomach suggested she already knew.

  Jeremiah softened, and for the barest of moments she saw the boy who had once been her friend. “Marry me, Faith, and you will never have to worry for your residence. I know you. You love this town, and we have all heard Nathanial boast of his travels. He will never be content to call Salem his home. He may claim otherwise to win your favor, but you have seen his will. Has he expressed any desire to remain here?”

  She frowned. Quite the opposite was true, but she would never admit that to Jeremiah.

  “Salem is my home. My father’s lands will one day be mine. Marry me and the home you shared with Ruth will remain in your family for as long as you draw breath.”

  “And if I do not?”

  He shrugged. “It is as my father has already said. If you do not marry me, you and your mother will need to get out.”

  …

  Nathanial raked his hands through his hair and tried not to think how good a whiskey would taste. But no matter his thirst, he would not go back to that tavern and no proper goodwife in Salem would have a barrel in her home.

  His old friend John had not been so worried for propriety, having availed himself of a drink—likely more—before his noontime punishment. He sat in the dust, his ankles encased in the stocks. Upon meeting his eye, John scowled. “Why did ye leave me to this? Ye were su’posed to get me ou’ of trouble, not land me arse-deep innit.”

  “Watch your words, John, before you earn extra time. You need to sober up—again—and this is as good a place as any.”

  “I din’ do nothin’.”

  “This is a damn good way to keep it as such.”

  “I nee’ to piss.”

  “You will have to piss yourself, then. The ground beneath you is a mite bit parched. No harm will come from it.”

  John muttered a few unintelligible obscenities as a wet spot formed on his breeches.

  Nathanial turned his head until the worst of the smell drifted, then looked at his old friend. “I have made a terrible mistake.”

  “Then why am I the one sittin’ in me own piss?”

  “Because your wife did not have the good sense to cut off your balls the first time you failed to be a proper gentleman.”

  “She was not there at the time.”

  “That is no excuse. You owed her more than that.”

  “She dinnit care.”

  “Maybe she gave up caring. Maybe you were too damned in your cups to notice she cared. But she married you for a reason—though one can only imagine what it could be—and she deserves your fidelity.”

  John did not respond, for a group of passerby stopped to stare. Nathanial shook his head. Public shaming…did it really work? He had a feeling John would not remember his time in the stocks come morning, and public attention did not seem to concern him.

  But Puritans stood on staunch belief that there was value in public shame. He thought of the young woman at the tavern who he had given coin and hoped she would follow through on his offer before she ended up in the stocks alongside John…who would likely enjoy it.

  He found it interesting Salem thought it could relieve itself of sin when it thrived so readily on its sinners. There was little they seemed to enjoy more than finding someone confined to the stocks or the pillory. As if it solved a damn thing.

  But they believed it did. What kind of place was this, murdering its own citizens because they were childless or did not tolerate abuse? Because they stood up for themselves and fought back against the real criminals. He shook his head. How could Faith have such unending loyalty to such a place?

  It did not matter. She loved Salem, and she would be happy nowhere else. As loathsome as he found the witch hunts and murders—or perhaps because of the horror of the crimes—he had to admit Salem needed people like Faith.

  Salem needed Faith.

  He straightened. Perhaps there was a way to win her back after all.

  He stood so quickly he nearly found himself in the path of a fistful of rotten food intended for John, who let loose with a rout of profanity when it grazed his cheek.

  Judgmental sops. “Careful, John. Swearing will only earn more time in the stocks.”

  “Fine lot ye are,” John muttered. “Ye swear wit’ the bes’ of ’em.”

  “Perhaps I do, but I also know when to shut my mouth.”

  John glared.

  Nathanial shook his head and stood. Perhaps the man had enough of his wits about him to learn something after all.

  “Where ye goin’?”

  “To fix a wrong. And if you are smart, you will spend the duration o
f your time there working out a way to do the same.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nathanial had not walked far from Salem’s center when he came upon a man paused just off the side of the road. Though the day had turned cold, the man wore a sheen of sweat that came from working the adjacent field. His hat was low to shade his face, but a faded scar on his hand revealed his identity. “Thomas?”

  The man pushed up his brim and squinted. After a moment of assessment, a smile broke over his face. “Nathanial Abbot? Is that you?”

  “Indeed.” He extended his arm to his old friend.

  Thomas Mather accepted the handshake with a wide grin. “I heard you were back in Salem. Fresh off the ship from London, are you not?”

  “By days, though I am not surprised you heard. Talk runs rampant through these parts.”

  Thomas laughed. “In particular through my wife’s mouth.”

  Nathanial lifted his hat and ran his fingers absently through his hair, resettling the hat before he spoke. “I must say I am grateful my extended absence allows me not to have an opinion, for agreeing to such a statement about another man’s wife would be…uncomfortable.”

  “Sadly, my words are the truth. If she had not…well, suffice to say she tends to be quite vocal. She is fortunate to have kept her head after the arrests.”

  “You speak frankly.”

  He shrugged. “Rebecca is without pretense.”

  “She also keeps company with my mother.”

  “That she does.” Though Thomas did not say as much, the implication was clear. Rebecca’s friendship with the Abbot family had almost certainly kept the accusations from her doorstep. The greater question was whether she, too, had orchestrated the falsehoods.

  The thought made Nathanial uncomfortable. He glanced away, seeing the land on which Thomas worked. It was the very spot Nathanial had taken Faith to see the stars. “Is this your ground?”

  “No. It belongs to the elder Miles Corbet.”

  Interesting. Nathanial took a longer look around. While the fields were bedded for the winter, the hilltop, once a cultivated field, now held a good stand of dying grass. Scrub trees poked above the seed heads, further indicating the ground had not been tilled in some time. But the abandonment did not detract from the parcel’s beauty—if anything, it suited the spot. Beyond the overgrown clearing, mature trees offered shade and shelter from the cold winter winds. It was the ideal spot for a home.

  Thomas looked on expectantly.

  “Has he no one to tend for him?” Nathanial asked.

  “He had only four children, and all have been lost.”

  Damn. So much loss. An ache settled deep in the pit of Nathanial’s stomach. “Is he willing to sell?”

  “It is his family ground, but his lines end with him. I suppose it will have to go somewhere.”

  “How difficult would it be to gain an audience with him? I met with him recently, but I hesitate to intrude with the consideration of his failing health.”

  Thomas waved a hand. “The elder loves company. Are you free now?”

  Nathanial grinned. “Lead the way.”

  They fell into step. “Why are you looking to purchase property?” Thomas asked. “Is your inheritance not enough?”

  Nathanial wondered how much to tell a man whose wife was known for speaking out of turn. He felt he needed to be honest about his intentions, but his business was not all of Salem’s. “Honestly, I had not planned to stay in Salem. Then I took a wife.”

  “Just days back on our soil? That was quick.”

  “She is someone I have known for some time. The foundation was there—I am just lucky to have found her both willing and available upon my return.”

  Thomas offered a knowing grin. “Luck, indeed. And she wants to stay here, so you wish to build a home for her?”

  “I do.”

  “Your father will not grant a piece?”

  “I have not asked. Things between us are…strained. Besides that, he needs the land for his livelihood, and honestly I prefer not to live under his hand. Assuredly, he will not let me forget any kindness he sends my way.”

  “After what has transpired here, I do not imagine many men would want to enter an arrangement with him.”

  “Neither men nor their wives,” Nathanial said wryly.

  “Ah, yes. And which young maiden offered her hand to the notorious Nathanial Abbot?”

  “You think me notorious?” Nathanial asked, only half in jest. “In this town?”

  “That is a fair point,” Thomas conceded. “But in the years before you left town, you made quite a name for yourself.”

  Nathanial laughed. “I suppose I grew up a bit once I left Salem.”

  “So who is the woman who managed to win you over?”

  “Faith Downing.”

  Thomas missed a step, his gait faltering.

  “What?” Nathanial asked.

  Thomas’s face twisted in confusion. “She was promised to Jeremiah Burton, was she not?”

  Though the question deeply unsettled Nathanial, he pushed the feeling aside. “He may claim as much, but it was I—and only I—who was granted her hand.”

  Thomas gave a low whistle. “Jeremiah will not take this well.”

  Nathanial did not bother to stifle the humor he found in the situation. “He took the news of our engagement with a bloodied nose and two blackened eyes.”

  “Remind me to shake your hand,” Thomas said. “That boy is trouble, and Faith is a nice girl. Truth be told, I am quite relieved she will not align with him, although to listen to my wife, she already had.”

  The look upon Nathanial’s face must have been thunderous, for Thomas took a backward step. “Be assured that is not the case,” Nathanial said. “She had not been compromised before me.”

  “I had hoped she had more sense than to involve herself with him. Forgive my intrusion.”

  “Worry not, for I am glad to set the record straight.”

  Thomas grinned. “Two blackened eyes, eh?”

  Nathanial proudly returned the smile. “And a bloodied nose.”

  Thomas laughed as he stepped off the path toward the Corbet home.

  Nathanial followed him to the house, then waited as Thomas let himself in, presumably to request an audience. He returned shortly and gestured for Nathanial to enter.

  Miles Corbet, like the ailing Goodman Burton before him, sat in a chair near the fire, but the similarities ended there. Miles wore a kindly smile and, unlike at the Burton stead, his home was blessedly absent of half-witted heirs.

  Nathanial approached and extended his hand. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

  “It does an old man good to have young company. It betters my health, I always say. Thomas here has been a blessing to help me out as he has. It is good to see you again, Nathanial. What can I do for you, good sir?”

  “I would like to inquire about purchasing a parcel of your land.”

  “Adjacent to the Corey piece,” Thomas added. “The one with the clearing on the hill.”

  Miles nodded. “A fine spot. I suppose you know I have no heirs of my own.”

  “I am terribly sorry for your losses. I cannot imagine your pain.”

  “Sadly, it is the way. You are blessed to know not of it, though these days so many people do. Why would Richard Abbot’s son want to purchase property? Do the Abbots intend to lay claim to the whole village?”

  “I assure you, sir, my holdings are my own. I am ready to build a home to share with my wife, and that spot has long been a favorite of mine.”

  “Ah, young Faith.” The old man grew briefly distant, then focused on Thomas. “Her mother and I were once…great friends.”

  “You lost touch?” Thomas asked. Nathanial had wondered the same thing when he first learned of the lost acquaintance between Felicity and Miles. It seemed unlikely in a town as small as Salem that two people could drift apart.

  “She was a close friend to my wife,” Miles told Thomas, “who I lost jus
t two winters ago. I loved my wife dearly, but I always held a special affection for Felicity. After Charity died…I suppose it is the way to move on, but it was an adjustment we could not make. I fear she felt as guilty as I did.”

  “And you have been unable to attend services,” said Thomas.

  Miles shook his head and chuckled quietly. “One does not go to services to visit with the neighbors, Son. Back when I could make the trip, I saw her there a time or two, and each time my heart stilled. Perhaps it was too soon. I cannot know, but we went our separate ways.”

  “You know I will gladly bring ’round my wagon for you,” Thomas said.

  “And your wagon will jar these old bones to bits, but my gratitude stands. And thanks to a passing meeting with young Nathanial here, I was blessed to be reunited with Felicity.”

  Thomas shook his head, his eyes cast downward toward his boots. Clearly the two men had shared the conversation about the wagon a previous time or ten.

  Miles looked to Nathanial. “How much do you offer for the land?”

  “Name your price and I will meet it.”

  The elder sat back against the chair and smiled. “Bring Felicity to me for another visit and we will talk.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aside the deaths of her father and her aunt, Faith had never felt so lost. She admittedly did not know Nathanial well, but she could not believe she could have misjudged him so entirely. How could he expect her to give up her home? And what kind of man would ask such a thing, especially when he knew of her desire to stay? He had misled her when she had asked him directly about the status of her home. Why?

  It was because he wanted all along for her to move. For her to misjudge him—to be fooled by him. And why should she concern herself? Puritans valued love, but they were not always fortunate enough to marry for it. Still, she had taken vows. She had meant them, but they had been procured under false pretense. Did that make them any less sacred? She was not sure. How was she to trust him when he had so openly betrayed her?

  She turned a bend in the road and the little house she had lived in since her father’s death appeared before her. A sideboard listed, but otherwise the structure was sound. It was home. She approached, seeing it anew. Seeing all the things she would miss.