𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟎𝟓. 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟔𝟔𝟔

A warm breeze floated through the field where you sat in the grass with your skirts blossoming all around you. Your basket sat open in your lap and you hummed as you twisted wild raspberries off of the small bush beside you and collected them in a small jar.

Thomas sat a few yards away from you, his entire focus devoted to polishing the blade of his knife. His father had given it to him some odd years ago before he passed. He was quiet aside from the metallic scraping. Thomas was always quiet after a night of drinking.

"I'll get you something for your headache," you promised without looking up. He grunted, which was your only indication that he heard you at all. You were still upset with him for abandoning you to shag up with Abi Berman last night. God knows what would have become of you if Solomon hadn't stumbled upon you all alone with an unfit mind.

But you were also a forgiving soul. One mistake did not dissolve every other time he held you as you cried at the world because it wasn't fair, or every time he kept you and Johanna from starving because of his unmatched hunting skill.

"Why must you do that?" Thomas spoke at last. You looked up to see that he was leaning on his knees, tilting the blade of his knife so that it caught the sun and sent beams of light at your face. He smirked when he realized you noticed. "The harvest isn't for another fortnight."

You scrunched up your nose in playful disdain, picking another berry and using it to pelt him in the chest. "I know that. And since you must know, I am baking a pie."

"Oh, you're too kind."

"Not for you," you huffed. Thomas quirked an eyebrow and you looked down at your lap to avoid his gaze, busying yourself with sorting through the last of the berries you had picked.

The ripe red juices stained the front of your apron. Perhaps Mrs. Miller would be so kind as to lend you a bar of goat milk soap. The good kind that the midwives used to rinse blood out of linen.

You could only pray that your bonnet hid your grin as you spoke your next words. "It's for Solomon."

"Solomon Goode?" Thomas had the nerve to scoff at you, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're more foolish than I thought, lass."

"Foolish?" you gawked. "Am I so foolish to thank the man who saw me home after you abandoned me in the dark woods?"

"I knew not what I did, nor how I came about doing it." Thomas twisted the knife in his hand so that the blade was pointed directly at his chest.

"Does not make it untrue," you mumbled, brushing a stray blade of grass off of another berry before dropping it into the basket. You'd pick a few extra for Johanna, as a treat for keeping up with her chores. Even getting out of bed was a great task for her at the moment. It would be weeks, months even, before you could send her back out to her friends.

Thomas turned his head to sneer out at the rows of evergreen trees in the far distance. If you squinted, you could have seen the thin pillars of smoke from Solomon's homestead rising above the branches.

"He won't marry you, you know."

Your fingers stilled and you felt your shoulders tense up at his words. Is that all young men think about? Marriage?

Besides, you've already made up your mind about who you would marry. Issac was a fine young man. He was sweet to you.

But so was Solomon.

Your jaw went slack and you had to snap your mouth shut again to scowl up at the boy seated directly across from you. "Is that the only reason I have to show kindness to a man in such agony?"