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Beatrice's life as a wife hasn't been awful.
Sure, her husband has been sequestered away and had his time monopolised by the town hunting party, and sure, her mother had already been requesting a grandchild, but those things didn't really bother her. Daniel had left that morning, bidding her farewell with a kiss to the forehead and a promise to be back as soon as he was able to. Beatrice didn't tell him he didn't have to worry about her.
He was kind, if boring and unreceptive to her needs and wants. But this was the better end of the deal, a disinterested husband wasn't going to lay a harsh hand on her. She could barely stomach the way he'd been touching her in the months since they were married.
It was nice, his absence. She could almost pretend like the whole thing was something she'd dreamed up. An awful dream, but a dream nonetheless. She could go out more freely now, without her mother and father watching down her neck. Spending her afternoons with Isaac and Lizzie. Things could have been worse.
They settled back into a routine, her still tending to her mother's health but this time she didn't have to lie awake at night and hear Catherine's awful coughing. It was a selfish reprieve.
Isaac didn't seem to mind that Beatrice was now technically another man's property. Whispered confessions and sweet nothing flowed from his mouth faster than air, and they made her shiver just the same. She hadn't kissed him, hadn't ever overstepped the bounds of her vows, but she had come close.
She thought about it every night she spent alone in her house, her husband miles away and her heart down the road.
It was a full moon that night, and the whole town was abuzz. Well, everyone between the ages of 17 and 20 were abuzz. It was Union's best kept secret. For every full moon, they would sneak out of their houses in the dead of the night, and go celebrate the night. Wine and food, fire and dancing, and Lizzie had promised something extra special.
Beatrice wasn't completely certain that the widow wasn't a witch.
She couldn't think too much on it.
Lizzie had come to visit her, with a basket of apples on one side and wine covered by a cloth on the other side. Beatrice's house was the obvious one to store their contraband in due to her husband's absence.
"A full moon rises before nightfall," she'd said gleefully upon Beatrice opening the door. The taller girl stepped to the side and let her friend through.
"A good night to enjoy the fruits of the land," she'd glanced at Lizzie, appraising look on her face.
Lizzie looked around the small home, assessing it. This was nowhere near the first time Lizzie had been inside the Compton residence, but she took note of every change, every piece of decor, every move of the furniture. She knew Beatrice was beginning to get a little crazy.
"How is he?" Lizzie refrained from referring to him as Beatrice's husband, that would've been confronting how egregiously wrong it was that Beatrice was in love with another man.
