The town was surrounded by wilderness. The one outpost on an endless shore of forests and unknowns. Few people travelled beyond the confines of the city, but perhaps in her singular state, she knew a quick venture and sharp ear limited threats from Indians or wild animals.

Hester grew her own vegetables - corn, peas, turnips, and carrots - enough for her to live on. Her keen hands could deftly sew well, and this was how she made money past what her husband had sent with her when she left. She kept a couple of chickens for eggs, but bartered when she needed to supplement her diet with milk, wheat, or herring or shellfish. If someone butchered a hog, she would salt and preserve it herself. It was a wonder what she could manage for tasks she had never known of in the Old World.

Many Puritans equated the wildness of the forests with the Black Man, or Satan himself, and that it was not safe to travel beyond the town which had been tamed and civilised by God's will. But as the sunlight cascaded on the sea and the flowers bloomed among the tall grass, Hester wondered how a place so beautiful could not be bestowed intentionally by God. She felt His presence out in the forest, His blessing, and His support she needed to know that she had the power to survive..

So one morning, she went past the edge of town, down to the marshes at the water's edge. She unbuckled her shoes and pulled off her socks and left them in the grass. Oh, the soft freedom of grass on her toes. It was not appropriate to be bare-footed outdoors, but no one would know out there.

She held her dress to keep it dry, holding it in one arm with her basket, the other hand picking a small red fruit native to the area called cranberries. Most Bostonians were not keen to expand beyond their English diet, but Hester found the tart juicy flavour delightful.

He had invited her to supper. He was kind, but that was a shepherd offering comfort to his flock. Why did the offer hang over her still, enough she waited out in the muck to harvest berries? Why when she closed her eyes now, her first thought was of the young reverend's face?

Once she gathered enough, she returned to her shoes, smoothed out her dress, and returned home. She spent most days except the Sabbath cooking, cleaning, gardening, and sewing. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

She had a more challenging project in mind. She stoked the fire in the kitchen with another log. The beehive oven heated as she took out the flour she purchased from the grist miller, added water, salt and yeast. She did baking once a week, but the cranberries dried over the fire enough for her to add them to the dough and add the dough to the oven.

As other chores were done, the bread baked. She checked on it periodically, and when it had been long enough, a hard crust appeared, and she removed it, inhaling the fruity scent. It cooled while she scrubbed her hands and cleaned under her nails, hoping to look her most presentable, but she could not show any opulence with only minimal embroidery at her collar and a plain white linen cap over her dark hair.

She covered the pan in a cloth and walked over to the parish and went to the side door where the side residence was and knocked, her heart along to each thud against the door.

Reverend Dimmesdale answered with a smile. "Goody Prynne, good to see thee again."

She held up the loaf. "I had extra flour and made you cranberry bread, as I thought you must not have had any before and so to welcome you to Boston." It was a lie - her earnings were so modest that she had nothing to spare, but she felt compelled to present him with a gift after his kindness to her.

"Oh, what a nice gesture! I am grateful to be in thy thoughts, as thou hath been in mine. Please come in," he said as he gestured inward.

"I only meant to leave it with thee," she insisted, but smiled with sudden relief at the invitation. She was in his thoughts. He had been thinking of her.

"I insist,” he said.

With that, she followed him inside his small one-room attachment to the church. "As I am newly arrived, I will live here until I can afford my own house nearby to provide for a wife."

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She looked at his fine wooden table, his bookshelf full of books, and his quilt-covered bed in the corner. He gestured to the table, and she sat down. "Aye, you have established a nice house in such a short time."

"I have thought on your loss, and I worry how thee will get on, I thought mayhaps a collection at service could help thee," he said.

Hester shook her head. She made do without charity. "Oh, no. Reverend, I am adept at needlework and sell my work enough to manage my costs. Thou needn't worry for me. I will cope with my loss without being a burden to anyone."

"Oh, I thought recently how my hat needed a band on it," Dimmesdale said, picking up his plain black hat. "Could you create one for me? I shall pay thee for it."

"Yes. Of course. I will start right away. I find it soothing to toil on delicate needlework. I wish I could sew during a sermon to keep my hands busy, but I do not wish to offend thee. I do my work in silence now. My husband loved books as well, and he used to read to me while I sewed because I could not do both in the daylight, and it is hard to do either only by candlelight."

"Can you sew here? Mayhaps once a week as you have time, I can read to you or practise my sermons. I would love to practise to earnest ears, as I am, as of now, better read than better said."

She had meant to say she didn't mind working in silence, but her words twisted on her tongue when she looked into his dark eyes. She looked to see if it was pity or hospitality making the offer. She dared not hope for something deeper.

"Aye, good reverend. I can come on Fridays after my chores are done."

"Can you stay for supper now?" He gestured to the fireplace and the caldron hanging above the flames. "I have made rabbit stew. I am not a cook, nor have I been able to hire servants yet, but I make do and have made quite a lot and thou art welcome to it if thy wish."

She nodded. It had been so long since she ate with someone, and that suited her well most of the time. They said prayers before eating the vegetable-hearty stew, and he sliced the bread.

"Oh! How wonderful! Goodwife, thank you for your gift and I have never had a better bread," he said.

Hester smiled. It was hours of labour, but it was worth it for his words. She did not describe to herself what made her go through the effort except that knew he had not had cranberries and was new to Boston and not accustomed to its ways of life. Many people like her were born in Old England and kept to certain ways, but some things had to change and had to adapt to survive.

After the meal and as dusk set in, he walked her to the door. For that moment, he was inches from her at the door frame. She turned back to face him, his proximity feeling familiar and not like a reverend but like a regular man, like a suitor, crossing a line from proper to intimate.

He paused like he hadn't realised how closely he stood to her until he was there, yet he did not pull away. "I look forward to seeing thee again." His brow furrowed. "To see thy sewing skill.”

“I see,” she said.

“I wish to aid any of my parishioners who are in need, but I know how people talk if the situation were to be misinterpreted, and I am new in town. Perhaps I need to yet earn my good name here. If thou art discomforted being alone with me, please let me know, as I will not wish to hurt thee nor thy reputation if mine is unknown. I only wish to speak my sermons with someone familiar with my parish."

"Verily, I look forward to it as well. I fear not."

He nodded slightly. "Then our working sessions shall be betwixt us only lest anyone think it inappropriate without knowing the context of our meetings, at least until I hath earned the community's respect. Many a parishioner come to my study to discuss their woes. It is not unusual, but I shall keep your confidence upon this matter. You spake freely as thy wish."

"I needn't discuss with anyone, as seeking the guidance of my reverend is something any good soul should do," she said.

"I shall leave the door unlocked on the side for you to come in quietly and to not bring attention. That shall work for as long as you feel comforted by my writings."

It was true, the townspeople, knowing their Puritan faith was the correct one and their ways the right ways, were prone to talking amongst themselves about what proper modesty and actions were and assigning punishment for crimes outside of this realm. It was no business of theirs wherefore she worked, how she kept chaste company, but she understood judgement left little room for deviation.

"I shall tell no one," Hester promised.

"Have a blessed night, Goody Prynne, and see thee next week," the minister said, his voice tremulous.

She left, but he looked forward to seeing her. He looked forward to seeing her, and she also looked forward to seeing him. That struck something in her. Perhaps he was aiming to comfort a woman in need, but all her thoughts until the next Sabbath were aching to see his face again and then the long days until she could visit him alone dwelt on her mind.