Wilder
204 Years Earlier
Something unnerving is in the air this morning. I can feel it in my bones, even as I walk along the cobbled stone street to Sunday services at the chapel. I felt it when I awoke, when I tended my garden and animals, and I still feel it now.
“Good morning, Mr. Wilkins.”
The voice beside me is a familiar one. Lucy Plimpton, the woman who has been practically throwing herself at me for months now. As I understand from the church ladies, Lucy is one of the few women of marrying age in town not yet taken, and I, the relative newcomer, am the object of her attention.
“Morning, Miss Plimpton.”
“Fine weather we’re having,” Lucy says, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “It would be a nice day for a stroll after services.”
“Indeed.” I know what she wants, but unfortunately, I don’t have the least bit of interest in Lucy, or any woman for that matter. Which certainly doesn’t make my life easier. I should find a wife so I can blend in better. I came to Salem for a fresh start, leaving the scandalous events of my past in California behind me. A wife would be a wise choice if I want to fit in here.
I offer the plain woman a smile. Why not Lucy? It’s not as if holding out will change my attraction to women. She’s a kind person, and not at all offensive. She could do.
“Do you have plans after?” I ask. “I’d be honored to walk you home.”
Her face lights up, her cheeks blushing pink. “No plans. That would be nice, Mr. Wilkins.”
“You may call me Edward.”
“Oh.” Her smile brightens even more. “You may call me Lucy.”
I offer my arm, and she takes it, smiling sweetly as we enter the small chapel. There are several churches in the area now, due to the continued growth of the population, and I chose this one to attend simply for its proximity to the ocean behind it and my humble home. If I am to marry, I’ll need to secure a bit of land and build a proper house. What I can’t give in love, I’ll try to give in creature comforts.
Sitting through services, listening to the preacher’s warnings about all the ways we as humans fail, and therefore won’t receive god’s promise, is a weekly activity I loathe. I can’t say I believe in any of this, or that I ever have, but I’ve learned the hard way that avoiding church services will not help me achieve respectability in town. I’ve been lucky here so far, gaining employment with the local blacksmith and finding a small home to lease temporarily. I won’t make the same mistake twice. Salem is a new start, and one I plan to make the most of.
After services, I wait patiently behind Lucy as she chats with the other women. It’s only a few minutes before she joins me again, and we walk out together, her arm looped around mine. She’s talking to me about her plans for the afternoon—a sewing circle, then cooking with her mother and sister for the family dinner.
“You’re more than welcome at our home,” she says, subtly squeezing my arm. “There’s always enough for friends.”
My chest tightens. I should accept her invitation and ingratiate myself with her family, but the idea sounds truly horrible. A home-cooked meal wouldn’t be so terrible though. What do I do next? Woo the poor girl, make her believe she is loved by a man who couldn’t possibly give his heart to a woman?
I glance at her, listening as she rattles off the planned meal for the evening, and it does sound nice. This is what I need to do.
When I look ahead again, I’m greeted by the sight of a bustling town, and in the midst of all the people, a man I’ve seen several times now. I know his profession—journalist—and that he’s as single as I am. From the way his eyes linger on mine, I’m certain he shares my sexual proclivities as well.
He’s a stunning man, with impressive height, strawberry blond hair, and big brown eyes. His smile is always tentative, tinged with words he doesn’t speak. In fact, we’ve never spoken. I don’t think I could speak to him without giving myself away.
He passes me and Lucy, tipping his head in acknowledgment. I return the gesture, my gaze lingering on him a beat too long, but the spell is broken when a man’s shouting voice draws my attention. I turn just in time to see a runaway horse dragging a carriage behind it, heading straight towards Lucy.
I jump into action, grabbing Lucy around the waist and swinging her out of the path of the horse, but the move has made me vulnerable. I hear Lucy shout my name, but I’m already falling to the ground, putting my arms over my face and head, desperately trying to protect myself from the stampeding horse.
Pain sears through my torso and chest as the horse’s heavy hooves make contact, the animal trampling me as it tears off in its race for freedom, wooden carriage wheels crashing into my legs. Lucy screams, and I’m aware of the concerned gasps fromwitnesses. I reach for my chest, clutching my clothing as my insides throb. It’s hard to breathe, hard to focus.
“Edward!” Lucy is beside me, holding my hand. “Help! We need a doctor. Help us.”
I turn my head, grimacing as the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. The journalist is beside me now too, ripping open my shirt.
“Good god,” he whispers. “You’re wounded badly.”
The world fades in and out as I study his face, his voice strong and loud through the haze of my agony. I already know what’s happening. It’s obvious. My hold on this life is fading.
“Hold on, Edward,” Lucy says. “Someone’s coming.”
“I—” My words are cut off by coughing and unbearable pain. “Lord help me.”
