Nathaniel and Sophia Hawthorne (The Sassy Ladies Series)

A Love Story That Defied Secrets, Shame, and Family Opposition

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s courtship of Sophia Peabody lasted more than three years—and much of it was conducted in secrecy at his insistence. Though Sophia never agreed with keeping their love hidden, she believed deeply that they were destined for one another.

When Nathaniel met Sophia, an accomplished artist with a keen intellect and passionate spirit, the connection between them was immediate. Sparks flew from the very beginning. In her journal, Sophia described the moment vividly, writing that he “rose upon my eyes and soul a king among men by divine right.” Yet behind Nathaniel’s brilliance and talent lay a burden that shadowed his life. He carried the shame of his ancestor John Hathorne, the Salem Witch Trials prosecutor who condemned innocent people during the infamous events of 1692.

Sophia understood the guilt and sorrow that haunted him and quietly made it her mission to help free him from that past. Their path was not easy. Family members on both sides resisted their union, and obstacles seemed to arise at every turn. Yet their devotion never wavered.

NATHANIEL AND SOPHIA HAWTHORNE: OUR DESTINED BOND by Diana Rubino offers an intimate look at one of American literature’s most compelling love stories—a relationship shaped by passion, history, and the determination to overcome both personal and family struggles.

Discover the powerful and deeply human love story behind one of America’s greatest authors. Get your copy of Nathaniel and Sophia Hawthorne: Our Destined Bond today.

Excerpt from the book

The Salem Gaol, Massachusetts, July 19, 1692

Peter Good wrapped his arms around his mama in the sweltering dungeon. Little Dorcas clung to their legs, hiding her face in the folds of her mother’s threadbare skirts. “If I could only talk to the judges…” His breath caught in his throat as he rested his head upon her breast for the last time. “Mayhap they’ll find it in their hearts to spare you. They know you have this small child who needs her mother…” But he knew the cruel truth. The hopelessness of his desperate plea sat in his belly like a stone. He choked on a sob. Big boys don’t cry, he chided himself, even when shattered with grief.

She tweaked his earlobe. “No, Petey, you cannot change twisted minds,” her weary voice rasped. “The Hanging Judge Hathorne didn’t want you when you was born, he won’t want to hear naught from you now.” She slumped, shoulders stooped. “My fate is sealed. My final hour has come.”

He touched his fingertips to the ugly bruises on her face. Oh, that horrid day the jeering crowd flung rocks at her as the sheriff dragged her through the streets... As if a knife ripped his heart in two, Peter doubled over, dreading the agony his mama faced strangling at the end of a rope. “I must talk sense into those heartless fiends!” Fists clenched, he stomped his foot. “How can those damned judges believe you’re a witch? This is insane!” His voice broke.

“Shhh, don’t let Dorry hear. No, my son, they will hang you too.” She clasped her little girl’s hand. “You must carry on, learn to face hardship and injustice.” She swept Dorcas up and kissed the grimy cap atop her head. The child’s chains and manacles weighed down her tiny limbs. “But, Petey, I beg you…try to save my baby. She’s far too young to be accused and chained up in this hellhole.”

Peter rubbed his baby sister’s wrists and ankles, swollen and bruised from the specially made manacles for so small a child, which they’d forced Mama to pay for.

“Sarah Good!” boomed through the fetid air. Her eyes, wild with resentment and hatred, darted about. A guard unlocked the clanking chains around her ankles and wrenched Dorcas from her arms.

As he thrust Sarah towards the door, she stumbled over a bucket. Excrement spilled onto the filthy dirt-packed floor.

“Dear mama,” Peter called after her. “Oh, how I will miss you. I count the days till we meet in heaven.” He wiped hot tears and sweat from his face.

“No!” Dorcas wailed. “Don’t take Mama!” She scrambled after them. Her chain strained, and she sprawled face first. Peter knelt and gathered his frantic half-sister into his arms. “No, Dorry, you cannot go with them.”

She wept, gasping baby-girl sobs. “I want Mama, no, they can’t take her!” Her weak protests tore at his heart.

“You’ll always have me, little one.” Holding her tight, he rocked her back and forth. About to be motherless, brother and sister bore their grief.