The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Five: Setauket, Long Island

The next day, Ophelia went about her business as normally as she could. It felt awful: she felt like she was getting slapped in the face repeatedly. Every time she smiled at a customer, every time she told people that she was alright when they asked her how she was; but, she felt like she had to keep that brave face of hers. She didn't want the entire town to know just what was going on in her personal life, how much she was hurting. And in that small of a place, things like that tended to spread in gossip circles like wildfire.

But, that was easier to accomplish with some people than it was with others.

Abraham Woodhull was one of those people. He was a nice man, one that Noah considered to be a close friend, and he'd always been very kind to Constance, despite how obnoxious she could be. He had brown hair that he kept tied back in a tail, brown eyes, and a warm smile and a kind word for all.

That day was no exception. When he walked in at around noon, he gave her that signature smile of his and a little wave of his hand.

"Good day, Ophelia," he said. "How are you?"

She tried to smile. "I'm doing just fine, thank you. What can I get you?"

"Some fabric and some nails for me, today," Abraham said as he picked up the nails from their spot in the store, himself.

"And you're alright with the fact that the fabric was made in Britain?" Ophelia asked. "I thought you were firm on that."

Abraham gave her a wry smile. "My mother's making undergarments."

Ophelia smiled back and turned around to get him a few yards of fabric.

"How's Noah been, by the way?" Abraham asked. "I haven't heard from him in awhile."

Ophelia paused and winced.

She didn't turn to look at him, but she didn't need to: she could already see the look on his face in her mind's eye. HIs brows were furrowed, his face scrunched up in a grimace, the way it always was when something bad was going on.

"What's happened?" Abraham asked. "He's not... you know..."

"No: he's still alive," Ophelia said, taking a bolt of fabric and turning around to face him. "He's on the Jersey."

"God, Ophelia: I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

"I'll make it," she said quietly as she cut some fabric from the bolt for him. Already, she could feel her emotions starting to boil over, and it took every ounce of inner strength she had to keep them suppressed. Stay strong. Stay strong.

"Is this enough fabric for you?" Ophelia asked, holding up the amount she'd cut. "This is three yards."

"Sure," he said quickly. "Listen, Ophelia: I know that your pride might not allow you to do this, but I want you to come over for dinner. Bring Constance, too."

"Abraham-"

"Don't say that you don't want to be a nuisance or a bother: it's fine," Abraham assured her. "You shouldn't be alone, right now."

"I'm not alone," Ophelia insisted. "I've got Constance, and Beth, and-"

"The private?" Abraham didn't sound convinced.

"He's a very nice man," Ophelia said.

"Just come," Abraham said. "Don't think about all the reasons why you can't: just come."

Ophelia hesitated before she answered. But then, she nodded: eating with Abraham and his family was more appealing than a dinner where Constance chatted like a magpie and everyone else couldn't even seem to look each other in the eye.