Freya’s arms stiffened at her sides. She would hear nothing more either, and so she spun on her heel and left the room as fast as she could.
“Where are you going?” called Mercy to her back. “I swear I had nothing to do with any of this! Freya! Wait!”
Freya strode across the hall and did not answer, only slammed the door on the way out of the Putnam house. It was almost seven according to the sundial attached to the wall of the farm, still light outside. She knew many of the men in the village went to Ingersoll’s Tavern on Thursdays around this time, once they had finished with militia practice. Surely she would find Nate there. She would beg him to take her away—he could not let this happen—they were in love and they needed to run away together.
She took a shortcut, but she was so distressed, she lost the way and had to climb a wall that rose before her out of nowhere, it seemed. Briars caught on her skirt as she made her way down the other side, and she felt it tear as she jumped, but she kept running, frantically. She was in a wild, overgrown field, and she tripped on a sudden pile of stones, fell, fumbling for a moment in the tall grass, then she scrambled back to her feet. She would have flown on a pole had it not been broad daylight. She cursed this village. Her cap slipped from her head as she ran, so she pulled it off, tucking it into her apron’s pocket. Her hair cascaded down, lighting up like fire.
She saw the village proper ahead, leaned over and placed her hands on her thighs, and panted. She found pins in her pocket, fixed her hair, then pulled her cap over it. Her pulse thrummed at her temples. Her petticoat had been torn on the thorns, but it was nothing too conspicuous. She glimpsed a deep scratch on her calf, where the blood had already dried. She was in such a state, she hadn’t even felt it when it had happened.
She set a calm expression to her face and walked the rest of the road that led into the village’s center. She passed a house on the way. The woman outside feeding chickens gave her a pained smile. Everyone recognized her now after that show in the meetinghouse. She was the young, comely maidservant who was to wed the old, homely, and wealthy widower.
A man on his horse came down the road. She recognized James Brewster and waved to him, relieved. James smiled, dismounting the chestnut stallion. He held the reins close to the bit as they stood together on the grassy shoulder of the road.
He squeezed her arm and let it go. “I was there,” he said. “Do not worry.” His green-gold eyes burned with compassion.
“It can’t happen!” she said. “Where is Nate? Do you know?”
“Nate? No. I haven’t seen him since Mr. Putnam made the announcement at the meetinghouse,” he said.
“I cannot marry Mr. Brooks,” Freya said. “I will not.”
“Of course not. I would never let that happen.”
His kindness overwhelmed her, even as it was Nate she wanted.
“Listen, I will help you, but we mustn’t remain here lest we are seen. People will talk. Meet me at the dog rose bush.” He was already mounting his horse, whose coat shone in the lowering sun. James looked quite glorious up there. He tipped his hat.
“Yes,” said Freya. “I will. Thank you, James, thank you!”
James nodded and tugged on the reins, so his horse stretched its neck. He gave a little kick, and they were off at a trot, then canter.
Freya walked in the opposite direction in case anyone had seen. There was always someone watching in Salem Village, she knew now.
chapter twenty-five
The Immortals
When Freya arrived in the meadow, she spotted James’s horse, but the stallion was alone. He grazed peacefully in the grass, the reins loose. Sensing Freya, the horse blinked in her direction, shook his mane, and returned his black nose to the ground to continue grazing. James’s horse but no James. Where was he? Whatever he planned to do to help, it had to happen posthaste. But what about Nate? She had to let him know that she had left the Putnams, without a good-bye or any of her belongings, but she had to make him understand they would have to run away together immediately. She was a girl alone, with no family and no home. She was vulnerable, and somehow she knew instinctively her magic would not be able to help her out of this situation. She could make the butter churn by itself and plow a field of potatoes without lifting a finger, but she could not reverse Mr. Putnam’s decision on her fate if he had already made up his mind.
Looking for James, she walked along the edge of the meadow, peering into the woods toward the west where the sun had begun to drop. The boughs of pines and leaves of oaks and beeches appeared backlit. Shafts of light poured through, resembling smoke as they lit the dust motes in the air. As she trudged along, the sun slipped between the bare spaces of trees, blinding her, and she brought a hand to her face to shield her eyes from the glare.
Then a shadow fell upon her face, and for a moment she thought it was Nate, but it was not. James stood before her.
“Where is Nate?”
“Why do you keep asking?” James asked impatiently. He carried a couple of blankets and a knapsack on his shoulder.
“Because…” She took a deep breath.
“Because?” he prompted, his face turning darker. “Why do you always ask about Nate? What is he to you?” James strapped the bags to the horse and turned to Freya. “Forget about Nate.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t. Nate is… Nate is my…”
“Your what, Freya?” James said.
“Nate is my love,” she whispered. “I cannot leave without him,” and when she saw the hurt look on his face it dawned on her that this was yet another misunderstanding. Her life seemed to be so full of them lately. She had done this. It was all her fault. That morning when James was returning from night-watch duty at the tower, when she had kissed him on the cheek. She had been overflowing with feelings that day, because she was in love—in love with Nate. But now it dawned on her that James had come to believe he was the object of her affections.
She turned away from him, but he reached for her hand and pulled her toward him. His breath was warm on her face. “What… what did you say?”
“I love him… I love Nate,” she choked. “James, I’m so sorry…”
He gaped at her, shaking his head. “No. No!”
She moved backward, away from him, and tripped on something that rose from the ground, a stone or a root. James tried to protect her fall but instead he fell on her, so that they were both lying on the ground. He was nearly on top of her, and they both were breathing heavily but for different reasons.