𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟔𝟔𝟔
A warm breeze floated through the field where you sat in the grass with your skirts blossoming all around you. Your basket sat open in your lap and you hummed as you twisted wild raspberries off of the small bush beside you and collected them in a small jar.
Thomas sat a few yards away from you, his entire focus devoted to polishing the blade of his knife. His father had given it to him some odd years ago before he passed. He was quiet aside from the metallic scraping. Thomas was always quiet after a night of drinking.
"I'll get you something for your headache," you promised without looking up. He grunted, which was your only indication that he heard you at all. You were still upset with him for abandoning you to shag up with Abi Berman last night. God knows what would have become of you if Solomon hadn't stumbled upon you all alone with an unfit mind.
But you were also a forgiving soul. One mistake did not dissolve every other time he held you as you cried at the world because it wasn't fair, or every time he kept you and Johanna from starving because of his unmatched hunting skill.
"Why must you do that?" Thomas spoke at last. You looked up to see that he was leaning on his knees, tilting the blade of his knife so that it caught the sun and sent beams of light at your face. He smirked when he realized you noticed. "The harvest isn't for another fortnight."
You scrunched up your nose in playful disdain, picking another berry and using it to pelt him in the chest. "I know that. And since you must know, I am baking a pie."
"Oh, you're too kind."
"Not for you," you huffed. Thomas quirked an eyebrow and you looked down at your lap to avoid his gaze, busying yourself with sorting through the last of the berries you had picked.
The ripe red juices stained the front of your apron. Perhaps Mrs. Miller would be so kind as to lend you a bar of goat milk soap. The good kind that the midwives used to rinse blood out of linen.
You could only pray that your bonnet hid your grin as you spoke your next words. "It's for Solomon."
"Solomon Goode?" Thomas had the nerve to scoff at you, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're more foolish than I thought, lass."
"Foolish?" you gawked. "Am I so foolish to thank the man who saw me home after you abandoned me in the dark woods?"
"I knew not what I did, nor how I came about doing it." Thomas twisted the knife in his hand so that the blade was pointed directly at his chest.
"Does not make it untrue," you mumbled, brushing a stray blade of grass off of another berry before dropping it into the basket. You'd pick a few extra for Johanna, as a treat for keeping up with her chores. Even getting out of bed was a great task for her at the moment. It would be weeks, months even, before you could send her back out to her friends.
Thomas turned his head to sneer out at the rows of evergreen trees in the far distance. If you squinted, you could have seen the thin pillars of smoke from Solomon's homestead rising above the branches.
"He won't marry you, you know."
Your fingers stilled and you felt your shoulders tense up at his words. Is that all young men think about? Marriage?
Besides, you've already made up your mind about who you would marry. Issac was a fine young man. He was sweet to you.
But so was Solomon.
Your jaw went slack and you had to snap your mouth shut again to scowl up at the boy seated directly across from you. "Is that the only reason I have to show kindness to a man in such agony?"
"He doesn't deserve you," Thomas snapped, stabbing his knife so deep into the topsoil that only the bone-colored hilt prodded out. "No one does. Least of all Solomon Goode."
"Who is befitting to take my hand, do you suppose?" You had meant it jokingly, but his eyes flickered to meet yours and you knew he had an answer ready.
"Doesn't matter," he grumbled, rising to his feet and turning away from the field all in one quick motion.
You watched him retreat for a few moments before exhaling with a heavy sigh. A quarter of an hour later, you struggled to your feet and followed his dusty footprints back into the town square.
The air changed drastically almost the exact moment you crossed the border into Union. Everyone you knew had their heads down and kept a brisk pace as they did about their errands.
A few girls whispered wickedly to one another under the shadow of the meeting house roof. One of them shot you a dirty look and you frowned, turning away in favor of seeking out more familiar faces.
Isaac was shoveling outside of the butcher's house like he always was at this time of day. You thought it might have been old hay, but as you grew closer with hesitant steps, you came to realize it was actually a small mountain of rotten fruit. Your frown deepened.
The fruits of the summer were supposed to last you through the harvest season. How were so many of them already rotten?
When you offered Isaac a friendly wave, he looked up with a sad smile and didn't even stop his work to respond. His eyes were deep and yet hollow all at the same time, dark circles blooming under his usually bright gaze from a long night spent awake.
No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the weight of his stare. It was like he knew something that you didn't and that made your nerves flutter.
You passed the good pastor's home not a moment later. Hannah was usually on the doorstep, ready to greet you as you passed. But this morning you only caught a quick glimpse of her through the upstairs window before she drew the curtain back tight.
"(Y/N)," you heard a hiss from behind you. You turned around just in time to see Sarah rushing toward you with a worried frown. That alone would have been enough to concern you if it hadn't been for the red liquid that had been splattered across her entire front.
"For Christ's sake, Sarah!" you cried out, not bothering to try and keep your voice down as a group of men marched by on their way to the woods for the mid-morning hunt.
"Not mine. It's the pig's," she explained hurriedly, spinning you around by the shoulders and linking her arm with yours as she began pulling you in the direction of her home. You stared up at her in horror. The blood was still fresh, practically steaming in the morning cold.
"You've killed your pig? Whyever would you do such a thing now? It's nearly winter!"
"Shh," Sarah pleaded. "Voice down. I'll explain when it's safe. Just walk me home."
She didn't release your arm from her iron-grip until you were both inside of her home with the door latched behind you. Sarah's younger brother, Henry, looked up from the empty kitchen table to shoot the two of you a strange look. He'd been good friends with your sister when she was still well enough to play. You had hope that he'd be a friend to her once she was again.
"Henry," you smile warmly, ignoring the impatient groan of your friend. "Would you be a dear and walk next door to see if Johanna is well? Perhaps help her with her chores if you're able?"
It was a syrupy sweet way of saying get out so your sister can explain why in the fresh hell she's covered in blood and why everyone in town is acting like God himself spat on their shoes.
He understood, thankfully, and left out the backdoor without another word.
"Tell me," you said, sitting down across from Sarah at the table. "Tell me everything."
And she did.
She told you about the night she spent with Hannah Miller under the full moon. She told you about the shadow she saw in the corner of her eye. She told you about how she was exiled from Hannah's home after the pastor had mysteriously fallen ill, and how Thomas knew exactly what had happened and was telling everyone who would listen about the sins of Sarah Fier.
As her story drew to a close, you pursed your lips in confusion. "But...But Solomon swore he saw Thomas with Abigail that night. Why would he lie to me?"
Sarah scoffed and stood up to stoke the embers of the fireplace. "For the same reason that men toil the earth. It's their nature." She took a ragged breath and cupped her face in her hands. "I just...I just don't know what to do."
You crossed the room to capture her in a tight hug. You held Sarah for a number of minutes, whispering comforting words into her unruly earth-toned hair. "All will be well," you promised unsurely. "I will speak to Thomas. Surely I can convince him that he hadn't seen what he says."
But the more you thought about it, the more it made sense that he had. What else would have made the sound he hurried off to find? It made no sense for him to wander off like that for the reasons that Solomon gave. But what bothered you most was the idea of Solomon lying so easily right to your face.
Henry returned a few moments later and shared the good news of Johanna's improved condition. You decided to take your leave to finish your errands for the day, barely noticing that when you gathered your basket back into your arms, a single rotten berry rolled out.
(A/N: I've switched to updating every other day, just to give myself some leeway. Still can't decide what to be for halloween).