Winds of Salem (5 page)

“Goodness!” said Freya. She gathered her basket, and they quickly made their way across the clearing.

As they walked together, James asked her about herself and Freya told him about how she appeared at the Putnams’ doorstep one day.

“You don’t have family?” he asked.

“Not that I remember. Mrs. Putnam thinks I must have suffered from the pox, which is why I lost my memory.”

“That is grievous indeed. To lose our memory is to lose our identity.”

“I am a fortunate girl,” Freya said. She said it so often she
almost believed it. “The Putnams took me in and I have a home here. How do you find Salem, Mr. Brewster?”

“Please, call me James.”

“James,” Freya said with a smile.

“It is… interesting,” he said. “Before we came to Salem, Brooks and I lived in Europe. We are naturalists and are often in the forest, where we study flora and fauna, the multifaceted aspects of nature. In a word:
science.
”

“Oh dear,” Freya said, eyes sparkling. “I don’t think the reverend would like to hear that.”

“Which is why I can trust you with our secret?” James smiled.

“Of course.” Freya nodded. That he had revealed something so dangerous to her brought a huge sense of relief. Despite having Mercy, she realized how very alone she had been until this moment. As close as they were, she did not think Mercy would understand about the true nature of her gifts.

James smiled at her and she smiled back, thinking that he was indeed very handsome—and perhaps if she had seen him first in the meetinghouse instead of Nate, perhaps her affections would lie with him—but as it was, her heart was already full of a certain Mr. Brooks. But she was grateful for his kindness and his wise words that hinted of a world beyond Salem. The sun pierced through the clouds and beat down on her hood. She pulled it back and fixed her cap, still smiling at James.

“There she is!” he said.

Annie sat in the grass by the river, her back propped against a boulder. Mercy was crouched at her heels, holding the girl’s ankle, one foot raised upon her thigh. Annie wore nothing but her shift and skirts. Her wavy brown hair fell loose and damp over
her chest, clinging to the shift. Mercy had washed the mud off the girl’s woolen bodice and linen cap, then placed them on a bush in the sun to dry. She had strung the young girl’s boots up in a tree, and now they dripped and dangled in the breeze.

“Freya, my Freya!” Annie cried as she and James came running.

James turned his back to the girl so as not to embarrass her.

“Don’t worry, James,” said Mercy. “Annie’s a wee girl.” Mercy wanted to be able to gaze at the object of her affection and not at his back, albeit attractive as well.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Turn, will you!” she ordered, so the lad had no choice.

Freya had kneeled beside Mercy and Annie. “You look a fright!” she said to the girl.

Annie began to whimper. “I’m so very sorry, Freya. I promise not to fall again. I promise!”

“You are always falling, aren’t ye? We might have to give you a cane,” reprimanded Mercy.

“No!” yelped Annie.

Freya studied the girl. Annie was a difficult child. She often shrugged off her duties caring for her mother and siblings to spend time with the servant girls. Perhaps she was resentful of being the eldest and burdened with the responsibilities—but that was the way things were, and Annie should know it was her duty, Freya thought. No one was exactly happy with her lot, but they all made the best of it.

Annie was invariably hurting herself or getting in trouble with her father, and they would then be obliged to defend her, sometimes even having to tell a sinful lie to do so. Annie would thank them, telling them how much she feared but loved and revered her father. Freya liked her but also pitied her. There were times she caught Annie gazing at her in such an odd fashion it
made her nervous. But perhaps Annie was just young, and her life certainly wasn’t easy with a mother who was always ill and having such an austere man for a father. They had plenty, all that they needed, but somehow it never seemed enough. There was no warmth in that house.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Freya lifted Annie’s skirt and observed her red and swollen ankle. “Ah, it’s nothing!” she said. She had James hand her the basket in which she had gathered herbs during her walk, and asked him to pick some of the lamb’s ears that grew along the river. When he came back she rubbed the leaves he handed her with some arnica, then she held the crumpled bits around Annie’s ankle, whispering a short incantation.

Annie sighed with relief. “Your hands are so soothing.”

James and Mercy watched, and when Freya removed her hands the swelling had gone down and Annie could walk again.

“A cunning girl!” said James, looking admiringly at Freya.

Mercy placed a finger at her mouth, then warned him, “Not a word of any of this!”

He promised he wouldn’t say a thing, then gathered his rocks and returned to the barn, leaving the young women, who did their best to make Annie presentable in her damp clothes.

chapter four

In Bloom

“It is all so heavenly!” Mercy remarked as she strode through the stable, lifting her skirts, then filled the horse’s trough with water from a bucket. All morning the maid had been going about her work with a smile on her face.

Freya laughed at such a comment as they stood amid horse dung. With a smile, she inquired, “
Heavenly!
How so?”

They were inside the Putnam stables, taking care of Thomas’s prized Thoroughbred. The master wanted to ride the animal later that day. A stable boy and a few of the farmhands were responsible for cleaning the stalls, picking the mud and stones from the horses’ hooves, shoeing, washing, feeding, and riding the horses, but Thomas wanted to make certain his stallion was especially well groomed—that the leather of his saddle and bridle gleamed as brilliantly as his coat—and had assigned his maidservants to the task.

Freya brushed the Thoroughbred’s forelock, a palm at the warm muscle of his neck, peering inquiringly at Mercy. She ran her other hand down the white diamond along his nose, let his velvety lips nibble at her palm. The horses stirred in their stalls, flicking their tails, dropping their hooves, exhaling noisily.

Mercy placed two hands over her heart, sighing audibly. “I am madly in love, Freya!”

She had suspected Mercy was going to say this. “James?” she asked.

“Yes, James, James, James!” Mercy twirled around with the water bucket, letting the name ring out.

Freya was genuinely happy for her friend, for she knew how such feelings were, how one wanted to cry them out like this. “That is wonderful!”

“I know it is crazed of me to think—for I am of lower station—but I do believe he loves me, too,” Mercy continued. “You know… the way he looks at me. Have you noticed the way he looks at me, Freya?”

Freya hadn’t. She had, however, noticed the times James had smiled at her, the teasing glint in his eyes. This was disconcerting where Mercy was concerned. It would seem James was a shameless flirt. Freya wasn’t about to hurt her friend by telling her this. She was no good at telling a lie, nor should she sin so improvidently. “I will pay more attention from now on!” she promised, not knowing what else to say.

Careful not to soil the hems of their skirts, the maids closed the door to the Thoroughbred’s stall and went to treat the leather of Thomas’s tack with rags soaked in mink oil. Mercy took charge of the saddle balanced on a beam, while Freya retrieved Thomas’s riding bridle from a wooden peg, then brought it over to a bale of hay where she sat down.

As Freya ran the cloth along the leather reins, she whispered, “I have a confession, too.” She blushed with happiness, making a very pretty picture as a ray of sun slanted through the opened doors upon her apron, mauve skirt, and white petticoats peeking through above her leather boots.

“A confession?” said Mercy. “That sounds serious.”

Freya smiled, biting her lip. “I, too, am in love!” she said.

Mercy ran over and crouched beside her friend, gathering
her skirts, grabbing Freya’s hands. “You must tell me everything! Who is the lucky lad? I had no idea!” Love had given Mercy’s large blue eyes a sparkle, softened her mouth, and reddened her cheeks. She was almost beautiful.

“Why, Mr. Brooks, of course! You knew, did you not?” Freya asked in a skeptical tone.

Mercy laughed as if this were the most hilarious yet agreeable thing she had ever heard. “I didn’t. I swear! You hide it well, I must say.” She tucked a curl into Freya’s cap and ran a hand along her friend’s cheek, but Freya lowered her head, suddenly distraught. “What’s wrong?” Mercy asked.

“It’s what you said earlier…” Freya sought to find the words. “I, like you, am enamored of someone much beyond my station. He comes from a wealthy family and has traveled to Europe and back.”

Mercy tapped her on the knee. “Oh, stop that, you wench! You are considered the fairest maid in all of Salem Village and Salem Town! Many speak of your beauty. I will hear none of that from you! Anyhow, it matters little nowadays. Men of high rank marry poor lasses like us here in the New World. Don’t ruin this for us. I am so very happy we are both in love! Tell me! Tell me everything!”

Freya wanted to tell everything to her friend—who was so like a sister to her—and felt a great wave of affection for Mercy at that moment. But she held back, and the cresting sentiments crashed painfully within her. It wasn’t caution or mistrust, but something whispered to her to keep her true feelings a secret, and she felt guilty for it, but still, she listened to that voice. So she told Mercy nearly everything—about each little glance she and Nate had exchanged at church. Mercy listened voraciously, nodding her head at all the details. But there was one thing Freya kept from her friend.

That very same morning when she had woken in her rope bed, she had found a small, coarse-grained card tucked between the blanket and her chest, with the swirling letters
NB
, a sideways
8
beneath them. There was no note, but the seal told Freya everything she had to know.

NB
for Nathaniel Brooks! He had been inside the Putnam house! Perhaps he had been there late at night for business with Thomas, up in the paterfamilias’s study while everyone slept. He had stood over her while she slumbered! Had he run his fingers along her brow maybe? Just the idea of it caused her to shiver.

He had wanted her to know he had been there, and was thinking of her. She trembled with excitement even as she was loath to share any of this with her beloved Mercy.

chapter five

Mr. Brooks and Miss Beauchamp

After supper at noon, Freya finished her chores and helped Annie with the children, reading the Bible to them before they napped. She told Mercy she would take the wash to the river by herself. Her friend needed to give her scarred, chafed fingers a break. With her basket of laundry and pots and pans, she took a shortcut, plodding along toward the river. When she got there, she worked quickly, cleaning and scrubbing, then returned the roundabout way through the meadow, where James had caught her unawares that day. As she walked she lost herself in the splendor of her surroundings: the wind rustling through the trees, the verdant grass springing beneath her boots, the fragrance of wild roses.