A few week’s time went by before another ship came into port. She saw its white sails as she walked through the marketplace. Hester knew nothing about the ships’ arrival schedule, but the boat she saw at port was a smaller boat than could cross the Atlantic. It was not something that generally intrigued her, but she wondered what other colony the ship had come from.

When she saw a large group forming by the docks, she followed to see what caused the gathering.

"Pray tell, what is this?" Hester asked another.

"We knowest not!" the woman said back.

"A boat from England shipwrecked about a hundred miles south,intending to land here inBoston," the captain said. A dozen questions arose, drowning each other out in their chaotic nature. "The passenger list! All missing, no word else!"

The copies were passed around until one landed in her hands. Her eyes scanned the list. Her husband's name was among them.

"Oh, my Lord in Heaven," she said. “God, what dost thou mean?”

She took a step back and blinked. She couldn't catch her breath. Missing. He was not coming.

She was free.

It took all she could do to keep from leaping in the air. Even better, with him known to be missing, she was still married and couldn't be pressured to remarry by the church elders or any of her societal peers. Her life was her own and would always be if she was not made to obey a husband.

There was such bedlam at the port as more sought and read the names and maligned the tragedy, Hester slowly backed away from the crowd. Word would spread to everyone soon enough. She would have to practise a neutral face, a grieving face. But in her own small home, she would smile unto herself. She didn't need his money. She earned money for sewing small items and mending clothes. She had everything she needed to manage her life.

It was not that she was happy he was likely dead. She just couldn't feel grief in her heart. She had not prayed for his death, but she saw God's will and His message to her. She was not one to question God's plan. It felt like there was a message for her to live without a husband.

She wandered to the church before she realised her path. The church was empty. She walked up the aisle and knelt before the cross. God had granted her a miracle. She would not have any husband to control her again. He was infinitely wise in choices.

"Blessed day," a bright voice said.

Hester looked up. Reverend Dimmesdale stood before her. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Goodwife."

"Prynne," she said. "My husband is lost."

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"Oh, I'm so sorry." He knelt beside her. "I will pray with thee."

She opened her mouth to explain more, and she felt she should confess to him that her sin was being so accepting about the news. She hadn't wished for his death, but she knew her heart couldn't mourn it. If she were a Papist, she would have to confess her sin of joy to her priest in order to receive pardon. But in the reformed faith of the New World, she would be able to confess directly to God once alone, and at a later time.

"If thou need to talk, I am hither for all my parishioners," the reverend said.

"Oh." Hester met his eyes. "Yes."

"Dost thou want to talk with me now? I can show thee to my study," he said. He took her hand. She curled her fingers and slowly pulled away. He wore fine woollen clothes and a laced collar with mother of pearl buttons down his black coat. He must have felt the roughness in her hands from her labours, the callouses, the shortened dirty fingernails from tending the earth. She would have gone unfed and unclothed without her own physical toil, but suddenly she wished it was not obvious that she had had to. She had been proud to thrive on her own merits in Boston until a well-educated Englishman touched her hand of wilderness and work.

"I am sorry," he said again, misreading her anguish. "Thy needn't have to talk if thou is uncomfortable."

"No, please. Please speak with me,” she said, looking down.

"Prithee, come hither then."

Not wife nor widow -- who should she turn to to declare her husband dead and she a single woman? But a single woman would be pushed to find another husband, obey another patriarch, decide nothing for herself. She had to think of herself as a wife and grasp onto that distinction as long as possible, for only as the label of a wife could she live freely.

She thought about how to be careful with her words, as to not appear insensitive to terrible news. She explained her husband had business to finish in Europe but was finally coming to join her in the colony, but the shipwreck presumed all dead, no further details.

"How awful for thee, dear Mistress Prynne, I knowest your heart must ache for thy loss. God is mysterious, and we cannot truly knowest His nature. I shall guide thee with any help I can."

She looked at the cross. "Let me sit with you in silence to pray, then I will be on my way soon. I shan't trouble you for long."

"Oh, thou could never be any trouble at all," he said with a voice sweet and warm.

He clasped his hands together, and she echoed his gesture. He closed his eyes and silently moved his lips. She peeked out on occasion to look at him—helpful, kind, and handsome.

She waited for him to say something about how her husband was set by God to be her master and guide in life. She even prepared herself to correct him. He said nothing of the sort, about her, a woman, being lost or alone without some to tell her what to do. She thought of Reverend Wilson's lengthy, fearful sermons. Perhaps Dimmesdale, the younger man, had found enlightened ideas in his studies.

"Thank you, Reverend Dimmesdale," she said after a while. "I must get home to start my supper."

"You can have supper with me. I am fond of any company," he said.

"Oh." Her cheeks felt warm. "Some other time, yes. I will remember your kindness, good sir, have a good night and morrow."

She stumbled out and walked home as the sun dipped on the horizon. Her body tingled with a strange new sensation. Her husband missing a day, her newfound freedom upon her, and yet the newly arrived minister had sent a ripple through her body like a pebble dropped into a lake that spreads out henceforth across the entirety of the surface.