Distraction

  Distraction

  (Years from Home trilogy, #1)

  Tess Oliver

  Distraction

  Copyright © 2013 by Tess Oliver

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  Chapter 1

  Poppy

  Mari and I sat up on the bed together and looked at each other. “Gingerbread!” we squealed in perfect unison. We threw the quilt off, and I swung my feet to the cold wood floor and fished with bare toes for my slippers. Mari was up and across the room before my feet had crawled into the warmth of the sheepskin lining. I grabbed my shawl from the chair and flung it around my shoulders. A warm cloud of spice surrounded me as I stepped into the front room.

  Nonni straightened from the cooking hearth and smiled back at me over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flush from the heat of the hearth. Ribbons of clove-laden steam rose from the charred black skillet nestled in the embers. Mari had already plunked down at the table.

  “The center is not cooked yet.” Nonni touched the red embers with her fingertip and they glowed brighter. She inclined her head toward the dented pail hanging near the door. “Some fresh cream would go nicely with this. The gingerbread should be ready by the time one of you returns with it. And I’m sure Charlotte is anxious to be milked.”

  I glanced at my sister. She sat at the table with an expectant look. There was nothing in her pretty face that indicated her willingness to milk the cow. Mari had just reached her fifteenth year, and since I was three years older, she’d convinced herself that I should do most of the chores.

  “I shall go then,” I sighed. I dressed and tromped toward the shelter where our cow shared her quarters with four chickens, a smug rooster, and a bossy goat named Maxwell. Goodwife Allen and her daughter Sarah were walking past our cottage on their way to the village. I waved enthusiastically. Goodwife Allen glared at me from around the edge of her bonnet then seized Sarah’s hand and pulled her along. It was the reaction I’d expected.

  The pail swung from my fingers as I hurried across our small yard. The spicy fragrance of gingerbread streamed from the cottage window coaxing me to finish my task.

  For the first time since I’d stepped outside, I glanced up at the sky. While it was well past the dawn hours, it had a decidedly pink glow to it. “Rosy skies,” I whispered. Charlotte’s massive head lifted at the sound of my voice. She blinked her long lashes at me once before returning to her breakfast. The chickens scurried past me into the yard as I pulled up my milking stool. Maxwell walked over and immediately began nibbling on the fringe of my shawl. I elbowed the goat away.

  Nonni’s baking should have been my first clue that something was amiss. Baking soothed my grandmother’s nerves whenever she was worried. She’d obviously seen the rosy skies this morning when she’d stepped out to collect eggs.

  Charlotte flicked her tail at me indicating that I was squeezing her too hard. “Sorry, Lottie.” I filled the pail halfway and rushed back to the house.

  Nonni’s serene gray gaze met me as I stepped inside. She could read thoughts like a pastor could read bible passages.

  “I’m sure it is nothing,” she said quietly. “Perhaps there is a storm rolling in.”

  “We both know there is no storm brewing, Nonni. There is not even a hint of a cloud . . . just the pink glow of trouble.”

  Her thin shoulders lifted in a weak shrug. “There’s nothing to be done about it. We’ll just have to wait and see what transpires. After breakfast, I need to walk to the village. Widow Brooks has asked for another dose of my headache remedy.”

  “As much as I loathe putting one foot in that village, Mari and I will accompany you. None of us should go out alone today.”

  A slow, pleasant meal of gingerbread and cream helped to alleviate our apprehension brought on by the oddly colored sky. Once the dishes were cleared, we got dressed for the walk to Salem Village.

  It was a remarkably warm day for early spring, and it seemed the inviting temperature had lured every manner of woodland creature from its burrow. Mari and I walked ahead and plucked up lavender asters from the side of the road, and Nonni hummed a tune as we strolled along ignoring the pink tint of the sky above.

  “Good morrow, fine neighbors,” a voice called from behind. I did not need to look back to know that the greeting had come from Alexander Mason, our neighbor to the west.

  Mari pulled my sleeve. “That boy’s senses are extraordinary. He seems to know exactly where you will be on any given day, Poppy. Maybe he’s not pure mortal after all.”

  I grabbed her elbow and leaned toward her. “Hold your tongue, Mari. He’ll hear you.”

  Moments later, a slightly out of breath Alexander Mason walked alongside of us. “God hath blessed us with a glorious day, has he not?” He turned his face to the sky. The unusual pink glow was invisible to the eye of a mortal like Alexander. He smiled down at me with a grin that definitely had the potential to capture a girl’s heart. Just not this girl.

  Alexander looked down at me with warm brown eyes. “I might add, Miss Poppy Seabrooke, that you look as golden as the flower you were named after this fine morning.”

  Mari cleared her throat loudly. “Pardon me, Alexander, but I’m the one named after a golden flower.”

  Alexander stopped and bowed elegantly. “You are correct, Miss Marigold. And you look golden as well.”

  Obviously satisfied with the coaxed compliment, Mari smiled and hurried ahead.

  “I’m surprised to see the three of you heading to the village. Spectacles of this nature are not normally of interest to you,” Alexander said.

  I looked up at him. “Spectacle? I have no idea what you’re talking about. My grandmother is delivering a tonic to Widow Brooks.”

  “Then you have not heard?”

  I stopped and turned to face him. Mari’s curiosity brought her back to where we stood. Nonni caught up as well.

  “Goodwife Sellers has been accused of being a witch.”

  A derisive chuckle rolled from Nonni’s lips. Alexander was rightly puzzled by her reaction. Her expression immediately smoothed to a practiced look of concern.

  “How did this come to be?” Nonni asked.

  “Her own husband hath accused her. Claims her mood and temper have grown so foul, he even caught her kicking his best hunting dog. The change was so abrupt and violent, he has concluded that it must be the work of the Devil.”

  Mari laughed. “Or more likely Goodwife Sellers finally caught her husband tupping the milkmaid as you’d predicted Nonni.”

  Alexander’s eyes widened.

  I elbowed Mari hard and she protested with a cry of pain. “Mari, the nonsense that flows from your lips.”

  Mari’s mouth dropped open in confusion. She scowled at me and then looked at Nonni for defense.

  “Yes, Marigold, what have I told you about spreading rumors,” No
nni said sternly.

  She grunted and stomped on ahead.

  Alexander tipped his hat at us. “I best hurry along. I need to speak to a farmer on the other side of town about selling me his plow horse. Safe journey, good neighbors.”

  The asters had grown limp in the warm air, and I tossed them aside and took hold of Nonni’s arm. “Do you think they’ll hang the Goodwife Sellers? As unpleasant and disagreeable as the woman is, she is hardly worthy of death.”

  “The effrontery of it all, to think an imbecile like Martha Sellers could be a witch. Still, they might hang her just as a point of example for others.”

  The witch hunts had grown in intensity in the Salem Village. It seemed every wrong doing, every unfortunate event, and every unexplained malady was now blamed on sorcery. The same dutiful, pious men who had banned all forms of celebration and music, with the exception of hymns, from the village had taken it upon themselves to rid Salem of Satan and all the ‘dark magic he hath wrought upon us’. The amusing thing about it was these same purportedly judicious men were completely oblivious when true witchcraft stared them directly in their solemn faces.

  The villagers knew there was something completely out of the ordinary about Nonni, Mari, and me but they ignored it out of convenience. And Nonni’s powers were exceptional. The air around my grandmother nearly crackled with the supernatural. Her white magic had cured many ailments suffered by the townspeople. They never questioned the tonics she brought. And why would they? She’d saved more than one life with her mysterious elixirs, and in doing so she’d gained their trust and instilled a healthy dose of fear as well.

  Normally the villagers plodded through town with the sallow, emotionless expressions brought on by an oppressive, rigid lifestyle, but as we reached the church courtyard, the excitement and agitation in the air was palpable. Their newest victim stood hunched over in the stocks, her face white with anguish and her eyes bloodshot with tears. A crowd gathered around as her wails grew louder and more intense. Sadistic grins and laughter snaked around the crowd of onlookers.

  “Disgusting,” I said under my breath.

  Nonni watched in amusement. “They certainly have a crude sense of propriety.”

  “Crude is a kind way of putting it, Nonni. Farmer Martin has a smirk as wide as his wife’s bottom, and she seems barely able to contain her mirth at poor Martha’s expense. And their joy pales in comparison to the prisoner’s husband. These people are nothing short of diabolical.”

  Farmer Martin had taken a short reprieve from his glee to shout orders. “Someone fetch Pastor Wolfe at once. He’ll know how to proceed. Hurry though, these stocks will not hold her long, and we will all be in danger of falling victim to her treachery.”

  Mari leaned her face close to mine. “Speaking of diabolical—”

  My grip tightened on Nonni’s arm. “Mari is right. Let’s hurry away before Pastor Wolfe is summoned. This day began with uncertainty, and I do not have the courage to face Angus at this moment.”

  “Courage? And yet you were brave enough to venture out under a rose-colored sky,” a familiar, deep voice drawled behind me.

  A gasp flew from my lips as I spun around.

  Angus stared down at me from beneath the shade of his hat brim. His cold blue gaze sent a shiver through me as if he’d reached over and dragged his long, icy finger up my spine. “Still, I’m pleased you came. I’ve not seen you in days.”

  It took all my courage but I lifted my face and glared up at him “That’s because I spend my idle time planning ways to avoid you.”

  He winced at my stinging words but insults and declarations of hatred had never left so much as a crease in his relentless pursuit of me.

  “There! There is Parson Wolfe!” a voice shouted from the crowd in the courtyard.

  “My parish needs me,” he sneered sardonically.

  Nonni reached up and plucked a blade of straw from his black coat. “A roll in the hay with the innkeeper’s wife might be hard to square with your god-fearing parishioners.” She winked at him.

  Angus turned his attention to me once more. “Something to pass the time while I wait for Poppy to come to her senses.”

  “Then you had best line up more willing wenches, Angus, because it will never be.” I said.

  His lips curled up into a grin. Wickedness seeped from every inch of the man. “We shall see.”

  Nonni, Mari, and I watched as his long legs carried him confidently across the road to the throng of spectators. He stood a head above even the tallest, and they all peered up at him with complete adoration, particularly the women of the parish.

  “I must credit the man with genius. What better place for a powerful warlock to go unnoticed than right beneath the noses of those who hunt witches.”

  “It is not his genius but rather their ignorance that has allowed the success of his scheme.”

  “Whose scheme?” Alexander’s voice spoke from behind.

  Apparently people were walking without touching the ground today. I spun around. The motion undid the ties of my bonnet. “I thought you were buying a horse,” I said quickly to change the subject.

  “I walked all the way out to Farmer’s Martin’s farmstead only to discover that he and his wife had come to the village to watch the potential lynching of Goodwife Sellers.”

  Without warning, Alexander boldly reached up with large calloused fingers and tied the bonnet beneath my chin. He made certain to brush the skin of my neck with his knuckle. Before he’d released the ends of it, I felt the wave of dark energy roll over the courtyard and across the road to where we stood.

  “Oh dear,” Nonni muttered.

  I glanced toward the crowd and my stomach tightened. Angus’s harsh glare was focused on his victim. Suddenly Alexander’s chest jerked with a loud hiccough. Another followed. This one nearly knocked him from his feet. He’d barely caught his breath when another violent hiccough seized him. Alexander pressed his arm against his stomach and turned a shade of blue as he held his breath and attempted to extinguish the relentless onslaught. But it was to no avail. The poor boy looked a mixture of anguish and embarrassment as he scurried away.

  I scowled back at Angus and reached for Nonni’s hand. “Do something, Nonni, please.”

  She waved her long fingers and mumbled something under her breath. Alexander straightened and seemed to gain his composure. Then he picked up a run and raced toward home.

  “I hope it will hold,” Nonni said. “Angus’s powers far exceed mine. It is quite possible the lad will suffer with hiccoughs for the rest of the evening.”

  “Good people of Salem,” Angus’s icy tone penetrated the warm spring day, “one of our faithful sisters has been afflicted with the poison of Satan.”

  Nonni rolled her eyes. “It’s enough to make one collapse with laughter. The devil himself preaching about Satan’s poison. Let’s be on our way, my dears, I’ll be glad to be far from this place. No doubt the Widow Brooks is anxious for her tonic.”

  “There is only one cure for poor Sister Martha,” Angus’s voice grew louder as we walked away. “A sturdy noose will choke the devil’s venom from her.” A cheer rose up from the crowd.

  I stopped. It took Nonni and Mari a few steps to notice that I no longer walked with them.

  Nonni turned back to me. “He is only trying to goad us into staying. He won’t go through with it.”

  “Pardon me, Nonni, but the man tossed Mr. Lockley into his own well because the pathetic fool had the audacity to yawn in church. If it had not been for the stench flowing up from the well, his corpse might still be down there.” I produced my most pleading expression. “Please, Nonni, only you can stop this.”

  She paused a long moment then sighed. “Fine.” She walked purposefully toward the bloodthirsty onlookers. Angus did not look pleased.

  The crowd fell completely silent as Nonni reached the churchyard gate. They parted. Nonni walked into the circle and made a show of examining the prisoner. “Good people of Salem,” h
er soothing voice floated around the circle, “I believe this woman suffers from ingesting rye that has turned bad.”

  “We’ve had no bad rye,” Mr. Sellers spoke up. “Why have I not been afflicted with the same ailment?”

  Nonni stepped toward him and, even from the distance I stood, I could see the man’s face pale. He took a step back. Nonni said something quietly to him and his face blanched more. Nonni turned back to the crowd, completely ignoring the black scowl Angus had showered down on her head. “Let me give her a dose of stomach tonic.” She lifted her small blue satchel. “I have some with me. And we will see if she recovers from this episode.”

  A murmur went through the crowd and heads nodded in agreement. My wonderful, magical grandmother had won them over . . . again.

  “Angus looks ready to spit fire,” Mari said loudly.

  “Careful, Mari, he’s liable to hear you and then he might just follow through with the hanging.”

  With her neck in the stocks, Goodwife Sellers managed to take an awkward sip of Nonni’s tonic. Her hands and head immediately relaxed as if she’d fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. As confidently as Nonni had walked into the circle of spectators, she walked back out. She reached us and we continued on our journey to the Brook’s farmstead.

  I placed an arm around Nonni’s tiny shoulders. “Well done, Nonni. I’m curious, what did you tell Mr. Sellers to silence him?”

  “I told him that it was possible he’d been spending so much time in his hayloft he had missed eating the bad grain.”

  The three of us laughed as we skipped along beneath the rosy pink sky.

  Chapter 2

  Poppy

  It was more than obvious that lonely Widow Brooks had required company more than a cure for the pain in her head, so Nonni released us to go home and wash laundry and bake the bread for supper while she stayed for tea.

  “Let’s not go through the village again, Mari. We’ll take the path through the trees instead.”