Flashbacks

She could hear the hunting dogs on her trail, she knew if she didn't find a place to hide and find it soon then her fate would be the same as all the poor women in Salem. The small town in Massachusetts had been writhe with hysteria over "witches" and making sure they burned, hanged, or stoned for their "crimes of consorting with the devil". She knew she wasn't a witch, but she did seem a perfect candidate for accusations. Temperance had been married for over ten years, yet still managed to avoid conceiving a child. That was simply not normal. She also didn't talk with many people in her village due to her husband being downright mean and violent. Rickard, her volatile and irritable husband of over ten years passed away last week. She was overjoyed in his death, but only inwardly. He would never be able to lay a hand on her again, but even in death he has a way of haunting her. Because of their inability to produce any children, not for lack of tying, and her silence after his death, Temperance has been accused of witchcraft.

Her skirts dragged the ground, causing her to trip and tumble into the sticky, thick mud in the bog. She didn't move. At least now she was concealed, and her scent disrupted. She waited for what seemed a lifetime until she no longer heard the men who pursued her. Slowly, she emerged from the mossy water and continued her path until she was satisfied with the distance between her and her home. ~They shouldn't be able to find me now.~ She thought to herself making bed and a small fire in the tiny clearing that would serve as home for the night. She stripped down into her underwear, discarding her disgusting dress. She washed up in a nearby creek and then also filled a water skin. She pondered on how her mother had her escape bag ready and when her mother had even known about the ambush, but she was thankful for the chaste woman who raised her none the less.

She had been clearing her diner away when she heard a knock on the door. Her husband had been buried two days ago; she was not expecting any visitors. Upon opening her door, she found an older woman, hair tied neatly in a bun under her bonnet, cloaked in a dark fabric, and face grim. She was holding a sack tightly in her hands as her green eyes stared into Temperance's soul. "My daughter" she muttered coarsely. Temperance's heart sank, she had not spoken to her mother since her wedding day all those years ago. She had been so bitter that her mother and father were marrying her off to a man she had never known, but that was the way of the world.

"Mother what…" She began but was not granted the ability to finish. The old woman had wrapped her daughter in a hug, the bag dropping with a thud to the ground.

"We must hurry." Her mother began, voice muffled by her daughter's apron. "The villagers, they believe you to be a witch. You must run, run for your life my child." Her voice began to break, tears streamed down her mother's face, a sight she had never seen before. The strong and rock like woman that raised her with little affection and a firm hand, crying now in front of her own eyes. "They believe that you killed your husband, they think you sacrificed him to Satan. You aren't a witch. I know what you are and it's my fault you are that way. I can take you to the forest, but then you will have to travel the rest of the way on your own." She pinned her own cloak around her daughter.

"But Mother, where will I go?" She whispered desperately, hands shaking as she pulled the hood on and strapped the sack of provisions and supplies to herself. Her mother's face was twisted in sorrow, knowing she would never see her daughter again. ~What does she mean by what I am?~ She questioned silently.

"England." She said firmly. "You must go to Boston and board a boat. All new England is ablaze with this 'Witch hysteria'." She pulled her daughter towards the forest behind her home. They could see the torches from the men in the village that had come to "Collect" Temperance. They ran, feet moving as swiftly as they could carry them. Leaves and dead grass crunched under them as they reached the forest edge. "Go, and don't stop till Boston." Her mother whispered before she disappeared into the black night around them. Temperance took off, the barking of hounds in the distance behind her.

She stared at the fire in her campsite. Her mother has always been a cold woman, but in that instance, she discovered a woman who loved her all these years. She loosened the bun her hair had been in and let the tendrils of auburn hair fall all around her. If she was going to make it to England alive, she had to disguise herself. Reaching for the hunting knife out of her bag, Rickard made sure to always keep the blade sharp enough to shave with, she pulled her hair up into her hand and began hacking it off. Her once hip length hair now framed her face closely, barely reaching her chin. She threw her cut hair into the fire, thoroughly destroying the evidence of what she had done. She dressed in her husband's clothes, and some boots her mother supplied before dowsing the fire mostly and retiring for the night. Boston was a long trip, but she had to make it.