An Unexpected Sin by Sarah Ballance Page B

had grown quiet but for the drunkards spilling from the tavern a good distance down the road. Though Josiah suspected Anne was more likely to head to Salem Village than to the taverns in town, he knew the taverns were a good source of information. If there was news to be had between the two locales—something important enough to keep Anne away—it was likely to have been reported by a traveling merchant and thereafter to have swept through the taverns like wildfire.
    The direction paid off more quickly than he could have imagined.
    Josiah was still several paces from the nearest tavern when a fellow well into his cups began shouting about a hanging. His companions’ responses, less slurred, chilled Josiah to the bone.
    “Another o’ ’em witches gon’.”
    “Nothin’ like a good hangin’.”
    Josiah stopped in his tracks, then broke into a run toward the tavern.
    “Please, Goodman,” he said, addressing the drunkards, praying one would listen. “Who was hanged? What was the witch’s name?”
    Both men stilled, staring at him. Finally, one said, “Lizbons…Loozens. It don’ ma’er, boy. ’Nother one gon’…swunged a migh’y bout in tha wea’er.” To that, he raised his cup, spilling in the process a great deal of its contents.
    A hanging. Had Anne somehow heard of it? He had been through town hours earlier himself and had not caught word. Anne had not left the inn that morning, had she? Perhaps it mattered not. Travelers and borders frequented the establishment—not at the rate they did the taverns, but word could spread just as well.
    Lizbons. Josiah’s limited reintroduction to Salem left him with no chance of reconciling the semblance of a name with a person. But did it matter? Anne had been of Salem the whole of her life—whoever the victim, Anne was likely to know her. He did not know if she would prefer to attend a hanging or avoid it, but the timing was suspect at best. And she was not a woman who could watch someone die—even a stranger—without being affected. She was far too caring to face death so callously.
    Anne must have gone to the gallows, but surely the crowd had long dispersed by this late hour. If she had not returned, the most likely answer was that she had traveled to the village, but why would she have not told her parents of her plans?
    It mattered not, for the gallows were along the road. His direction would be the same.
    He had just turned for the road when a third voice stopped him in his tracks.
    “Her name was Elizabeth.”
    A man stood outside the tavern, nearly invisible in the darkness. When Josiah didn’t respond, the man spoke again.
    “Elizabeth Burroughs.”
    Disbelief ricocheted through Josiah. He knew of Elizabeth. Anne knew Elizabeth. She had spoken of her the day he had returned. Though her words had been few, they had carried much affection for her friend…and a great deal of sorrow for her arrest. “She was hanged?”
    “This very day,” replied the stranger. “At the gallows right alongside the road.”
    Josiah’s heart plummeted. Anne would be devastated.
    He had no greater of an idea where she might be, but he knew without a doubt which way to run.

Chapter Ten
    Long after Prudence left for home with the merchant, Anne lingered in the woods near the hill. The hour had grown late, the storm no less vile, and she knew her parents would worry, but she was an adult. They could not speak of arranging her marriage transaction and at the same time find her too childish to tend to herself—something they would learn soon enough. In the meantime, she needed to sort her thoughts. Neither her determination nor her grief waned, and the only thing she saw clearly was her future with Josiah. It did not seem fair her parents could take that from her. It was only through faith and prayer they would come to a decision about her future, but Anne worshipped the same God as did they. Why would their answer be different from hers?
    How could it ever be anyone but