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permission. He wanted to embrace her, but did not want to appear to hold her down in any way, so he lowered his hands to her waist, leaving her free to pull away.
    But she didn’t. She met his kiss, drawing him in further and further until he thought he might be lost forever.
    Then, abruptly, she stopped.
    “Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice as tender as possible.
    Eyes shining, she said, “I am.”
    He grinned. “You are wonderful, yes.”
    She laughed—the most beautiful sound he had ever heard—and wound her fingers with his. “Do you suppose we could go for a ride? It has been some time since I have enjoyed the woods from horseback.”
    He smiled, thinking how much she would love the surprise he had arranged for her in the morning. “Of course we can ride.”
    “I will ready your mule, then, and meet you on the porch.”
    He would need every bit of the time she spent tacking Willard to will his groin into submission. “Consider it a date.”
    …
    It was one of the most joyous days Lydia could remember. Between Henry’s steady presence and soft spoken jokes and the lilt of Willard’s gait, she felt a peace she had not imagined possible. She did not want the day to end, but despite her inner protests, the time came to return home.
    By the time they neared Salem Village, night had begun its assault on the sky. Lydia shivered through her coats with the descending warmth, glad they were near home and a hot fire.
    But before they met their destination, a woman burst from the woods onto the path. Henry stiffened—no doubt remembering the last time the horse spooked—but Willard remained true.
    “It is you!” The woman, whom Lydia now recognized as Anne Scudder, breathed heavily from the effort of her run. With a nod to Henry, she said, “There is great talk of your husband’s return, Goody Colson. Forgive me for the interruption, but have you heard of the ailing of the Abbot children?”
    “No need for your apology, Anne.” Lydia assured her. “I visited just this morning. Have they taken a bad turn? Must I go to them?”
    Anne stood from one foot to the other, her discomfort evident. “They say you affected them,” she whispered loudly, as if her tone could ease the words’ intention.
    “Affected them? Whatever do you mean?”
    “They claim you came upon them in the woods today and shortly thereafter they succumbed to screaming fits,” Anne said, wringing her hands. She looked nervously to and fro, as if she dared not be caught.
    “Those children have succumbed to screaming fits for the majority of their waking hours so long as I have known them,” Lydia said. “Whatever is the distinction this day?”
    “I just wanted to…warn you. But speak it not.”
    In the distance, the familiar creak of an approaching wagon sounded.
    Anne’s eyes widened and she began to back away. “Please, Goody. Speak it not.”
    “Wait!” Lydia called, but Anne had already moved into the forest, her dark outer coat quickly blending with the winter wood.
    Henry had not urged Willard into the first step when the bend in the road revealed Thomas and Rebecca Mather, their wagon jolting noisily over the hard, dead ground.
    “Evening to you,” Thomas called in short order, drawing his horse to a halt.
    “Evening,” Henry replied with a nod of his head. He gathered the reins, setting the bit so Willard’s powerful neck arched.
    “I have heard of your arrival,” Thomas said. “Thomas Mather, and my wife Rebecca.”
    “Good to see you are on your feet, Goodman,” Rebecca said. Her tight countenance bore narrowed eyes, though her voice rang sweet.
    Henry laughed. “I fear I am more capable on my horse’s feet than my own, Neighbor, but hope to find myself solely capable in another day’s time.”
    “Pray it be, then.” Thomas said. “Rebecca disclosed you found yourself in the unseemly position of a patient.”
    “Verily,” agreed Henry. “My predicament assured a most unfit reunion with my