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"Goody Goody Hannah Miller,"
As it turns out, Hannah and Sarah had gone to trade with the widow with Abigail, Beatrice and Isaac otherwise engaged, and the three girls had brought back a handful of berries, a deep red.
As it stood, Isaac and Beatrice were the only ones who hadn't gone to see the widow. This was Lizzie's second time; she'd gone with Abi a few months earlier when she'd had a mysterious ailment that she refused to elaborate on the origins of. Hannah's mother believed she laid with the devil. The rest of them wouldn't quite go that far, but Abi had been very tight lipped about who she had laid with, and Lizzie's working theory was that it was Mad Thomas. She'd gone to the widow to help her with the problem.
Beatrice had no intentions of crossing paths with the widow, if she could help it. There were rumours that she was a witch, that she'd sacrificed her husband for eternal life and that she was centuries old. Beatrice's head was already swimming, she didn't need witchcraft.
The woods at night were beautiful. In the firelight the leaves looked almost golden. There was music, people were dancing, beaming smiles on their faces.
Isaac was sat by the fire, coaxing Abi into taking small sips of wine and giggling at her reaction. Beatrice knew there were very few people in the crowd who would tell on her for standing too close to Isaac as a woman of her station, especially not with a couple but she couldn't hover the whole night. They had to at least attempt to keep up pretenses.
So, she'd cornered Lizzie, who had presented the berries proudly. "A full moon rises before nightfall."
They passed them around, standing in a circle, each of them taking one. Even Hannah took one, albeit nervously.
It didn't kick in all at once, but soon she'd blinked and she was standing in a shadow with Isaac's fingers tracing her facial features. She had a flower crown one of the town girls had made for her perched on the top of her dark curls, and he leaned up and fixed it for her.
"I love you," his breath was ghosting over her face, fingers tracing the shape of her nose. "Look at you, you're so fucking pretty. Love you," he pressed a kiss right under her left eye, beside her nose.
Beatrice stood there, letting him cross the line and violate the sanctity of her vows. Not engaging, but certainly a willing participant. He looked ethereal in the light, like an angel, a drop of sunlight that had been released from the heavens and landed straight into her arms.
She knew no one was watching them, but Beatrice grabbed his hand and took him deeper into the brush, not stopping until the fire was distantly reflected in her lover's eyes.
"I love you," she breathed out, fistfulls of his shirt enclosed in her soft hands. "Oh, god, what have I done?" She let her head fall onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I love you. I hate him."
His hands were on the back of her neck, still whispering. "Is he good to you?" He was worried, and Beatrice felt a thought swimming through the pool of mush that her brain felt like.
