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Abigail laughed while I frowned. Mrs. Dray, ever intent on extolling propriety, was no favorite of mine, but Daniel’s mocking tone made me cringe.

I had no wish to cast in a poor light all the parish ladies who visited us.

A dull ache filled my chest at the thought of my kind mother and her whispered admonishments to guide my mischievous brother.

Daniel, despite his angelic looks and charm, was proving to be more of a handful than I ever could have anticipated. He pointed to the ground where I had found a small cache of Roman coins only a week prior in my effort to escape the stuffy parsonage.

Holding my breath, I watched him fish through his pocket for one of the coins before showing it to Abigail—a coin the rascal had surely pilfered from my dresser.

“See what my clever sister discovered? A silver denarius.” He puffed out his chest, appearing smug.

With a laugh, he ducked Abigail’s outstretched hand as she tried to take it. Raising both palms, equally empty, he proved himself ever the tease.

“Up to your usual tricks, Mr. Littleton. I am not impressed with silly games.” Abigail pouted as she folded her arms across her chest.

With an elaborate bow, he straightened and reached for my friend’s ear, where a fat curl dangled. “Why, what is this I see?”

A tarnished coin appeared pinched between his fingers.

Abigail wrinkled her nose with distaste as she plucked it from his hand. “A rusted, useless thing.” She tossed it back to him, snickering when he swiped only to miss it.

“Give it back or you shall owe me a kiss.” He puckered his lips.

“Daniel, do behave!” I cried, much to his laughter.

Why had he ruined our secret without a second thought? Yes, I was pleased that he gave me credit for the find, but I wanted this hunt for antiquities to be for us—to draw us closer together. He beamed at me.

“No one is as clever as Bridget. My sister is top of the tree and can outwit any scholar.”

“On that, we can agree, Mr. Littleton,” my friend said.

Their compliment warmed my heart, but as much as I enjoyed Abigail’s company, I cherished quiet moments in the rolling hills, where I could escape my grief and think.

Mama had loved wandering through nature, gathering herbs for her remedies.

She preferred the sunshine to the drawing room and taught me all she knew about healing.

I felt closest to her on these grassy paths.

Weeks earlier, while walking by the Hawthorn wall, I stumbled upon a hidden Roman coin.

Clutching it in my scratched hands eased my broken heart.

I showed it to Daniel later, coaxing him from his sullen mood into the sunshine, where I hoped we’d both find healing.

We escaped the tomb-like parsonage whenever we could, finding freedom and dreams in the fields.

Daniel shared his lessons on Greek and Roman history, opening a new world that helped me mend.

We talked of Mama, of missing her garden and wildflowers.

Exploring the outdoors was my way of remembering her.

Now on my knees, I frantically searched for that denarius.

How often had she told the parable of the lost coin? My throat ached at the loss of her lessons—so different from those of the brusque village women or our housekeeper.

“Bridget, surely you will ruin your gown!” Abigail called out with concern.

“That was a Roman coin,” I sputtered as my fingers combed through the short grass and the wind tore my bonnet from my head. “Not a ball to be flung about.”

“Don’t mind my sister. She has an obsession with all things ancient.”

So intent on finding the coin, I scarcely heard what else Daniel said. Then a crack of thunder resounded, followed by Abigail’s shriek.

“It’s going to rain and I can’t ruin my bonnet!” my friend cried. “Do hurry, Bridget.”

“One moment,” I murmured as I willed the Roman coin to show itself yet again.

At last, I found it and was about to cry out with triumph when the sound died before it left my lips.

Daniel and Abigail had mounted their horses and now raced across the sloping countryside.

Above, clouds the color of a bruise roiled in the sky, and I rushed to Betsy, determined to catch them both.

Yet, as soon as I mounted, a jolt of lightning stabbed the ground as if Zeus himself had flung a bolt from Olympus. The horse jerked the reins out of my hand and galloped full speed ahead, leaving me to cling helplessly to the pommel.

No one heard my cry as Betsy swerved into the thicket. I slipped and fell, landing hard on the ground. My shriek resounded alongside the thunder.

Pain radiated from my ankle, pinning me to the ground when I tried to move.

Had I broken a bone? Fearing the worst, I waited for my brother’s return, but the minutes stretched into something far more terrifying until I grew dizzy with panic while the sky decided to unleash her full fury. Rain mingled with my salty tears.

I waited for Daniel. I waited for Abigail.

The once-lost coin warmed within the palm of my hand.

Would anyone search for me? Would anyone in my family notice I was missing?

I had no answers as I fingered a relic that had remained hidden and forgotten for centuries.

Struggling to breathe, I forced myself to calm and focus on the coin.

There was comfort in its round, solid shape.

Buried for so long, it now saw the light of day.

As I rubbed away the grime, revealing its rusted surface, I doubted its worth but found it no less precious.

A faint whisper drifted through my mind, altogether mocking. If only I held meaning to those who loved me.

The twilight deepened as I huddled near the roadside, more and more convinced that I would spend the evening a shivering mess.

When I lay down as a wave of nausea roiled within my belly, the road shook with a rhythm.

Father’s black chaise rattled down the road, and I cried out, relieved when he stopped with Abigail sitting beside him.

He enveloped me in a rare hug, pulling back only when I moaned and gestured to my ankle.

“I fear it is broken,” Father murmured as he gingerly probed my foot with careful fingers. “We spied your horse bolting past the parsonage.”

“Bridget, forgive me. Daniel swore you would follow in your own time. I never thought...” Abigail wrung her hands and suddenly she could no longer meet my gaze. How long had they ridden together, alone?

Another dark figure on horseback swiftly dismounted beside Father’s carriage. My brother stalked through the foliage, his mouth pressed into a grim line when he spied us.

“Oh, Bridget...” A low moan escaped him as he rammed fingers through his hair. “This is all my fault. I should have waited for you.”

“Indeed, it is your fault, you foolish, foolish boy. Why did you not stay by your sister’s side?

” Father’s voice shook, which was a good sign of the wrath to come.

“I can trust you to do nothing right, it would appear.” He would have said far more but for Abigail’s inarticulate cry.

Daniel shrank into himself, his expression turning as bleak as the sky above.

I tried to reassure them both that I would be fine—as I often did—but I remembered nothing more after Father reached for me again. Not when my vision faded to black.

The storm hammered the parlor window as I sat at my desk, the quill resting idle in my hand.

The inkpot waited, but my thoughts circled around Daniel—how much more could I have done?

The questions lingered like shadows, never answered but always there, a quiet reminder of the choices that led us here.

Promise me you’ll look after him, Bridget.

Abigail and Daniel had been extra attentive after my accident, and the terror of the memory faded—though I swore I’d never ride again.

Months had passed with my leg propped on a stool as summer gave way to fall.

As expected, the village women fussed over me like I was their own, murmuring about the poor motherless children.

Father had saved his harshest words for Daniel until they were behind the locked door of the parsonage office, but I heard enough to feel ill.

Honor. Propriety. Scandal. Marriage. Riding alone with an unaccompanied woman.

Daniel’s voice rose, hot with anger, and Father’s followed, until their words struck like blows.

Debauched. Rebellious. How could he lead his flock if his own children disobeyed?

I’d cowered on the settee, wishing I could escape.

Why did Father twist every conflict into a betrayal of his ministry?

Couldn’t he see that Daniel grieved in his own way?

Afterward, Daniel withdrew, and Father buried himself in work, leaving tension to simmer. I tried to mend the rift, but the harder I worked, the more tangled things became, until our family felt like a knot impossible to unravel.

But despite it all, Daniel had always been the one to encourage my spirit. Before leaving for seminary, he had scoffed. Why can’t a woman publish her work? Make those stuffy old chaps recognize you, Bridget. You were never meant to be a caged thing.

His challenge had warmed me... and yet his last comment chilled me simultaneously.

The front door clicked softly, arresting my attention from gathering wool.

I laid down the quill just as Father tiptoed down the hall, appearing wanner than he had in some time.

He did not pause to see me in the shadows with only the candlelight to illuminate my desk.

A sigh escaped him as he shrugged out of his coat. Something like a muttered prayer.

Swallowing my disappointment, I let him shuffle past without calling his name. He was weary of conversation, no doubt, from visiting the parishioners. Earlier this week, he had repaired Mrs. Eacher’s thatched roof. Then he stayed by the bedside of an ill Mr. Claven, who lay near death’s door.

Fever had taken hold of the village again as spring thawed.

I would not worry him with my mounting concerns over my brother. Instead, I resolved to do something about it myself. Taking the jar of ink and a quill, I set out to finish my stack of letters in the hopes of finding Daniel, starting with the Secretary of the Admiralty.