“My darling, I cannot get a child upon me while mourning the death of my husband,” I said forlornly, the torture of declining him mutual. “There are six months to wait.” He chewed my earlobes and near deafened me with his breathing. “As you said, we must be patient.” His lips moved to where my breasts swelled above the line of my undershirt and I pulled gently away but he would not let me go. He kissed me with such intensity that my body replied without thought for the consequence; but my mind was not slave to it. Although light-headed with desire, I walked to the door, opened it and called old Maggie to bring Arthur’s hat, which she quickly did. My heart was trilling in my chest. I had never refused him my bed before and I sensed how it exposed and tested the bond between us.

“I will come again soon,” he said, confused, even slightly angry, and I nodded but did not trust myself to speak, suddenly afraid of the effect of Forman’s draft. Would Arthur seek release with another woman? Then I reminded myself of the angels, of Forman’s face after we had flown with them. I could trust in this remedy; it came from God.

I snuffed the candles in the parlor and went to bed, distracting myself from thoughts of Arthur by pondering ways to help my neighbor. A friendship had grown between us since a cart had knocked down her eldest son, badly injuring him. Far from feeling remorse, the carter was suing Mistress Bowdlery for damage to his vehicle. Her youngest was sick with a cough that turned her lips blue, and all of them were hungry, all the time. The harvest was poor; it was said that dogs were become a delicacy in some parts of the country, and badgers dead of unknown cause were eaten. It seemed that when giving out misfortune, the Devil had mistakenly heaped onto Mistress Bowdlery all of my share. I sought to keep her alive, for otherwise that misfortune would need somewhere else to go.

The evening was so warm that I left the window and bed-curtains open to catch any breeze. The night bell struck the hours as I lay sleepless. After midnight I heard a knock. Moths were fluttering around the watch light, I could faintly smell their singed bodies, and beneath it stood Arthur, his face patterned with their tiny, dancing shadows. He was peering through the downstairs window and I nearly let him in, aching to feel loved and secure beside his naked body; a woman not a widow. But Forman was right; I had given him everything and must give no more until the comfort of marriage was offered in return. I went back to bed, putting my whole trust in God, His angels and Simon Forman.