DECEMBER 19, 1754
Billy Crane jerked at the end of his rope. He’d pissed himself—most likely when the trapdoor fell—and a dark stain ran the length of his right leg. The drop was supposed to break his neck, but he was a tall man, and I could see that the rope hadn’t fully done its job. His back was arched and one foot twitched.
I looked away, but Ephraim’s hand lay soft against my cheek, gently forcing my gaze back to the gallows. “No,” he said, “watch it to the end.”
I tried to shake loose, but he leaned closer, insistent, mouth brushing my ear. “This is justice, Martha. You need to see it done.”
No one needs to see this, I thought, but Ephraim held me still. The crowd gathered in the clearing below was silent, collectively holding its breath until the spasms stopped. I saw my parents before the tree, staring up at the twisting form of Crane, murder in their eyes. Only when the hangman cut the rope and let Crane’s body drop to the ground with a heavy thud did Ephraim turn me in to the wide shelter of his chest. And then I was crying, my voice muffled by the sharp December wind and the heavy linen of his shirt. I pummeled him with my fists until they ached, but Ephraim did not defend himself, or hold me, or say a word of comfort.
We stood on a rise above the clearing, hidden beneath a copse of fir trees, the crowd below oblivious to our presence, so intent were they on the scene before them. There hadn’t been a public hanging in those parts for almost ten years, and my father had forbid me to attend this one. Private hangings—the ones motivated by revenge—were far more common, however. Grisly. Barbaric. Father used several other words to describe the process, none of them fit for a woman’s ears, but—I thought—he had forgotten to include riveting.
He would lock me away for a year if he knew I’d seen them hang Billy Crane. Father had forced me to lay a hand on the family Bible and swear that I would not set foot out the door until Billy had been put in the ground to rot. And I would have obeyed if it weren’t for Ephraim Ballard. He came to fetch me after my parents left, and I could no more refuse him than cease breathing.
Finally, after I exhausted myself, Ephraim pushed my tears away with his thumbs and cupped my face in his hands. He looked at me as though I might shatter. He looked at me as though he was willing to pick up each and every piece if I did. As though he would put them back together with his own bleeding fingers.
Ephraim offered one curt nod. “It’s done then. He’s dead.”
“Good God, Ephraim, is this how you court a girl?” I took a deep breath and it rattled through my lungs, frantic, erratic. “Sneaking off in the middle of the day to see a man hanged?”
“The courting is done,” Ephraim said, and it took a bit of effort to suppress his smile. “All that’s left now is the marrying.” I wanted to answer that hidden smile with one of my own but couldn’t seem to find one. “Besides,” he added, “it didn’t take much convincing.”
He tensed when I said, “Father told me you testified.”
Ephraim was taller, but only by a couple of inches, and his wide, blue eyes looked over the top of my head to rest on the scene below. He shrugged, his voice purposefully devoid of emotion. “I told them what I saw.”
Them. Five men. Just a handful of town elders, my father included, who’d met the night before to see what could be done about a man such as Billy Crane.
I shuddered. They hadn’t let me in the meeting at all.
The clearing had emptied, and I searched it in a panic for my parents. I couldn’t see them. “We have to get back. Or they will know you brought me.”
Ephraim seemed unconcerned. “Not yet,” he said. “They can wait.”
I was about to protest when he nodded toward the base of the hill. A dark-clad figure began climbing toward us. He took the hill in a series of long, purposeful strides, and the moment I recognized him, I tensed.
“What is he doing here?”
Ephraim didn’t answer. Instead he stepped between us so that I was partially hidden in the shadows beneath the tree. He grabbed the man’s hand. “Joseph. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” Joseph North was young and handsome, and the humble words did nothing to hide the flush of excitement that rose above his collar. He’d given the deciding vote that had sealed Crane’s fate. “Do you still need me this evening?”
“Yes.” Ephraim peered at the sun, judged its angle in the sky. “Four o’clock? Make sure you bring the documents. I want it official.”
“You caught me just in time, then. I leave first thing in the morning to join my regiment. We ride for Fort Beauséjour. Our orders are to force the natives out of Acadia.” He gave Ephraim a last thoughtful glance, then tipped his hat to me. “Martha.”
Joseph North turned and marched back down the hill. When he was out of earshot I stepped away from Ephraim, suspicion pinching the corners of my eyes. “What was that about?”
“I’ve asked Joseph to be at your parents’ when I take you home—” “My father will be furious, but I hardly think legal protection is in
order—”
“To marry us.”
I blinked. “What?”
Ephraim took one hand with great care, as though lifting a robin’s egg from a nest. “It’s been only two weeks since…” He wasn’t typically one to shy away from comment, but he couldn’t seem to find the words for this. He cleared his throat. Blushed. Ran a finger along the base of my thumb.
“I know how long it’s been.” I tried to yank my hand away, but he clamped it into his own.
“Your cycle,” Ephraim finally stammered. “It hasn’t come yet. Has it?” “You can’t know that.”
“Am I wrong?”
My silence was answer enough.
“Have you considered what will happen if you’re with child?”
I heard the strike before I felt the sting in my palm, but it was the pain that brought me to my senses. “How dare you!”
He wasn’t hurt so much as startled, but he grabbed both of my wrists and pulled them to his chest to prevent me from doing it again. He shook me just a bit, and I felt my teeth rattle.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“I won’t have you marry me out of pity!” “You don’t think I want you anymore?” “How could you?”
There. It was the truth. The unspoken tension between us.
Ephraim’s entire body trembled with rage. I was afraid he would shake me again. Or kiss me. I couldn’t tell which to expect by the look on his face. He did neither, in fact, but rather lowered his face until it was an inch from mine. “Let me be clear,” he growled, furious. “My feelings haven’t changed. But I need to know if yours have.”
I was overwhelmed. Terrified, even. But I shook my head because I did
want to marry him. I always had.
Ephraim crushed me against his chest, my arms pinned between us, before I could register his immense relief. He buried a hand in my hair, rubbing little circles against my scalp with his thumb.
“Then you must marry me. Tonight. Take my name and they can never question the legitimacy of any child you ever have.”
I was neither small nor delicate. I had much of my father’s height and most of his stubbornness; and when I stood before Ephraim Ballard, I could almost look him in the eye. So I straightened my spine and leaned my forehead against the bridge of his nose.
“Take me home, then,” I said, “so we can be married.”
