1. Salem, 1692


    Date: 9/18/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: WritersFriend, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories

    said, “Did you bring a spade?” Edward pulled the hand tool out of his saddle bag and gave it to her. She got on her knees and began digging. “Do you need help, Mary?” “No, I’ve got it. She pulled out of the shallow hole a small taupe oilcloth wrapped in a bundle. When she opened it, Edward was surprised to see a large number of silver coins. “Where did you get those?” he asked. “I earned them.” There was no way that amount of silver represented her wages from the inn. Edward didn’t want to think about what that meant. It was too dangerous to continue on the main road. They would have to navigate eastward through the heavy forests. Mary wanted to go to Billerika, on the Concord River, about thirty miles as the crow flew. She knew some people there whom she had met on her journey from the New York Colony. They traveled through the night, sometimes riding, sometimes leading their horses so they wouldn’t stumble in a hole under the black blanket of the foliage overhead. Edward tried to keep their direction true by referencing the North Star. They continued for an hour or so past daybreak and then stopped near a brook. “We’ll water the horses here,” Edward said, “and make camp in that thicket of trees over there.” It was too perilous to travel during the daylight hours. “Did you bring me a change of clothes?” Mary asked. “They’re in your saddle bag. There’s a towel and some soap there as well.” Although the jailers had allowed her a basin and water, she had not had a bath in six ...
    weeks. Mr. Gates at the inn had laundered her clothing during her incarceration, and Edward had taken her a change each week on his visit. “I’ll go and set things up while you bathe,” he said. He walked the horses over to the site he’d chosen and tethered them loosely so they could graze. He laid out two blankets on the grass in the shade. Searching in his saddle bag for his own towel, he noticed the small tin of baking powder and the toothbrushes. He’d forgotten to give Mary hers. Few people cleaned their teeth, but Mary had introduced him to it, and he loved the freshness it left in his mouth. On his way back towards the brook he heard her singing. It wasn’t a sweet, dulcet tune, the kind he imagined might come from her lips, but rather it sounded melancholy, the words monotonal, like a mantra. Creeping closer he saw her standing in water to her waist, lathering herself with the soap. He stared, agog, as she massaged her small breasts with the suds and then reached between her legs to wash herself there. His instrument lengthened and thickened in his breeches to the point of discomfort. He tried to adjust it with his hand and when that didn’t work he shifted his feet to change his stance. The snap of a twig underfoot caused Mary to look his way. She smiled. “It’s all right, Edward, you don’t have to hide.” He stepped out from behind the bush. “I, uh, I wasn’t hiding, I just came to give you your toothbrush.” He held up the brush and tin of baking powder. “Thank you,” she ...
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