“We arrived at Saybrook Harbor late in the evening. Ours was not the only boat to port at that late hour; another ship arrived from Virginia Colony…I know without doubt there is evil here, for I have already seen its face. ..I met a woman as she disembarked the ship from Williamsburg and offered to help with her belongings. I remember she had blonde hair and bright eyes—pretty enough, though she did not particularly strike me as a beauty. Still, there was something about her that drew me close. I spoke with her politely, and she confessed that she felt lonely…When I inquired what had brought her to Wethersfield, she answered that she came only to see a member of her family and would depart soon after. “I have been alone in my travels for so long, young William,” said she, “Surely you wish not to remain in such a dull place as this. Come with me and I can show you exotic places, far away.”
If her strange offer were not enough to prove that something was amiss, at once I saw a gold flash streak through her hungry eyes, which brought certainty. I have become quite familiar with spotting her kind, but she came disturbingly close to tricking me. As soon as she recognized that I knew her for what she was, her eyes turned cold as ice and she said to me, “Your mission is pointless. Sniveling, pathetic mortals cannot dream of standing against my master. Farewell, sweet William.” I did not strike out against her, since we were in a crowd of many, but before she disappeared into the darkness, I called after her, “You never told me your name.” She smiled wickedly. “Darla,” she replied.
I have not seen her since, but if I do, I will end her.”
~From the diary of William Wells; April 7th, 1682
~*~
He was gone when she woke. Elizabeth rose from her bed beneath the stairs and wrapped herself in a quilt to combat the chill in the air. She’d expected to find William puttering about the kitchen again, but he was nowhere to be seen. A small fire burned low in the hearth, and Elizabeth knelt before it, rubbing her hands together and placing them in the soft, orange glow. Outside the little window, the sky was shrouded in grey clouds, leading her to guess that winter snows could be imminent. Absently, she wondered how long she’d slept and what time of morning it was. Time didn’t seem to matter so much here. How long had she been gone, anyway? One day, three days? No not that long, but it felt longer still. In the past day or two, her entire life had changed; her understanding of the way the world worked had shifted entirely. Monsters are real. I’m not crazy.
Elizabeth padded barefoot over the creaky floorboards and looked up the stairs. The door at the top of the landing stood slightly ajar.
“William?” she called.
When she received no response, she tentatively ascended the steps, tip-toeing. After stepping onto the landing, she pressed her palms lightly against the door and slowly pushed it open. He wasn’t there, of course. She hadn’t expected him to be there, but for some reason she needed to satiate the nagging curiosity to see where he slept. The room was small, simplistic, and even tinier than the loft bedroom she’d shared with Dawn. A cot stood in the center with a straw mattress on the ground beside it. Elizabeth’s gaze swept to the far side of the room where she was surprised to see an entire wall covered with books, nearly floor to ceiling. Quietly she stepped over to the shelves and ran her fingers over endless, tattered spines. Some of the titles she found bizarre and curious: A History of Witchcraft and Western Conspiracies, Watcher’s Demonology, The Slayer Line. She longed to read them all, to understand the history of a world she’d never known existed. Her eyes scanned the other rows, and she smiled to see something familiar: The Iliad and the Odyssey, Beowulf, Dr. Faustus, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
Glancing over her shoulder, Elizabeth noticed a small desk sitting in the opposite corner. Upon closer inspection (very well, rummaging through the drawer) she discovered a pair of spectacles, a few wells of ink, and a rather nice quill. On the surface of the desk lay a large, weather-worn book bound in expensive brown leather. She flipped open the cover to reveal a delicate, feminine script on the first page.
For Will,
My little poet
Always share your gifts
With all my Love,
M 1667
Elizabeth turned a few pages to see a child’s rough penmanship at first; but gradually the words evolved into a neat, formal, and careful script, as if every letter were a precious work of art. Each page was different, some containing a few isolated words or drawings while others held dated entries like a journal. She desperately wanted to read his words, but she knew she couldn’t. They were private; not meant for her.
A sudden, enormous splash from outside caused her breath to catch in a startled gasp. The book slipped from her fingers, pages fluttering before it crashed to the floor. Instinctively her feet took her to the window in search of the disturbance. Some creature is in the pond! And to her great surprise, she saw that it was only William below, swimming the length of the water with even strokes. Carefully, she stepped aside, peeking out with caution in case he should look up and see her in his bedroom. Lean muscles rippled under the skin of his bare torso with every movement of his arms. When she noticed the fresh, purple bruises from the night before marring his flesh, she grimaced. He coughed and sputtered against the cold, and Elizabeth shook her head in amused bewilderment. He is a strange one indeed.
After cautiously organizing the room into proper order exactly the way she’d discovered it, Elizabeth wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and made her way outside. For a moment she watched him silently, unnoticed, before he seemed to catch her from the corner of his eye.
“Lovely day for a swim, eh? Come on in!” he invited, scarcely looking up from his exercises.
Elizabeth’s teeth chattered in the frosty chill of the late morning air.
“You’re mad,” she called, “If you die from pneumonia, it will be your own fault. Just yesterday you said it was too ‘bloody freezing’ to swim.”
“Nah. Feels great, really. Nothin’ gets the blood pumping more than the shock of ice water in the morning.”
“It is far too cold, William. You should come out at once.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, pet. I do it all the time and I’m still kickin’. You said you swim, right?”
He flipped over, propelling himself backward through the water with fluid strokes of his arms.
“Yes, I used to. But in the Caribbean Sea—not in a frigid New England pond!”
“Are you aware that swimming is a sign of witchcraft, madam?” he paused mid-stroke to waggle his brows at her.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at his allusion to her words. “Left hand dominance is a sign of witchcraft. That gives you two for two.”
“Aright, I confess. I consort with the Devil. Bloke’s a bloody terrible shag. Got me a nasty burn right on the arse.”
“William!”
He laughed at her incredulity. “Don’t be so serious, luv. Life’s too short to worry over polite words. People should be able to say what pops in their heads, y’know?”
“Yes, and if people did whatever they wanted, there would be no society. No civilization. Only chaos.”
“You know, anarchy’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve done alright not livin’ under the rules of those Puritan ponces.”
William flipped backward in the water, arriving back on his stomach for a breast stroke. Desperately Elizabeth tried not to notice the way the thin cloth of his breeches clung to his skin in all the inappropriate places.
“Aye, I think maybe we can agree on that,” she said as she tried to avert her eyes slyly, hoping she wasn’t blushing.
“So, tell me, when you used to swim in your precious Caribbean Sea, did you learn real strokes or did you just float all dainty girly-like?”
“My friends and I used to race, and I was quite good, I’ll have you know.”
“You? Nah.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“No offense, luv, but I can’t picture it. You don’t really strike me as the outdoor type ‘a lady. And definitely not the competitive type—since you’re clearly so worried about polite society and rules and all that. Not to mention, someone who claims to win swimming races wouldn’t be so scared of a little cold water.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she replied, her jaw clenching.
“Coulda fooled me. You’re just another stuffy little girl, aren’t you?”
Elizabeth was not quite sure what compelled her to do it. Maybe it was the way he professed to know everything about her, or that self-righteous smirk that peeved her so; but in one quick motion she dropped the blanket around her feet and dove into the murky water, nightgown and all. The shock of freezing cold was the most intensely unpleasant sensation she’d perhaps ever experienced. It felt as if an icy hand had clenched around her lungs in a death grip, sucking all the air out. She choked and gasped, her heart racing while her body shook uncontrollably. A moment later she felt his arms circle around her, lifting her up gently so that her torso was above the water.
“Elizabeth, it’s alright. Just breathe slow. Let your body get used to it,” he guided softly.
Once she got her bearings and the initial shock wore off, she pushed him away. “I know. I can swim, remember? I don’t need your help.”
He held his arms up in a gesture of surrender before treading away from her. She swam toward the opposite end of the pond, and he chuckled, watching her.
“Damn, I didn’t think it’d be that easy.”
“What?” she asked, gliding back toward him.
“Pissin’ you off,” he replied, “You’re a right spitfire, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth jerked her head back in his direction at the use of her nickname. “Don’t call me that! That was my mother’s name for me. I’m not a child any longer!” she snapped.
He visibly winced at the bite in her tone, his expression solemn. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry…of course you aren’t a child.”
She felt guilty for lashing out; her words had sounded sharper than she’d intended. Elizabeth simply shrugged in response and lightly returned to the conversation.
“You didn’t think it would be easy …So you were trying to provoke me, then?” she asked.
“Well yeah. I knew you’d jump eventually—jus’ didn’t think it’d work so fast.”
“You…are…incorrigible,” Elizabeth panted as she attempted to control her shivering.
She tried to keep a copious amount of contempt in her voice, but she couldn’t hide the smile that began in her eyes and crept over her lips.
“That’s me, darlin’,” he joked, blue eyes sparkling.
“Come over here for a minute, William,” she said, dropping her tone.
He cocked his head at her questioningly before propelling himself through the water.
“Yeah?” he asked once he was just a few feet from her, his voice barely above a thick whisper.
“Closer,” she murmured.
Elizabeth ignored the thudding of her heart and the fluttering in her belly as she watched him approach. She was slowly becoming addicted to the rapt, intent expression that he wore every time he looked at her this way. There was honesty in his gaze…and passion, and an underlying hunger that made her breath catch. When he was near enough that she could feel the warm puff of his breath against her cheek, she slipped her arms beneath the murky surface of the pond and then shot them forward with a torrential splash, giving William a face-full of freezing cold water.
He coughed and choked in surprise, and Elizabeth thought for a second that he was genuinely angry as he rubbed his eyes. But his expression of incredulity gradually melted away into a devilish grin.
“Oh, now it’s war, sweetheart.”
They took turns splashing one another, shrieking with laughter, William cursing jokingly and Elizabeth feigning scolds. She had not allowed herself to play in such a long time, and she’d forgotten what it felt like.
In the freezing water with William on that late autumn day, she let go of everything: her past, what her future should be, and the dictations of someone else’s society…She chose not to think, and began to lose track of time. When the morning grew late, they prepared to retire back to the cabin at the calling of their rumbling bellies.
The moment Elizabeth first stepped out of the water, her shivers returned tenfold as the cool wind whispered over her skin. William threw an arm around her, pulling her close into the warmth of his side. She flinched a bit at the sudden intimate contact.
“Just to keep you warm,” he murmured into her wet hair.
At that moment a thought occurred to Elizabeth that should’ve frightened her.
I don’t ever want to go back.
--
Elizabeth sighed contentedly as the relaxing heat from the fire warmed her nose and cheeks, which had grown pink with cold. She sat on the floor close to the hearth and squeezed droplets of water from her long hair; and as the golden tendrils began to dry, they transformed into soft curls. Piles of blankets cluttered the floor—William had ransacked his bedroom for quilts and comforters to help them get warm; and he’d wrapped his best down blanket tightly around her. Sipping from the cup of tea he had made for her, Elizabeth realized that she felt cozy enough to drift off to sleep at that very moment.
“How’s the tea, luv?”
She jumped slightly as the sound of his voice broke the quiet of the small cabin. They had been sitting in comfortable silence for several minutes that had felt so natural that Elizabeth hadn’t noticed the time go by. She looked away from the peaceful glow of the fire to see him perched on the carved cedar worktable in front of the window.
“Perfect,” she replied easily.
“Came all the way from England, you know, and this is near the last of it…It’s funny, I didn’t bring anythin’ to America but the clothes on my back and tea leaves. Little bit a home, I s’pose.”
“Me too. I mean, I brought everything I could to America, but the tea reminds me of my home. Nenna—my nurse—she made the best orange tea I’ve ever tasted.”
“Yeah?...I’ve seen a lot of places in my time. Never been to the Caribbean, though. Is it really as gorgeous as they say?”
“It’s never cold,” she answered wistfully, “You really should travel to the islands sometime if you ever get the opportunity. Honestly a tan would do you some damn good.”
“Wait, did you just say damn?” he exclaimed in mock horror.
“You, sir, are a terrible influence,” she replied, grinning.
“Goes without sayin’…So if you could go anywhere in all the world—“
“Italy,” Elizabeth answered without a moment’s hesitation.
He smiled. “Italy, eh? I been there. We spent a few days in Rome. Beautiful city, though I only saw the underbelly of it, I’m afraid. So what makes Italy your place?”
“Well the one place I wanted to see most in the world used to be America, but then I got here and that all sort of changed.”
William smirked. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Italy was always a close second for me, because my father had been several times. He was a merchant, so he traveled quite extensively. When I was little, he would tell me stories about the Mediterranean—about how the water was so bright, so perfectly clear…so I always wanted to see it for myself. And well, this is a bit silly of me, but my absolute favorite story is The Odyssey, and I’ve longed to lay my eyes on the ocean which great Odysseus sailed upon.”
William perked up instantly, his eyes bright with excitement. “You know Homer?”
“By heart. I brought The Odyssey on my voyage, though I’ve hidden it, as it’s considered sinfully pagan here.”
“Rupert has a copy upstairs,” he said, jumping from the table, “I’m very fond of epic poetry.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her brow as a bemused smile graced her lips. Of course she already knew about the vast collection of books, which had seemed odd considering the manner in which he presented himself. But to actually see his joy at the prospect of discussing literature, he nearly transformed into a different person.
“One moment,” he said before scurrying up the stairs.
Elizabeth waited only a few minutes while listening to his hurried footsteps before he bounded back down, a stack of books teetering precariously in his arms. Carefully he placed the pile on the floor in front of Elizabeth and took a seat comfortably close beside her.
“If you enjoy reading, I—I brought a few of my favorites for you. Well, the blind poet, certainly.”
William placed the combined works of Homer softly on her lap, and Elizabeth lovingly traced her fingers over the gold lettering on the front cover. “It’s like coming home,” she murmured, “Reading it is like coming home.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“What are these?” she inquired, gesturing to the remainder of the stack.
“Do you know Dante? The Divine Comedy?”
“Aye, I mean, I know of it.”
“So terribly beautiful. Most people acclaim the Paradiso but I prefer Inferno myself. Darkness and lamenting souls speak to me more, I guess,” he laughed quietly and passed her the large black volume, “Does poetry please you?”
“Yes very much. Well what I have read—I’m afraid I have not been exposed to a great deal.”
“Donne—my favorite. Listen,” he said, flipping open a small book with a green ribbon keeping a page.
“Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee, Before I knew thy face or name; So in a voice, so in shapeless flame, Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be…” he paused, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, he blushed. “Well, you should read them. I can’t do his words justice.”
“I like the way you read it. Tell me, William, are you a poet yourself?” she asked carefully.
“No! No, I—well, it’s something I play at from time to time.”
“Do you share your writing at all?”
“Hell no, I’m bloody awful at it!” he snorted.
“Surely that isn’t true.”
“Most would disagree, luv.”
Tilting her head to the side in perplexity, she studied his features as if to discover an answer there. Not at all what I had expected.
“Why do you hide?” she asked.
“Hide what? My writing?”
“Who you are.”
She reached her palm up to touch his cheek, slowly, hesitantly—almost in fear of being pushed away. Her fingers tenderly caressed the angular curves of his jaw and cheekbone, her knuckles brushing over light stubble. He swallowed as his eyes fluttered closed, his head turning into her touch. Gently his lips pressed a feather-light kiss against her palm. When he gazed back at her, she felt enraptured by the intensity of his stormy blue-grey eyes. Raising a hand to her temple, he stroked his fingers delicately through her hair and lightly twirled the golden locks.
“So beautiful,” he whispered thickly, “Do you even know…”
Elizabeth did not know exactly what she was feeling, except that it was wonderful and new and unfamiliar. She knew she wanted more of his touch, his hands, his breath, his lips, his skin. She wanted to drink him in, to hold him, to be closer to him than she had to anyone. Her breath quickened, and she sought unabashedly for what she so desperately wanted. She drew him closer, and he seemed to melt, to sink into her body as he tilted his head and closed his eyes once more. Elizabeth nearly felt the brush of his lips against her own just as the front door swung open and hit the wall with a thud.
“Hullo! I apologize for the length of my absence. The journey to the trade post was dreadfully long,” Giles declared as he bustled inside, arms full of parcels.
William jerked away from her so quickly it was as though he’d accidentally touched a boiling pot. Elizabeth shook her head, somewhat in disbelief of what had just happened.
Giles continued, entirely oblivious as he freed his arms of their burdens, “I think I obtained just about everything on the list we made. Perhaps I’ll return for a few odds and ends later, but what with winter coming soon and all—“
For the first time since he’d entered, the older man looked directly at William and Elizabeth. “Goodness, why are you both all wet…and why is this room such a mess?”
William cursed under his breath before hopping to his feet. “Rain,” he answered curtly.
“That’s odd. The sky looks perfectly clear now. Well, no matter. I am quite happy to see that the both of you survived on your own for a bit without killing each other.”
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