𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄. I had even less in my pockets. 

I'd been cast out of society as nothing more than a loveless freak. I'd never taken an interest in men. They'd pined for me; I was attractive enough that they all wanted to wed me. Or perhaps take me to bed. I wasn't sure which, and I didn't care, for I'd never understood love and its complicated language. I prided myself more on my dignity to not go against my beliefs, which meant I would never subject myself to marriage. If I did ever happen to fancy someone, though... it would not be a man.

What I did have, even if I was considered a freak by Salem, was the dignity to take in a starving, crying child from the streets, no matter her background.

Abigail's fervent sobs had quieted as she nibbled on a piece of bare barley bread. The taste of the bread was foul, and it made my nose scrunch every time I ate it; I wasn't much of a cook, and the bread from stores around Salem was far too expensive for me to even consider purchasing. Abigail didn't seem to mind the acrid taste, however, as she slowly made her way through the small slice.

I hadn't the strength to muster up any words for the poor child. I didn't know what to say. How could I comfort a parentless girl, regardless of whether she knew of her mother's fate? She'd already lost a father she'd never known, and now she was without a mother she loved dearly; I, a random woman, could not offer her any meaningful words of comfort during a time like this.

"My mother has not returned home yet," Abigail said, dragging her doleful gaze from her bread to my face. Her voice was stuffy, and her eyes were crested with red. I could feel myself instinctively frown, and I ducked my head away. "Do you know where she is? I'm beginning to miss her."

I could tell that much. A child didn't cry as much as Abigail did unless they knew something was wrong. Abigail hadn't told me much, but she'd said after a few hours had passed and her mother hadn't returned to their house, she'd gone outside to see if she could find her. She'd asked other townspeople where she'd gone, but they'd ignored her or told her they hadn't a clue. And when Abigail wasn't able to find her, she'd realized she'd lost her way from her home. She was frightened. Alone. And I, of all people, was the one to find her in her darkest hour.

"She's... she has gone out of town, Abigail," I said, absentmindedly curling a chestnut strand of my fine hair around one finger. I fumbled for my chair, sitting as I bit my lip. I had no clue how to tell her what happened, and was it my place to?

I didn't think so.

"Why?"

"Well, you know how your mother was–is a farmer?" I hadn't any idea what Elizabeth actually did for work, and it looked as though I'd gotten it wrong as Abigail's flushed nose scrunched and she tilted her head.

"My mother is a seamstress," she said, reaffirming my doubts. "She taught me how to create a hemmed fell seam."

"She's a farmer on the side," I interrupted quickly, desperate to cover up my tracks. "She needs a more... reliable way to support you both. It's very noble."

It didn't appear Abigail believed me as her honey brown gaze fell to my wooden table. She remained silent, tracing a finger along the imprints of the table.

"She'll be back in a month or so," I reassured Abigail, wincing at how the lie slipped off my tongue like I had years of practice. I'd dug myself deeper into a hole, as well; what would I say when that month had passed? "You can stay with me until then."

I was well aware that, as long as I stayed out of trouble, until then would be far longer than a month. But that was a big if–while no one had approached my doorstep with angry cries and accusations of witchcraft, I wasn't certain it wasn't going to happen.

"I've never seen you around the village," Abigail raked her warm gaze back up to me, "and you appeared out of nowhere. Are you a witch, like I've heard the other children talking about?"

My blood ran cold. I curled my hand into a fist, narrowing my eyes as I breathed out a shaky sigh. A child was now accusing me of being a witch, with no proof!

"No, I'm not a witch," I snapped, colder than I'd intended. Abigail's neutral expression shifted to a deep frown, and her eyes widened in fear. "Witchcraft is a tale for children, woven through lies. I am a good Christian, child, and it would do you well to remember that."

"Sorry," Abigail muttered, placing her unfinished slice of bread on the table. My bread hadn't gone stale yet, so she was without a trencher until it spoiled. "I didn't know."

A pang of guilt twisted at my heart, and I mirrored her frown. She was a child. She knew no better, and it was unfair of me to get upset with her, no matter how wild or untrue her farfetched accusations were. "It's okay. I'm sorry for yelling. I should not have done that."

Abigail remained silent, her pale skin seeming to blanch as she bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes had fixed attentively on her bread; she was clearly avoiding my gaze now, and I couldn't say I blamed her.

"Do you know why your mother left me in charge of you?" I asked her, watching as she looked up at me. Her light eyes, pooled with despair, were unblinking. "She told me you are a very special child, and that only the people closest to her were allowed to take care of such a well-behaved and kind little girl."

"I've never met you before." Abigail picked at her bread, letting soft flakes fall to my table. I tightened my lips into a straight line–was she going to continue to question my every statement? And could I blame her if she did? "How does my mother know you?"

"We've prayed together before," I said. A complete lie, but Abigail was an unsuspecting child, and she seemed to believe me as her gaze brightened slightly. "I'm surprised you haven't seen me at services, Abigail. I'm there nearly every week."

"My mother doesn't like the people there," Abigail said. "She says they are corrupt."

Blunt little girl...

Whispers of unsaid words danced on the tip of my tongue, though I let none of them pass. Instead, I said, "Every human is corrupt. We all sin. You have sinned, even as a child, and I have sinned. But as long as we atone, we will be okay." I paused for a moment, mulling over my next words before continuing, "Your mother is right in her worries, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't think everyone at church is as devout in their worship as you and I are." I wiped Abigail's crumbs off the table, letting them fall to the wooden floor. I'd clean it up later. "It's no matter, though. We're safe, as is your mother."

Explaining to Abigail what had happened to her mother, since it was clear no one else had told the poor child, was going to be difficult–especially if I kept lying. But it was difficult not to; I didn't want to upset Abigail, and I wasn't sure she'd stay with me if she knew the truth. Yes, I wasn't the reason her mother died, but unless I played dumb and pretended like I didn't know she had died, Abigail would group me in with the rest of the people who had killed her.

The belief that others were going against the word of God was still weighing heavily in my stomach, and I wasn't sure I entirely believed it. But for now, all I was going to do was protect myself and Abigail, since I could not save her mother.

"The other children have been affected by witchcraft," Abigail replied after a moment of quietly tapping her fingers against the table. "The girls, at least. They've had terrible fits and have been very sick. Will I be affected by a witch next?"

"Uh..." When Abigail dragged her honeyed gaze up to me, I sharply inhaled. "Of course not. Those children are not as strong as you. A girl like you can never fall victim to witchcraft. It is simply not possible."

"Are you sure?"

"I promise," I breathed, and a slight smile grew on Abigail's thin lips.

She looked a lot like her mother. Dirty blonde hair, though Abigail's was more tousled, as I'd seen her playing outside with the other children often. Large, warm brown eyes that shimmered with benevolence. A light dusting of freckles that spanned across her cheeks and nose. It felt as though I was looking at a younger reflection of Elizabeth's stoic face, and it made me incredibly uncomfortable; it was like I was staring at the woman I'd watched die the mere day before.

The pit in my stomach grew heavier, and I swallowed in a futile attempt to rid myself of it. However, it lightened slightly as Abigail picked up her bread once again and nibbled on the crust.

"The children," I said, and Abigail paused her chewing. "Have they... have they said anything about their sickness to you?"

"Nothing to me in particular," muttered Abigail in between bites. "But they say the women they saw dancing in the woods were the cause, and they forced other women to follow suit. Now there are more witches than not, and it's because of the women in the woods."

The three women, Sarah Good and Sarah Osborn, both housewives, and a slave named Tituba, were said by the adults of Salem to have caused all of this. A ripple effect, they called it. Make one woman a witch, and the rest wicked and weak enough to fall under Satan's curse would fall behind her.

"And the girls... never said anything about faking it, right?" I asked.

Abigail seemed to shrink into herself slightly, and she visibly hesitated by clamping her mouth shut before saying, "No."

"You can tell me if they were," I urged. If the girls were lying, I wanted to bring it to the attention of the village before others could be harmed. I'd no doubts witches did exist, even if not in Salem; however, I had doubts that witches were targeting children, of all people.

"I can't," Abigail said as she shook her head, clumps of her hair falling in uneven pieces from her disheveled bun. "They're already mean enough, and they said if I told anyone, they would make fun of me."

"Did they say why the witches hurt them, at least?" I knew Abigail's answer to my previous question was a yes, but she didn't have the knowledge of how to lie at her young age.

Abigail sighed. "It's because they saw the witches out in the woods. They cursed them after that, like they cursed others in the village to become witches."

I wasn't exactly sure that was how witchcraft 'spread', but I wasn't going to correct Abigail on that, especially when she didn't need to give me any information in the first place. I smiled gently, making sure the grin was wide enough to reach my eyes. If she was my own child, I'd have reached out and patted her on the cheek. But she wasn't, so I settled on reaching my hand out to the middle of the table.

"Thank you, Abigail," I said. "I know your mother being gone must be tough, but..." Another lie nearly slipped out of my mouth, but I bit it back.

Luckily, Abigail responded before I could continue, nodding and tracing the wood on my table. "She's strong. She tells me I am strong, but I get it from her."

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Word Count: 4,327/20,000

A random bolded word in a chapter indicates where I've passed a milestone!

QOTC: Do you believe Anne is in the right for lying to Abigail? What do you think about the information Abigail spread?

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