Winner of the Page Turner
Short Story Contest
The Lovely Burning
by Anonymous
If there’s one thing that Annie knows, it’s that nothing good comes from restless people unsettling the truth. This was a lesson hard learned by the girl after watching the second burning that week. Dorothy Budd, the old woman who sold loaves of bread from her small stand at the village market, was known to be a solitary person. She lived alone, barely spoke, and bothered no one. Then suddenly she was something unbearable—a witch.
The villagers made their decision quickly, as they always did. There was the same sickening displeasure that filled their eyes after watching someone beg for their life. This was something that had always struck Annie—nobody seemed to realize that the burnings were far more wicked than magic itself. Their baseless accusations and “righteous” rage stripped humanity from the very people trying to preserve it. Annie knew the truth behind these claims. Miss Budd had recently raised the price of her bread, resulting in immediate anger from the villagers.
Enough anger to take her life.
Everyone knew that there was no point in denying the accusation; once the people decided you were a witch, there was no way to convince them otherwise. All that would come from these attempts was torture. So Dorothy Budd was burned at the stake. And the people rested easily, believing another evil had been banished from their village.
The streets of Westwick simmered with fear and greed. As Annie walked she dodged and slipped around every person, unwilling to stop until she arrived at her destination, Marlowe’s Tailor and Seamstress Shop. She entered and announced her presence, knocking on the doorframe. “Ruth? It’s Annie,” she called.If there’s one thing that Annie knows, it’s that nothing good comes from restless people unsettling the truth. This was a lesson hard learned by the girl after watching the second burning that week. Dorothy Budd, the old woman who sold loaves of bread from her small stand at the village market, was known to be a solitary person. She lived alone, barely spoke, and bothered no one. Then suddenly she was something unbearable—a witch.
The villagers made their decision quickly, as they always did. There was the same sickening displeasure that filled their eyes after watching someone beg for their life. This was something that had always struck Annie—nobody seemed to realize that the burnings were far more wicked than magic itself. Their baseless accusations and “righteous” rage stripped humanity from the very people trying to preserve it. Annie knew the truth behind these claims. Miss Budd had recently raised the price of her bread, resulting in immediate anger from the villagers.
Enough anger to take her life.
Everyone knew that there was no point in denying the accusation; once the people decided you were a witch, there was no way to convince them otherwise. All that would come from these attempts was torture. So Dorothy Budd was burned at the stake. And the people rested easily, believing another evil had been banished from their village.
The streets of Westwick simmered with fear and greed. As Annie walked she dodged and slipped around every person, unwilling to stop until she arrived at her destination, Marlowe’s Tailor and Seamstress Shop. She entered and announced her presence, knocking on the doorframe. “Ruth? It’s Annie,” she called.
A rumbling from the back room broke the quiet as a pair of brown button boots and a pile of midnight blue fabric walked out. The pile was dropped onto the dark wood front table, revealing the shop girl, Ruth Marlowe. She had only moved to the village a few years ago, and had offered no explanation. She simply showed up one day with just the few of her belongings on her back, and was now the owner of her own business. Ruth was someone Annie had gotten to know well. After all, they were close in age and had similar interests—specifically one another. It was something silent they held that year. No one remembered how it had started, but it lived in the dark nights at Ruth’s cottage, and in quick caresses behind the tavern. Both girls barely acknowledged its existence, because the next step would be accepting it, and there was simply no conceivable future down that road. Imagine! Annie’s mother would fall to an early grave, and though Ruth had no known family, Annie imagined there would be some dark consequence for her as well. So it was kept silent and longing. And by the time Thomas Kane came along, it was time to grow up. It made no sense to hold onto something that would bring nothing but disagreement. So Annie let go, moved on, and hoped Ruth would do the same.
“Annie, I thought I’d heard you coming. Follow me,” she commanded as she started walking to the corner closet, “I’ve been working on it, but we still need some measurements.” Ruth opened the wooden doors with a gentle pull, revealing a long garment, Annie’s wedding dress. Now it had felt wrong to go to Ruth for the dress, but Thomas’ mother had insisted. Ruth had built her reputation as the best seamstress in the village quickly. There was no argument Annie could make without suspicion following. So they had met, and Ruth started her work. It was a long thing, powder blue with long draping sleeves and intricate lace details. Though it was a beautiful gown, Annie could already feel the lace itching her skin. But it was Thomas’ favorite color. More importantly, it was something fit for a bride. In the dress she felt foolish, like a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. She felt nowhere near her nineteen years of age. Her poofy, untamable brunette hair contrasted with the light dress, stealing its grace and subtle beauty. Perhaps these unsettling thoughts were natural—just nerves before the wedding.
“Tell me about what you have been reading,” Ruth muttered around the pin clenched between her teeth. Ruth in her classic manner always knew what Annie was thinking before she said anything at all.
And being grateful enough for a distraction, Annie answered, “Oh, everything. The library has a collection of medicinal books. Peter Linden has a horrible cough that’s been keeping him awake for the past few nights. I’m trying to find a cure.”
Suddenly, Ruth looked up and took the pin out from between her teeth, “Annie, please be careful. You’ve been focusing on your medicine quite a lot lately. Be sure not to cure anyone too well. You know what people will think,” she warned.
“What? That I’m a witch? Oh yes, in fact I am indeed a sorceress that has cursed this village into an evil fate by applying a mustard plaster to a boy with the sniffles.” Annie teased.
“Hush! Stop, Annie,” Ruth exclaimed with her wide and fearful dark brown eyes, “This is not a joke. I need you to be safe. Promise me,” she shook her head and looked back down to her work. An awkward silence fell upon the room. Annie considered her friend. Though the same age as Annie, Ruth had a more mature presence— quiet and stern, but caring in a way that had quickly grown on her.
Annie sobered, “I’m sorry. Ruth . . . I didn’t mean to make fun. I promise I’ll be safe. I just wanted to help him.”
“I know. But remember to help yourself first,” Ruth said.
Help yourself first. Annie thought about Ruth’s words on her way home that night, quickly walking to her cottage at the edge of the village. Thomas was still on his trip to the neighboring village. He was often gone as a merchant, but that did not trouble her. An evening alone sounded like the perfect way to help herself. It’s at least a place to start. Thomas had insisted they not move in together before the wedding anyway; he said it was to avoid any bad ideas the villagers would have about her. Annie rolled her eyes. Whatever they might do or not do, those nosy people will find fault somewhere. We might as well have given them something to talk about. Nevertheless, she obeyed Thomas’ wishes. He was a demanding man. He wanted to proceed with their marriage in his way, in his time. And Annie followed, it was her duty after all. Her duty could entail much worse, she reasoned.
As she waited for Thomas’ return home, Annie’s next days were filled with house calls to the sick and yet another burning. She planned to welcome him later in the day after her usual check in on the village clinic. The sky was a blinding blue and there seemed to be a warmth in the air, embracing her every step. She approached the cottage’s white door, and called out, “Thomas?”
“What?”
Startled by his abrupt response, Annie turned to see her fiancé standing by the bedroom door, hair askew and hunched to her height. Thomas was often closed off and short-tempered, but he seemed unusually upset. He stepped closer, scowling. Annie tried to lighten the mood. “I came to check in on you. How about a walk around the village? We can visit the bakery,” she said. Wifely duties, she thought.
He turned for a second before stiffly replying, “I’d rather not.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m just tired, Anne. We all can’t always be at your beck and call,” he snapped.
Taking a step back, Annie looked around the cottage for any clue that would explain his ill temper. An overturned chair, a stack of papers on the counter, but nothing else was amiss, except for Thomas himself.
“Are you drunk?” she demanded.
“No. I came in late last night, so I had a few drinks at the tavern. I haven’t been drinking this early in the morning, Annie. Is that what you think of me?”
“I’m just confused as to why you’re being so unpleasant!”
“Look, I said I’m just tired. The trip didn’t go well and I have a few things to take care of here before I go back. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now,” he sighed.
“I didn’t know that I was something you needed to deal with, but fine. I better check with Ruth anyway. She wanted to talk about my wedding dress,” she muttered, “if that’s something I even need anymore.”
“I don’t know, Annie. Your guess is as good as mine,” he called after her as she left the cottage.
Fuming and stomping her way to Marlowe’s, Annie internally screeched with frustration. How dare he? Deal with me? What am I, five years old? Flinging the door open, she nearly tripped and fell into the shop.
“Annie? You’re here early,” Ruth commented, pinning two sections of fabric together. In the next moment she turned and stared at Annie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s fine,” came Annie’s stunted reply.
“Mm, convincing. What’s wrong?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“It’s Thomas,” Annie whispered.
“I figured.” Ruth responded with a small smile—the same small smile paired with somber eyes, reserved for their more serious conversations.
Annie continued, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Ruth. I thought that if I listened to everyone else telling me what to do, then at least one of them would have the right answer. But now look at us. And Thomas is right. We are nothing more to each other than a problem to “deal with.” He proposed because it was expected and I agreed because it was what I was supposed to do. He was Thomas, safe and reliable Thomas. I feel so foolish! Why are things never simple, Ruth? They could have been simple.”
“It’s not your fault. But you need to carefully consider what to do next,” Ruth gently took her hand, “No one can force you to marry him, Annie.”
Annie paused, looking at Ruth again—Ruth and her dark brown eyes that always seemed to search for something deep or strong in Annie—something she wasn’t sure she had. Ruth who would always listen to Annie’s troubles no matter how hurtful. Ruth who let her go the moment Annie asked.
“Ruth,” Annie whispered, “I can’t continue with Thomas this way. I need to help myself first, before I help anyone else. Instinctively, she leaned forward.
Ruth wavered for a moment, then leaned in to mirror Annie.
A kiss.
A kiss that may not have been an appropriate choice, yet Annie had seen where the path of tradition led her, and she didn’t want it. A kiss that expressed all they had lost in their time apart – loss, love, hope, and hopelessness. Their bliss was broken by the door hitting the back wall. Annie pulled away from Ruth and turned to see Thomas standing in the doorway.
“Thomas,” Annie shakily acknowledged him.
“I- I came here to apologize, Annie. I...” Thomas was frozen in place with only a small box from the bakery in his hands.
“Thomas, I’m so sorry. I can explain this. It’s-”
“Stop! You don’t need to explain anything, Annie. I know what has happened,” he nodded, eyes racing between the two women as if they might suddenly pounce upon him, “You’ve lied . . . You bewitched me, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about? Thomas, don’t be silly,” Annie pleaded.
“No. I could never love a witch. You bewitched me to feel this way. To protect you two this whole time! You’re truly evil,” he spat. He quickly wrenched open the door and abandoned the shop, leaving Annie and Ruth together, standing silently in the middle of the room.
Annie turned, “Ruth. I’m so sorry. I’ll tell him what happened. It wasn’t you, it was me!”
“No, leave it. He has made up his mind, and the town will soon know. There is no point.”
Tears sprung to Annie’s eyes, “You can’t mean that. It was a mistake! He’ll understand.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, Annie. I won’t deny the truth again. They will come, and you know what we must do,” Ruth gently lay a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I can’t let them take you, Ruth.” Annie lay in her arms, crying and begging Ruth to allow her to make an excuse—a lie—for the chance that Ruth, at least, would be spared.
“When it all comes to an end, you will understand. Do not worry, Annie.” A gentle comfort to the crushing weight of guilt. How could something that made her so peaceful and happy one moment be the cause of such pain in the very next? Why could she not be with Ruth in a different time, a different way?
When dawn broke, they arrived. They arrived with their distrustful stares and hateful words. They arrived with Thomas leading them, “A witch is a witch, Annie. There’s nothing else to say.”
They were silently marched to the village square. Annie knew their fate, there was no use in denying it now. Thomas spoke his tale of betrayal to the crowd as they stared down the two women. Women they had trusted and perhaps cared about just a day ago they would now sentence to death. A quick glance at Ruth before they were dragged to the stake was all Annie could spare; it destroyed her to look too long at someone she could never have again—someone she had barely had at all.
In truth, it did not hurt Annie as she had expected. She felt the warmth of the flames pricking at her skin, almost a tickle. She heard the crackle of the fire like a cold winter night. Then the fire consumed every part of her body, inside and out. And she saw darkness.
Then she woke.
Greenery, the chirping of birds, crickets. She could feel, hear, see it all. But it was impossible. This was nowhere near the village. Nowhere Annie had been before, at least. How?
Soon the answer came, “See? Told you we would be just fine.”
Annie froze, unable to turn towards the quiet, gentle voice she knew so well.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes. Here we are at the end. Do you finally understand?”
“Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“You cannot be…” Annie said.
“A witch? Or, a sorceress that has cursed your village into an evil fate? Yes. Well, no. I didn’t curse anyone. I only moved to the village to sew lovely dresses and mind my business. Then you came along. But no regrets, my dear,” Ruth smirked.
“I don’t understand, but I’m happy! What do we do now?” She tried to look back for any indication of this new truth, but she was bemused. How could quiet, firm, sweet Ruth be a witch? She hadn’t believed that witches existed, but in the end, it didn’t matter. This was Ruth—dear Ruth who she now had a second chance with, and she wouldn’t waste it.
“We can do anything we want, Annie. You could discover the world, discover our new home. I can find work as a seamstress anywhere and you can become whomever you want to be. Who do you want to be now that you will no longer be Mrs. Thomas Kane?”
Annie paused, took a deep breath, and said to Ruth, “I don’t know yet, but I want to find out…if you’ll be at my side.”
Ruth nodded, and this time their kisses were laden with hope, joy, and anticipation. The women walked hand in hand through the wood as they made their way to their next destination. Annie wasn’t sure whether she was on Earth or in some earthly heaven, but according to Ruth, they had many ends to explore.
A rumbling from the back room broke the quiet as a pair of brown button boots and a pile of midnight blue fabric walked out. The pile was dropped onto the dark wood front table, revealing the shop girl, Ruth Marlowe. She had only moved to the village a few years ago, and had offered no explanation. She simply showed up one day with just the few of her belongings on her back, and was now the owner of her own business. Ruth was someone Annie had gotten to know well. After all, they were close in age and had similar interests—specifically one another. It was something silent they held that year. No one remembered how it had started, but it lived in the dark nights at Ruth’s cottage, and in quick caresses behind the tavern. Both girls barely acknowledged its existence, because the next step would be accepting it, and there was simply no conceivable future down that road. Imagine! Annie’s mother would fall to an early grave, and though Ruth had no known family, Annie imagined there would be some dark consequence for her as well. So it was kept silent and longing. And by the time Thomas Kane came along, it was time to grow up. It made no sense to hold onto something that would bring nothing but disagreement. So Annie let go, moved on, and hoped Ruth would do the same.
“Annie, I thought I’d heard you coming. Follow me,” she commanded as she started walking to the corner closet, “I’ve been working on it, but we still need some measurements.” Ruth opened the wooden doors with a gentle pull, revealing a long garment, Annie’s wedding dress. Now it had felt wrong to go to Ruth for the dress, but Thomas’ mother had insisted. Ruth had built her reputation as the best seamstress in the village quickly. There was no argument Annie could make without suspicion following. So they had met, and Ruth started her work. It was a long thing, powder blue with long draping sleeves and intricate lace details. Though it was a beautiful gown, Annie could already feel the lace itching her skin. But it was Thomas’ favorite color. More importantly, it was something fit for a bride. In the dress she felt foolish, like a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. She felt nowhere near her nineteen years of age. Her poofy, untamable brunette hair contrasted with the light dress, stealing its grace and subtle beauty. Perhaps these unsettling thoughts were natural—just nerves before the wedding.
“Tell me about what you have been reading,” Ruth muttered around the pin clenched between her teeth. Ruth in her classic manner always knew what Annie was thinking before she said anything at all.
And being grateful enough for a distraction, Annie answered, “Oh, everything. The library has a collection of medicinal books. Peter Linden has a horrible cough that’s been keeping him awake for the past few nights. I’m trying to find a cure.”
Suddenly, Ruth looked up and took the pin out from between her teeth, “Annie, please be careful. You’ve been focusing on your medicine quite a lot lately. Be sure not to cure anyone too well. You know what people will think,” she warned.
“What? That I’m a witch? Oh yes, in fact I am indeed a sorceress that has cursed this village into an evil fate by applying a mustard plaster to a boy with the sniffles.” Annie teased.
“Hush! Stop, Annie,” Ruth exclaimed with her wide and fearful dark brown eyes, “This is not a joke. I need you to be safe. Promise me,” she shook her head and looked back down to her work. An awkward silence fell upon the room. Annie considered her friend. Though the same age as Annie, Ruth had a more mature presence— quiet and stern, but caring in a way that had quickly grown on her.
Annie sobered, “I’m sorry. Ruth . . . I didn’t mean to make fun. I promise I’ll be safe. I just wanted to help him.”
“I know. But remember to help yourself first,” Ruth said.
Help yourself first. Annie thought about Ruth’s words on her way home that night, quickly walking to her cottage at the edge of the village. Thomas was still on his trip to the neighboring village. He was often gone as a merchant, but that did not trouble her. An evening alone sounded like the perfect way to help herself. It’s at least a place to start. Thomas had insisted they not move in together before the wedding anyway; he said it was to avoid any bad ideas the villagers would have about her. Annie rolled her eyes. Whatever they might do or not do, those nosy people will find fault somewhere. We might as well have given them something to talk about. Nevertheless, she obeyed Thomas’ wishes. He was a demanding man. He wanted to proceed with their marriage in his way, in his time. And Annie followed, it was her duty after all. Her duty could entail much worse, she reasoned.
As she waited for Thomas’ return home, Annie’s next days were filled with house calls to the sick and yet another burning. She planned to welcome him later in the day after her usual check in on the village clinic. The sky was a blinding blue and there seemed to be a warmth in the air, embracing her every step. She approached the cottage’s white door, and called out, “Thomas?”
“What?”
Startled by his abrupt response, Annie turned to see her fiancé standing by the bedroom door, hair askew and hunched to her height. Thomas was often closed off and short-tempered, but he seemed unusually upset. He stepped closer, scowling. Annie tried to lighten the mood. “I came to check in on you. How about a walk around the village? We can visit the bakery,” she said. Wifely duties, she thought.
He turned for a second before stiffly replying, “I’d rather not.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m just tired, Anne. We all can’t always be at your beck and call,” he snapped.
Taking a step back, Annie looked around the cottage for any clue that would explain his ill temper. An overturned chair, a stack of papers on the counter, but nothing else was amiss, except for Thomas himself.
“Are you drunk?” she demanded.
“No. I came in late last night, so I had a few drinks at the tavern. I haven’t been drinking this early in the morning, Annie. Is that what you think of me?”
“I’m just confused as to why you’re being so unpleasant!”
“Look, I said I’m just tired. The trip didn’t go well and I have a few things to take care of here before I go back. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now,” he sighed.
“I didn’t know that I was something you needed to deal with, but fine. I better check with Ruth anyway. She wanted to talk about my wedding dress,” she muttered, “if that’s something I even need anymore.”
“I don’t know, Annie. Your guess is as good as mine,” he called after her as she left the cottage.
Fuming and stomping her way to Marlowe’s, Annie internally screeched with frustration. How dare he? Deal with me? What am I, five years old? Flinging the door open, she nearly tripped and fell into the shop.
“Annie? You’re here early,” Ruth commented, pinning two sections of fabric together. In the next moment she turned and stared at Annie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s fine,” came Annie’s stunted reply.
“Mm, convincing. What’s wrong?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“It’s Thomas,” Annie whispered.
“I figured.” Ruth responded with a small smile—the same small smile paired with somber eyes, reserved for their more serious conversations.
Annie continued, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Ruth. I thought that if I listened to everyone else telling me what to do, then at least one of them would have the right answer. But now look at us. And Thomas is right. We are nothing more to each other than a problem to “deal with.” He proposed because it was expected and I agreed because it was what I was supposed to do. He was Thomas, safe and reliable Thomas. I feel so foolish! Why are things never simple, Ruth? They could have been simple.”
“It’s not your fault. But you need to carefully consider what to do next,” Ruth gently took her hand, “No one can force you to marry him, Annie.”
Annie paused, looking at Ruth again—Ruth and her dark brown eyes that always seemed to search for something deep or strong in Annie—something she wasn’t sure she had. Ruth who would always listen to Annie’s troubles no matter how hurtful. Ruth who let her go the moment Annie asked.
“Ruth,” Annie whispered, “I can’t continue with Thomas this way. I need to help myself first, before I help anyone else. Instinctively, she leaned forward.
Ruth wavered for a moment, then leaned in to mirror Annie.
A kiss.
A kiss that may not have been an appropriate choice, yet Annie had seen where the path of tradition led her, and she didn’t want it. A kiss that expressed all they had lost in their time apart – loss, love, hope, and hopelessness. Their bliss was broken by the door hitting the back wall. Annie pulled away from Ruth and turned to see Thomas standing in the doorway.
“Thomas,” Annie shakily acknowledged him.
“I- I came here to apologize, Annie. I...” Thomas was frozen in place with only a small box from the bakery in his hands.
“Thomas, I’m so sorry. I can explain this. It’s-”
“Stop! You don’t need to explain anything, Annie. I know what has happened,” he nodded, eyes racing between the two women as if they might suddenly pounce upon him, “You’ve lied . . . You bewitched me, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about? Thomas, don’t be silly,” Annie pleaded.
“No. I could never love a witch. You bewitched me to feel this way. To protect you two this whole time! You’re truly evil,” he spat. He quickly wrenched open the door and abandoned the shop, leaving Annie and Ruth together, standing silently in the middle of the room.
Annie turned, “Ruth. I’m so sorry. I’ll tell him what happened. It wasn’t you, it was me!”
“No, leave it. He has made up his mind, and the town will soon know. There is no point.”
Tears sprung to Annie’s eyes, “You can’t mean that. It was a mistake! He’ll understand.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, Annie. I won’t deny the truth again. They will come, and you know what we must do,” Ruth gently lay a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I can’t let them take you, Ruth.” Annie lay in her arms, crying and begging Ruth to allow her to make an excuse—a lie—for the chance that Ruth, at least, would be spared.
“When it all comes to an end, you will understand. Do not worry, Annie.” A gentle comfort to the crushing weight of guilt. How could something that made her so peaceful and happy one moment be the cause of such pain in the very next? Why could she not be with Ruth in a different time, a different way?
When dawn broke, they arrived. They arrived with their distrustful stares and hateful words. They arrived with Thomas leading them, “A witch is a witch, Annie. There’s nothing else to say.”
They were silently marched to the village square. Annie knew their fate, there was no use in denying it now. Thomas spoke his tale of betrayal to the crowd as they stared down the two women. Women they had trusted and perhaps cared about just a day ago they would now sentence to death. A quick glance at Ruth before they were dragged to the stake was all Annie could spare; it destroyed her to look too long at someone she could never have again—someone she had barely had at all.
In truth, it did not hurt Annie as she had expected. She felt the warmth of the flames pricking at her skin, almost a tickle. She heard the crackle of the fire like a cold winter night. Then the fire consumed every part of her body, inside and out. And she saw darkness.
Then she woke.
Greenery, the chirping of birds, crickets. She could feel, hear, see it all. But it was impossible. This was nowhere near the village. Nowhere Annie had been before, at least. How?
Soon the answer came, “See? Told you we would be just fine.”
Annie froze, unable to turn towards the quiet, gentle voice she knew so well.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes. Here we are at the end. Do you finally understand?”
“Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“You cannot be…” Annie said.
“A witch? Or, a sorceress that has cursed your village into an evil fate? Yes. Well, no. I didn’t curse anyone. I only moved to the village to sew lovely dresses and mind my business. Then you came along. But no regrets, my dear,” Ruth smirked.
“I don’t understand, but I’m happy! What do we do now?” She tried to look back for any indication of this new truth, but she was bemused. How could quiet, firm, sweet Ruth be a witch? She hadn’t believed that witches existed, but in the end, it didn’t matter. This was Ruth—dear Ruth who she now had a second chance with, and she wouldn’t waste it.
“We can do anything we want, Annie. You could discover the world, discover our new home. I can find work as a seamstress anywhere and you can become whomever you want to be. Who do you want to be now that you will no longer be Mrs. Thomas Kane?”
Annie paused, took a deep breath, and said to Ruth, “I don’t know yet, but I want to find out…if you’ll be at my side.”
Ruth nodded, and this time their kisses were laden with hope, joy, and anticipation. The women walked hand in hand through the wood as they made their way to their next destination. Annie wasn’t sure whether she was on Earth or in some earthly heaven, but according to Ruth, they had many ends to explore.
The villagers made their decision quickly, as they always did. There was the same sickening displeasure that filled their eyes after watching someone beg for their life. This was something that had always struck Annie—nobody seemed to realize that the burnings were far more wicked than magic itself. Their baseless accusations and “righteous” rage stripped humanity from the very people trying to preserve it. Annie knew the truth behind these claims. Miss Budd had recently raised the price of her bread, resulting in immediate anger from the villagers.
Enough anger to take her life.
Everyone knew that there was no point in denying the accusation; once the people decided you were a witch, there was no way to convince them otherwise. All that would come from these attempts was torture. So Dorothy Budd was burned at the stake. And the people rested easily, believing another evil had been banished from their village.
The streets of Westwick simmered with fear and greed. As Annie walked she dodged and slipped around every person, unwilling to stop until she arrived at her destination, Marlowe’s Tailor and Seamstress Shop. She entered and announced her presence, knocking on the doorframe. “Ruth? It’s Annie,” she called.If there’s one thing that Annie knows, it’s that nothing good comes from restless people unsettling the truth. This was a lesson hard learned by the girl after watching the second burning that week. Dorothy Budd, the old woman who sold loaves of bread from her small stand at the village market, was known to be a solitary person. She lived alone, barely spoke, and bothered no one. Then suddenly she was something unbearable—a witch.
The villagers made their decision quickly, as they always did. There was the same sickening displeasure that filled their eyes after watching someone beg for their life. This was something that had always struck Annie—nobody seemed to realize that the burnings were far more wicked than magic itself. Their baseless accusations and “righteous” rage stripped humanity from the very people trying to preserve it. Annie knew the truth behind these claims. Miss Budd had recently raised the price of her bread, resulting in immediate anger from the villagers.
Enough anger to take her life.
Everyone knew that there was no point in denying the accusation; once the people decided you were a witch, there was no way to convince them otherwise. All that would come from these attempts was torture. So Dorothy Budd was burned at the stake. And the people rested easily, believing another evil had been banished from their village.
The streets of Westwick simmered with fear and greed. As Annie walked she dodged and slipped around every person, unwilling to stop until she arrived at her destination, Marlowe’s Tailor and Seamstress Shop. She entered and announced her presence, knocking on the doorframe. “Ruth? It’s Annie,” she called.
A rumbling from the back room broke the quiet as a pair of brown button boots and a pile of midnight blue fabric walked out. The pile was dropped onto the dark wood front table, revealing the shop girl, Ruth Marlowe. She had only moved to the village a few years ago, and had offered no explanation. She simply showed up one day with just the few of her belongings on her back, and was now the owner of her own business. Ruth was someone Annie had gotten to know well. After all, they were close in age and had similar interests—specifically one another. It was something silent they held that year. No one remembered how it had started, but it lived in the dark nights at Ruth’s cottage, and in quick caresses behind the tavern. Both girls barely acknowledged its existence, because the next step would be accepting it, and there was simply no conceivable future down that road. Imagine! Annie’s mother would fall to an early grave, and though Ruth had no known family, Annie imagined there would be some dark consequence for her as well. So it was kept silent and longing. And by the time Thomas Kane came along, it was time to grow up. It made no sense to hold onto something that would bring nothing but disagreement. So Annie let go, moved on, and hoped Ruth would do the same.
“Annie, I thought I’d heard you coming. Follow me,” she commanded as she started walking to the corner closet, “I’ve been working on it, but we still need some measurements.” Ruth opened the wooden doors with a gentle pull, revealing a long garment, Annie’s wedding dress. Now it had felt wrong to go to Ruth for the dress, but Thomas’ mother had insisted. Ruth had built her reputation as the best seamstress in the village quickly. There was no argument Annie could make without suspicion following. So they had met, and Ruth started her work. It was a long thing, powder blue with long draping sleeves and intricate lace details. Though it was a beautiful gown, Annie could already feel the lace itching her skin. But it was Thomas’ favorite color. More importantly, it was something fit for a bride. In the dress she felt foolish, like a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. She felt nowhere near her nineteen years of age. Her poofy, untamable brunette hair contrasted with the light dress, stealing its grace and subtle beauty. Perhaps these unsettling thoughts were natural—just nerves before the wedding.
“Tell me about what you have been reading,” Ruth muttered around the pin clenched between her teeth. Ruth in her classic manner always knew what Annie was thinking before she said anything at all.
And being grateful enough for a distraction, Annie answered, “Oh, everything. The library has a collection of medicinal books. Peter Linden has a horrible cough that’s been keeping him awake for the past few nights. I’m trying to find a cure.”
Suddenly, Ruth looked up and took the pin out from between her teeth, “Annie, please be careful. You’ve been focusing on your medicine quite a lot lately. Be sure not to cure anyone too well. You know what people will think,” she warned.
“What? That I’m a witch? Oh yes, in fact I am indeed a sorceress that has cursed this village into an evil fate by applying a mustard plaster to a boy with the sniffles.” Annie teased.
“Hush! Stop, Annie,” Ruth exclaimed with her wide and fearful dark brown eyes, “This is not a joke. I need you to be safe. Promise me,” she shook her head and looked back down to her work. An awkward silence fell upon the room. Annie considered her friend. Though the same age as Annie, Ruth had a more mature presence— quiet and stern, but caring in a way that had quickly grown on her.
Annie sobered, “I’m sorry. Ruth . . . I didn’t mean to make fun. I promise I’ll be safe. I just wanted to help him.”
“I know. But remember to help yourself first,” Ruth said.
Help yourself first. Annie thought about Ruth’s words on her way home that night, quickly walking to her cottage at the edge of the village. Thomas was still on his trip to the neighboring village. He was often gone as a merchant, but that did not trouble her. An evening alone sounded like the perfect way to help herself. It’s at least a place to start. Thomas had insisted they not move in together before the wedding anyway; he said it was to avoid any bad ideas the villagers would have about her. Annie rolled her eyes. Whatever they might do or not do, those nosy people will find fault somewhere. We might as well have given them something to talk about. Nevertheless, she obeyed Thomas’ wishes. He was a demanding man. He wanted to proceed with their marriage in his way, in his time. And Annie followed, it was her duty after all. Her duty could entail much worse, she reasoned.
As she waited for Thomas’ return home, Annie’s next days were filled with house calls to the sick and yet another burning. She planned to welcome him later in the day after her usual check in on the village clinic. The sky was a blinding blue and there seemed to be a warmth in the air, embracing her every step. She approached the cottage’s white door, and called out, “Thomas?”
“What?”
Startled by his abrupt response, Annie turned to see her fiancé standing by the bedroom door, hair askew and hunched to her height. Thomas was often closed off and short-tempered, but he seemed unusually upset. He stepped closer, scowling. Annie tried to lighten the mood. “I came to check in on you. How about a walk around the village? We can visit the bakery,” she said. Wifely duties, she thought.
He turned for a second before stiffly replying, “I’d rather not.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m just tired, Anne. We all can’t always be at your beck and call,” he snapped.
Taking a step back, Annie looked around the cottage for any clue that would explain his ill temper. An overturned chair, a stack of papers on the counter, but nothing else was amiss, except for Thomas himself.
“Are you drunk?” she demanded.
“No. I came in late last night, so I had a few drinks at the tavern. I haven’t been drinking this early in the morning, Annie. Is that what you think of me?”
“I’m just confused as to why you’re being so unpleasant!”
“Look, I said I’m just tired. The trip didn’t go well and I have a few things to take care of here before I go back. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now,” he sighed.
“I didn’t know that I was something you needed to deal with, but fine. I better check with Ruth anyway. She wanted to talk about my wedding dress,” she muttered, “if that’s something I even need anymore.”
“I don’t know, Annie. Your guess is as good as mine,” he called after her as she left the cottage.
Fuming and stomping her way to Marlowe’s, Annie internally screeched with frustration. How dare he? Deal with me? What am I, five years old? Flinging the door open, she nearly tripped and fell into the shop.
“Annie? You’re here early,” Ruth commented, pinning two sections of fabric together. In the next moment she turned and stared at Annie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s fine,” came Annie’s stunted reply.
“Mm, convincing. What’s wrong?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“It’s Thomas,” Annie whispered.
“I figured.” Ruth responded with a small smile—the same small smile paired with somber eyes, reserved for their more serious conversations.
Annie continued, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Ruth. I thought that if I listened to everyone else telling me what to do, then at least one of them would have the right answer. But now look at us. And Thomas is right. We are nothing more to each other than a problem to “deal with.” He proposed because it was expected and I agreed because it was what I was supposed to do. He was Thomas, safe and reliable Thomas. I feel so foolish! Why are things never simple, Ruth? They could have been simple.”
“It’s not your fault. But you need to carefully consider what to do next,” Ruth gently took her hand, “No one can force you to marry him, Annie.”
Annie paused, looking at Ruth again—Ruth and her dark brown eyes that always seemed to search for something deep or strong in Annie—something she wasn’t sure she had. Ruth who would always listen to Annie’s troubles no matter how hurtful. Ruth who let her go the moment Annie asked.
“Ruth,” Annie whispered, “I can’t continue with Thomas this way. I need to help myself first, before I help anyone else. Instinctively, she leaned forward.
Ruth wavered for a moment, then leaned in to mirror Annie.
A kiss.
A kiss that may not have been an appropriate choice, yet Annie had seen where the path of tradition led her, and she didn’t want it. A kiss that expressed all they had lost in their time apart – loss, love, hope, and hopelessness. Their bliss was broken by the door hitting the back wall. Annie pulled away from Ruth and turned to see Thomas standing in the doorway.
“Thomas,” Annie shakily acknowledged him.
“I- I came here to apologize, Annie. I...” Thomas was frozen in place with only a small box from the bakery in his hands.
“Thomas, I’m so sorry. I can explain this. It’s-”
“Stop! You don’t need to explain anything, Annie. I know what has happened,” he nodded, eyes racing between the two women as if they might suddenly pounce upon him, “You’ve lied . . . You bewitched me, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about? Thomas, don’t be silly,” Annie pleaded.
“No. I could never love a witch. You bewitched me to feel this way. To protect you two this whole time! You’re truly evil,” he spat. He quickly wrenched open the door and abandoned the shop, leaving Annie and Ruth together, standing silently in the middle of the room.
Annie turned, “Ruth. I’m so sorry. I’ll tell him what happened. It wasn’t you, it was me!”
“No, leave it. He has made up his mind, and the town will soon know. There is no point.”
Tears sprung to Annie’s eyes, “You can’t mean that. It was a mistake! He’ll understand.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, Annie. I won’t deny the truth again. They will come, and you know what we must do,” Ruth gently lay a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I can’t let them take you, Ruth.” Annie lay in her arms, crying and begging Ruth to allow her to make an excuse—a lie—for the chance that Ruth, at least, would be spared.
“When it all comes to an end, you will understand. Do not worry, Annie.” A gentle comfort to the crushing weight of guilt. How could something that made her so peaceful and happy one moment be the cause of such pain in the very next? Why could she not be with Ruth in a different time, a different way?
When dawn broke, they arrived. They arrived with their distrustful stares and hateful words. They arrived with Thomas leading them, “A witch is a witch, Annie. There’s nothing else to say.”
They were silently marched to the village square. Annie knew their fate, there was no use in denying it now. Thomas spoke his tale of betrayal to the crowd as they stared down the two women. Women they had trusted and perhaps cared about just a day ago they would now sentence to death. A quick glance at Ruth before they were dragged to the stake was all Annie could spare; it destroyed her to look too long at someone she could never have again—someone she had barely had at all.
In truth, it did not hurt Annie as she had expected. She felt the warmth of the flames pricking at her skin, almost a tickle. She heard the crackle of the fire like a cold winter night. Then the fire consumed every part of her body, inside and out. And she saw darkness.
Then she woke.
Greenery, the chirping of birds, crickets. She could feel, hear, see it all. But it was impossible. This was nowhere near the village. Nowhere Annie had been before, at least. How?
Soon the answer came, “See? Told you we would be just fine.”
Annie froze, unable to turn towards the quiet, gentle voice she knew so well.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes. Here we are at the end. Do you finally understand?”
“Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“You cannot be…” Annie said.
“A witch? Or, a sorceress that has cursed your village into an evil fate? Yes. Well, no. I didn’t curse anyone. I only moved to the village to sew lovely dresses and mind my business. Then you came along. But no regrets, my dear,” Ruth smirked.
“I don’t understand, but I’m happy! What do we do now?” She tried to look back for any indication of this new truth, but she was bemused. How could quiet, firm, sweet Ruth be a witch? She hadn’t believed that witches existed, but in the end, it didn’t matter. This was Ruth—dear Ruth who she now had a second chance with, and she wouldn’t waste it.
“We can do anything we want, Annie. You could discover the world, discover our new home. I can find work as a seamstress anywhere and you can become whomever you want to be. Who do you want to be now that you will no longer be Mrs. Thomas Kane?”
Annie paused, took a deep breath, and said to Ruth, “I don’t know yet, but I want to find out…if you’ll be at my side.”
Ruth nodded, and this time their kisses were laden with hope, joy, and anticipation. The women walked hand in hand through the wood as they made their way to their next destination. Annie wasn’t sure whether she was on Earth or in some earthly heaven, but according to Ruth, they had many ends to explore.
A rumbling from the back room broke the quiet as a pair of brown button boots and a pile of midnight blue fabric walked out. The pile was dropped onto the dark wood front table, revealing the shop girl, Ruth Marlowe. She had only moved to the village a few years ago, and had offered no explanation. She simply showed up one day with just the few of her belongings on her back, and was now the owner of her own business. Ruth was someone Annie had gotten to know well. After all, they were close in age and had similar interests—specifically one another. It was something silent they held that year. No one remembered how it had started, but it lived in the dark nights at Ruth’s cottage, and in quick caresses behind the tavern. Both girls barely acknowledged its existence, because the next step would be accepting it, and there was simply no conceivable future down that road. Imagine! Annie’s mother would fall to an early grave, and though Ruth had no known family, Annie imagined there would be some dark consequence for her as well. So it was kept silent and longing. And by the time Thomas Kane came along, it was time to grow up. It made no sense to hold onto something that would bring nothing but disagreement. So Annie let go, moved on, and hoped Ruth would do the same.
“Annie, I thought I’d heard you coming. Follow me,” she commanded as she started walking to the corner closet, “I’ve been working on it, but we still need some measurements.” Ruth opened the wooden doors with a gentle pull, revealing a long garment, Annie’s wedding dress. Now it had felt wrong to go to Ruth for the dress, but Thomas’ mother had insisted. Ruth had built her reputation as the best seamstress in the village quickly. There was no argument Annie could make without suspicion following. So they had met, and Ruth started her work. It was a long thing, powder blue with long draping sleeves and intricate lace details. Though it was a beautiful gown, Annie could already feel the lace itching her skin. But it was Thomas’ favorite color. More importantly, it was something fit for a bride. In the dress she felt foolish, like a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. She felt nowhere near her nineteen years of age. Her poofy, untamable brunette hair contrasted with the light dress, stealing its grace and subtle beauty. Perhaps these unsettling thoughts were natural—just nerves before the wedding.
“Tell me about what you have been reading,” Ruth muttered around the pin clenched between her teeth. Ruth in her classic manner always knew what Annie was thinking before she said anything at all.
And being grateful enough for a distraction, Annie answered, “Oh, everything. The library has a collection of medicinal books. Peter Linden has a horrible cough that’s been keeping him awake for the past few nights. I’m trying to find a cure.”
Suddenly, Ruth looked up and took the pin out from between her teeth, “Annie, please be careful. You’ve been focusing on your medicine quite a lot lately. Be sure not to cure anyone too well. You know what people will think,” she warned.
“What? That I’m a witch? Oh yes, in fact I am indeed a sorceress that has cursed this village into an evil fate by applying a mustard plaster to a boy with the sniffles.” Annie teased.
“Hush! Stop, Annie,” Ruth exclaimed with her wide and fearful dark brown eyes, “This is not a joke. I need you to be safe. Promise me,” she shook her head and looked back down to her work. An awkward silence fell upon the room. Annie considered her friend. Though the same age as Annie, Ruth had a more mature presence— quiet and stern, but caring in a way that had quickly grown on her.
Annie sobered, “I’m sorry. Ruth . . . I didn’t mean to make fun. I promise I’ll be safe. I just wanted to help him.”
“I know. But remember to help yourself first,” Ruth said.
Help yourself first. Annie thought about Ruth’s words on her way home that night, quickly walking to her cottage at the edge of the village. Thomas was still on his trip to the neighboring village. He was often gone as a merchant, but that did not trouble her. An evening alone sounded like the perfect way to help herself. It’s at least a place to start. Thomas had insisted they not move in together before the wedding anyway; he said it was to avoid any bad ideas the villagers would have about her. Annie rolled her eyes. Whatever they might do or not do, those nosy people will find fault somewhere. We might as well have given them something to talk about. Nevertheless, she obeyed Thomas’ wishes. He was a demanding man. He wanted to proceed with their marriage in his way, in his time. And Annie followed, it was her duty after all. Her duty could entail much worse, she reasoned.
As she waited for Thomas’ return home, Annie’s next days were filled with house calls to the sick and yet another burning. She planned to welcome him later in the day after her usual check in on the village clinic. The sky was a blinding blue and there seemed to be a warmth in the air, embracing her every step. She approached the cottage’s white door, and called out, “Thomas?”
“What?”
Startled by his abrupt response, Annie turned to see her fiancé standing by the bedroom door, hair askew and hunched to her height. Thomas was often closed off and short-tempered, but he seemed unusually upset. He stepped closer, scowling. Annie tried to lighten the mood. “I came to check in on you. How about a walk around the village? We can visit the bakery,” she said. Wifely duties, she thought.
He turned for a second before stiffly replying, “I’d rather not.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m just tired, Anne. We all can’t always be at your beck and call,” he snapped.
Taking a step back, Annie looked around the cottage for any clue that would explain his ill temper. An overturned chair, a stack of papers on the counter, but nothing else was amiss, except for Thomas himself.
“Are you drunk?” she demanded.
“No. I came in late last night, so I had a few drinks at the tavern. I haven’t been drinking this early in the morning, Annie. Is that what you think of me?”
“I’m just confused as to why you’re being so unpleasant!”
“Look, I said I’m just tired. The trip didn’t go well and I have a few things to take care of here before I go back. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now,” he sighed.
“I didn’t know that I was something you needed to deal with, but fine. I better check with Ruth anyway. She wanted to talk about my wedding dress,” she muttered, “if that’s something I even need anymore.”
“I don’t know, Annie. Your guess is as good as mine,” he called after her as she left the cottage.
Fuming and stomping her way to Marlowe’s, Annie internally screeched with frustration. How dare he? Deal with me? What am I, five years old? Flinging the door open, she nearly tripped and fell into the shop.
“Annie? You’re here early,” Ruth commented, pinning two sections of fabric together. In the next moment she turned and stared at Annie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s fine,” came Annie’s stunted reply.
“Mm, convincing. What’s wrong?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“It’s Thomas,” Annie whispered.
“I figured.” Ruth responded with a small smile—the same small smile paired with somber eyes, reserved for their more serious conversations.
Annie continued, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Ruth. I thought that if I listened to everyone else telling me what to do, then at least one of them would have the right answer. But now look at us. And Thomas is right. We are nothing more to each other than a problem to “deal with.” He proposed because it was expected and I agreed because it was what I was supposed to do. He was Thomas, safe and reliable Thomas. I feel so foolish! Why are things never simple, Ruth? They could have been simple.”
“It’s not your fault. But you need to carefully consider what to do next,” Ruth gently took her hand, “No one can force you to marry him, Annie.”
Annie paused, looking at Ruth again—Ruth and her dark brown eyes that always seemed to search for something deep or strong in Annie—something she wasn’t sure she had. Ruth who would always listen to Annie’s troubles no matter how hurtful. Ruth who let her go the moment Annie asked.
“Ruth,” Annie whispered, “I can’t continue with Thomas this way. I need to help myself first, before I help anyone else. Instinctively, she leaned forward.
Ruth wavered for a moment, then leaned in to mirror Annie.
A kiss.
A kiss that may not have been an appropriate choice, yet Annie had seen where the path of tradition led her, and she didn’t want it. A kiss that expressed all they had lost in their time apart – loss, love, hope, and hopelessness. Their bliss was broken by the door hitting the back wall. Annie pulled away from Ruth and turned to see Thomas standing in the doorway.
“Thomas,” Annie shakily acknowledged him.
“I- I came here to apologize, Annie. I...” Thomas was frozen in place with only a small box from the bakery in his hands.
“Thomas, I’m so sorry. I can explain this. It’s-”
“Stop! You don’t need to explain anything, Annie. I know what has happened,” he nodded, eyes racing between the two women as if they might suddenly pounce upon him, “You’ve lied . . . You bewitched me, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about? Thomas, don’t be silly,” Annie pleaded.
“No. I could never love a witch. You bewitched me to feel this way. To protect you two this whole time! You’re truly evil,” he spat. He quickly wrenched open the door and abandoned the shop, leaving Annie and Ruth together, standing silently in the middle of the room.
Annie turned, “Ruth. I’m so sorry. I’ll tell him what happened. It wasn’t you, it was me!”
“No, leave it. He has made up his mind, and the town will soon know. There is no point.”
Tears sprung to Annie’s eyes, “You can’t mean that. It was a mistake! He’ll understand.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, Annie. I won’t deny the truth again. They will come, and you know what we must do,” Ruth gently lay a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I can’t let them take you, Ruth.” Annie lay in her arms, crying and begging Ruth to allow her to make an excuse—a lie—for the chance that Ruth, at least, would be spared.
“When it all comes to an end, you will understand. Do not worry, Annie.” A gentle comfort to the crushing weight of guilt. How could something that made her so peaceful and happy one moment be the cause of such pain in the very next? Why could she not be with Ruth in a different time, a different way?
When dawn broke, they arrived. They arrived with their distrustful stares and hateful words. They arrived with Thomas leading them, “A witch is a witch, Annie. There’s nothing else to say.”
They were silently marched to the village square. Annie knew their fate, there was no use in denying it now. Thomas spoke his tale of betrayal to the crowd as they stared down the two women. Women they had trusted and perhaps cared about just a day ago they would now sentence to death. A quick glance at Ruth before they were dragged to the stake was all Annie could spare; it destroyed her to look too long at someone she could never have again—someone she had barely had at all.
In truth, it did not hurt Annie as she had expected. She felt the warmth of the flames pricking at her skin, almost a tickle. She heard the crackle of the fire like a cold winter night. Then the fire consumed every part of her body, inside and out. And she saw darkness.
Then she woke.
Greenery, the chirping of birds, crickets. She could feel, hear, see it all. But it was impossible. This was nowhere near the village. Nowhere Annie had been before, at least. How?
Soon the answer came, “See? Told you we would be just fine.”
Annie froze, unable to turn towards the quiet, gentle voice she knew so well.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes. Here we are at the end. Do you finally understand?”
“Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“You cannot be…” Annie said.
“A witch? Or, a sorceress that has cursed your village into an evil fate? Yes. Well, no. I didn’t curse anyone. I only moved to the village to sew lovely dresses and mind my business. Then you came along. But no regrets, my dear,” Ruth smirked.
“I don’t understand, but I’m happy! What do we do now?” She tried to look back for any indication of this new truth, but she was bemused. How could quiet, firm, sweet Ruth be a witch? She hadn’t believed that witches existed, but in the end, it didn’t matter. This was Ruth—dear Ruth who she now had a second chance with, and she wouldn’t waste it.
“We can do anything we want, Annie. You could discover the world, discover our new home. I can find work as a seamstress anywhere and you can become whomever you want to be. Who do you want to be now that you will no longer be Mrs. Thomas Kane?”
Annie paused, took a deep breath, and said to Ruth, “I don’t know yet, but I want to find out…if you’ll be at my side.”
Ruth nodded, and this time their kisses were laden with hope, joy, and anticipation. The women walked hand in hand through the wood as they made their way to their next destination. Annie wasn’t sure whether she was on Earth or in some earthly heaven, but according to Ruth, they had many ends to explore.
About the Author
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Copyright notice: The Lovely Burning - © 2021 All rights reserved.
Any redistribution or reproduction of part or all of the contents in any form is prohibited other than the following:
Any redistribution or reproduction of part or all of the contents in any form is prohibited other than the following:
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Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay
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