Chapter 1
one
. . .
My eyes drift to the window as the minister’s sermon outlasts my attention span. Sunlight filters through the swaying trees past the cemetery, setting their leaves aflame against the bright blue sky. It’s a shame to be stuck inside like this, when the mild days of autumn are dwindling.
I note the stern look Martha is giving me from the corner of her eye and sit up straighter.
It’s a shame, but my sister-in-law loathes it when I embarrass her with my fidgeting, so I dig my fingers into my knees and wait for the church doors to swing open before I allow myself to take a full, deep breath, lest I accidentally huff it out.
I’ve been so restless lately, full of an indescribable nervous energy. I fear that one wrong move might cause it to burst out of me.
But no one seems to notice my predicament as we file out of the stuffy clapboard building.
Martha and her friends form a loose gathering in the churchyard while my brother, Thomas, goes off to talk with the minister and the other goodmen.
Arthur Hill greets him and cranes his neck toward the group of women and children.
I attempt to conceal myself in the crowd, but his gaze lands right where I’m standing.
He touches the brim of his black capotain, a tight smile lifting the ginger whiskers of his beard.
I turn away quickly before Martha can take my arm and march me over to make small talk.
She says I should consider myself blessed to have caught someone’s eye at this stage in my life, but I don’t want the widower’s eye on me.
His smile makes my stomach curdle with the same dreadful feeling I got when I saw a copperhead slithering in the stables last week.
Besides, I knew his late wife, Rebecca. When we were girls, we would wander in the woods and play for hours until our mothers called out for us. I remember her raspy laugh, even if I never heard it again after she was wed.
That’s the puzzling thing about marriage—some men can take the most vibrant women and somehow suck all of the life out of them.
I’ve never wanted any part of it. Luckily, Martha is too engrossed in her conversation to care that I’ve migrated away from Arthur’s attention, situating myself on the fringe of everything.
A cool breeze sweeps through the trees, sending the hem of my skirt fluttering against the tombstone behind me.
I listen to the rustling leaves, yearning to jump back into the sliver of time when it was still acceptable to skip barefoot in the creek and lie on the forest floor with my friends giggling next to me.
I think that would restore my peace.
Patience Dodd’s youngest son goes running past me, and one of my nephews chases after him, the two boys winding through the cemetery.
“Zachariah, stop. Come back this instant,” Martha calls as they hurdle toward the edge of the forest. “You know you cannot go in there.”
He stalks back to his mother, his fair cheeks flushed and his brown hair mussed. “Sorry, Mother.”
“There is something wicked lurking in the woods,” Patience cautions, her blue eyes darkening with sincere fear.
Not this again.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, preparing for an onslaught of strange claims of withered crops and looming shadows. For the past few months, the townsfolk have been whispering about a malevolent force stirring up trouble.
“Our cows have been giving sour milk for a fortnight,” Elisabeth Adams joins in and lowers her voice. “Ezra thinks they’ve been cursed.”
“The Abbotts’ corn shriveled overnight,” Piper Bell whispers, eyeing the couple waiting their turn to speak to the minister. “The entire crop is ruined.”
“Whatever devil is causing this misfortune is surely female. Last week I was gathering kindling, and I heard a woman’s voice calling my name from the woods, but when I answered, she started laughing.” Isabelle Thompson’s ruddy cheeks flush deeply from the memory, and Sarah Adkins tuts her tongue.
“Well, I had a black cat jump onto my windowsill last night, yowling and spitting up a storm. I went to chase her away, and she transformed into a woman—as naked as the day she was born.”
“It truly is a devil, then! You must have been so frightened,” Martha gasps, clutching her blouse. “Did you scream?”
“Of course,” Sarah says. “Francis came running, but by the time he got there, the wretch had turned back into a cat.”
A laugh bubbles in my throat. I can’t help it. Sarah and Martha swivel their heads in my direction, and my sister-in-law narrows her eyes. “Is there something funny about that, Elizabeth?”
The thought of a nude woman sprouting fur and shrinking into a feline creature is quite amusing, but I could never voice that opinion, so I clear my throat instead. “No. Not at all. All of these stories are making me … nervous.”
Sarah squeezes my arm. “Don’t be too worried, dearie.
The men will handle it under the minister’s guidance.
My Francis told me that Arthur Hill has been staking out the woods at night.
If he finds something suspicious, they’ll sort it out.
He’s a good one, that Arthur. I think he’s got his eye on you. ”
He’s not standing close enough to hear us, but his eyes flick toward me as if he knows we’re talking about him. She exchanges a knowing glance with Martha, and a sickening knot tightens in my stomach again.
The feeling doesn’t budge all day, sitting tense beneath my ribs as I help prepare our family supper and tend to my nieces and nephews. It becomes a nagging pain that bothers me long after everyone else has fallen asleep.
I drop my darning sock in the basket of torn socks and rub my tired eyes, listening to the sounds of snoring and deep breathing. The walls of this house are thin enough to hear everything, thin enough to hear the things Martha and my brother say about me.
I know she helps around the house, but these are trying times, and she’s another mouth to feed. She only has a few more childbearing years left; she should take her prospects more seriously. Our children may end up shouldering the burden too someday.
Tonight it is quiet, but their murmured words have echoed in my head for years. They linger in my memory, a constant reminder that I’m not wanted here. Not really.
It won’t be easy to shake off Arthur Hill’s interest. Thomas and Martha are so eager to get rid of me, and marriage would provide the perfect opportunity.
I’ve never felt so much like a piece of unwanted furniture—aged and dented and ready to be passed off to the first home that’s desperate enough to welcome me into it.
Perhaps things would’ve been better if I’d settled down when I still had the polish of youth to attract potential suitors. There’d been a few of them, but I was never interested then. I was always waiting for something else to happen.
What did I think would happen? I ask myself that question all the time, but no good answers ever come to mind.
A familiar pressure rises beneath my skin. There’s no way to release it, so I resign myself to sitting as still as I can in the darkness until it passes.
My lips are pursed and ready to blow out the chamberstick on the table beside me when I hear a scratching at the window. I grab the pewter candle holder and avoid the creaky floorboards, pulling the curtains aside.
A pair of golden eyes glows through my own reflection. I jump back, my heart leaping to my throat as a black cat slinks from the sill.
It’s a cat. Only a cat, I assure myself with my hand pressed to my chest until I’ve caught my breath. I lean my nose toward the thick glass again to search the treeline. The creature has vanished into the night.
I sniff out a laugh at my own silly panic and draw back, my gaze snagging on a dark figure silhouetted between the trees.
I should drop the curtains, but my fingers freeze around the linen as the clouds part overhead, and moonlight illuminates the mouth of the forest. Pale limbs become visible, their long lines curving inward and swelling into small, naked breasts and hips.
That indescribable pressure drops and settles between my legs.
What is wrong with me? I can’t think properly.
Sarah Adkins’ words from earlier come rushing back to me. This must be the woman she claimed to see—some sort of a devil, or a witch, for it seems she has bewitched me. I force myself to drop the curtain, but I catch the slight movement of her head lifting before it closes completely.
It’s not a bolt of terror that hits my chest. It’s heat.
I like that she saw me.
“A witch, a witch,” I mutter beneath my breath. Oh heavens. I’m just as bad as the rest of the townsfolk, rambling on about such a conspiracy. I need to gather my wits and think rationally.
Maybe the woman is struggling with a nameless ache deep in her soul. Maybe she’s just like me.
How many times have my own cravings for something more tempted me to do dangerous things?
She’s not a witch; I’ve never believed in such nonsense.
But there are others who will be quick to rush to judgment.
When there are problems, people will always try to pin them on someone as an easy way to solve them.
If the minister already has men patrolling the woods, then someone should bring the woman back to her senses.
Trying not to wake my family, I tiptoe to the door and step out into the night with only my candle and the moon to guide me.
A chill has settled in the air. I shiver as a breeze sends my white nightgown fluttering around my ankles, stirring up the dead leaves beneath my bare feet.
There’s a rustling in the woods that makes me stop in my tracks.
“Hello,” I call softly, squinting into the shadows.
I’m met with a soft, answering laugh. “Hello, Elizabeth.”
Goosebumps erupt over my skin, and the back of my neck tightens. “Do we know each other? Have—have we met?”
I couldn’t see the woman’s features that well, so it’s a possibility, but her voice is unfamiliar.