As though sensing Joseph's drifting thoughts, Lance reached up and around to the back of his neck and pulled him in deeper, deeper still until everything else was of no matter.

**

"I don't hear them."  Justin flopped back down on his bed and cringed at the loud thump he created.  From across the small room, Chris groaned heavily.

"They probably sleep, as should you.  And you know what they say of those who put their ears to closed doors."

"What do they say?"

Christopher sighed.  "They may not like what they overhear."

"I want to know what's happening," Justin grumbled.  "It is all happening so quickly, and I have never seen my uncle so frightened."  He burrowed under the covers and hid his face.  Christopher thought that the boy was finally falling into slumber, but a few moments later, a muffled voice came from his bed.  "And his time is completely occupied with the matters of these hearings."  

Christopher did not know the proper response.  "Hmm.  There is much to be done," he explained.  "Your uncle has a large role in righting all that is wrong."  

"I know," Justin sighed.  "And I don't mean to complain.  I just like to think about things before I fall asleep.  About my family, and things I wish for."  

"You ought not be wishing," Christopher said automatically.  "Pray instead."  

"God will never grant the things I wish for," Justin whispered.  "So I don't trouble him with them.  It harms no one, though my uncle would say it will send me to hell." 

"Perhaps it will," Christopher said, though he did not see any truth in it.  

"Perhaps," Justin agreed, then flipped over, fussing with his covers until they were satisfactory.  "And what of your uncle?" he asked.  "Do you miss him?"

The question startled Christopher; he didn't see the point in dwelling on things like that.  Justin, however…Joshua's influence was evident.   "Not much, no," he admitted.  "I should like to see my mother, though."

"Do you resemble your mother?"

"Very much."  Christopher smiled into the darkness.  His eyes burned with fatigue, but he had grown fond of these late-night discussions that seemed inevitable with Justin in the room.  Justin liked to talk about things that most men did not deem suitable conversation; he was just so full of questions and dreams that it spilled over and interfered with his rest.

"Then, she must be a very beautiful woman," Justin sighed.

For that, Christopher had no reply.

***

"The day hides from us," Justin grumbled sleepily.  Though his breakfast sat before him, he would rather be upstairs in the bed that was so much more comfortable than the bed that his uncle provided him.

"Aye."  Joshua nodded and gazed mournfully out the window.  The sky hung so heavy with cloud that the sun could not filter through, and the morning fog had yet to lift.  It was dreary, but the inside of Joseph's home was cozy and warm.   "Eat well, Justin.  We have much work."

"And five whole men to share it amongst!"

Christopher shook his head.  He had never met a man as disagreeable in the morning as Justin, who walked around only half awake, yet fully vicious.  Perhaps it had to do with the way he chattered on all night when he ought to be resting.  "No," Christopher corrected gently.  "Only Lance will remain.  The rest of us have been called to Gallows Hill."

Justin's slow, bruised eyes finally rose from his plate only to receive a nod of confirmation.  "Why?" he asked cautiously.

"We are to build," Joseph interrupted.  The strain showing on his face belied his matter-of-fact tone.  "We shall build, and then we shall come home together and share some strong ale."

John Hathorne had sent word of their chore to Joseph's house even before the break of dawn.  Even Joshua would lend a hand, postponing classes until later in the week.

"Who is to hang?"  Justin demanded, and leaned across the table toward Christopher, who wiped his mouth with a napkin and pretended he heard no question.  Joshua was doing the same, and Justin did not wish to anger Joseph again, so he grudgingly kept his peace.

He didn't have to wait long.  During the short journey to Gallows Hill, Joseph leaned into Justin and with a grim expression said, "Many will hang.  You will find it wise to keep from asking too many questions.  Do nothing to draw attention to yourself, Justin, for I do not wish to lose you."

The warning seemed to double as an apology for his harsh words the previous night, and Justin took it to heart.  For some reason, those solemn words frightened him more than all the strange things he has seen up 'til now.  He shivered in the cold and leaned into Joseph's finely woven cloak, which smelled of Lance's own recipe for soap.  Justin couldn't help rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric because Joseph had the finest clothes of anyone he knew, even his own uncle or the town's magistrates.  The fact that Joseph kept Lance in a similar state of dress did not escape anyone's notice.  

As they approached Gallows Hill, Joseph held firmly to his young friend.  The winter-bare trees loomed large and forbidding from the top, and he wanted to shrink away from their branches, which seemed to reach for the sky, begging to be released from the cursed soil.

"An ugly place for an ugly deed," Joseph muttered, and Justin nodded wisely.  Joseph always seemed to know what to say, for which Justin was grateful.  It was for good reason that his uncle was always pressing him to emulate Joseph, but he preferred the ways of Joshua, who had taught him to read and write music.  Joshua had seen things outside Salem; Boston, England- even France, in his youth, and Justin wanted more than anything to see something beyond this New England landscape.   He knew that his uncle respected Joshua, too, but he saw little hope for Justin to become anything but a farmer so he had always pushed Justin toward Joseph, the finest farmer in Salem.

The men were quickly assigned to their tasks; Joseph and Justin to do the heavy labor of digging, and Joshua to prepare the planks for assembly.  The magistrates beckoned Christopher to consult with them as the others worked.  Slowly, they walked the perimeter of the building site and watched the workers solemnly go about their business.

"I am able to help with the construction," Christopher told them, but John Hathorne kept Christopher near his side.

"You have been keeping a record of this entire situation," he said.  Christopher nodded with caution, for he was not sure in what direction this was headed.   Hathorne scratched at his silvery beard, his grim mouth framed with a maze of wrinkles, before continuing.  He was a deliberate man, who thought slowly, spoke slowly, and rarely took action.

"I should like you to keep our town records, as well," he stated, as though it had already been settled.  "You will keep a detailed account of all that has happened here, and we shall send weekly reports to the new governor."

"And what does the governor wish to hear?" Christopher asked, swallowing bitterness.

Hathorne chuckled bleakly.  "You are a bright boy," he said, and clapped Christopher soundly on the shoulder.  "But do not let your mind dwell on such things.  There are those of us who wish for an unbiased account, and I believe that the governor is one of those men."

"I shall do my best," Christopher promised.  What he truly wished was to help his friends with their labor.  He was a young man still, and good for more than watching.  With one eye, he tracked Joseph and Justin's tasks, watching the platform take shape.  

He also felt himself being watched, appraised by the rest of the town folk.  Joseph and the rest of his new friends made it easy for Christopher to forget he was a stranger in this town, but now he felt acutely aware of the suspicion that came along with being a newcomer.  And this time, more than ever, was an inopportune time to be faced with suspicion, he thought, eyeing the tall beams of the gallows.

*** 

Many people would die on Gallows Hill, but Joseph felt as though merely constructing the platform had drained him of his own life, little by little.  By the time they arrived home that evening, the dark place inside him seemed too large to repair.  The others seemed to feel the same, for even Justin was silent and still.

Upon their return, Lance made straight for Joseph.  He reached for his master's coat, but Joseph brushed him away and reached around and spanned his hands across Lance's back, pulling his servant into a tight embrace.  He cared nothing for what the others were doing or what they thought.  Lance returned the embrace and let Joseph lay his head upon his shoulder for a long moment before withdrawing in the manner of good and proper servant.

"You have had a hard day?" he asked quietly, and Joseph nodded, his hands still reluctant to let go of Lance, who tried once again and succeeded in removing Joseph's dirty cloak.  "I will wash this…." He gestured at the rest of Joseph's clothing.  "…and these, as well.  Let me warm some washing water."

Justin and Joshua were grateful when Lance filled three basins with warm water and provided them all with soft, clean cloths.  Christopher had been spared the grime of hard labor, but Justin pushed his basin toward Christopher.

"You have had as long day as the rest of us," he offered.  "Wash yourself, and I will go after."

Christopher protested, but was no match for Justin, who tended to pout girlishly whenever deprived of his wishes.  "I insist," he pleaded with Christopher, and folded Christopher's hand over the washrag.  Joshua, who had already stripped down and begun cleaning himself, laughed at their dispute.

"Joseph and I shall be clean and happy, sitting by the fire and watching the two of you bathe in chilled water."

Christopher removed his shirt.

With an envious eye, Justin had watched Joseph retreat to his bedroom, Lance trailing behind him with the basin of steaming water.  "I should like to have a servant of my own, someday," he told Christopher.  "Someone like Lance, who helps without meddling."

Joshua, whose spirits had been lifted greatly by the soap and water, found this amusing, though Justin knew not why.  "If you wish for a servant like Lance, you may as well take a wife."  Justin suspected that Christopher was laughing at him as well, but he could only see his friend's pale back and bent head.

"A wife!" Justin replied indignantly.  "I shall take advice concerning ladies from you, Joshua, when you present your own beau!" he bristled, and flushed with pleasure when Christopher laughed heartily at his remarks.  "At any rate…I shall likely never have any servants of my own. Traveling minstrels have no need for such luxuries."

"Perhaps Lance will agree to accompany you on your travels," Joshua suggested.  "When he is finished with his duties here."

There was nothing Justin loved more than for Joshua to indulge him in his dreams.  He nodded eagerly, forgiving Joshua completely for the teasing.  "Perhaps," he replied.  "Though, I doubt Lance would ever leave Joseph, even when his duties are fulfilled.  He is too beloved in this home.  At times, I envy him."

"What?" Joshua shook his head at his youthful friend.  "That is foolishness, Justin!  You are free and loved by many; by not only friends, but family as well."

Justin leaned into Joshua with a sigh, radiating resignation.  "I know.  My problem, I suppose, is that I have always wanted more than is being offered."

Christopher thought that this could easily be the problem of every soul in Salem.

***

Later, when they were into several pints, Joseph spoke about the day's events for the first time.

"And what was the topic of conversation among our fine leaders, today?" he asked Christopher.  With the warm fire and good companionship, the day felt far enough behind him to broach.

"I am to keep records of the happenings for the town.  They will pay me well, though I dare say I had no choice in the matter."

"Lucky!" Justin said.  "No one has ever offered me a job.

Christopher thought on this.  Justin could read and write, yet was relegated to doing chores with the most ignorant slaves.  Perhaps, he thought…he might ask Justin to be his assistant and the money could be shared.  He would discuss it with Joseph at a later time.  "There was much talk about you," he said to Joseph.  "They marvel over the strength of your spiritual character, that the Black Minister himself would plot to harm you."

"Black Minister?"

"George Burroughs.  Hasn't Lance told you?  They say he is the Devil's right hand."

Joseph took a long drink.  "I did not know."  He knew nothing other than what Lance had told him the night before, which was that George Burroughs had planned on accusing Joseph himself of wizardry.  Joseph would have hung, had Lance not spoken out.

"It is revealed in one of the hearings," Christopher admitted.  "Many attest to his dark magic." 

"He will hang for certain, then," Joshua said, and folded into himself, a sulky child.  "And we have spent the day building the means for his death.  What is next, shall I tie the knot around some innocent's neck?"  He rose, going to the table and took a sheet of paper, dipping his pen in Christopher's well of ink.  Slowly, he began to write. 

"Joshua,"  Joseph chided.  "There is no blame for anyone in this room," but Joshua was not easily convinced.

"This is not my purpose in life, yet Christopher hinted at the truth.  We have no choice but to be part of this evil.  I wish only to write and to sing, and to harm no one!"  He looked up long enough to speak his mind, then went back to writing. 

Joshua had always been easily worked into a frenzy.  It was for that reason that Joseph had befriended him so long ago, because Joshua tended to set tongues wagging without even being aware that he had caused a stir.  He was far more interested in the contents of his own head than in reciting scriptures in front of a classroom, which was what was expected of him.

Joseph worried about Joshua, and the truth was, he worried about every man in this room.  They were all at risk because each and every one of them possessed certain qualities that made them susceptible to accusations.

"What do you write?" Justin asked. 

"A spell," Joshua replied, and blew lightly upon the parchment.  "For protection.  Something I learned in England, where there are also many witches."  He read aloud from the paper, "Lord Jesus Christ be the preserver of Joseph Fatone, his cows, calves, milk, butter, cattle of all ages, mares, suckers, horses, of all ages yews, lambs, sheep of all ages, pigs, sows and prosper him on this farm to live luckily saved from all witchcraft and evil men or women spirits or wizards or hardness of heart amen.  I shall find a hidden spot in the wall to put it, and this is all I will do regarding this terrible mess!" 

His announcement was met with uneasy silence.  This was the closest any of them had ever been to anything resembling magic and the price of such foolishness was a death sentence.  Still, it seemed well-intentioned, and Joshua was the furthest thing Joseph could imagine from a witch.  "My thanks," Joseph said firmly, and clapped his hands together.  "And now, perhaps you will sing?  Distract us from our troubles, dear friend."

Joshua's knee bounced nervously.  It was beautifully done as usual, but even as he sang, his fingers smoothed lines of anxiety onto his trousers, over and over again.

***

"Christopher."  The hiss of Justin's whisper rose unexpectedly from Justin's side of the room, but this time Christopher did not mind.  Sleep eluded him, and Justin's voice was a welcome reprieve from his own pessimistic thoughts.

"Yes?"

When he answered, he heard the rustling of Justin's blankets, the squeak of floorboards, and then a heavy weight on the side of his bed.  He struggled into a sitting position and adjusted his eyes to the darkness.  Justin curled into himself, a small shape on the edge of the mattress.  "I am afraid," he confessed, and leaned in closer.  "Please, Christopher.  You know things of the world, do you not?"

"I…"

"You were schooled at Cambridge; you live in the city."

"Yes.  I have some knowledge, but-"  But not of the goings on in Salem.

Justin shivered beneath his white nightshirt.  "This talk of witches…I am frightened, Christopher.  I have seen my cousin reduced to nearly a corpse, I have seen how terrified she becomes at times.  Have you not seen it?"

"I have."

"What stops Satan from going after one of us, next?" he asked, sounding younger than Christopher had thought possible.  His heart broke a thousand times for Justin, who didn't understand what was going on any more than the rest of them, but seemed to feel it as deeply as Joshua.

"You are safe here," Christopher promised, and took Justin's hand in his own.  The pads of his fingers were warm and callused, so much hard labor already behind him, at such a young age.

"No, no, I fear not," Justin said frantically, his breath coming more quickly.  "I fear that I have already been bewitched," he confessed, dropping his voice to a whisper.  His eyes squeezed shut with regret, and he tried to withdraw his hand, but Christopher held firm.

"What symptoms have you of bewitching?" he demanded, dreading what he might hear.

"I cannot explain!" Justin cried, begging Christopher with his eyes.  "I feel strange things, like I am not myself.  It is as though a fever has taken me at times…when I am near you, Christopher."

Quickly, Christopher released Justin's hand, letting it fall away onto the bed.

"I know it is not natural, but something has happened to me," Justin insisted, then confessed in his next breath, "I wish to kiss you."

"No!" Christopher hissed, more harshly than he had intended.  He didn't like the way that Justin recoiled, or the way his eyes glimmered bright and wet, even in the darkness.  Witchcraft, indeed.  Here was merely a boy with his first infatuation, that was all, and somehow he had been steered wrongly enough that Christopher had become the object of that affection.  "Do not cry," he said, more gently now, and gave Justin a soft touch on the shoulder.  "You are not bewitched."

Hope, bright and strong.  Justin could hide nothing.  "Are you certain?"

"Entirely.  What you are feeling…it is…somewhat expected.  It means you must find a young lady with whom you may share these feelings. 

Justin thought on this a moment, then sighed.  "Will you not kiss me, then?"

"I will not," he replied quickly, though he easily could have covered those worry-bitten lips with his own.  He lay back under his own covers, far from sleep, and Justin returned to his own bed, unkissed.

***

Justin was gone the next morning.

It was easy to chalk up his absence to his moody nature and a need for solitude, as he had been overly sensitive since the business of witchcraft had come to Salem, but when the sun began to set and he had still not returned, Joshua began to fret.

"Surely he did not return home," he said, stretching his long neck out the door.  "I know Justin.  He would sooner sleep in Joseph's barn than his own home."  Christopher joined him at the door and peered out at the mess of melting snow and ice.  Spring felt near; the ground was sludgy and difficult to travel.

"Is it truly so bad at his uncle's house?" He had wanted to ask this question for some time.

"Were you not witness yourself to his uncle's unmerited disdain?" Joshua asked.  Christopher watched the slim, delicate bend of his wrists as he shut the door tightly and put the bolt in place.  "That was the least of the wrongs he has done Justin." He paused, then let his hand fall from the door.  "He is not a cruel man, merely unthinking.  Justin needs a special kind of care, in case that has escaped your notice."

No, it had not.  Christopher had immediately recognized that Justin's heart was special, full and giving, but just as needy.  He bowed his head, shamed at the thought that perhaps he might have taken more care.  A kiss was not so much to ask.

Joseph emerged from upstairs, where he had been mending a broken shutter.  "Justin?" he asked, and from behind approached Lance, who swatted Joseph's hands away from the stew he was preparing.

"Not yet," Lance replied.  He'd been listening to their friends' discussion as he cut some vegetables for the meal.  "He has run off."

"Mmm."  Joseph stood behind Lance and leaned in to brush his ear with a quick, hidden kiss.  He wished to do more, but it was enough to feel the shiver that raced through Lance's body.  "It looks to be a tasty supper," he complimented warmly.

"If you leave me to it, it shall be," Lance murmured, stirring the mixture soundly.

"It grows dark," Joshua fretted, hands in his lengthy, wildly curling hair.  "Tomorrow, if he has not returned, I will ride to town and make certain he is home.  I…if I knew no better, I would fear that the witches had taken him."

"They have not!" Christopher scowled at the other man, turning to him in disbelief.  "If there were witches among us, they would certainly be doing more than causing a handful of girls to thrash about."

"What do any of us know of witches!?" Joshua argued.

"I know that Justin is not so foolish as to be taken by one."

"By one, perhaps not--but by many?"

"Are you mad?"

"Did you not see Bridget Bishop that day in town?"  Joshua asked, daring Christopher to deny it.  "I know what you felt when her eyes were upon you, for I feel the same!  You cannot say she was merely a woman."

Christopher kept his silence.  He would not deny the evil he had sensed in this woman, but her attentions had been focused on Joseph and Lance; Justin had not even been mentioned.  He would not deny her questionable character, but neither would he become one of the hysterical masses.  

***

"Joshua, I see you are about to aggravate our guest to the point of violence.  Before you do that, might you set the table?"  Joseph gestured at the long wooden table.  The tension had been strong all day, yet there was little he could do to calm them.  He supposed no one would feel quite at rest until these times of accusations had passed.

It came as no surprise to Joseph when he found Christopher in the barn later that evening.  No matter how much they enjoyed one another's company, in a house with so many men they were bound to seek solitude at one time or another.  With the weather so disagreeable, the barn was the only hiding place, and God knew Lance had fled there often enough.

Christopher was seated in nearly the same place that Joseph had last found Lance.  He smiled weakly when Joseph climbed the ladder and joined him.

"Have you already tired of our company?"

"He was not taken by witches," Christopher confessed, for that was where his thoughts lay; with Justin.  "We quarreled, and when I woke, he was gone."

"He has always been ruled by his impulses," Joseph told him, and settled onto the floorboards.

"It is the truth," Christopher said gravely.  "Yet I cannot help feeling that I was too harsh with him."

"I understand Justin," Joseph said.  "And with this understanding I tell you that it is through no fault of yours that he is gone.  He has had one foot out the door the entire time I have known him."

"And still…"  Christopher trailed off, staring into the shadows of the barn.  He could hear the horses shuffling restlessly below.  "…he is gone."

Joseph could not argue, and Christopher took this moment of silence to rise and brush the straw from his trousers.  "Shall I send Lance?" he asked, just before his head disappeared from view.  He didn't wait for a reply.

***

His thoughts ought to have been on how to ease Christopher's mind, but when Joseph heard the creak of the barn door, his pulse quickened and his only care was how long it might take Lance to climb the ladder and come into his arms.

Lance clambered onto the loft, a shy, private smile tugging at his lips, and Joseph completely forgot about Justin, Christopher, and everything else.  Twice now they had lain together in Joseph's luxurious bed, and twice Joseph had kissed and touched Lance, letting their bodies mold together until he could take no more of the sweet torture.  Then he had reluctantly pulled away, forcing his kisses to become chaste, slowly dousing the fire that had sprung up between them.  He wished for more- after all he had been married and was well aware of the pleasure he might offer Lance- but it seemed unwise to rush into such an irreversible affair.

He circled his arms around Lance and moved them forward until his back met with resistance.  There, he held Lance against the wall and lowered his head, loving the eager way that Lance lifted his face, offered his mouth for a kiss.  Everything about Lance radiated eagerness.  He didn't follow any rules of propriety that Kelly had so rigidly adhered to, either.  When he kissed, his mouth opened against Joseph's, tongue licking into Joseph's mouth with a barely restrained eagerness that bordered on desperation.

He could have kissed Lance forever, but his servant had other plans and brought his hand down low between the two of them, seeking out the heavy bulge in the front of Joseph's trousers.

"I do this to myself sometimes," Lance whispered, curving his hand around the hard length.  "It feels good, does it not?"

Joseph groaned as Lance began to rub with slow, debilitating strokes.  "It does," he confessed.  Even though what Lance had just described- touching oneself for sexual enjoyment- was strictly forbidden, Joseph found the very idea of Lance indulging in the act incredibly provocative.

"I…"  Joseph began, but halted.  He did not know if he should dare.

"What is it?" Lance asked, his mouth wet against Joseph's own.  His hand made it difficult to concentrate, squeezing up and down the length, drawing pleasure from Joseph as easily as he coaxed fresh milk from the heifers.

"There is something I know, something to make you lose your mind with pleasure," he said, his fingers already moving clumsily to undo the fastenings on Lance's pants.  "May I show you?"  He asked permission because it was something Kelly and all Godly women refused to do, save for one unforgettable time she'd been too many cups into her own brew of cherry bounce.

Lance made a sound of confusion when Joseph dropped to his knees, but when he nudged Lance's legs further apart and slid his mouth over Lance's thick, swollen manhood, the sound turned into an expression of surprised delight.  He half-expected Lance to protest, so he concentrated on making his mouth soft and tight, the perfect place into which Lance might thrust his cock, in and out, so slowly, so steadily, his fingers threading through Joseph's hair.

Joseph slid his tongue along the sleek, firm length that filled his mouth.  This part of Lance was as beautiful as the rest of him, and Joseph felt that he could stay here on his knees amidst the straw and dirt forever, so long as he could feel the thick curve of Lance's hip in his hand, taste the warm, salty flesh between his legs, and hear the low, urgent sounds coming from deep in his throat.

"Joseph," Lance said suddenly, and Joseph gratefully slid his hand up to the small of his servant's back, bringing him in even deeper, for it was the first time Lance had ever used his given name.  "Is it- is it your intention that I…if you do not stop, I shall go off now, soon," he gasped, but it was more plea than protest.  In response, Joseph added a hand to fondle the sacs that were drawn up tightly between Lance's legs, a move that made Lance still suddenly, his fingers and cock the only things moving, twitching mindlessly in Joseph's hair, inside his mouth, where he took everything Lance gave him.

The frenzied euphoria of the moment quickly faded, and Joseph became more and more aware of his surroundings; the restless hooves of the horses, the hard floor beneath his knees.  Intending to stand, he began to adjust Lance's trousers to appear more proper, but Lance fell to his knees, gathering Joseph in a tight embrace.

"It was wonderful," he whispered against Joseph's ear, and placed a kiss upon his temple.  His words were sweet but his hands spoke a more devious language, delving beneath Joseph's clothing until they found Joseph's smooth, soft skin.  "Let us move to your bed where I shall return the favor," he whispered just as quietly as before.

"Joshua," Joseph reminded him.  "And Christopher."

"We will be quiet, then, but I wish to have you bare, lying before me,"  Lance said, daringly.  Joseph grinned and leaned into his lover.

"Come, then."  Lance laughed at the eager haste with which Joseph hurried them from the barn, but he moved just as quickly, finishing his evening chores in half the normal time.

When they slipped into Joseph's bedroom, Joseph's breath was stolen for just a short moment, long enough for him to recognize that the cause was much more than anticipation of pleasure.  However strange, what he felt toward Lance was what he had felt for Kelly; something that everyone around him had named as love.

***

Of course he could tell no one, no one but Lance himself, who allowed Joseph to whisper the sentiment in his ear as often as he liked and it was nearly enough for Joseph, who grew accustomed to carrying around this wonderful, weighty secret.  At times he felt only moments away from telling Christopher and Joshua of the news, but his two friends carried their own great burden.  He did not wish to gloat over his fortune when they were so broken over the disappearance of Justin.

Often he had shut his eyes, clearing his mind in an attempt to see Justin's fate.  Each time he saw nothing, and each time his chest ached with sadness for the loss.  Christopher had become more grim and silent with each passing day, and Joshua grieved as someone who had lost the other half of himself.  He wished that Justin could see how dearly he was missed.  Joseph believed that if he had only believed himself loved, he would never have left.

The earth had begun to thaw, warming a little each day until green blossomed from Salem town to Salem village.  In the fresh, new season, it would have been easy to think perhaps the evil had been cleansed from Salem, but each week brought new atrocities and Christopher's log of the accused and their crimes was now thick and bound with a sturdy string.

Though at times he felt the strain of such troubled times, Joseph tried to make things as bearable as possible.

"I cannot believe you have never been fishing!" he shouted, coaxing Christopher down to the bank of his pond.  A city boy, that described Christopher perfectly, with his pale skin and sharp, suspicious way of looking at everyone.  Still, there were things that a man needed to know, and Joseph was determined to teach as much as possible.

Lance and Joshua snickered from a clearing where they searched for wildflowers like young lasses.  He meant to tell them as much, but Christopher settled comfortably onto the edge and squinted up at Joseph in the bright sun.  It may have been a trick of light, but he appeared happy in the golden afternoon, and Joseph smiled down at him with fondness.

"You may catch more fish that way, but I daresay it will be less painful to use the bait I have prepared."

Christopher jerked his bare toes from the water, eyes widely fixed on the water's surface until he realized he was being laughed at.  "Watch yourself," he warned, a teasing threat.  "Or you may find yourself taking an unintended swim."

They sat together on the grass and spent the afternoon fishing, with little success.  Up the bank, nearer to the trees, they could hear their friends singing together, Joshua's strong, bright voice lifting over Lance's lower one.

"I can hardly believe he is the same silent creature that greeted me," Christopher said.

"Aye.  It is a change," Joseph replied, letting his eyes wander to his lover, who was listening intently to Joshua's instruction.  "And yet, he remains the same.  He is still the servant I purchased from my brother."

"He is more than that," Christopher insisted, then lowered his voice.  "He serves you well, but not as a servant.  As a wife,"  he added, unable to believe his own daring.

Joseph squared his shoulders and turned away from the lovely sight on the hill.  Down into the water he looked, into the dark depths where he might find a way to explain this thing to Christopher.  There were no answers in the pond, though, no more than existed on the ceiling where he searched for them at night.

"Please," he said, his body tensing as though for battle.  Though he had lived many months with Christopher, he did not know his new friend's view on this type of love.  "Tell no one, or we shall go up with the others."  To the gallows.

"No, never!" Christopher swore.  "That was not my intention, Joseph.  If anyone can find happiness in this terrible time, especially in his own home, I cannot object."  He did not mention that he himself might have had that very thing had he not been so careless and afraid.

"I do not know what I have found," Joseph confessed.  "It is new, and I do not need to tell you how it would be looked upon."

"He is all you see."  Christopher lay back on the grass and threw an arm across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Aye, it is true."  Joseph admitted, a red blush blooming across his cheeks.  He could not rid his mind of thoughts of Lance no matter the time of day.  In the afternoon he entertained thoughts of his servant's face, at night time he thought only of the pleasures to come, and upon waking his first thoughts were to seek a kiss and a good morning from the lovely mouth.

"Is it?" Christopher asked sharply.  "Is he the reason you see nothing else?"

"I…"  Joseph was taken by surprise.  "You speak of Justin," he stated quietly, and for once his handsome face bore no smile.  "It is true that I've seen nothing of his whereabouts, but do not suggest it is due to his absence in my thoughts."

He did not get to hear Christopher's reply, for approaching from along the edge of the lake was Bridget Bishop, carrying a large basket of stones.  Though the basket surely held great weight, she carried it as though it were no lighter than a feather.  "Good day, Brother Joseph!" she called.

"Good day," he replied.  "I trust you are well?"

She was beautiful, Christopher had to admit.  She had smooth, pale skin that was sprinkled with freckles, and long, dark eyelashes.  He had thought her eyes to be blue before, but now it seemed quite obvious that they were as green as the newly blooming earth.   Her beauty had escaped his notice in their first few meetings, for it seemed the proper thing to rush off whenever approached by the strange woman.

Joseph wasn't rushing, though.  Unlike Joshua, he didn't seem frightened by her approach.  He offered a charming smile and his help with her load, which she brushed off, laughing through her windblown hair.

"Oh, you dear boy!" she beamed.  "I can handle my work, but many thanks.  I was just thinking to myself today, I have not been out this way since end of last summer."

Lance and Joshua were silent now, watching warily from their clearing but not daring to approach.

"I see young Joshua is as skittish as ever," she said, noticing their attention.  She set her basket on the ground.  Even Christopher found this amusing, for Joshua had convinced him that Miss Bishop posed a great danger.  As it was, she gathered her skirts and found a place to rest near Joseph.

"Aye.  Though I daresay you enjoy exploiting his nervous nature," Joseph scolded, giving Christopher a playful wink.

"Perhaps," she admitted.  "But it is not nearly the fun it once was.  It seems that fear has taken over the world.  You know of what I speak," she said to Christopher, and studied his face, long and hard.  "Salem has stolen your soul," she said sadly, and brushed her hair from her freckled face to better see him.

"No," he said, unsure of her meaning.  "My soul belongs to the Lord, as it always has."

This drew a great, bright laugh from Miss Bishop.  "Of course," she said, and patted his knee as though he were a child.  "Then it is your heart, perhaps, which you have lost in Salem."

Fear wound its way up through his belly, but before he could reply, she was addressing Joseph.  "Love," she said coyly, "is much like a spell, is it not?"

Joseph, who was never quick to anger, rose to his feet.  "What is your meaning?" he demanded.  "Why do you choose those words?"

She simply laughed and rose, retrieving her basket with its odd contents.  "I am merely making an observation," she said.  "Is it so surprising to think that I, too, may have once had a lover?"

Yes, Christopher thought, and could tell that Joseph had similar thoughts.

"Give your Lance a kiss for me," she called, and turned to go, walking a harlot's walk, hips sashaying with invitation.  "And Joshua, as well."

"I shall," Joseph growled, his hands clenched at his sides.  Christopher could not believe how swiftly this woman had brought his patient friend to this point.  He stared angrily after Miss Bishop until Lance came running down the grassy slope, followed by Joshua.

"I saw her hand upon your leg!" Joshua exclaimed.  "You should never allow yourself to be touched by a witch!"  He kept his distance from Christopher as though afraid he might become tainted.

"It was nothing," Christopher said.

Lance looked anxiously up at Joseph.  "Is this true?  Was it nothing?"  With his fingers, he smoothed the worry from Joseph's face.

"All is well," Joseph murmured.  "She likes to stir up trouble.  It is the reason she is shunned, after all."

"Not so!  We shun her because she is a witch!" Joshua protested.

Christopher did not think Joseph would argue that point, and he did not.  It did not fully make sense to Christopher.  "Why is she not hung?" he asked.  "She has not even been accused, when all others with questionable reputations are tossed into prison."

"A true witch can veil the truth," Joseph speculated, and crossed his arms over his chest.  "She can fog the minds of otherwise rational men."

"Then why do we see her for the evildoer she is?"

"She is not an evildoer--merely a bit strange.  And I am the only soul to show her any amount of kindness.  We are safe from her trickery."

"Perhaps."  Christopher stared off toward the spot where she had disappeared.  "How did she come to this way of life?"

Joseph shrugged.  "Many years ago, when I was just a child, four or five years at most…she was rumored to be with child.   There was never any babe to show for it, yet I remember coming across her outside the Indian village west of town.  She walked slowly, for she was heavy with child.  She stopped to talk with me and I shall never forget…she touched my face and said some words I did not understand.  It made me feel strange," he added.

"Never let them touch you," Joshua said, shivering.  He wrapped his arms around his slender frame and held tight.

"My father said the same thing.  He found me there with her and dragged me home.  I do not know which angered him more- that I spoke with such a lady or that I was at the Indian village.  I was forbidden to go there." 

"That cannot be," Christopher protested.  "She is not old enough.  She would have been but a child herself, if what you say is true."

"No," Joseph said, frowning in memory.  "I do not know.  I cannot tell you her age."

"Her age is no less than forty years, of that I can tell you!" Joshua said.  "She is an old woman, yet behaves as a young harlot."

Christopher gaped.  "Your eyes tell you lies!  That woman is not a day older than this one," he said, pointing to Lance, who stayed as silent as they day they had met.

"It is trickery."  His face ashen, Joshua turned and walked away.  He kept to the edge of the lake, becoming smaller and smaller to their eyes.

"He is afraid," Christopher murmured.  "I do not understand, but I do not fear her."

Joseph asked Lance to go after him, and Lance had never denied him anything.  He trotted off after Joshua, grabbing at the long weeds as he walked.  Joseph watched him go and took a deep breath, turning to Christopher.

"Sit," he invited, and settled on the spot where they'd spent most of the day.

Christopher joined him and pulled off his doublet, stretching his arms and unfastening the first few buttons of his shirt.  This done, he kicked off his boots and stretched out in the late afternoon sun.  He wished to simply forget the existence of Bridget Bishop.

"Ah, you are a true country-dweller now," Joseph chuckled.  "Should you attempt to return to the city, you shall find it overcrowded and uninhabitable."

"Perhaps," Christopher admitted.  "I am finding the spring much more agreeable than the cold and wet of the past months."  He stopped, noticing Joseph's distraction.  It was obvious from the way Joseph paused and then held his words that he wished to speak.  "What is it?"

"It is Miss Bishop.  What she said," Joseph immediately replied. "Of love resembling a spell.  Is it possible?  If…"  He rubbed his fist on his eyes, tightly shut.  "You know of Lance and I," he said, a whisper that Christopher strained to hear.  "And I worry…what if it is indeed a bewitching?  I have always found him beautiful, Christopher, but he had never returned my glances, my admiration.  Then suddenly he comes to me with all the love I had hoped for, and what if it is not his own free will?  If he is under a spell, then perhaps he will someday awaken from it and hate not only me, but himself."

Christopher stared at his friend, then turned his gaze across the lake where he could still see the faraway shape of Miss Bishop.  "You speak nonsense, Joseph, I hope you know this.  Yet, I will confess something that I have told no one."

He had held this secret so tightly, so deep inside himself that it felt ancient, as though he had kept it locked away for years instead of merely weeks.

"Justin," he said, and it hurt to say the name after so long.  "Justin came to me the night before he left.  He feared he had been bewitched, for he wished to kiss me.  I called him foolish and sent him back to bed."

"Is it possible?"

Christopher shrugged and brushed a grasshopper from the leg of his trousers.  "I do not know.  I do not think he was bewitched.  He simply knows very little of courting."

"I will not argue with that.  He never returned the attentions of the young ladies.  He would hide from them until they grew tired."  Joseph chuckled, but Christopher remained pensive.

"It made his uncle angry?"

"Everything displeased his uncle," Joseph said.  "It makes sense that Justin would wish to kiss you and it is understandable that he thought himself bewitched.  These feelings are new to him, and it is as Miss Bishop said; love can feel very much like a spell."

"I regret my refusal."  So much could have been avoided, and Christopher would have had the privilege, the pleasure, of tasting those lush, pink lips that never ceased asking questions.  If he was bewitched, then I am bewitched as well.

Joseph just nodded, his heart full of sympathy.  He did not know how he would react if Lance disappeared.  As it was, he wanted nothing more than to pack a bag and go into the world, to find Justin and bring him home.

They sat in silence until Lance and Joshua returned.

***

July brought a stifling bout of heat that kept them stripped down to their trousers for nearly a week.  It was too hot to be indoors, and only when the sun went down did Joseph attempt any hard labor.  In the afternoons, they lazed about in the shady shelter of the trees, trying to make up for the previous night's lost sleep.  Christopher stopped making the long journey from town every evening, for the sweltering weather took too much from him.  At the end of each day, he retired to Joshua's home and they sweated through their supper before retiring to their beds.

Late one afternoon, Joseph wandered down from the fields in search of Lance.  He owed Lance an apology, for earlier they had quarreled.  Joseph, curious to know everything of his lover, had asked him of his family and home.

"You are not a hatchling," Joseph had teased, when met with resistance. "Everyone has a mother and father and perhaps a brother?" 

After a long, accusing silence, Lance had stalked off with no reply. 

He stopped, for there he found his servant at the lake.  In the lake.  He had stripped out of his clothing and was wading in shallow waters, bringing up handfuls of water to pour on his body.  The light caught the trails of moisture and made him glimmer enticingly in the heat.  Joseph blinked and dropped his tool chest into the grass.

As much as he wished to go to Lance, he did not.  It seemed that he was still angry, but Joseph could not tell; he only knew it was too soon to approach with an apology. 

Instead, he settled on the ground in the shade of a great oak tree.  His shirt had been long since discarded and his feet were bare, searching leisurely through the tall grass for hidden cool pockets.  Sweat dripped down his neck; it was far too hot to do any of the work that had accumulated.

The sight of Lance cooling himself in the water pushed all thoughts of work from Joseph's mind.  The heat had kept them both lethargic all week, too sticky and miserable to share more than words and longing glances.  Now, with his eyes on Lance's naked body, Joseph did not feel the effects of the wretched weather but the full, round shape of Lance's bottom had quite an effect.  Inside his sweat-damp trousers, his cock took attention and stiffened quickly, though he reminded himself that Lance was still angry.  It mattered not to his body, which could not seem to get enough of Lance and everything he had to offer.

And Lance indeed had much to offer.  Just thinking about it now…Joseph released the fastenings of his trousers.  Perhaps he would go for a swim before supper.  Or perhaps he would just lie here and watch Lance stretch his arms out over his head, beautifully sensual in his own quiet, simple way.

It must be a spell, Joseph thought.  Nothing but the wickedest kind of magic could possibly cause him to be here under God's blue sky with his hand in his trousers, watching a young, naked man in the water.  Whatever the cause he did not care, for nothing could tear his gaze away from Lance's bared skin or his hand from his own cock.  It was insane to be here and doing this filthy deed where he could be so easily caught, but pleasure stole his good sense.  His eyes fell shut, the image of Lance still with him, and he moved his hand faster, the bark of the tree digging into his back.  If his skin had been hot before, it now burned with unspent lust.  Joseph had done this many times, but never fueled by such wanting and even with his eyes closed, all he could see was Lance.

Heavy drops of moisture splashed cold onto his foot.  Startled, his eyes flew open and there was Lance, wet and dripping.  No longer angry, he stood over Joseph with a sad, pensive expression.  Joseph froze, his hand stilling mid-stroke.  There was really no way to hide what he'd been doing, but Lance did not even seem to notice.  He seemed more preoccupied with his own perplexed confusion.

Joseph waited, squirming hotly under the scrutiny.

"I do not know what you see when you look at me," Lance said, looking down at Joseph.  More cool drops rained down from his hair as he shook his head in frustration.  "I did not mean to be cross with you earlier…but when you look at me too closely, Joseph, it makes me afraid that you will begin to see me as others always have."  

It was an apology, but it was given with such bewildered desperation that the victory was hollow for Joseph.  It was also closer to an explanation than anything Lance had ever offered him.  He did not know what to say, so he spoke from his heart. 

"I ought not be looking at all," Joseph admitted, "but it seems I cannot stop."  His desire had waned during their talk, but Lance dropped to his knees and took Joseph in hand and with that touch it was as though the interlude had never happened.

"I want you to never stop," he whispered, and his mouth closed over Joseph's as he kneeled naked in the grass and took over the abandoned task. 

***

Though the sun was absent, hidden by thick, sullen clouds, the heat remained.  It felt as though the heat had been trapped between the heavens and earth in order to burn them all alive, a fitting punishment for a town such as Salem, Joseph thought.  His head throbbed with confusion as he looked up at the group of people who were only moments away from hanging by their necks.  Lance stood silently at his right, and at his left were Christopher and Joshua, both wilted and damp in the wretched heat.  It was only mid-morning.

"Reverend Parris!" Joshua hissed, straining to see over the crowd.  "It is the Reverend!"  Joseph followed his gaze and found Reverend Parris' familiar face in the group of the accused.  It could not be.  Were not even ministers safe from this curse?   John Hathorne stood at the foot of the gallows and read from a list of accusations, but the roar in Joseph's ears kept him from understanding.  He did not need to understand why these friends were being killed, only that he could do nothing to stop it.

Next to him, Christopher was dutifully reciting the Lord's Prayer and it carried with it the weight of a hundred voices.  The entire village had come to see the end of the accused, and Joseph felt suddenly lost, as if in a dream.  He had only meant to check the clouds for rain, but his line of vision was invaded by the plummet of the first victim.  The roar of the crowd echoed deep in his gut.  It stole his breath and he tore his eyes from the sight, bringing them back to the safe familiarity of his friends.

Joshua, who had made a valiant attempt at remaining calm up to this point, recoiled from the sight; he could no more remain detached than he could hang these people himself.  Wishing for the comfort of Justin, he found Christopher instead, who stretched out his arms and Joshua stumbled into them, already blinded by the grief he had tried so hard to contain. 

Joseph watched.  Though it hurt him, he watched Joshua cry, something he had never witnessed.  It was a terrible sight to see his lovely, fragile form shaking with the force of such pain, tears spilling down his cheeks and onto Christopher's already wet shirt.  Christopher's fingers were pale in contrast to Joshua's dark curls, threading through and holding him tightly, and he was grateful, though Christopher's embrace did little to calm him.  So many months and all that came were more accusations.

"Is there no help for us?" Joseph asked quietly, and Lance's hand on his arm was not a comfort; the touch clung to his skin with sweat and brought the blackest kind of heat down from the sky. The world tilted dizzily and Joseph could not breathe for the blanket of darkness that slid over the earth.  "Justin," he breathed, and tasted the ocean.  The ground rushed up to meet him.

***

"Does he wake?"

Christopher, emerging from Joseph's bedroom, shook his head.  "He still sleeps.  His dreams are troubling."

They had somehow carried Joseph to the carriage and brought him home, where he had been resting fitfully in his bed for the past two days.  Lance stayed in the fields and barn, working the days away and not even coming inside to check on his master.   "It is not what you think," Christopher said.  "It is not witchcraft.  He is ill, that is all."

"He has no fever."

"As if anyone might be able to tell, in this heat!" Christopher snapped.  The house was stifling, full of wet, scorching air that refused to bring forth rain.  He wiped at his face with his sleeve, which was already soaked through from repeating this motion all morning.  "Do not let your fear lead you to ridiculous hysteria," he warned.  "It is how all this began, after all.  Terrified girls with too much imagination and too little discipline."

"That is what Joseph would say," Joshua murmured.  He sat by the window and whittled idly at a piece of wood with his knife.  At first Christopher had thought it might be a horse; now it resembled a turtle.

"Then take it as the truth."

"I shall try."  Joshua smoothed a thumb over the edge of his creation, his face thoughtful.  "I know you think me cowardly.  But I have witnessed many things…things that you cannot imagine in the safety of this place…and by those things, I believe.  Terrible things exist, Christopher, and they have come to Salem."

It was true, Christopher could not argue.  Regardless of whether or not they were surrounded by witches, evil was certainly present; there was no other explanation for the execution of so many good townsfolk.  "I do not think you a coward," he said.  He liked Joshua, for being near Joshua was much like spending time with Justin.  He'd obviously had a considerable influence on their young friend; they both wore their exposed emotions similarly.  "I am glad you are here," he admitted.

"And if you were not here," Joshua said, a small smile playing upon his lips, "I would be alone to tend to Joseph.  I daresay he would never recover!"

Christopher returned the smile, grateful for the compliment, but inside he felt nothing but uncertainty.  If I were not here, Justin would still be at your side, he could not help but think.  "We may bicker," he said uneasily, "but in the end we wish for the same things."

Joshua took a long time to reply, but when he did, he raised his eyes to meet Christopher's.  "Aye," he said, and folded his hand around the half-formed wood. 

***

Christopher had been gone for hours.  It unnerved Joseph to be left alone for so long with Joseph, who muttered nonsense in his sleep.  Though he lived alone, Joshua was used to being in the city.  When one stepped outside in the country, one walked into a bottomless cavern of darkness, and he did not like feeling trapped.

Finally, there was a knocking at the door and Joshua eagerly removed the bolt.  Christopher had returned with a guest, who trailed at his heels.

"No," Joshua said, but his voice failed the first time and he repeated himself more forcefully, "No."

Christopher did not pause.  His face set with determination, he made straight for the bedroom, followed by a flurry of billowing red silk.  Red silk!  It was unheard of.  He had not even seen such a thing since the streets of London.  Christopher was risking all of their necks by inviting her here.

"No," he said again, but Christopher and the witch were already at Joseph's side and it seemed pointless to protest any further.  Hovering in the doorway, he watched with a suspicious eye. 

Miss Bishop perched on the side of Joseph's wide bed and touched his face with a heavily jeweled hand.  "He is not ill," she observed.  "And it is not a hex.  He will wake when the dreams are gone."  She patted the covers and looked around the room.  Joshua avoided her eyes, frightened of what he might see. 

"And where is the beautiful boy?" she asked.  "He is usually here, is he not?"

"He ran off," Joshua replied immediately, tapping his boot on the floor.  "Months ago." 

At this, she laughed.  "Not the Parris boy," she said.  "Though I see where your thoughts lie.  I speak of the servant." 

Joshua flushed crimson, angry with the trickery of her words and what they had revealed.  He did not need to raise his eyes from the floor to feel Christopher's questioning interest or Miss Bishop's unveiled amusement. 

"Please leave," he said, and he could scarcely utter the words, his throat felt so tight.     

For once, the cursed woman did as she was asked. 

***

"She likes to make trouble.  Still, I thought she might help Joseph."  It sounded like an apology.

Joshua had heard Christopher enter the room, but refused to open his eyes.  Curled up on the bed next to Joseph, he felt restful for the first time in days.  "I am tired," he murmured against the pillow, and heard Christopher pause briefly before moving closer.  The mattress shifted and he knew that Christopher had stretched out at the foot of the bed. 

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," Christopher offered quietly.  "He is beautiful, after all." 

Joshua almost did not reply.  A combination of misery and the heat had sapped all of his energy, and he did not wish to dwell on his blunder.  Before Justin had left, Joshua had seen him with Christopher.  He had heard their voices coming from their shared bedroom late into the night.  Joshua had known Justin for so long; it was impossible to miss the fascination he had for Christopher.  "Justin has been my friend for a long, long while," he said finally, though it hurt him.  "But I always knew he would eventually meet someone and be a little less my own." 

Christopher made a surprised sound and lifted his head from the deep blankets.  Though the flickering light of the candle threatened to die out at any moment, Joshua could see the vague shape of him as he spoke. 

"My friendship with Justin makes him no less yours." 

Joshua sighed, long and deep into his pillow.  "We speak of him as though he is here.  As though we shall ever see him again."  It was becoming more and more difficult to swallow the bitterness that he had always sworn he would never feel.  Soon he would be an angry old fool like Reverend Parris had been.      

"We shall."  Christopher remained stubborn, and nudged at Joshua with his bare foot.  "He will grow bored with whomever he spends his time and return to us, full of exaggerated tales."  

"We shall have some tales of our own," a rusty voice croaked.

Joshua scrambled into a sitting position, nearly toppling Christopher from the bed in his haste.  "Joseph!" he beamed, and threw himself onto his old friend, who was smacking his lips as though he'd tasted something bad.  "Christopher," Joshua said quickly.  "Some water?"  

As Christopher fetched the water, Joshua ran his eyes fretfully over Joseph's face, searching for signs of damage.  Though he expected him to have many questions, Joseph asked none.  For all his days of slumber, he seemed bone-weary.  When Christopher returned, he gratefully took the water and with it, took on more of his own natural color. 

"Where have you been?" Joshua scolded lightly, unable to keep the smile from his lips.  "Off in a dream while the rest of us suffer through this heat?" 

Joseph shared the smile and raised his arm to thread his thick fingers through Joshua's long curls.  His face held something between happiness and sorrow, something that hailed from not this moment, but from the place where he'd been lost for so many hours.  He was wise to secure his hand so firmly over the back of Joshua's neck, for otherwise Joshua would have bolted when he caught the traces of uncertainty that lingered in Joseph's smile. 

"No," Joshua said, and moved to pull away.  Joseph just brought him in closer.  "Hush," he ordered, and brushed his thumb lightly across the back of Joshua's neck over and over, soothing his nerves. "It is not as terrible as you might think." 

"You saw him," Joshua whispered, letting his eyes fall shut.

"I did." 

In one brief, unending moment, Joshua was hunted by every frightening scenario he had ever imagined, but it all fell away when Joseph released the handful of curls and took Joshua's trembling hands instead.  "He has done as we always jested he might.  He has caught a ship that has already sailed." 

Christopher finally spoke.  "Is he well?"

Joseph's pause made Joshua's heart clench painfully in his chest.  After a moment he answered, choosing his words carefully.  "I believe so," he said slowly.  "I saw many things while I slept.  It may take me some time to decipher what is real and what is imagined." 

"Of course," Christopher said, and drew his legs up close to his body.  Though elated by Joseph's news, he felt lethargic, sleepy, as though he could sleep as long as Joseph himself had.  The uncommon luxury of Joseph's bed was to blame, of course, but it was also the first time in months that he had not been plagued by apprehension over Justin's fate.  For a while at least, he could rest easy. 

When he woke, he was alone and the sun was on his face. 

***

Joseph chuckled as Christopher sheepishly emerged from his bedroom.  He already seemed wilted by the heat, which Joseph had felt, too, when he woke.  That was easily taken care of with an early morning swim, even though Lance had hovered like a nursemaid the entire time, begging him to take more of a rest. 

"You might have awakened me," Christopher grumbled.  "I did not mean to steal your bed." 

"By the time I woke we had all slept the night away, and Joshua with his knee in my back.  It is a wonder I can even walk today!" 

Joshua, bent over a thick book with Lance, did not even look up at the remark. "If you are having trouble getting about, perhaps it has more to do with your suspiciously long swim than with my knee, dear friend," he replied smoothly. 

"Vulgar!" Joseph laughed, pleased at the emergence of the old Joshua even though it caused his servant at the table to blush fiercely.  "With those thoughts, I'll wager it was not your knee, then, that interrupted my sleep."

For Joshua's sake, Christopher covered his smile and wandered nearer to the table to get a better look at the book that so intensely held his friend's attention.  Lance, who could not read, traced the pictures with his finger while Joshua read silently, his lips moving wordlessly. 

"What is this?" Christopher asked. 

Joshua turned a page, not taking his eyes from the text before him.  "It was left behind by Miss Bishop," he said.  "I…cannot tell, but it seems a friendly gesture.  The book tells a great many tricks that one can use for protection against witches.  We have just read of how to create a witch bottle, and it does not seem overly difficult." 

"I have no worries of witches!" Joseph announced.  "I worry more of a town of decent Christians consumed by accusations than I ever shall of being tormented by a witch." 

Joshua ignored him.  They'd had this same conversation too many times in the past months.  "Look at this."  He began to read aloud from the book.  "And on the skin of every witch, somewhere on the body shall be a mark to identify her as such."  He pointed to a small picture in the corner of the page.  "This is the mark," he said, "It resembles a star, I think."  

"A star?"  Joseph suddenly lost interest in his breakfast.  Surely it could not be…he moved to the table and leaned over Joshua's shoulder for a closer look at the drawing.  "This is…what is this?" he demanded. 

"As I said," Joshua replied nervously, scooting over to make room for Joseph, who ignored the invitation.  "The mark of a witch, according to this book." 

"What is the matter?"  Christopher, less clouded by his emotions than Joshua, preferred to cut right to the point of things.  

"I…"  Joseph let his eyes travel to Lance, who sat silently next to Joshua, waiting fearfully for his reply.  When it was evident exactly where Joseph had rested his pained gaze, Lance stood abruptly like a nervous, hunted, rabbit. 

"I have seen this mark," Joseph confessed helplessly, though he could scarcely believe it.  Whatever it meant in this book, it meant nothing to him. 

"You…where…"  Joshua trailed off, for Joseph's expression made it obvious where he had seen the mark. 

Lance stood aside the table, perfectly still as though he had been caught behaving badly.  He swiped his tongue over his lips and coughed; it had been so long since he'd spoken.  "Where?" he asked, his face stone, and stretched out his arms, offering himself.  Everyone remained motionless, the room frozen in uncertainty and reluctant fear. 

Joseph went to him. 

He met Lance's eyes, for they were the same eyes that followed him around so adoringly every day, the same eyes that burned so brightly during their lovemaking.  A foolish bit of superstition did nothing to change that.  He put a hand on Lance's shoulder and turned him, trailing his hand from Lance's shoulder to his waist, tugging at the trousers to reveal a small expanse of flesh.  

When he moved his hand away they all saw it, dark and defined against the pale satin of his skin. 

"Here," he said, and put his finger on the center of the mark, which sat just above the curve of his buttocks. 

Joshua drew back, afraid. 

"I do not fear it," Joseph said with confidence, and lifted his finger to his lips in a kiss before returning the finger to the cursed mark.  Lance said nothing, as usual, but when Joseph returned his trousers to their proper place and turned him again, he found his lover's face wet with tears that fell silently from wide, terrified eyes. 

"It is a trick," Joseph insisted, and grabbed Lance to him.  "It is a trick," he whispered against his ear.  "And if it is not, I shall love you still.  This changes nothing."  Lance clung to him, and Joseph was grateful when Christopher urged Joshua discreetly out of the house.

***

Christopher followed Joshua out of the house and into the stifling heat.  They walked for a while until the woods thickened, blocking out the worst of the mid-day sun.  Christopher knew how frightened Joshua had been by what they had seen, but what could he say?  They walked in silence until Joshua stopped them with a hand upon his arm. 

"I must know," he said, his fingers already working at his buttons.  One by one, he pulled them apart and removed his shirt, then his trousers until he was standing naked before Christopher.  "Please. Tell me I have no mark.  I couldn't bear it if…" 

He had not known that Joshua could ever be so shameless as to stand in the open air with not a stitch of clothing, but fear did strange things to men.  His urgency frightened Christopher and made it impossible to refuse, especially when he begged with a small,

"Please." 

He could not refuse. 

"Turn around," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.  He assumed that Joshua had seen the front of his own body as often as Christopher had seen his own.  When Joshua turned and braced his hands against a tree, Christopher allowed his eyes to travel over the pale slope of his back, down to the small, firm buttocks and lean, lightly haired thighs.  There was no mark, not a blemish of any sort, yet Christopher let his gaze linger, drifting further than it needed to into the shadows between his legs. 

"Tell me," Joshua choked softly.  "The truth.  I can bear it." 

Christopher shook his head and allowed his fingers to trace the same sweaty path his eyes had taken.  "There is nothing here," he said, and daringly allowed his fingers to dip between Joshua's thighs, parting them to look between.  "Turn," he whispered.  Joshua would not turn at first, but after a moment he slowly obeyed, keeping his eyes on the forest floor, arms at his sides. 

With both hands, Christopher reached out and urged Joshua's arms up.  "Lift," he said quietly, and Joshua lifted his arms to reveal the white, soft skin of his sides.  "You are unmarked here, as well."  Joshua nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as though this was causing him pain.  But surely it did not hurt him; not when Christopher was being so careful to keep his hands gentle as they searched out any unwanted markings.  Just in case, he gentled his touch even further, pressing Joshua's arms back down to his sides.  

A sharp intake of breath, and Christopher knew why Joshua stood so rigidly silent.  Joshua's cock, which had hung passively between his legs when he had first undressed, now arched up from his body, stiff, full and inviting.   It embarrassed him and he did the proper thing, looking away momentarily before returning his attention to Joshua's body.  "I.  I- am finished," Christopher stammered, and the words had scarcely left his mouth before Joshua snatched his clothes from the ground and held them to his body, covering himself.  His skin flushed a deep, dark red. 

He took a step away from Christopher, then another.  "I apologize," he finally managed, and Christopher thought that Joshua could look no more ashamed had he actually found the mark on his body.  "It is not what you think.  It has merely been a long while since I was touched, and my body is optimistic, embarrassingly so."

His long fingers clutched white-knuckled at the bundle of clothing, but he did not move to put them on.  Instead, his eyes remained locked with Christopher's. 

"Apparently," Christopher began, watching Joshua closely, gauging every shift of his expressive face.  "Apparently yours is not alone in its optimism."  With a rueful smile he gestured at his own trousers, which had filled out quite obviously and did so even more under the heat of Joshua's curious gaze.  "And likewise, it has also been some time." 

"Oh," Joshua breathed, in what Christopher hoped was understanding.  It was difficult to determine Joshua's wishes, because he had such an uncertainty about him, a reluctance to engage Christopher in anything more involved than light conversation.

 His reluctance was perhaps what moved Christopher forward toward Joshua's naked body, because he was tired of moving so slowly when there was a beautiful man in front of him with only a handful of clothing between them.  With one hand he took the bundle from Joshua's hands and let it fall to the ground, leaving Joshua exposed to his eyes, his hands, and his mouth when he dipped his lips to Joshua's shoulder and tasted. 

Christopher dragged his lips across the smooth skin there and wondered how he could ever have been frustrated or annoyed with this sensual, compliant creature that shivered under his touch.  Joshua's eyes fell shut, his head lolling back in submission to everything that was offered.  Even though it had been nearly two years since Christopher had his hands on someone in this manner, they remembered well on their own what to do when presented with warm, young flesh. 

With one hand on his shoulder, Christopher pushed Joshua down onto the dirt and like a pleasure-drunk kitten, Joshua melted under his instruction, bending into every touch.

 Christopher paused for a second to admire Joshua; he was perfect on his knees, and Christopher sank to join him.  With a long forgotten thrill of sensation that throbbed at his groin and radiated outward, he lay his hand flat on Joshua's back and without mercy, pressed until Joshua was on all fours like one of Joseph's cattle.  It was fitting because seeing him like this, feeling his easy acquiescence made Christopher feel like a beast, something raw and wild simmering just beneath the surface. 

He barely took time peel open his own trousers before fitting himself against Joshua's back, his hand reaching around to grasp the heavy weight between Joshua's legs.  Quickly, ruthlessly, he pleasured Joshua with rough, unwavering strokes until Joshua was the one who sounded like an animal.  Christopher had never bedded an artist before, but he supposed as he licked a line up Joshua's spine that this is how one would be- wild and willing and open to anything.  It was nearly too much, and he tried to control the slide of his cock where it was settled between Joshua's buttocks.  Panting out each breath, he quickened his hand and felt Joshua shudder beneath him, shaking and moaning through a climax that Christopher carefully caught up on his fingers. 

If Joshua had been pliant before, he was now absolutely boneless, hardly holding himself off the ground.  Even when Christopher pressed two slippery fingers inside him all he did was moan, letting his head hang down between his shoulders.  A few more minutes of careful in and out, the slip and slide of Chris' hand in the quiet outdoors, and he was rocking back for more.  Even as Christopher held his hand still, Joshua continued to thrust back onto the fingers, fucking himself with great, sobbing breaths, his fingers clenched into the dirt and debris of the forest floor. 

Christopher paused for a moment before withdrawing his fingers from the tight heat of Joshua's body.  He wondered if Joshua knew what was going to happen, but when he curved his hands over Joshua's ass and spread it apart, pushing against the tight hole, Joshua rolled his hips and moaned,

"Carefully- I want this, Christopher, but go carefully please-" 

Christopher moaned in reply because his cock was already so hard, so sensitized and full of throbbing heat that just rubbing the head of his cock against Joshua's entrance shot tendrils of too-powerful pleasure through his entire midsection.  The tendrils threatened to explode into full-on completion, but he wouldn't let that happen, not yet.  Slowly, because Joshua had asked for the extra care, he pushed his way inside.

Joshua wiggled against him, each movement seizing Christopher's cock in a grip that was far better than his own hand could ever have been, and Christopher let himself go with it.  Apparently all the bickering they'd been doing up until this point had merely been foreplay, kindling on this fire that roared up between them now and took Christopher by storm.  Moisture dripped from his temples, rolled down his cheeks and onto Joshua's back, which if it had not been marked before now certainly was, with bites, kisses and the prints of Christopher's fingers. 

In and out of that heat he buried himself until nothing existed but the wave of pleasure he rode toward the crest.  When Joshua's arms gave out, he followed Joshua to the ground and held him there, bucking his hips forward and back with all his might, knowing that it wouldn't last much longer with Joshua so frantically wriggling his hips against the ground in his own quest for pleasure.  Suddenly, Joshua pushed himself into the ground, tightening around Christopher as he panted open-mouthed, his face wet and smeared with dirt.

 It was too much for Christopher to see Joshua in this ruined state, filthy and marked and torn apart with pleasure; he gave himself over to a climax that made stars dance behind his eyelids.  Over and over he pulsed into Joshua's body until he was spent and could do nothing but peel his sticky body from Joshua's and collapse next to him, his breath coming too quickly to speak. 

Clouds passed over the forest, sending them in and out of shadows, sunlight flickering over their naked bodies for as long as they lay there gathering strength.  Christopher wished to go submerge himself in the clean, cool water of the lake but was skeptical of his legs' ability to carry him the short distance to the water's edge.  There was also the matter of needing to finish things here with Joshua, to say something to put his friend at ease. 

"I do not know what to say," Joshua admitted, and leaned up on his elbows.  Christopher watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest, which was also covered with dirt and scratches.  He had not been careful enough, he realized, cringing.  Joshua was built more slightly than any of them, yet Christopher had taken him as he would have a lover twice Joshua's size. 

"Say that you are well," Christopher advised.  "And that you will forgive me for perhaps being less than gentlemanly." 

Joshua snorted, falling back onto the ground.  His eyes crinkled into half-moons as he giggled merrily.  "I do not know how things are done in Boston, but here in Salem- especially at a time like this- you would have much more to answer for than poor manners." 

Christopher joined his laughter and leaned in, brushing his lips across Joshua's forehead.  "Then I hope I shall never have to answer for this to anyone but you."  With that, he stood and began the search for his clothes.  When he was finished putting them on, Joshua had dressed as well, but was still in need of a washing.  Every time he caught a glimpse of Joshua's dirt-streaked face and damp, disheveled hair, his belly tightened with awareness that was better put away for a later time.

"What?" Joshua demanded, putting a self-conscious hand to his neck. 

"It is nothing," Christopher assured him, and began to walk toward the farm.  "But you may want to bathe in the lake before returning home."  Joshua nodded, falling quiet, probably embarrassed.  Christopher, who suddenly found him the most enticing creature on earth, wanted to tell him not to worry but settled for plucking a leaf from his hair.   

***

"When will it rain?"  Joshua demanded the next evening.  "Tell us, Joseph, when we will be delivered from this torturous heat." 

Joseph chuckled and put aside the mail he'd been reading.  Though no fire burned, he and Lance still liked to sit at the fireplace before bedtime.  Joshua and Christopher were busy at the table, surrounded by stacks of papers.  Joshua had begun assisting Christopher in his reports now that the accusations had grown to outlandish proportions. 

"I see rain aplenty," he admitted.  "Rain and-" he hadn't even known it until this very moment, but the rain brought with it an image of Justin, drenched by a downpour that Joseph could already sense in the air. 

"Stop that," he heard Joshua say in the background, and a light slap followed.  "Keep the stacks separate; the innocent go here." 

"There are none innocent," Christopher complained, and Joshua growled at him. 

"The ones we hope to prove innocent, then." 

Joseph hardly heard their bickering, for he had gone somewhere else, somewhere wet and humid that smelled of fresh earth and fertile soil.  "Justin returns with the rain," he predicted. 

The bickering came to a halt. 

"Justin?"  Christopher asked, his pen freezing mid-stroke.  Beside him, Joshua scarcely breathed. 

"Yes."  Joseph gave them a wide grin, nodding with certainty.  Lance smiled as well, and insinuated himself between Joseph's legs on the floor, his back to Joseph.  Taking the hint, Joseph put his hands on Lance's shoulders and began to knead the muscles with carefully applied strength.  Leaning in until his mouth touched the soft fluff of Lance's hair, Joseph whispered, "I had wondered when you might come to me.  I have seen you stretching your arms about all night.  But my magic touch shall ease every pain," he promised, and Joshua snorted from across the room. 

"I have had a taste of that 'magic touch,' myself," Joshua said.  "I was bruised for a week."

Joseph glared over at them, but did not stop his ministrations.  "My rubdowns are the most coveted in Salem," he boasted.  "If you did not find it beneficial, it is only because of your frail frame." 

Joshua stiffened with indignation, but his retort was drowned out by the laughter of Joseph and Christopher.  Still, amid the merriment, one thought stayed at the front of all their minds: Justin's return. 

***

"Are you awake?" 

Joshua's hushed, tentative approach reminded Christopher of Justin's late-night interruptions, and he turned onto his side to better talk, adjusting his pillow. 

"Of course I am," he said softly.  The heat made sleep impossible.  The frustrated sky shimmered with streaks of lightning that promised no rain.

Joshua stole quietly across the room as to not awaken their friends downstairs.  He put his candle on the bureau and sat next to Christopher on the bed.  His white nightgown had seen better days, and he picked at a loose thread on the sleeve as he spoke. 

"Justin returns," he said, and Christopher nodded.  Joshua waited a few moments, then dropped his forehead onto his knees.  "Do you ever…will you accept his offer?" he asked, and though his voice was muffled, Christopher could hear the apprehension that fueled the question.  He had told Joshua about the denied kiss, and had no doubt it was of what Joshua now spoke. 

Christopher considered the question carefully, remembering the shy, sidelong glances Justin had been so fond of giving him and the way they'd tempted him even before he'd known there was a chance of something actually happening.  Justin held an enormous appeal, but Christopher had developed more than an infatuation for Joshua; it was affection and comfort and heat all rolled into one, and they had already lain together. 

"I don't know," he said slowly, and brought his hand out from under the sheet to take Joshua's hand in his own.  "I have thought on it a great deal.  Have you not?  He is young, but it is difficult to ignore his beauty." 

Joshua stubbornly refused to reply, but Christopher knew he felt the same. 

"After he left, I found myself imagining what might have happened if I had accepted his offer, if I had lain him down on this bed and kissed him as he wished." 

It was the truth, but he worried that perhaps he had said too much; had ruined the tentative relationship he and Joshua had formed.  But instead of being offended, Joshua nodded slightly and moistened his lips with a quick sweep of tongue. 

"I once saw him," he said, then smiled sheepishly, tilting his head to his shoulder.  "Of course I have seen him many times when we swim or bathe, but I once spied him in the woods behind the servants quarters."  He stopped, covering his face with his hand, letting his fingers slowly slide down to his chin.  "I should not even be speaking of this," he whispered with a nervous laugh, darting nervous glances all around the darkened room. 

Christopher swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.  "I shall tell no one," he vowed, wanting to hear the rest.  His mind was already racing forward, painting the most lurid and delicious pictures.  Justin, in the woods, what had he been doing to make Joshua this tongue-tied?  Outside, Christopher could hear the wind picking up, but the promise of rain could do nothing to pull his attention from Joshua's story. 

"I…he took down his pants and I saw him- his…" Joshua shifted his knees on the bed, then continued.  "He was aroused," he whispered hoarsely.  "Hard in his hand and he knelt down, touching himself." 

Christopher closed his eyes, his veins racing with envy.  "You watched?" he asked, and knowing that his admiration was misplaced did nothing to lessen it. 

"I should not have," Joshua said.  "But I could not stop.  He was like nothing I had seen.  The way he moved…"  Joshua's thumb unconsciously stroked Christopher's hand as he spoke.  "He has such strong hands, too," he added.  "Not like mine.  He has labored so much, his hands have great strength and I stood there imagining, Christopher, what he must feel."  Joshua stopped, taking a shaky breath, and Christopher could sympathize.  The scenario very well took his own breath away, and he knew that the thin covering of the sheet did little to conceal the effect of Joshua's words on his own manhood. 

"He made some small sounds," Joshua continued, "but the greatest sound was…wet, his hand was wet with something, and his cock shone in the sun." 

As he spoke, Christopher untangled his fingers from Joshua's and reached under the covers to soothe the throbbing heat between his own legs.  Joshua noticed, that was apparent in the way he paused, watching the movement beneath the sheet, but he kept talking, regardless. 

"He slicked his hand over and over, and I heard the lunch bell being rung.  I knew that I had to leave, but my feet would not move.  The more frenzied he became, the more I was forced to watch.  I was so...affected...by what I saw, there was no way I could have gone back to the school." 

Christopher kicked at the blanket with one foot, pulling it down and caring nothing for his own nakedness.  He did not care that Joshua could see the blur of his hand moving on his cock, all he cared was that Joshua not stop until he finished the end of the story. 

"I- I so badly wanted to touch him," Joshua confessed, gritting his teeth in fears he might shake apart, and Christopher could not tell if he was actually leaning in closer or if it was just his own hopeful imagination.  "He was- beautiful.  His eyes were shut so he could not see me, but his mouth, his neck, his- cock-" he stuttered, "they were so red with blood-" 

Christopher's eyes flew open, his hand tightening around his cock, but it was too late.  That image alone had done it- sharp, shivery heat knifed up his thighs and tore him open in a wet, hot rush of glorious agony that left him shaking, moaning out his pleasure in a manner that made Joshua go wide-eyed and afraid that they would be overheard. 

"Christopher," he said, unable to tear his eyes from the mess that Christopher had just spilled onto his belly, and then, as Christopher pulled him down and pressed their mouths together, he said nothing at all. 

Outside, the rain fell slowly at first, then in torrents of welcome relief. 

***

Christopher sat on the unforgiving wooden bench and stared up at the wooden ceiling beams.  There were still thirty, the same number there had been only an hour earlier, and he was beginning to hope for a bit of genuine witchcraft to remedy the extremely tedious nature of these meetings. 

The magistrates spoke and argued back and forth over the issues, but the conversation always led back to the scriptures and ended in a competition of who was better versed. 

Christopher cared not who could better quote the gospels; his only wish was to be released from the tedium of recording these irrelevant discussions. 

A ruckus rose up from outside the wooden doors, the obstacle to his freedom, and he turned his head, unwilling to raise his hopes for another false alarm.  It was no false alarm, though, for as he turned he saw the doors burst open and in stormed magistrates William Stoughlton and Samuel Sewall, holding a newly accused between them.  Christopher sighed and reached for a new sheet of parchment.  

There was a brief scuffle, but the men wrestled the accused to the front of the courtroom as they had so many others.  The floor puddled up with rain in their wake, but no one mentioned the mess.  Murmurs of shock spread through the crowd and Christopher looked up to see what stirred them so. 

His heart nearly stopped in his chest at what he saw.  Who he saw, for it was Justin, standing with his hands bound behind his back, face dripping with tears and rain. 

"Justin!" His legs brought him to standing before he knew what was happening, and it mattered not that every man in the building was looking at him; he only cared that Justin had seen him and no matter how imperceptibly, had brightened at having a friend in the room. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, and strode to the front of the room with a confidence he did not feel.  He had sworn he would never put himself at risk in this manner no matter how ridiculous the charges became.  "Who could possibly have an accusation against this boy?  He has been gone from Salem Town for months." 

"He caught a ship to Spain," Stoughlton answered, shrugging apologetically.  "The captain said he cursed them with bad luck.  A witch, they all attested to this, and returned him home where he could be dealt with accordingly." 

"No," Justin protested miserably, and Christopher noticed for the first time that his head had been shaven clean, with no trace of his trademark curls.  "I am nothing of the sort."

"He is just a boy," Christopher protested, though they had already jailed some much younger than Justin.  "He has not even been tried, and already he is being treated as one of the guilty."  He pointed to the dark areas marring Justin's face and the red, raw patches around the ropes. 

Thomas Danforth, the presiding magistrate of the day, nodded gravely and turned an expectant eye on Stoughlton. 

"He fought us!" Stoughlton protested, though he and Sewall were both of brawny builds.  "Every step of the way.  And a filthy mouth this one has!  You'd think he'd spent his entire life at sea." 

"You would speak as such, should you ever be falsely accused of wizardry and removed from your journey before it even began!"  Justin sputtered through his tears. 

"Honor," Christopher pleaded, approaching Mr. Danforth with outstretched arms.  "I beg you, let me take Justin home and tend to him.  He has stayed in Joseph's home for years now with no indication of- of sorcery or any wrongdoing!"  

"Who has accused him?"  Danforth asked. 

"An entire ship of sailors and passengers!" Stoughlton said, tightening his grip on Justin's arm.  "Is that not proof enough?"

"A ship of strangers!"  Christopher shouted.  Some of the magistrates recoiled from his anger, but he could not remain silent.  "It is no proof at all.  If he is a witch then where is his power?  Where are the injured?"  

"His uncle is already hanged and convicted of this crime," Stoughlton said patiently, as though that should decide the matter, and Justin's struggling ceased at once.  It had been too unguarded of a moment, and Chris wished to strike Stoughlton with his fists.

"My uncle?"

"Justin," he whispered, and for a second he forgot the crowded courtroom, the binding ropes and impending conviction.  Justin's eyes were wide and frightened, filled with grief and it angered Christopher that someone so genuine should ever be made to feel this way.  "It will be all right," he said, and his futile words seemed to dissolve in the air between them.  Nothing could reach Justin in this frantic state, not even the gentle hand he touched to the curve of Justin's cheek.  "It will be all right," he said again, but could not say whether Justin heard him. 

***

It was far past dark by the time Christopher returned to town, this time armed with a group equally concerned about Justin's well-being.  Joseph had no qualms about pounding on the door of John Hathorne, the only person he felt had any degree of control over this mess. 

"Let me in," he insisted, pushing his way through the front door, caring not for Hathorne's sleepy confusion.  "And wake up, old man.  I have seen this town torn apart by madness, I have seen us reduced to a town with no representative of God.  I needn't remind you that we have hung our ministers," he growled when Hathorne seemed about to protest.

Christopher, Lance and Joshua stood behind him, silently lending their support to his cause.  Hathorne seemed so much smaller in the shabbiness of his own home without the weight of his title to give him power.  Instead, it was Joseph with the power, and he intended to fully use it to free his dear friend. 

"You are here about Justin Parris," Hathorne guessed, backing into his fireplace. 

"Indeed.  He is innocent, and I know that somewhere in the depths of your heart you abhor the idea that an innocent might hang under your watch.  Oh, make no mistake, Hathorne, it has happened oft enough this summer, but do not let it happen with Justin, for he is dearly loved in my home."  Joseph could scarcely control his temper. He felt undone by so many things, but most of all Christopher, who had always displayed the most collected nature but had been a broken mess upon arriving home that evening. 

"I do not have the authority to release him," Hawthorne argued.  "He is a witch; everyone attests to such.  The crew was so frightened they would not even travel to Salem for a trial." 

"Then there is no proof!" Joseph exploded, and only the fear of being arrested himself and leaving Lance alone kept him from crushing this spineless man against his fireplace mantel and throttling some sense into his empty head. 

"We- we cannot trust our feelings on these matters," Hathorne said slowly.  "The devil muddles our thoughts and misleads our truest intentions.  It makes sense if only you will take the time to think, Joseph!  He was practically raised by Tituba, who was among the first discovered!" 

"You have murdered his entire family." Joseph muttered.  He could not do this; the rage simmered so hotly beneath his skin he feared he might burn up into ashes right here in the home of Salem's most prominent magistrate.  "And hunted him down when he attempted to find something better." 

Christopher hung back near the door with Joshua and Lance.  He feared the whole situation and would quite possibly lose his employment over this, but leaving Justin to remain in the jail was not an option.  People were dying there every day due to the crowded, unclean conditions. 

"You should not have come to my home," Hathorne finally said.  "We will not release the Parris boy, not until he has been fully examined and exonerated."

"Tomorrow, then," Joseph begged.  "In the morning, please, as soon as you can." 

Hathorne looked them all over, four miserable, soaked men in his front room, and nodded.  "Very well.  I shall see you all there." 

It was no victory, but it was all Joseph could have expected, and he took his friends back outside into the rain.  The streets were as muddy as springtime, yet they trudged through it to the end of town, to the small building that housed the prisoners.  Joseph choked on the stench when he knelt near the window to see into the basement holding. 

"Justin," he called, and was met with the objections of those he had awakened.  "Justin!" he called again, and an old man's face appeared at the window.  Joseph recognized him as the former schoolteacher from before Joshua had arrived. 

"The boy isn't in a visiting mood," he growled out at Joseph.  "He can do nothing but weep, and if he does not stop soon, I shall beat it out of him!" He shouted the last words in Justin's direction, and Joseph's arm shot through the opening in the window.  He meant to catch the old man's arm to give him a warning, but as soon as his fingers closed around the frail, gaunt limb, he drew back, appalled. 

"Hands off!" the man yelled, leaping away, and now the room groaned with complaints.  

Joseph peered into the darkness.  He could see nothing but a mass of bodies.  "Justin," he coaxed.  He had never begged so much in his life as he had this very day.  Eventually, the gangly shape of Justin emerged from the shadows, and Joseph forced a smile.  Christopher and Joshua crowded him from behind, and against his back he could feel the rapid beat of Joshua's heart. 

Then, there at the window was Justin, blinking up at them with eyes that were afraid, yes, but nothing remotely resembling the hollow, defeated eyes of the old schoolteacher. 

"Joseph," he sighed, reaching through the space, and there was such a clamor by his friends for that small piece of him that he reached the other hand through and they held to him desperately. 

"We will not let you rot in this place!" Joshua whispered, and bent to press a kiss to Justin's hand.  

"I have done nothing wrong."   

"We know," Christopher said.  He had to wipe the rain from his face to clear his vision, but Justin looked well.  "We shall be there for your trial in the morning.  Rest, my friend, and know that we will give everything to insure your freedom.  If you ever doubt that then look at us here, like pigs in the mud just to have a word with you." 

At this, Justin began to cry again, his face crumpling in misery.  "I love you all," he said, and wept for a few moments before the crying subsided.  Sniffing loudly, he blinked up at Joseph.  "Next visit, will you bring me a sweet?" 

Joseph promised sweets and pried the rest of his friends away from the window.  They said their goodbyes as he led them around to the front of the building where they huddled their drenched bodies together and planned. 

"They will find him guilty," Christopher said grimly.  He had seen people hung with far less proof than they had against Justin.  "In the morning they will find him guilty and he will hang." 

"Do not say such things!" Joshua hissed. 

"It is the truth!  We must prepare now with our eyes open," Christopher said.  "Why would they pardon him when they will not even pardon their own mothers, sisters, and brothers?" 

"Take Christopher to your home, Joshua," Joseph said, and shivered in his wet clothing.  "We will return by morning."

***

Lance and Joseph rode in the direction of the farm, but they both knew it was not their destination. When the woods began to thicken, they jumped from their horses and walked.   The rain had stopped, but the ground stuck to their boots. 

If it had been late when they'd visited Hathorne, it was now a positively obscene hour. 

Bridget Bishop did not appear to have even been to bed.  When she opened the door, her fire still burned and she wore day clothes.  All around the room, her candles were topped by shades made of colored glass, casting the room in reds, oranges and purples that danced with flame, shunning good and proper taste. 

She welcomed Joseph inside, but her face glowed with warmth when she caught sight of Lance hanging behind his larger friend.  "Another favor?" she guessed, and Joseph nodded. 

"I will pay you," he blurted.  "As much as you like." 

"It must be quite a task," she said, and though he wished to be angry, her voice was like music to Joseph, tinkling bells that eased the great pressure that had threatened to crush him all evening.  "Sit." 

He and Lance settled on a strange bench that was wider than normal and topped with an attached cushion that made it as comfortable as a bed.  Joshua had something similar he kept hidden in his bedroom, for it would be viewed by most as a vain excess. 

"I know that you are a witch," Joseph said, made careless by desperation.  "I have known all along and will not turn you in, of course.  We are something like friends, are we not?"  This made three times today he had stooped to groveling, but he had no choice in the matter, not when Justin might die.  "Justin has been accused; he waits in jail for them to decide his fate, but you know how it will end.  They have all been found guilty!" 

Miss Bishop nodded as she listened.  Her hair was twisted into many braids, woven with emerald ribbon and there was something about the way her flesh curved on the slope of her cheekbone that was vaguely familiar to Joseph.  He could not look away.  She turned her green summer-apple eyes on him cocked her head, daring him to ask. 

It might have been akin to dealing with the devil, but he had no other choice. 

"You can cloud their minds, make them see him as the innocent he is; take away their accusations, Miss Bishop.  We do not care that you use hexes and spells, only that our friend is returned to us safely.  I will pay any price," he repeated.  "Anything."

She had been called a witch many times, a whore even more often.  Joseph had heard the taunts when she ventured into town, always behind her back, though, for to call someone a witch to her face was an unspeakable insult.  He waited for her response, wishing that he was like Joshua and had delicate words to use in situations like this.   Her silence was not encouraging, especially not when she stood and went to a tall table of exotic trinkets. 

"How much did you pay for your servant?" she asked, plucking a feather from the table.  Holding it between her fingers, she studied it idly as she let it twirl. 

Joseph halted, taken aback.  It was not the type of question he had expected.  "Ten pounds," he said cautiously.  "He has just over six years of service remaining."  It was the truth.  It had been a lawful transaction agreed upon by all parties, but for some reason a sense of uneasy shame crept over the back of his neck.  He could not look at Lance, who sat slumped beside him. 

"Ten pounds.  Is this favor worth ten pounds?" she asked. 

"I- yes," he said slowly, though he did not like the direction of this exchange. 

"For your servant, then.  An even trade, and I will want the papers drawn up tomorrow." 

"My apologies," he immediately replied, feeling as though he had been tricked.  "I cannot let him go.  Anything else you may have.  Lands, livestock…" 

"I have no need for lands, and my animals are all well."  

"I-" Joseph could feel Lance next to him, rigid with anticipation.  Though he was partially inclined, he still could not bring himself to give his lover so much as a smile of reassurance. 

The proposal was unthinkable, of course.  And yet…this was not such a terrible place to live.  Miss Bishop seemed to have many luxuries that others in town did not, and her home was near Joseph's farm. 

She had little patience for his indecisiveness.  "You said yourself.  Your friend will die if I do not grant this favor." 

It was true.  If Joshua were here he would be on his feet already begging Joseph to close the deal, and then if that did not work he would probably offer himself up for service.  Joshua would never forgive him if he threw aside an opportunity to save Justin, but he could not forgive himself for selling Lance to a witch to buy another's freedom. 

"It is all right," came a low voice from his side, and finally he turned his head, startled. 

"What?"

"It is the only choice," Lance said, his eyes on the floor.  His hands twisted together tightly in his lap. 

Joseph stared at him and imagined leaving Lance here, shaking the woman's hand, standing and going out into the night.  He could not do it; he would not.

"Miss Bishop," he said.  She was seated in front of a large loom and had begun busying herself with work on a red and gold tapestry.  She did not seem interested in what he might say, but he continued.  She never paid attention to the few people who bothered to speak with her.  Once he had seen her walk away from Reverend Parris mid-sentence.  'He bores me,' she had explained to Joseph, and he had thought her wickedly fascinating. 

"You have guessed the great value of my servant," he pressed.  "and I cannot help feeling that this is why you ask." 

"I was merely naming my price," she said innocently, but she raised an eyebrow at him.  It was a question, a game, he did not know which. 

"I am not prepared to lose him.  Ask any other price.  I will double what I paid for him." 

"You cannot afford to lose that much money, good sir," she laughed, though it sounded more like a purr.  Her fingers worked the threads like magic with only an infrequent glance at her hands.  "You have more than most but certainly cannot spare all of it." 

"I will find a way," he insisted, and to his relief she stopped her work and gave him her full attention. 

"Tell me what will happen to Justin," she said, and her eyes were fierce and green on him like the stories Joshua had told about dragons, great creatures that breathed fire. 

"I do not-"

"Look and see!" she hissed.  "What is your friend's fate, what is the fate of your servant?" 

He did not want to see.  It was all too uncertain and he had seen disturbing visions before but he was terrified of seeing Justin climbing the gallows they had built together.  The room had been filled with the scent of burning spices, but now the fragrance seemed to intensify until it was a tangible thing, a fog that descended on Joshua's mind and seeped into every crevice.  He was no longer himself; these thoughts could not possibly be his own, and he could hear Lance talking to him but all he could see were those eyes, vividly green and making him see. 

He saw. 

***

"You will do the spell," he said, and he was crying, though he did not know why.  Lance had been sent outside to tend to the horses and it was understood that he would not come back inside until invited. 

"I will." 

"Justin will not hang." 

"No." 

"You did not even want Lance, you are always teasing with games that are not fun for anyone except you," he said bitterly.  His lungs felt scorched by incense, much like the times he and Joshua smoked the Indian weed that made their heads float. 

"Come now, it is not as though you have lost the game," she said.  The loom had been replaced by a small table that she knelt before, furiously scribbling something in an illegible hand.  The beginnings of the spell, he hoped.  "You did quite well.  I approve quite vehemently, as a matter of fact.  I always knew, even back then." 

"Then why did you send him away?  He went through a great ordeal before he came to me!  He was not treated well." Joseph cried.  He felt as though he could weep for an hour and then sleep for a week.  Worry had been replaced by guilt, which he did not bear well. 

"You think like a lover, you speak without your wits!  Imagine how he would have been treated should I have kept him," she scolded, then smiled to herself.  "You were but five years old, yet I knew I had found a kindred spirit.  'The church is on fire,' you said, and everyone thought you so full of imagination." 

Joseph remembered.  He had been disciplined for having a lying tongue. The welts from the lashing had hardly disappeared by the time actual flames took the old Salem church.  No one had said anything but Joseph had felt the silent oppression of his parents' blame.  It was so many years ago, yet he still remembered. 

"I will not tell him," he warned.  "He would not be pleased, and I hate you for giving me this terrible secret." 

"It is not so terrible," she said.  "You hate yourself for not seeing it sooner, for we have the same face." 

He could not deny it. 

"Leave me now," she said.  "Dry your eyes and go to your Lance.  Ride home and wait, for I expect Justin will be freed come morning." 

His thanks was all she asked of him and he gave it with a grateful heart. 

***

Joseph dawdled in preparing for bed, keeping an eye on Lance, who drifted restlessly through his evening chores.  What he was actually doing was waiting for Lance, waiting for a sign that Lance still considered his place to be in Joseph's bed.  Though Joseph had done nothing wrong, he felt as though a thousand apologies were owed to Lance. 

Finally, when he could remain awake no longer, he broke the silence.  "Are you sleeping in my bed?" he asked from the bedroom doorway. 

Lance put down the broom he'd been using to sweep the hearth.  When he reached to hang it on the wall, Joseph saw the unmistakable tremble of his hands.  Perhaps from the wet night, he thought, but when Lance came near he radiated a heat that Joseph was almost frightened to touch.   

"Will you come?" he asked, and Lance nodded, edging closer until Joseph enveloped him in what felt like their first embrace in days.  Joseph shut his eyes, enjoying the feeling of having Lance close to him, even if his servant held himself stiffly, like a stranger.

"I thought you would agree," Lance whispered into Joseph's shoulder, and his body shook as he pressed himself nearer.  "I thought you would leave me there with her.  You and Justin have been friends for such a long time…I would not have blamed you." 

Joseph felt the breath of the confession on his skin and though they were just words, they cut him deeply.  "No," he replied, and pulled Lance through the doorway, laying him down on the bed.  There, he stilled the trembling with the weight of his own body and touched Lance lips lightly with his own, keeping them there.  "I love Justin, but you are my…"  Not knowing how to finish, he placed another kiss on the warm, chapped lips.  Their hearts beat frantically together, yet it was not nearly enough, and even when Lance untangled his legs and slid them up to wrap around Joseph's waist, they were still too far apart.  "You are something else entirely," he finished, and climbed from bed, promising to be right back.

"You take too long," Lance whispered.  Too long it seemed he lay in bed alone but when Joseph finally returned, it was with many kisses to make him forget. 

Without warning, Joseph wrapped his hand around Lance's cock and gave it a long, twisting stroke.  "Oh," Lance gasped.  The hand was warm and strong and it slid in the most heavenly way, for it was slick with oil.  He tried to thrust up into the hand, and Joseph allowed it only a few times before he stilled Lance and spoke in a low, urgent tone. 

"I want you to bed me properly- with our bodies joined," he said, even though he wanted so much more.  Straddling Lance's hips, he brought Lance's hand to his opening.  He had already readied himself, so Lance found it wet and pliant when he stroked his finger across and then tentatively inside.  "Just like that," Joseph panted, "except, with your cock." 

"I cannot," Lance breathed, but his hands had no such hesitation.  With two fingers he stroked deep inside Joseph until Joseph's head spun with pleasure, his body moving as though he were already being taken.  " I should not." 

"You can, you must."  Joseph was so far gone on pleasure he could not imagine stopping.  Shocks of excitement darted through him with each push of Lance's fingers until they were withdrawn. 

Lance's shaking had returned when he begged, "Joseph, please," and when he turned his face away from their kissing, Joseph simply latched onto his neck, licking and sucking until Lance pushed him away with too much force to ignore. 

"I…" Joseph sat up, breathing hard. 

"No more," Lance said, and the words made little sense to Joseph but he recognized the face of resolve when he saw it. 

"You do not wish to-"

"-I cannot."  

Lance hastily gathered his clothes, and although nothing substantial could have changed in only a matter of minutes, when Joseph looked at him he could see the unattainable statue from months before.  Quickly he pulled his shirt over his head, fastening only every other button as he went. 

"Will you not rest with me, at least?"

"It is not wise," Lance said uneasily, but he was weary and allowed himself to be coaxed back onto the high mattress.  Though he lay next to Joseph and shared the same blankets, Joseph had the feeling that the bed was his alone once again.

***

"Sit," Joshua instructed as Christopher bolted the door behind them.  The rain had finally gone and taken the worst of the heat with it, but the summer weather still prompted Christopher to open the windows, letting a cooling breeze enter the room. 

Justin did not argue.  He sank onto a chair and watched wordlessly as Joshua checked the fresh basin of water and found a clean cloth.  He had already washed in the lake, but Joshua wished to tend to some of his injuries with the healing herbs that Joseph had acquired from the Indians. 

It bothered him the way that Justin did not meet his eyes, even when Joshua stood directly in front of him.  He would not look at Christopher either, who sat on the bench next to Justin. 

"This may sting," Joshua warned, though he was sure Justin had suffered far worse.  He said it mainly to cover the sounds coming from Joseph's bedroom, and was surprised when Justin flinched away at the touch. 

"I am ugly," he said flatly, his eyes downcast.  "On the ship I heard the same sounds and I know what they mean.  Even in prison there were those finding comfort in one another, but no one wished to find it with me." 

Ugly?  Joshua's mouth opened in protest but his feelings were so numbered and so strong that they would not emerge and he stood there foolishly, saying nothing, his eyes locked with Christopher's.  "Not-ugly," he finally managed, and it rang out as a lie only because he meant so much more.  The bruises were fading and the curls would grow back in time.  Joshua's hands itched to touch him just as they always had. 

"Do not feel sorry for yourself," Christopher said, and tipped Justin's chin up with his fingers.  "You have had an adventure and fared far better than many." 

"Like my uncle," Justin whispered, and his eyes fluttered closed as Christopher stroked his cheek with a soothing motion. 

"Aye.  But your uncle did not have friends that loved him as we love you," Christopher said softly.  As carelessly as Reverend Parris had treated Justin, he had loved his uncle.  

Joshua tended to Justin's wounds, and Christopher wondered why he did not do more.  As an old friend he was certainly entitled, yet it was Christopher who sat and held Justin's face in his hand. 

"You should rest," Joshua said finally, his voice thick with feeling.  "To bed with you." 

Christopher followed them up the stairs, watching Joshua and wondering why he continued to do nothing when he felt so much for Justin.  As Justin settled under the covers, propped up on a pile of pillows, Christopher caught Joshua's arm and kept him in the doorway. 

"Why do you not touch him?" he whispered, leaning in close to Joshua's ear; a lover's whisper.  It was how he had learned to behave with Joshua in the past days, and even now he had to sternly remind his body that his hand on Joshua's arm was not a prelude to pleasure. 

Joshua shook his head, tight-lipped, and threw a glance over at Justin, who watched them with inquisitive eyes.  "I cannot-he wanted you, he would laugh at me," he stammered.

Christopher frowned, studying Joshua's face but not releasing him.  No one but a fool would laugh at an advance from this sensitive, exquisite man.  "He would not," he said, his lips against the delicate curve of Joshua's ear.  "You love him." 

"No!" Joshua said this too loudly and clutched at Christopher's waist, hiding his face in Christopher's shirt.  "I feel many things," he whispered fervently.  "Too many…too much.  It is not right." 

Christopher's hand drifted up into the softness of his curls, grown long and full over the summer.  There he tugged gently until Joshua lifted his face, their cheeks brushing before their lips passed in the barest hint of a kiss.  Though it was almost nothing, it was enough to make Christopher's chest swell with tenderness for Joshua's fragile, uncertain heart. 

It was also enough for Justin to notice. 

Christopher had wanted him to notice.  He looked over at their tired friend and did nothing to ease the stark silence that hung between the three of them. 

"You- you…" Justin's face fell, deepening the shadows of disappointment that edged his eyes.  "You would not kiss me," he said, trying to make sense of what he'd seen, "because you kiss Joshua instead?" 

Joshua pulled back and distanced himself from Christopher in response to Justin's hurt tone.

"I did not kiss you because I did not wish to take advantage of a confused young man.  You cannot know how I regretted the rebuff once you were gone," he admitted, and with a firm hand led Joshua toward the bed.  Joshua's boots shuffled reluctantly across the space until Christopher pushed him down next to Justin and climbed over to the other side. 

Justin brightened somewhat at this.  "I should hope you did," he said.  The pout was bravely put on, but Christopher could see that he still verged on tears. 

Christopher touched Justin's mouth lightly.  "And yet…" he sighed, trailing a finger over Justin's full lips.  "I have kissed Joshua.  Thoroughly and often," he added, and leaned down to whisper into Justin's ear, so close it was nearly a kiss in itself.  "His mouth is like a thousand burning fires.  Would you like to learn how Joshua kisses?" 

Justin shuddered against him, his eyes fixed on Joshua, wide and questioning.  Though Christopher wanted him, he would not so much as touch Justin without seeing Joshua have what he had wanted for so long. 

"I- yes."  Justin nodded, shifting on the pillows.  His interest was obvious.  Joshua, on the other hand, was licking at his lips and looking as though he might bolt at any moment. 

"Joshua," Christopher said, and nodded toward Justin, a clear instruction.  Joshua responded well to commands and slowly, with only a brief, nervous delay, he leaned in and kissed Justin the way he had always wanted.

 It was just as he had hoped.  After just a few seconds, Joshua prodded at Justin's closed lips with his tongue and pushed inside, a move that took Justin, who had never been kissed, by surprise.  He fell back onto the pillows and Joshua followed, unwilling to break contact and already pressing for more. 

Christopher watched them, his cock stiffening in his trousers.  They were both so beautiful, and Joshua made the most hungry, needful sounds as they kissed.  Most of the fantasies Joshua had confided to Christopher were related to kissing Justin in some way; of kissing him and being kissed in return. 

Finally, when Justin began to restlessly move his hips, Joshua pulled away, his face red and dazed.  They sat up on the bed, and Joshua's hands remained on Justin even when Christopher nuzzled at the back of Justin's neck, wetting the skin with his tongue before nipping lightly with his teeth.  

"Do you see?" Christopher asked.  "We both kiss you, for you are far from ugly, even now." 

"We wish to do more than just kiss you," Joshua said boldly and Christopher smiled against the smooth skin of Justin's neck.  

"But for now you must rest," he added, for Justin was not one to wait and Joshua was unlikely to fight off any further advances.  "Rest now, and later we shall talk." 

***

When they descended the stairs, Joseph and Lance had emerged from the bedroom and appeared to be waiting. 

"You did not return!" Joshua accused, even as he embraced Joseph.  He had worried himself to the point of being sick in the grass over their delay. 

"We were instructed to wait here," Joseph replied.  "We knew that he would be well, or you could not have kept me from the courthouse." 

Joshua pulled back, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.  "Who-"

"My mother," Lance interrupted.

 Joseph's stomach dropped down to his feet, his skin frosting over with dread.  He was not supposed to know. 

"Miss Bishop," Lance continued, and stepped away from Joseph, arms crossed over his chest.  "It is so difficult to imagine that I might puzzle it out on my own, is it?" he asked Joseph, who had no words. 

"It is no worse than I had imagined," Lance shrugged, and Joseph wondered if he loved Lance so fiercely, then why did his chest ache in this manner every time he heard Lance speak more than a few words?  Perhaps because his servant only spoke when explanations were demanded of him, and his explanations were always heartbreaking by nature. 

Christopher stilled Joshua's questions with a hand on his wrist. 

"It does not matter," Lance added, but his head bent low as he spoke.  "She worked her magic to free Justin and I have no doubt that all five of us shall be safe for as long as she lives."  

"Why did you not tell me you knew?" Joseph asked. 

"Why did you not tell me?"

"Justin is upstairs," Joshua interrupted nervously.  "I know he wishes to see you, Joseph.  Before he sleeps," he added.  Joseph lingered indecisively at the foot of the stairs until Lance left the house hastily, the door swinging shut loud enough to make Joshua wince. 

"I will go after him," Joshua said quickly.  "Check on Justin and tell him how much he was missed.  Stay here," he told Christopher, and dropped a kiss upon his cheek before following the path Lance had taken.  

He found Lance halfway to the lake, resting on a fallen tree.  By his posture Joshua could tell he wished to be left alone, but Lance had been too often left alone, in Joshua's opinion.  Approaching quietly, he joined Joseph's servant, who he considered a friend. 

It was no surprise that Lance did not speak.  After all, he had gone nearly a year before breaking his stubborn silence.  He'd had a hard life and now had discovered something terrible about himself.  It was so unfair, Joshua thought, that someone who served others with such kindness should have to suffer.

And he shared something in common with Lance. 

"My mother is a whore as well," he offered.  Though the words were given casually, he felt his entire face aflame, for he had told no one.  He meant it only to ease Lance's own burden.  "Not even Joseph knows," he continued.  Beside him, Lance seemed to be listening.  "I was sent here to the colonies that I might go to school and be…something..." 

"How fortunate for you.  Mine is a witch," Lance reminded him.  "And a whore, perhaps.  But what do I care for reputation?  A servant needs nothing but his master's approval," he said, bitterness dripping from his tongue. 

"Which you have," Joshua pointed out cautiously. 

"Yes, and see how I have earned it," he spat.  "I am my mother's son after all.  I bear not only the same profession but the same mark.  You have seen it yourself!" 

Joshua frowned at that and tapped his foot against the ground.  It did not seem as though Lance were expressing unhappiness about his mother being a witch or a whore.  Rather, his words reflected a barely restrained anger that seemed directed at Joseph.  "I am not helping," he decided, shaking his head in frustration.  He took a calming breath, determined to try again.  "You are my friend," he began, but Lance stood and brushed the bits of bark and dirt from his pants, interrupting. 

"We are something like friends," he said.  "Just as Joseph and I are something like lovers.  Yet I am as the stallion Joseph keeps in his barn; he may sell or release me at any time.  Right now I wish to be alone, but if you command me to remain I will obey because I must.  It is my place." 

"I…I will not," Joshua whispered, and was left with the truth of Lance's words rolling uneasily in his the pit of his stomach. 

***

That night, Lance disappeared after he had cleaned up the supper dishes.  Joseph waited, but he did not return to join the four of them, even though Joseph thought he surely must have heard their merry singing.  Keeping one ear open for Lance's return, he went to bed before the others and fell asleep, still waiting.

When he woke, his friends were all at the table, sifting through the records they'd been so meticulously keeping.  He joined them, feeling sleepy and disoriented.

"You have not asked what happened at the trial," Christopher said, writing furiously in his logs.  "It was like nothing I could have imagined, though it makes sense now that you have told us of Miss Bishop's role." 

"I wish I had said nothing," Joseph muttered, but Christopher continued as though he had not heard. 

"No one could understand why Justin was even being held!  They released him with no testimonies, no examination, nothing but an apology and the key to his shackles." 

Justin looked up from his reading and spared Joseph a grateful smile, but quickly returned to devouring the mountain of trial records.  He'd missed much during his absence; too much for his friends to explain and many things they did not wish to explain.

"He will recover quickly, I think."  Christopher remarked, smiling down at his notes.  He paused, tapping his pen at the edge of the inkwell. 

"Mmm, he will," Joseph said, distracted. 

"More quickly than Lance," Joshua said pointedly.  A purple bruise sat just above his collar, and he moved his hand to cover it when he saw Joseph looking.  

Joseph did not reply.  It was true.  Lance had been angry for many months when he'd first come to serve here, but Joseph had never seen him with the wild, trapped expression he'd had when he'd confronted Joseph with the lie between them. 

"To find out that his mother is…"  Christopher trailed off with a wave of his hand.  There was no need to finish.  Lance had always seemed volatile to Christopher, and something like this seemed enough to ruin him, even with the stability of Joseph's love. 

"Joseph," Christopher began carefully, his words heavy with meaning, and this time he placed his pen on the table.  "Lance is your servant." 

Joseph shook his head, trying to make things clearer.  It was not what he'd expected to hear.  "I know this," he replied.  "He is a fine servant." 

"Yes?" Christopher asked sharply.  "He serves you well, and in return you give him fine clothes and a place in your bed?" 

"You speak as though I have wronged him." 

"No.  You would never harm him, but think about what you are doing, Joseph," Joshua interrupted.  "You nearly sold him off before his very eyes.  You are his master!" 

"What does that mean?" Joseph asked.  His friends all stared at him as though he had done something unspeakably cruel, and yes, perhaps he had sinned a thousand times over by taking a lover such as Lance, but it was not as though Lance hadn't been willing.

"I do not know," Joshua admitted, and slumped back into his seat.  He shifted his eyes to Justin and then back to Christopher.  "He is unhappy," he insisted. 

"I know this.  He has always been unhappy!" Joseph argued.  "Since the day I first saw him.  I will not take the blame for the wrongs he has been done by others." 

"I would not ask it," Christopher said, and sighed, dipping his pen idly in the ink.  "But be on your guard, friend, that you do not do the same."    

For the first time, Joseph found no sense in Christopher's meddling advice. 

***

"This is three nights now Lance sleeps in the barn."  Joshua pressed his face to the window and tried to see out into the dark. 

"Stop worrying," Christopher complained, and approached Joshua from behind, catching him in an embrace that allowed his hands to creep around the flat plane of Joshua's belly.  "He will eventually come to terms with his place in this home." 

Joseph sulked from the corner, where he sat attempting to mend a torn bridle.  So far he had only succeeded in creating a great hole where there had originally been none.   He was tired of his friends' pointed remarks.   Lance's place was not such a mystery to be puzzled out; he belonged with Joseph, in Joseph's bed and at his side. 

Joshua had taken to fussing over Lance in excess, spending hours out in the fields with him and always when Joseph looked over at them Joshua was talking, talking, with Lance saying nothing.  

"I do not like him out alone at night," Joshua said,  and wriggled away, out of Christopher's grasp. "She said she wanted him; what is to stop her from snatching him away in the night?" 

"He will be fine, Joshua.  I do not fear for Lance."  Christopher tugged gently at his waist, easing him away from the window.  It was nearing bedtime and Christopher did not want his lover tense, yet if it was not one thing, it would inevitably be this other and in his opinion, larger, worry. 

Tomorrow was to be another execution day.

"Will Lance and Justin be going to Gallows Hill tomorrow?" he asked, and finally Justin looked up from the book of poetry he'd been reading for hours. 

"Of course," he said.  He stretched his long limbs and put the book on Lance's empty chair.  "We are all going, why would I stay behind?" 

Christopher felt Joshua's hand slip into his own.  "Justin," he said sadly.  "I am required to attend the executions.  I am required..."  too much, he wanted to say.  He had been asked too much since he'd arrived, yet the friendships he'd found here had made it impossible to refuse and be sent away.  "...to keep record.  But you do not have any such demands!  Please, stay home in peace." 

Justin felt that he had already missed too much in the past months and would not stand for being left behind.  Huffing loudly, he stood to his full height and set a wounded look upon his friends.  "I am man enough to see what happens!  You think to protect me, but I need nothing of the sort."

"Are you man enough?" Christopher mocked.  "Will you be able to tolerate the sight of Susan Farmer being hung by her neck?  Or Thomas White?"

"I will," Justin said quietly, though he was clearly shaken by the idea. 

"Then come along!  Because they have already hung and tomorrow we shall see who is next!" 

"Leave him be," Joseph said tiredly, and threw his work onto the table.  He needed Lance's skills in order to mend it properly.  "I have never seen this household so full of bickering and ill will." 

"Nerves," Joshua sighed.  "It is my nerves; I cannot bear another day of hangings, I cannot!"  He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands tightly to them.  "Justin, Christopher is not trying to be cruel.  He is right; I would give anything to erase the memories of what I have seen at Gallows Hill." 

"And I," Christopher added, his face solemn.   He said good night to Joseph and went up to bed, Joshua trailing behind him as though there were some invisible pull that kept him from being more than an arm's length away.  Justin surprised Joseph by remaining downstairs and picking up the book of accounts once again. 

"The way Christopher writes of it," Justin began, and trailed his fingers over the page.  "It must have been far more terrible than he describes.  My family is gone," he added in a small voice. 

"Your family is here," Joseph said.  The kitchen needed much tidying, and he set about the task with determination.  It had not been cleaned in two days, which was unusual.  Lance was clear on his duties and had never been lazy or less than thorough in his work. 

Justin needed more reassurances, so as Joseph dunked his dinner plate in the basin of water, he added, "And we shall care for you far better than your uncle ever did." 

"If you care for me nearly half as well as you care for Lance, I should be grateful," Justin said.  He was no longer looking at the book on his lap. 

Joseph snorted.  "Oh, you think me to treat him well?  Where were you but a few minutes ago when Joshua and Christopher admonished me so soundly for mistreating him?" 

"I know when to remain silent," Justin laughed.  "Their concerns are not my own."  He had envied Lance for so long; it had never occurred to Justin to pity the servant.  For what did he deserve pity?  He wore fine clothes, ate and drank as he pleased, and shared the bed of one of the finest men in Salem. 

Upstairs, the bed scraped noisily against the floor and Justin rose suddenly, brushing the dirt from the seat of his pants.  "I am tired," he announced, though he sounded anything but, and Joseph was too amused to even scold his friends for being noisy. 

"By all means," he said, and gestured at the stairs.  "I will see you in the morning." 

***

The day did not begin well. 

Joseph had forgotten what a sour disposition Justin possessed in the morning, and there was no breakfast waiting for them.  The fire was not even lit, over which Justin grumbled incessantly until Joshua dragged him down to the lake for a bath.  Though it was already hot, morning fog hung heavily in the air and they did not see Lance until they neared the water's edge.  He sat in the wet grass, dipping his feet in the water. 

"Joseph is not happy with you," Justin said right off, even before he stripped his clothes off and tossed them onto the ground. 

Joshua showed more tact.  "He is missing you," he told Lance, who merely turned his head away and splashed quietly with his feet.  "He is..."  he trailed off, distracted by Justin's seductive movements as he waded into deeper water.  Tease, he thought, shaking his head at Justin, who beckoned through the haze with an outstretched arm.  "He is missing you," he repeated dumbly. 

Lance did not reply.

***

They set off with unappetizing lunches in their packs.  Lance had done work in neither house nor field in days and Joseph, who had grown up watching his father deal with servants, had no idea how to coax his servant into obedience.  The methods Joseph had observed were whippings, scoldings and withheld meals, but the thought of inflicting these methods on Lance made his stomach turn with sickness.  Yet Lance still belonged to him and was expected to do his work. 

The ride home took longer than it should have; the fog had settled in just past dusk.   Joseph did not join in the quiet conversation of his friends, so intent was he on keeping to the road, but when he neared what he thought should be his home, it appeared as though a large glowing ball danced before his eyes. 

"What is it?" Christopher asked, leaning into Joseph.  The touch reminded him of how long it had been since he'd had the comfort of Lance's body, and he sighed. 

"Fire," he guessed.  "But it does not appear to be the house." 

As they drew nearer he could see that it was indeed fire, but a controlled blaze, confined to a circle that had been carefully cleared.  A shadowy figure stood next to the flames and Joseph jumped down from his carriage, throwing the reins to Christopher.  Miss Bishop, he thought, here to work some of her black magic, but when he ran to the spot, he saw that it was not Miss Bishop at all.  It was Lance, who stared into the flames and clutched something, a paper perhaps, in his left hand. 

"Lance?" he asked, but had no question to follow.  Bleary green eyes turned on him and Joseph hated himself for being so grateful for the mere half-smile he was given. 

"I must show you something," Lance said, and thrust the crumpled piece of parchment toward his confused master.  In the flickering light of the fire, Joseph recognized the document and grabbed for it, only to be foiled by Lance, jumping out of his reach and shouting, "No!  This contract is nothing.  You may have me thrown in prison, you may beat me, chase me, do as you might but I cannot bear to be this man any longer!" 

The contract.  A magistrate who had long since hung had drawn it up for Stephen and Joseph the day he had made the purchase of the servant, legal and binding.  Joseph watched as Lance dropped it into the fire, watched as his ownership of Lance shriveled and blackened before his eyes.  Vaguely, he was aware of his friends standing at a distance.  The wood in the fire made loud popping sounds that startled Joseph and sparked out into the night, making him step away, away from Lance and the strange thing he had done. 

A slow sense of dread crept into Joseph's heart, stealthily growing until he could scarcely breathe for the fear.  He was being left, of that he was certain.  Perhaps it might have been different if he had been the one to build the fire, but he had thought it possible to keep both his servant and his lover, the one and the same.

"Please," he said, "Lance.  Do not leave.  I will..."  He knew not what to promise.  "I love you; you must know that I do!" he cried. 

Lance watched him with troubled, solemn eyes.  "I want to believe," he said lowly.  He had been hurt so much, and everything had always been a lie.  He didn't lie, though; he did want to believe.  More than anything he wanted to be with Joseph again, to be touched and kissed and completely surrounded by the safety that really only Joseph had ever brought him. 

Joshua urged Justin and Christopher toward the front door; there was nothing they could do here.  When the door shut behind them, Joseph and Lance stayed as they were.  Joseph's body tensed, strung tightly as he waited for any sign of movement from Lance.  He would chase him as far as he tried to run, and then convince him to return home. 

"If I have done you wrong," Joseph pleaded, "I give you all my apologies.  But my home would not be the same without you.  Our home," he added. 

Lance finally shifted his eyes away from Joseph, up to the night sky.  He could not see anything but the stars, but the action stayed the tears that threatened to fall.  It seemed weak to want to remain here.  Earlier today he had slipped off to see his mother and she had been kind, but had under no uncertain terms sent him home, naming Joseph as his soul mate. 

"He is the only one, dear child." she had said.  "He has the sight and the strength to be with you."  After this, she had gone thoughtful for a few moments, stroking over his cheek with soft fingers.  "There are a great many majicks that live inside you," she had whispered, tapping on his chest.  "He can withstand them, help you control them."  It had frightened him, but as she sent him off she had kissed his forehead and said, "Do not ever again go silent." 

And here he was.  Letting his eyes fall closed, he took a deep breath, inhaling the smoky night air.  If Joseph was still there when he opened his eyes, no- if Joseph came to him before he opened his eyes, he would stay.  Counting to a hundred, he tried to still the frantic beat of his heart.  It was foolish, the way he lost control of his senses when it came to Joseph.  Even more foolish was the shocked, grateful sound that tore out of his throat when something warm and steady folded around his arm.  Joseph's hand, he knew it well.  It was only then Lance realized he would have stood there for hours, possibly days if that had been how long it took. 

He would stay. 

END.