Page 26

“But the conditions—” I protested, trying to steady my shaking hands. “He was compelled against his will to join!”

Father shot me a disapproving look as he tucked a sodden handkerchief into his coat pocket.

“Conditions or not, Bridget, Daniel has disgraced this family. Striking an officer in the middle of a riot? He is fortunate they haven’t hung him already.

The Royal Navy presses men from all over the country, forcing each area to meet their quota.

You think Daniel is the first to disagree with his superiors?

He should have followed orders and learned something of discipline. ”

My heart sank. I picked up the letter from the desk, its formal tone making the cold reality clear.

“Can we hire a lawyer? Plead his case?”

“With what funds?” Father said, sinking into his chair. “Who would extend us a line of credit after this? We’re ruined, Bridget. Completely ruined.”

I turned away, desperate for air. The society’s fifty pounds felt so far away, so out of reach, yet it was my only hope. Father didn’t know about my plans—the idea of telling him now felt laughable. How could I secure Daniel’s defense when I had nothing to offer but a dream of publication?

I did the only thing I could. I walked out and shut the door, letting the barrier fall between us. After I gained control of my breathing, I escaped the parsonage with my book and tools in my satchel.

When I reached Abigail’s cottage, the curtains were drawn. After rapping on the door, I found myself face-to-face with my dear friend. Desperate for comfort and companionship, I gestured to my trusty satchel loaded with supplies.

“Care to join me for an hour?”

“La, how I wish I could,” she exclaimed.

Her cheeks seemed unnaturally pink, and she refused me entrance into the house I considered as familiar as my own home.

“I’m feeling a might peckish of late with a sore throat.

” As if to reinforce her point, she fingered her throat, where I noticed her fichu sat somewhat astray to reveal a flushed collarbone.

A bright smile bloomed on her face, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I shall rest today, if you don’t mind.”

“Shall I bring a poultice or herbs for you?”

She shook her head gently. “Nay, I wouldn’t want to cause any further trouble. I heard you’ve visited the viscount, so you must be running low on supplies. But if you happen upon anything interesting in Papa’s field, you’ll let me know?”

The door slammed shut just as I murmured an agreement, too shocked to argue.

From the deepest part of the main room, I heard a loud sneeze.

Someone was with Abigail, but I couldn’t quite place who it might be.

Perhaps it was Mr. Perry, although I hadn’t noticed him being ill earlier.

Abigail had always been private, but her guardedness felt new, making me wonder if I had upset her.

I whirled and marched to the field. Heavy in spirit, I crouched down at the villa floor, willing the earth to bring some distraction to the hollowness threatening to consume me.

I pulled out my notebook and pencils and sketched a magnificent border with entwined loops to accompany my latest notes regarding the dig.

With the endless sky stretched above, I had never felt more alone.

More than once, the charcoal broke within my pinched grip.

Daniel... Father...

My mind drifted to the child’s bones. It was far easier to focus on the burial spot and the doll than to examine my family.

Such a loving action to honor and cherish a beloved daughter, to place her in the prettiest spot of the valley where the butterflies danced among the wildflowers.

Before I realized it, a tear splattered against my sketchbook as a writhing Medusa took shape with each stroke, her fierce stare forcing me to examine my own heart. A heart slowly freezing to stone.

Unable to stand Medusa’s gaze much longer, I fled to the only other place where I might find safety.

My dear friend greeted me at the door of her cottage. Her filmy eyes never wavered in staring at me, and a girlish smile brightened her face when she heard my voice.

We sat by the cozy fireplace. I arranged my skirts and opened the book, flipping the pages to our last spot.

“As the carriage-wheels rolled heavily under the portcullis, Emily’s heart sunk, and she seemed, as if she was going into her prison; the gloomy court, into which she passed, served to confirm the idea, and her imagination, ever awake to circumstance, suggested even more terrors, than her reason could justify. ..”

“Bridget, stop.”

I halted at the gentle command.

“Something is wrong,” Mrs. Eacher said. “What is it?”

Closing the book with a decided thud, I debated sharing everything since I was so used to being dismissed.

She patiently waited for my answer as the fire crackled and popped beneath the fireplace mantel.

Before long, I found myself spilling the entire sordid story regarding my brother, including the promise I made to my mother on her deathbed.

I even shared that fateful accident years ago when Abigail and Daniel left me behind.

“I’ve completely failed,” I told her. “I cannot get through to Daniel, nor can I ensure Abigail’s future, nor even my own. I cannot see God’s hand working in these circumstances. He remains ever remote from me.”

A heavy sigh escaped her as she leaned forward, reaching with tentative hands to clasp my own.

“You know the answer, Bridget, but I sense it isn’t enough for you.

You no longer trust God to work in your life.

Your relationship with your father has colored your relationship with your heavenly Father.

Don’t misunderstand me. This village loves the vicar for all he has done, but he never should have sacrificed you and Daniel on the altar of service.

We all grieve in different ways. Your father chose to do it alone, distracting that pain with duty. ”

“Mrs. Eacher...” I breathed, feeling terribly guilty about casting any shame or blame on his shoulders. Father also sounded remarkably similar to me.

“As much as you seek purpose and recognition, have you considered what truly matters? What good is acclaim if it cannot save your brother? You are chasing after things that may never bring you the peace you long for. God’s path offers clarity and assurance—will you let it guide you to what you truly seek? ”

I pulled free of her loose grip, my mouth suddenly dry. Her challenge hurt, but I couldn’t deny the truth of it. “I must go.”

“Before you leave,” Mrs. Eacher interrupted me, “is it true that they found a child buried on Lord Hawthorn’s land?”

Grateful she couldn’t see my facial expression, especially when she’d surprised me with such a direct question, I answered, “Yes, they uncovered a child, a daughter buried with an ivory doll. She died far before the Hawthorns ever took possession of the land. How did you learn of the news?”

She tugged her shawl tighter across her frail shoulders. “Mr. Cobb, one of the tenants, heard the tale. He says the child was likely murdered.”

“I went to see the grave for myself. I suspect he heard snippets and stretched the tale for entertainment.”

“He holds no regard for the new lord, and makes no bones about sharing his feelings,” Mrs. Eacher answered.

“I remember the Hawthorn brothers. Of course, I was younger then with decent eyesight. Handsome, both of them. Turning the head of each lass in Bramnor. Their father had a reputation for his abject cruelty, and they grew to become just like him.”

“What do you recall of the family?” I asked. I didn’t want to indulge in gossip, but I wanted to understand the viscount better. My father would likely tell me to manage my own affairs, as he usually hinted whenever I probed too deeply into the lives of the parishioners.

“Lady Hawthorn was more a prisoner than a beloved wife. You and I may enjoy our gothic tales, but to see such wicked events unfold within this sleepy community...” Mrs. Eacher paused, her sightless eyes drifting to the window.

“Is there any truth to the tales?” I probed.

“Truth often exceeds fiction. Anne Hawthorn had no title, but her family engaged in trade and had money. She must have witnessed unfathomable things within that abbey since her husband, Randall, chased after farmer’s wives and female servants alike.

She fled when Rafe was only six years of age.

It was not long after her departure that her husband’s murder made the papers all across England resulting in a scandal that shocked the country.

The circumstances surrounding his death were murky, with whispers that the viscount himself had a hand in his brother’s demise, all for the sake of Anne.

Following the scandal, the viscount withdrew completely from society, becoming a pariah in nearly every circle. ” Mrs. Eacher shook her head.

“Then something happened in the old viscount, and no doubt on account of your father’s influence.

When the former lord learned of my husband’s sudden passing, he asked what I needed.

The costs of the funeral overwhelmed me, and he promised to pay for my expenses and never raise my rent, a boon that the current viscount has promised to extend. I can’t ever forget such kindness.”

Lord Hawthorn’s question circled in my mind. Do you believe that God can change a man? I shifted again in my chair, uncomfortable. I had hoped that good common sense and logic would change Daniel. Not faith, nor God.

She paused for a long moment before resuming her story.

“Lady Anne’s faith was a testament in the darkest of hours.

I’ll never forget how she shared with me in this cottage her plans to leave.

We all wanted to protect her and young Rafe.

When I asked her what I could do to help, she asked for prayer.

She told me that no matter what happened, she would trust God to watch over her son and her. ”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Mrs. Eacher, of course, had eschewed subtlety with her lesson, but I understood perfectly. Would I release my brother into God’s care at long last?

A ragged sigh escaped at the same time a flood of compassion for Lord Hawthorn filled me. No wonder he had paled at the idea of others crawling over his property, scrutinizing his family’s torrid past. No wonder he felt tremendously alone—an emotion I was well acquainted with.