Page 54 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

FORTY-FOUR

Virginia Colony

Mary spent a sleepless night after her encounter with Walker, tossing and turning in her lonely marriage bed.

On the surface, her choice was simple. She’d made a promise before God when she married John.

He wasn’t the man she’d expected him to be, but that didn’t mean her vows were invalidated by his acts of betrayal.

If she remained in the colony—which wasn’t really a choice given that she had no money for a return voyage, nor would anyone take a woman abandoning her husband aboard their ship—she had to stay married to John.

Mary traced a finger along the wall, feeling the rough grain of the wood.

She could never marry Walker in the true sense of the word, even if she were free to wed, but he was an antidote to her loneliness, a balm to her soul.

He offered her not only companionship, but affection, tenderness, and a true partnership, something she could never have with John.

But at what cost, and was she willing to pay it?

Yes , a soft voice in her head replied. A life without affection or hope wasn’t worth living.

When she envisioned her future with John, she felt as if she were buried alive, forever sealed off from air and light, left to suffocate in an all-encompassing darkness.

Perhaps she was being overly morbid, but after these past months, she knew with unwavering certainty that John was a castle she could never breach, not emotionally and not physically.

He noticed her less and less as the weeks went by and had lain with her only once since she last bled, proving to her that begetting an heir wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

“Why, Simon?” Mary had asked Simon after their conversation when he’d been hurt. She’d cornered him in the barn, desperate to vent her anger and frustration. “Why did John marry me?”

Strangely, since that unexpected encounter, Simon appeared to be the only person in the household to whom she could speak openly, since neither of them needed to bother with the pretense any longer, and despite Mary’s obvious distrust and dislike of him, Simon seemed to feel some sympathy for her.

“Secretary Hunt read out the list of men who were to get brides before the entire congregation one Sunday. Refusal would have singled John out for suspicion and ridicule. He never meant to hurt you, Mary. He had no choice.”

“But he is hurting me. As are you.”

Simon shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear. I mean you no harm, Mary, but I must see to my own interests.”

“And what about Travesty? Why does she hate me so?” Mary demanded, her fury nowhere near extinguished.

“She doesn’t hate you; she envies you,” Simon replied as he continued mucking out the stall, as if they were exchanging pleasantries or talking about the weather.

“This union was none of my choosing,” Mary snapped.

“Travesty thought to wed the master, and instead she got a new mistress, one she thinks is spoiled and na?ve.”

“Spoiled?” Mary sputtered. She had been na?ve, yes, but spoiled? She was hardly that.

“Mary, let me give you a piece of advice, and remember that it’s kindly meant. Make the most of your lot, bide your time, and seize an opportunity with both hands if it comes your way.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Just waiting for your opportunity?” Mary asked. She hated the bitterness in her voice and the tang of tears at the back of her throat .

“You know I am,” Simon replied, indifferent to her pain.

“And do you not care who gets hurt through your schemes?”

“Not a bit. And neither should you.”

“You’re despicable,” Mary cried.

“No, my darling girl, I’m just honest. A rare quality in most folk, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Mary had stomped from the barn, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, but made a sharp turn and went to check on the vegetable patch when she saw Travesty emerging from the cabin with a bucket of slops. She’d be damned if she let that woman see her tears.

Now, weeks later, Simon’s advice returned to her, and she turned it over in her mind as she stared at the darkened ceiling of the cabin.

The way she felt now, even a few stolen moments of happiness would be worth the risk.

What was the worst that could happened? Who’d know?

Walker would be waiting for her by the creek tomorrow.

She could either go to him and willingly embrace a life of sin or remain a virtuous wife and embrace a life of bitterness and secret shame.

Either way she was damned, either in this life or the next.

Mary ran her hand along the cool sheet on John’s side of the bed.

He’d snuck out as soon as he thought her asleep.

She knew where he’d gone and what he was doing.

Even John had love, or something that passed for it.

He had a companion, someone who accepted him for what he was and was willing to keep his secret.

John’s relationship with Simon was sinful and based on lies, but it was a relationship nonetheless, one that seemed to satisfy both parties for the time being.

Mary sighed. Was it wrong to crave love?

Was she unnatural in wishing for a soft touch in the night, or a tender kiss?

The church preached against lust, but was this lust or a basic need to be cared for?

Would she still long to be with Walker if he could never consummate their relationship?

Yes, she would. She felt whole in his presence, and visible.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing as John tiptoed into the cabin and crept toward the bed.

He lay down and turned onto his side, his back to her.

She could smell the sweat on his skin, and a tang of something else, something she preferred not to name.

She stole a peek at John once he fell asleep. He was smiling.