My desire is that ye know that thou art loved and thought of often by everyone in our family. When Tacy married, she left our lives completely. We did not know who she had married or where she had gone, and when she came back to us, with ye in hand, we were so happy to see her, we did not demand answers she was unwilling to give.
Ye cannot imagine our sorrow when Tacy was hanged in Boston, nor our mourning when we learned that her husband had taken ye away. We had no right to claim ye, and no way to know where ye had gone.
Ye can imagine that we have many questions, as well. Questions I cannot ask in this letter. I have spoken to Goodman Abbott and have arranged a time to come to Salem Village. Ye have a cousin who lives in Salem Towne, though she hath left our family much like Tacy did, and we have not spoken to her in two years. I long to see all my nieces when I come, so I shall be in touchwith Goodman Abbott as the day draws near. We will not tell ye the time since we understand the danger besetting ye. When the day comes, Goodman Abbott will see that we are reunited.
Pray, thank Goodman Abbott for his loving kindness. If it had not been for him, I am not sure we would know if ye were still alive. He is a truly good man.
With all my love,
Aunt Pricilla
I lowered the letter, but Hope must not have been done, because she took it out of my hands and brought it to her chair on the other side of Isaac. When she finished, she looked up at me, and then at Isaac.
“Thank you,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “This means so much to Grace and me.”
He put his hand over hers, warmth in his gaze. “I was happy to meet your mother’s kin. They are a pleasing family—you look like them.”
Hope smiled as she removed her hand.
“I think we should burn the letter,” I told her. “It wouldn’t do if someone found it.”
Nodding, she leaned forward and put the letter into the flames. “Is there nothing more you can tell us?” she asked Isaac.
He shook his head. “I fear not. Pricilla and I agreed that it would be best for you not to know the hour of her arrival. I will come for you on that day, and you can meet at my home.”
“We are grateful for your help,” I told him. “If there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.”
He moved his leftover stew around his plate with the fork, then looked up at me. “I require nothing from you.”
When he looked at Hope, his expression changed, and the longing in his gaze was so keen, so heartbreaking, I rose frommy chair to busy myself with gathering more wood for the fire.
My pulse thrummed as I waited for him to speak, but silence filled the room. When I finally looked back, he was handing his empty plate to Hope.
“Thank you for the food. It was delicious,” he said as he lifted his cup and drank the cider.
“Grace prepared it.” She smiled at me. “She’s the best cook in the colony.”
Isaac glanced my way. “Thank you, Grace.” He stood. “I must return home and change out of these wet clothes.”
He said farewell and left the ordinary, walking through the rain and darkness to his horse, tethered nearby.
I closed the door and turned to Hope. “What was that?”
She brought Isaac’s plate and cup to the bucket of water on the worktable to rinse them. “What?”
“Your behavior toward Isaac—you were kind.”
She frowned as she wiped the plate with a linen rag. “I’m not usually kind?”
“Hope.” I stood with my hands on the back of the chair I had been sitting in. “You know what I mean.”
She set the plate and cup on the worktable and turned to me, leaning against it. After sighing, she said, “I realized that I’ve been unfair to Isaac. I have no reason to treat him poorly.”
“What brought this realization about?”
She lifted a shoulder and moved her chair back to the table. “A lot of things.”
“Have your feelings toward him changed?” I held my breath, wondering what she was thinking.
