(yeah that sounds perfect!)
Jamie busied himself with cleaning up the hymnals, stacking them neatly where they beloned. Smith didn't matter. He was just another member of the congregation now. There was no reason that he should mean anything more or anything less to Jamie. And he didn't. He wouldn't. Jamie closed his eyes for a moment. He had already had one nearly sinful thought; he would not allow any more. Would not allow himself to become something sinful, something hateful to his father. Because he…his father was the only family he had left, and Jamie would not disappoint him. He refused to disappoint his father in this.
(great! do we have any ideas on where to take the story next? I know that Smith has to drop some medicine off to a neighboring town, maybe James comes along and they see something happening to accused witches there?)
(sure! Like maybe James was sent to deliver a message from Reverend Asher to the pastor in the other town, and the two run into each other and either witness a witch being burned or drowned? Since those were the two most common ways that people killed the witches back then)
(sure! Like maybe James was sent to deliver a message from Reverend Asher to the pastor in the other town, and the two run into each other and either witness a witch being burned or drowned? Since those were the two most common ways that people killed the witches back then)
(yes! I can start that off)
Smith couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back to the church, to the small, freckled man who played the piano so carefully, even as the crack of dawn broke through the drawn curtains of his window. He had tried to rid himself of the thoughts, though eventually allowed a moment of retrieve to bask in the words that the two had shared yesterday. It wasn't much of an interaction, though something about James irked him in an almost…nice way. As if he would be a new friend.
That was, until, he reminded himself of who James' father was, and what could happen to his family if the pastor found out.
Smith shook his head, dissipating the negative thoughts as he checked his bag carefully, rearranging glass bottles filled with dried leaves and herbs, placing them precariously against the soft leather of his satchel. It was early, the dawn temperature frigid against the wooden flooring of his home, though he found comfort in the cold wind. It gave him an excuse to wear his warmest clothes, a woolen overcoat, sweaters and thick trousers filling his lanky physique. Today Smith would be travelling to Lynnfield to deposit a few medicines that Constance and Mrs. Bishop had prepared earlier this week, and hopefully to gain some insight on the situation of the Churches.
Hopefully it was not as terrible as he had heard…though the anxious tightening in his chest braced him to be prepared. Smith tried to fix his appearance as much as he could, slipping on his heavy boots and brushing through his already mussed hair before exiting the house quickly and quietly, careful not to wake the Bishop's.
Jamie's father had told him the night before that he would be delivering a message to the nearby town, to the reverend. It was one of the towns infested with Witchcraft, and his father wanted to show his support of the other reverend. To show the other reverend that witchcraft would not be tolerated. Jamie's father couldn't, of course, go himself, so he sent his son with a letter. The other town was, luckily, within walking distance, though it was not a short or easy walk.
The road wasn't even paved, so Jamie found himself walking along the wheel ruts. Eventually, he began to sing.
"Sing me a song, of a lad that is gone, say could that lad be I? Merry of soul, he sailed on a day, over the sea to Skye." He sang quietly, hands tapping lightly on his leg to the beat of the tune. It was a tune his mother had taught him, singing as she taught him the chords on the piano, the ivory keys too big for his small fingers. "Give me again, all that was there, give me the sun that shone. Give me the eyes, give me the soul, give me the lad that's gone."
