“She arrived earlier this afternoon after stopping in Salem Towne to speak to her other niece. I thought it wise to wait until dark to summon you.”
“I’ve been curious about our cousin in Salem Towne,” Grace said. “I hope Pricilla tells us her name. Mayhap we already know her.”
“How strange that we have a cousin so close,” I mused.
Isaac’s farm was now in sight. It was one of the most prosperous in the village, and he’d grown it since inheriting it a few years back. He had taken care of his aged mother until her recent death and provided well for his servants. The main house was large and painted red, with a central chimney and a lean-to in back that ran the length of the first floor. Two rooms flanked the chimney downstairs and upstairs, much like the floorplan of the ordinary, with a central front entrance and stairwell.
There had been many improvements to the farm under Isaac’s care, and even in the shadowed moonlight, I could see it was well-maintained. Isaac took pride in everything he did, and it was evident in the prosperity of his property.
He pulled up to the front of the house, and one of his indentured servants, Jabez, appeared from around the corner to take the horses and wagon. Isaac jumped down and walked around the wagon to help Grace down, and then he reached up to take my hand.
His grip was firm and steady, and when I was on the ground, he gave my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before letting it go.
The front door was opened by a house servant, and Isaac said, “You remember Judith?”
She looked at him tenderly and then smiled at us. She was one of the refugees from Maine, like so many other young women who had come into Salem. Judith had been widowed in a massacre and had come with her two small children. Isaac had given her a job and provided a home for all three of them. She seemed content—unlike Mercy Lewis, who was intent on taking down the whole village.
“Good evening,” I said to Judith with a smile. Until now, I hadn’t wondered about her feelings for Isaac, but I could see them plainly on her face. Did he know she was in love with him?
Did he know Grace was in love with him?
I followed my sister through the entrance hall. A lanternburned in the keeping room to the left, and a woman rose from a chair. She was probably in her late forties, but she bore a striking resemblance to Grace and me, with the same color hair, the same shape of face, and the same nose. We had inherited our daddy’s brown eyes and our mama’s mouth from 1912, but I had always wondered where our other features came from.
Now I knew.
She stepped forward, her hands to her mouth and tears in her eyes. With a shake of her head, she opened her arms, and Grace and I entered her embrace.
The feeling I had for Pricilla Baker was inexplicable. I felt as if I had always known her. Tears pooled in my eyes again, but this time it wasn’t from grief. Here was the connection I hadn’t even realized I longed for in 1692. Was meeting her a special gift from God on a difficult day?
“Let me take a look at ye,” she said as she stepped back, glancing from me to Grace. “Which one are thee?”
“I’m Grace.”
Pricilla turned to me. “That means thee must be Hope.”
I nodded, wiping away my tears. “And you’re our aunt Pricilla?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath, wonder in her gaze. “I didn’t know if I would ever lay eyes on ye again. God is good.” She looked up at Isaac, who stood by quietly, and said, “And Goodman Abbott is good, as well.”
I smiled at him, my heart expanding for Isaac in ways it never had before. Hewasgood—though I had never taken the time to appreciate it before now.
“I will leave you in privacy,” Isaac said. “When you’re ready, let me know, and I will take you home.”
He left the room before we could stop him, and Pricilla motioned for us to take seats across from her.
The keeping room was large and full of comfortable furniture. The thick paneled walls were painted a rich, creamy yellow,there were woven rugs on the wide-plank floors, and pictures of magnificent scenery graced the walls.
“I have so many questions for ye,” Pricilla said as she looked from Grace to me again. “But the first one hath been uppermost in my mind for almost twenty-five years now.”
I waited, wondering what she might ask.
“What other time did ye live in?”
Grace and I stared at her, and my mouth slipped open.
“How do you know?” Grace asked in a stunned whisper.
Pricilla rose and slowly unbuttoned the top of her waistcoat, then lowered her white linen shift just enough that we could see the top part of a sunburst birthmark over her heart.
