Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series

by Maggie Shayne

  I thought of him often. Mostly when I lay alone in my bed at night, wondering what would become of me. Would I live alone for all eternity? Would I ever stop seeing the longing in his deep brown eyes every time I closed my own?

  In between struggling with these unanswerable questions, I milked and cared for the cow and the hens, so that we had fresh milk and eggs aplenty. More than we needed, in fact, so that each day I would ride into town and trade the excess for other goods. Vegetables and game and freshly caught fish. Good for my aunt’s health, all of it.

  Within a week of my arrival, Aunt Eleanor was strong enough to walk outside in the sunshine for a few minutes each day. Within two weeks she was gaining weight again, and the color had returned to her cheeks. After a month she was vigorous enough to supervise me as I planted a vegetable garden near the house. And at the end of my second month in Sanctuary, she was helping me gather eggs and nagging at me to take her to the Sunday meetings in the settlement.

  I did not want to do this. The very idea of another clergyman, like the evil one back in England, glaring down at me with judgment in his eyes made me feel ill. And though this small church was no part of the Church of England, I was reluctant. But there was really no choice. I had to keep my secret, and attending services was necessary if I hoped to do so.

  Since my arrival, no one had come to call on my aunt Eleanor, and I was quite happy to have it that way. People asked after her, of course, when I made my excursions into town. And each time I was asked, I would say that Aunt Eleanor was improving, and that we were fine and in no need of assistance. When they remarked that they hadn’t seen me at the Sunday meetings since my arrival in Sanctuary, I replied that I dared not leave my aunt alone for that long.

  I truly thought I was handling things well, and discreetly.

  But when I walked beside my aunt into the meeting hall that first time, I knew that I hadn’t. There were gasps and exclamations at the sight of my aunt’s rosy cheeks and shining eyes and renewed vigor. And for the second time in my life, my neighbors began looking at me with suspicion in their eyes.

  * * * *

  Duncan worked like a mule, pouring himself fully into physical labor. And not just to help his friends, though he told himself that was the reason. He was trying to make himself forget. Forget her and the brief flirtation with madness he’d suffered while he’d been ill aboard that ship.

  But no matter how hard he worked, she haunted him still. Her eyes, gleaming black and full of mystery and promise. Her lips, full and tasting vaguely of honey as they moved in delicious, erotic response against his own.

  It hadn’t been real. He told himself that again and again as he worked by Samuel’s side, sawing timber, building a cabin, hunting and fishing, and tilling the soil. Cutting firewood, harvesting vegetables.

  And though he did the work of three men, Duncan still couldn’t escape the memory of her. Neither the real memory, of her swinging from that noose, too beautiful and full of life to be dead, nor the false memory, the fantasy, of holding her body tight to his in a bed, of kissing her and begging her not to go.

  He barely slept anymore. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her there. She came to him in his sleep and loved him to the point of exhaustion. A gentle succubus. A seductive spirit. And though he knew ‘twas only a trick of his mind that had created her, it felt just as real. Just as powerful.

  He grieved her loss as if she’d been his lover. Ridiculous. But true, for she’d become his lover in his dreams. He was well and truly obsessed, and he knew that was no overstatement when he found himself searching the township of Boston for her. Everywhere he went, he sought her face, her hair. He was always, always searching.

  And he feared he was cursed to do so for the rest of his life. For two full years had passed since that fateful voyage. And still, he found himself searching. ‘Twas as if, though she’d died, part of her had remained alive inside him. Possessing him. He’d become depressed and moody, restless and irritable. And all the hard work in the colonies couldn’t cure him.

  Samuel and Kathleen had tried to convince him to return to the pulpit. How would they feel if they knew the thoughts that plagued him? The fire that burned in his loins for a dead woman? He couldn’t do it. Not now, and perhaps not ever.

  He’d earned enough by hiring himself out to help other settlers, and the debt he owed his father was finally paid in full. That goal reached, he felt adrift, directionless. The emptiness he felt threatened to consume him.

  And then one day Kathleen returned from the marketplace with news that changed everything.

  “I believe, dear Duncan, that I have found permanent and perfect employment for you.” Her red hair danced in the breeze as she bent to set her basket of goods on the ground.

  Duncan had been assisting Samuel in patching the roof, and looked down at his friend’s pretty wife in surprise. “You’ve done what your husband and all his cronies couldna do, then.”

  “And it should not surprise you!” she teased, sending Samuel a wink and running a hand over her bulging belly. There is a town two days’ ride north. Sanctuary, ‘tis called. Their minister was called away, Duncan, and they’re sorely in need of a new one.”

  Duncan lowered his head then, disappointment washing over him. “I’m no priest, Kathleen. You know that. I canna be, not after seein’ my own confessor, my mentor, commit murder.”

  He did not tell her the other reasons, nor did he mention that it was that very same murder that kept him awake nights. The murder of the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

  “You’re the closest thing to one, Duncan. Your trainin’ was all but complete when you left England. Besides, they don’t want a priest, just a pastor.”

  “‘Tis true,” Samuel said. “I’ve heard of this place. Sanctuary is but a small settlement. They’ve no need of pomp and circumstance there. Only guidance and a stirrin’ sermon of a Sunday morn. ‘Tis not the Church of England we’re discussin’, after all.”

  “I’ve already spoken to the man makin’ inquiries, Duncan,” Kathleen continued. “He’s at the Boar’s Head, and he’s hopin’ you’ll come by.”

  Duncan heaved a great sigh. “Samuel, you know my feelin’s on this matter. We’ve discussed it before.”

  “Aye, I know them. But what better way to teach people tolerance and love for their neighbors than from the pulpit? You could change things, Duncan.”

  “Not all men of God are like Nathanial Dearborne,” Kathleen said softly, sympathy for Duncan in her eyes. “I’ve known many fine, honorable men who preached to a flock. And so have you, Duncan Wallace. You cannot condemn the callin’ because of the acts of one vile man.”

  Duncan knew she was right. “You’re a wise woman, Kathleen.”

  “And well you know it,” she said. “Come, Duncan. What harm will it do to speak with the man? You’ve certainly had no better offers. The pay is fair and includes a cabin for you to live in.” She patted her round belly again. “And while I love havin’ you here, I fear ‘twill soon become crowded in this one.”

  “Nonsense!” Samuel cried. “I’d been plannin’ to put Duncan to work as a governess, woman. Don’t go chasin’ him off now.” He laughed and nudged Duncan with an elbow. “At least talk to the man.”

  Duncan shook his head in surrender and glanced down at Kathleen’s gleaming eyes.

  “His name is Elias Stanton,” she said. “And he’ll be leavin’ town in the morn.”

  “I fear I’m outnumbered,” Duncan said softly. And perhaps they were right, after all. Perhaps he could do some good in one small settlement...if he were to take the position. He probably would not. But ‘twas high time he leave his friends to their new life, their new home, and growing family. ‘Twas time he struck out on his own.

  And perhaps in Sanctuary he would find a way to exorcize the beautiful ghost from his soul. He’d failed to forget her in all this time and seemed to think of her even more since he’d come here. Again and again, he would
close his eyes and see her body swinging from a rope. Feel her in his arms or catch the scent of her hair on a stray breeze.

  “Duncan?” Samuel tapped his shoulder.

  Duncan started from his morbid thoughts. “All right,” he said. “I’ll speak with this Stanton.”

  “Good,” Kathleen said with a laugh. “I told him you’d be there directly. Off that roof with you. And wash your hands afore you go. If I had time I’d take a blade to that hair of yours, but I suppose there’s naught to be done for it now.”

  “You’d best run, Duncan, before my wife domesticates you thoroughly.”

  “You make a good point, my friend.” Duncan climbed down the ladder and washed his hands. Perhaps part of the void growing inside him was because he’d left what he’d once considered his life’s work behind. In the various congregations scattered about here in the colonies, a preacher wasn’t expected to be celibate and perfect, as it seemed he was in England. Here he was still considered a man, flaws and all. Which was as it should be. Ministers married and raised families. Desires of the flesh, then, should not necessarily mean he could not serve.

  Perhaps he would give it a try. Perhaps he could fill the emptiness in his heart. And perhaps, by doing so, he would rid himself of the woman who lived eternally inside his soul.

  Elias Stanton looked like a man with many grave matters on his mind as he sat before a pint of ale at a slab table, across from Duncan.

  He shook Duncan’s hand but seemed distracted.

  “I hope you didna wait long,” Duncan said, apologetic.

  “No. If I seem impatient, sir, ‘Tis only because I have many problems to tend to. However, finding a new man to minister to the township takes precedence over the rest.”

  “I hope your troubles are not too dire,” Duncan said, curious. Elias rubbed his hairy chin, and Duncan thought he had jowls like a mastiff.

  “Oh, quite dire indeed,” he said. “Our town has a temptress nestled in its midst. A most improper young woman, truth to tell. An’ I believe she’s come to damn the souls of all the menfolk in Sanctuary.”

  Duncan tried not to smile, though the man’s words amused him. “How shockin’,” he said. “But surely the men of Sanctuary have enough moral fiber to resist such temptation?”

  Elias shook his head slowly. “I’m in hopes you can help them in that regard,” he said. “But ‘twill not be easy. The girl is possessed of an unnatural beauty, and there is hellfire in her eyes. She’s neither humble nor obedient. Nor devout, for she misses meetings as often as she attends them.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “Perhaps the girl is unaware of the effect she has on the men.”

  Elias took a long sip of ale, then set the glass down heavily. “She’s aware. Even enticed me to impure thoughts. An’ I tell you, not all our men have the moral fortitude and spiritual strength that I have. Some might be moved to do more than dream. They’ll fall victim to her wiles, surely. And that will be their downfall. ‘Tis why we cannot afford to go long without a minister.”

  “I see.” Duncan wasn’t certain he did. Was Elias saying that because he desired a woman, ‘twas her fault?

  “There’s something evil about her,” the man went on.

  Duncan felt a cold chill dance up his spine. Damnation. Such ridiculous discussions were what led to more serious accusations. Accusations like the ones that had caused the death of his phantom lover. And suddenly he thought that perhaps this was why he had been led to this man, to this position. Perhaps this was the opportunity to prevent such an atrocity from happening to another innocent young woman.

  Aloud, he said, “We all have a darker side, Elias. We only learn to control it.”

  Elias frowned. “‘Tis more than a dark side, I fear. Abundance seems to surround this girl. While others in Sanctuary simply get by from one year to the next, she and her aunt grow wealthier by unnatural measures, and in an unbelievably short time. Two years ago the girl rode into our town with little more than the clothes on her back, and one feisty mare. Now she is quite possibly more wealthy than I, the town’s foremost elder! Imagine!”

  “Aye. Imagine.” So the man’s pride was suffering, as well. Aye, Duncan thought, he had to take this position. He had to enlighten ignorant fools such as the one sitting across from him. Maybe he had a purpose in this life after all.

  And there was something else, something Stanton had said, that had set off bells ringing in his mind. And then it hit him.

  Two years ago.

  Exactly when Duncan himself had come here. Exactly when the Sea Witch had docked at Boston Harbor. And if the ghost he’d seen aboard that ship had been real....

  'Twas ridiculous. He was letting his thoughts run wild again.

  But what if ‘tis her?

  “What is the name of this temptress?” he asked.

  Elias sighed deeply and shook his head. “No matter,” he said. “‘Tis my responsibility to put a stop to her mischief, and I’ve taken steps already...precautions really. You need only concern yourself with the moral well being of the community. Keeping them strong and steadfast while I make sure she does no harm.”

  Duncan frowned. “What steps, exactly, are you referrin’ to, sir?”

  Elias shook his head. “We should be talking about you.” And he began asking questions as to Duncan’s background, his schooling and experience, and positions on various scriptural debates.

  Duncan found it very easy to guess the answers the man most wanted to hear, and those were the ones he gave. He had decided he wanted this position—wanted it badly. Because despite how little sense it made, he had to see for himself that this woman of whom Elias Stanton spoke was not the same one who’d haunted him all this time. And because, even if she were not, he had a grim feeling things in Sanctuary were heading rapidly toward disaster. And this time, perhaps, he could do something to prevent it.

  If that wouldn’t exorcize his demons, he didn’t know what would.

  * * * *

  You simply must come to meeting today, Raven. People will think it odd if you don’t. The new minister is here!”

  Aunt Eleanor fussed with the skirts of the new dress I’d made for her, then stopped herself. “Vanity,” she said. “At my age one wouldn’t think it a sin that would tempt me.”

  “Wishing to look one’s best when greeting a newcomer is not vanity, Aunt Eleanor,” I told her sternly, “‘Tis simply good manners.”

  ‘Twas the beginning of my third summer with my aunt, and the cottage looked very different than it had when I had arrived. We’d truly prospered. And my knowledge of natural magic was only a small part of the reason why. At least part of our success was due to simple hard work and smart thinking.

  We’d set aside fertile eggs and allowed the hens to hatch them, over and over, until we’d raised well over a hundred chickens. We sold most, and kept many more, enough to keep our business going, and supply half the town with eggs. We’d twice bartered for the services of a neighbor’s bull, and our cow had produced twins both times. And, yes, I had used my knowledge of magic to help with that. All four calves had been female, and two would be producing milk and calves of their own very soon. Truly, we were doing exceptionally well.

  We’d used our newfound wealth to hire the labor of some men, and now a small barn stood where the shed had been, and the chickens had a coop. We’d enlarged the hearth and built an oven among the cobblestones. And real glass, purchased in Boston, filled our windows.

  “If you knew so much about good manners, child,” my dear aunt said, “you would accompany me to church.”

  She made her eyes soft and pleading, like those of a child wheedling for a sweet. And again I marveled at how youthful and vigorous she had grown under my care.

  “Please come with me, Raven.”

  I closed my eyes in defeat. “Oh, all right. But if he’s as fond of shouting and pounding his Bible as the last one was, I shall get up and leave.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  I sm
iled to let her know I was only teasing, and went to the bedroom we shared to fix my hair and put on one of my own new dresses of shamelessly fine fabric and cut. I couldn’t help but think ‘twas a far cry from the rags, tattered stockings, and worn slippers in which I’d arrived.

  Reluctantly I tied my hair into a knot at the back of my head, and covered it with the small white cap with its dangling ribbons, as was customary. ‘Twas considered sinful for a woman to wear her hair loose, though I failed to see why those silly townsfolk said so. I wore my hair down and flowing all the time, unless I was in town. And I was often tempted to do so publicly as well, to show them what I thought of their conventions. However, I had not forgotten the lessons I’d learned. ‘Twas best to keep my strange ways to myself.

  And while the people of Sanctuary were not of the same ilk as the Puritans I’d had the misfortune to meet once or twice, they had their own superstitions and fears. I was not a fool.

  Though, perhaps I had been behaving as if I were. That Aunt Eleanor’s fortune had shifted so completely from the moment of my arrival had not escaped the notice of some. I could feel the eyes on me, hear the speculation in the whispers they shared as I walked among them. Perhaps ‘twas time I convince Aunt Eleanor to sell the cabin and move away with me. I would not wait until it was too late a second time.

  Sanctuary was becoming unsafe for me. I couldn’t quite smell the danger on the air...yet. But I felt it drawing slowly, inexorably nearer.

  We had acquired a modest wagon, and I hurriedly went outside to put Ebony into her harness. She hated towing the thing, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her. However, the sight of my aunt and I riding double upon my horse’s back would likely have caused some of the townsfolk to feint dead way. And Aunt Eleanor might well end up on the ground, at any rate.

  My aunt came outside the moment I had the wagon ready, a large basket in her hands filled with food for the meal that would follow services. I helped her into the seat, then climbed in beside her and clicked my tongue at Ebony. She set off at a jaunty gait, and despite the fact that she detested it, she did look fine pulling the wagon, feet stepping high, her long mane dancing with every step.