I would have remembered.
The man staring back at me was beautiful in an unearthly way, with hair the color of fallen pine needles, skin that had never known harsh sun or harsher winter cold, and eyes a shade bluer than the bluest ocean. He was perhaps two years older than I—meaning two years older than I appeared, so still in the bloom of youth, tall and strong.
I hesitated. I wanted his help as much to keep him there as to get out of my work. But neither motive was proper for a girl my age, a girl any age in Salem. I glanced around. No signs of life anywhere except for the trickle of smoke from the chimney. I had built a fire when I’d risen. With any luck, the Harwoods would gather by it and Goody Harwood would not come looking for me when she needn’t.
I nodded, trying to pull my gaze down like a proper young lady.
“If you please,” I said.
He moved closer and, at first, I started at his nearness. Then I realized he meant to take the ax from me. I held it out to him, trying to lower my eyes.
I saw him notice, and his gaze upon me made me look down all the more. Yet I so wished to stare at him. I held my arms around my body, pretending only to be affected by the cold.
I knew it was more than that.
He took the ax, brushing each of my gloveless hands with his own. They were so warm, and I sank a bit when the weight was removed.
Finally, I glanced up, for he was very tall, and when I did, I saw him smile.
I pulled my eyes away, but his smile remained in my memory. He was so handsome.
“There now.” He spoke with a bit of an accent, from Scotland. “You are too young and too lovely for such hard work.”
I looked down harder.
“I am not as young as you might believe.” I backed away.
“Nor am I.” He made no move to chop the wood. “And I know things. Have you heard about what is happening in Salem?”
I had. At least, I thought I had. There were rumors of children bewitched by demons. But I did not want to admit that it concerned me. If I did, he might suspect how much it did. And why.
So I said, “I know little. I spend my days and nights just as you see me and my Sundays in worship.”
The left corner of his mouth came up as if to call me on this lie. “Like any God-fearing young maiden.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
He nodded, half gravely. “Then I should tell you. It happened in town, at Reverend Parris’s house. His daughter, Betty, and niece, Abigail, have been behaving . . . bizarrely.”
I had heard it. Young girls barking like dogs, writhing and crying out as if in pain. I had not done it. Nor were there any other witches in these parts. Perhaps there was a fungus in their flour. Perhaps they just wished for attention. But I knew better than to say that.
“I see.” I managed a nod.
“But did you know that in Boston four years ago, a young woman was stricken with similar symptoms?”
Aye. I had heard something of that.
I shook my head.
“She was, and a woman named Ann Glover was hanged as a witch based upon the suspicion that she had enchanted the girl.”
“What has this to do with me?” I asked. “Why are you telling me this?”
I had stood out too long with too little work, and now my body was cold, so cold it felt as if the bones might snap.
His words did nothing to warm me. “Because it concerns you, Kendra.”
“Why?” How did he know my name?
But then I heard the creak of the opening door. I whirled to make my excuses to Goody Harwood, but she smiled.
“Oh! I thought to hurry you along. The fire is waning, and you must make the breakfast still. But I see you have been harder at work than I suspected. I suppose I couldn’t hear the thuds for the gusts.”
As if to answer, the wind whipped through me, ruffling my hair. I turned away.
Goody Harwood had not mentioned the man who was there, and when I turned, I saw why. He was gone, gone as if he had never existed. But in his place was a cord of neatly stacked logs. A crow set atop them.
I took a shaky breath. I felt about to choke. “I will be but a moment longer.”
Another gust shook the branches, and she shut the door against it.
When I turned back, the wood was still there, and the man. I had not imagined it, any of it.
“How did you . . . ?” A thousand questions leaped to mind, but I completed the one I had started. “How did you know?” My name? That I was a witch?
“I knew because I knew. James Brandon, at your service.”
“I have to go inside, sir.”
“Nay.” His blue eyes were intense now. “You should leave Salem, and quickly. This place is not safe. For you. For any of us. But I will stay and see it out, to protect innocents. You should protect yourself.”