Susannah Morrow by Megan Chance

monster,” she said to me. “I did not come into your life to take it over, Charity. I expect you to tell me how you
     feel. Only then can we respect each other.”
    I felt my father’s silence, and I felt the temptation in her words. I had never seen an actress, but I imagined she must be
     one of the best. Had I not known what she was, I would have believed the things she said completely; I would have trusted
     her with my soul the way I’d trusted my mother with it. She knew just what to say to bring my cooperation, and I had no choice
     now but to smile and pretend to give it.
    So that is what I did. “I will do better, I promise.” It was a small lie, mostly for my father’s benefit, because I could
     see that I was not the actress Susannah was, that she did not quite believe me.
    But she nodded and turned back to adjust the crane with our supper hanging from it, and I glanced over to my father.
    He was watching her, and there was an intensity in his gaze. His hand was clenched around his tankard so tightly that even
     in the candlelight I could see the whiteness of his knuckles. I felt as if I’d intruded on a moment so private not even he
     knew it existed, and I looked away quickly, ashamed and disturbed, though I had no idea why. For no reason that I could say,
     I thought of Sammy, of his large and loving hands. I felt a longing for him.
    The window to my soul was opening ever wider, and now I feared for my father as well. The Devil was called “the prince of
     the air,” and I knew why. I felt him in every breath of wind.
    The next day, I woke to an anxiety I could not lose. The memory of yesterday stayed with me. I could not look at Susannah
     without seeing my own damnation in her sly smile; I felt lost. My father had gone early that morning, but I knew that even
     had he been here, I would not have found the courage to approach him. Instead, my thoughts turned to Mary and the others.
     They would listen to me; they would understand. As the morning hours passed, I grew to believe it more and more, until the
     urge to go to Mary was so strong I would have made up any excuse to see her.
    As it turned out, I did not have to lie. I’d just finished trimming the last of the wicks when Susannah asked me to run into
     the village. Mary Walcott’s stepmother had a length of cotton for baby clouts that she’d never used, and she’d offered to
     trade it for a new wooden pail. Within minutes, I was out the door, dragging Jude behind me before Susannah had time to notice
     and protest. The pail my father had made for Mistress Walcott was sitting by the barn door, and I made Jude grab it up, and
     together we hurried into town.
    I walked fast to put the miles past us, so that Jude had to stumble and run to keep up. She huddled into her cloak and complained
     the whole way, but I barely heard her. The two miles beyond the Walcotts’ to the Putnams’ were not such a great distance.
     My spirits rose; it was almost as if I’d found Mary already.
    Captain Walcott and his family lived only yards from the parsonage. Once we were there, I hesitated, wondering if I should
     go on to the Putnams’ and stop back here on the way home, or stop now. In the end, the decision was made for me, and that,
     too, was fortuitous, because I’d been leaning toward going on. But Mistress Walcott saw us coming up the hill and waved to
     us from the garden, where she was clearing away the last of the dead vines.
    “Come along,” I said to Jude with a sigh. “We may as well go up. She’s seen us.”
    Jude’s face scrunched in a puzzled frown. “Isn’t this where we’re going anyway?”
    I didn’t bother to answer her. Jude was not good at keeping secrets—I would not have brought her at all except that I did
     not want her around Susannah. I’d been planning to keep her quiet with my best dire threats, but now there was no need of
     it. Because as we went up the hill, Mary came out from the house. I stopped in surprise,