Unlike what we might assume now of women back then, these broads were not the kind genital and fair to stand behind the men in observation of the threshold which served as the gathering spot, though none stepped too close almost in fear if being dragged into it themselves. These women did, however, stand in front of the men in a tight group of gossip.

"I can't believe this hussy," a woman of fifty or so was spewing to the group, "She comes to this town of Godly people and does such a deed, and yet this is her punishment? What ye say, she should stand up before us five and we'll judge a more acceptable verdict than this!"

"Think of the Reverend!" another spoke, "I hear tell of how he takes it to heart that one of his congregation should fall such as this. I pity the poor man, to be honest."

"Pity him, yes. Especially since the punishment bestowed on the wench is so merciful," added a third. "If they were going to put an 'A' on her, they should at the very least brand it on her forehead. Stitching it into her dress! Why, she could cover it so easily. If they're going to let the world see, then let it see properly, less she walk the streets as bold as before!"

"Let her cover the mark," the only soft woman in the group interposed, "the mark isn't for us, as she will always know it's there wither fresh eyes see it for the first time or not. And even if they shan't, surely they will hear of it."

"What does it matter if the brand be on her forehead or dress?" cried another. "There is law both in the Scripture and in legislature calling for her death. If she's let off like this then let it be those who passed sentence's wifes or daughters whom go astray next!"

"Mercy!" finally exclaimed a man in the crowd. "Have you no virtue besides a fear of the gallows? Quiet gossips! Hell's Gate is opening, and here comes Mistress Masters herself."

Once open, the woman who looked out from behind the threshold did not have the air they expected of her. Her head was held high and her gaze was even. She didn't move to shield the letter adorning her dress, nor did her clutch on the child in her arms tighten out of nerves.

The town beadle who stood by her side with sword gripped in hand placed his other on her shoulder to force her forward. With an almost queen-like dignity she shrugged his hand away and stepped towards the throng of her own free will.

As she stood fully revealed before the crowd the forced piece of adornment on her dress held the attention of the town. Unlike the one woman had predicted, the scarlet 'A' wasn't hidden in the least. Instead it was embroidered almost as if to draw attention to it. The crude cut out of cloth was not lavish in any way, yet it was not hidden either, and if the woman would have been gifted in stitching, or rather had enjoyed it so she would have more skill, it would have been such. Instead this letter was sewn haphazardly with gold thread like a solders wound stitched quickly together in the heat of battle so he shan't bleed to death. The colouring seemed to make this picture even clearer in the minds of the spectators.

A badge of honor. The woman was wearing her shame like a badge of honor. That's what she wanted them to assume anyway.

The woman wasn't particularly tall, yet held an elegance that made her seem above them. Her hair was dark and abundant as it curled down just past her shoulders. Her face was regal as well as beautiful.

Those who had known her had expected her to be of dimmed fire, sounded by gloom. Instead there was something almost painful to an observer about how her thorny misfortune stood out almost like a halo; expressing the attitude of her spirit, recklessness of mood, and her wild personality.

"Make way!" the beadle proclaimed. "Ye shall have a good look soon enough. I promise, Mistress Masters shall be set in sight of man, woman, child, and God! Dragging her sin to the sunlight. Come along, Masters, show your scarlet letter in the market place!"

She was lead through the crowd through the path that opened up for her before it surged closed as if swallowing her whole. Lead through the town to the market place where the scaffold stood dustily against the usual life. Now the market was filled with solemn air as she stood alone on the pedestal of shame with her babe as her sentence decreed. Three hours and she would be free. Free to start the rest of her punishment with the eternal letter on her bosom.

The eyes of the crowd were not mocking as one would expect, instead they were judging. Staring into her. Showing their resentment that she could bring such sin into their presence.

Be that as it might, she saw none of it. Instead her mind tried to go to when it was as fresh as that of whom was in her arms. Obviously it could not go back that far, but it settled on when she was a young girl living in a house that had not known money practically since it was erected. The crumbling crest over the stone door as she played in the garden home to more weeds than flowers. The next door was that of a study. Large and adorned generously, the fireplace crackling away behind the man down on one knee. After came the church door. Then not so much a door, but the first step onto Massachusetts soil. She could still feel the clean air against her skin, except now it was much more biting.

She was pulled back to the platform from the breeze slapping against her cheek as if it were punishing her too. It seemed to Meg Masters that the entirety of the universe was punishing her as her eyes zeroed in on a particular stranger in the back of the crowd.

A/N: Yeah, not the most exciting chapter, hopefully it wasn't too bad though! Thank you for reading and please review!