My father smiled at me, albeit sadly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I knew he grieved for Daniel as much as I did. Maybe more so, like the father in the tale of the prodigal son, yearning to wrap his arms around his lost child and hold him tightly.
“Bridget, therein lies the mystery. Who can tell whom God will rescue? I pray for Daniel. I hope that within that foul, damp hulk, he will turn back to God. I have no choice but to trust His leading in the lives of my children, including providing for my son’s needs.”
My throat tightened as I fidgeted with my sleeve. “I fear that both your children will always prove utter disappointments. I’ve long struggled to believe in the goodness of God, especially after Mother passed away. You poured so much into your ministry, and I felt as though I lost you too. And Daniel... I tried so hard to be both a sister and a mother to him, but it proved too great a burden for me to carry. I needed you.”
My voice broke and for once, I struggled to keep the tears at bay as they spilled over my cheeks.
“Weneeded you,” I repeated.
His eyes also shimmered with tears, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with effort. I feared I had pushed him too far with my plain speech. I never wanted to wound the one man who had represented hearth and home and all that I loved.
“Bridget... I am deeply sorry that my ministry caused you pain. Forgive me for being so consumed by it, especially after you lost your mother... and, in a way, your brother and me too. If I could fix my mistakes, I would. But I can’t go back and change the past. I can, like Daniel, only live with the consequences of my choices. I was not the father you needed. I see that now.
“When you discovered the Roman doll’s markings, I prayed you would see it as a sign that God loves you, just as He cared for that Roman child. That He delights in you and shows it by bringing a glimpse of His glory to shine in that murky soil of a simple farmer’s field. His truth lasts far beyond Bacchus’s or Medusa’s influence.
“He created you to excavate. I finally understand. He led you to that precious child’s grave. Is there anything that is not ordained within His sovereign will? From your brother’s capture and detention to these mosaics uncovered in Mr. Perry’s field, just when he desperately needed money to save his farm. I see these occurrences as signs, as miracles of His provision and sovereignty.
“None of our striving amounts to much in the end. It is only by His strength that we can accomplish anything.” He heaved a great sigh and continued. “I had thought to join better men by initiating change in England and to reform the corrupt labor laws. I had such ambitious plans, but in the end, I suppose what God most desired of me was to serve one man. In these later years, after my son abandoned his faith, my ministry lay with a single man—afeebleminded, alcoholic viscount abandoned by all and deemed most unlikely to receive any grace. Too late, I learned to embrace grace and mercy. To temper the harshness of my tongue. By God, the old viscount chose that grace in those last years of his life. So, it is I who have let you down, both as a father and a vicar. It is I who failed. Please do not blame God for my shortcomings.”
We, too, had been a family torn apart, divided in our beliefs, not unlike the people who lived in the villa.
Tears poured down my cheeks, and I tried in vain to mop them up with my fingers. “No, Father. You are not a failure. And I don’t believe your ministry resulted in just one man. Look at the good you’ve done for Rafe.”
“Rafe?” Father arched a brow.
“Lord Hawthorn.” I corrected myself before hastening to add, “And look at the wisdom you’ve imparted to me and the entire village.”
His smile softened, though his expression grew more thoughtful. “Yes, wisdom is a gift, but it is not always from me. What I have often preached—and tried to live by—is that what man intends for evil, God can redeem for good. I’ve seen it happen in the most unlikely of places and the most unexpected lives. Even in the darkest moments, God is at work.”
He paused, looking into the flickering flames. “I believe He has been working in Daniel’s life, even now. Mr. Harrington thinks you will receive funding and we can send further aid to Daniel in the months to come. And, Bridget, God is present in your excavation too. It’s not just the discovery of ancient artifacts—it’s a sign that He watches over us, even in a quiet village like ours. His hand moves in all things.”
There was a brief silence as we both reflected on these words. Then Father glanced at me with a knowing smile. “Lord Hawthorn is just the kind of man I admire.”
So I had not escaped Father’s keen study of me from the opposite settee. My fingers tangled together as I considered how to respond, trying to buy a few moments.
Father rubbed his chin. “He knows when to take a stand, or so Mr. Harrington has informed me. He is most unconventional, rather like our own family. A free spirit. I am eager to grow our friendship and see the good he will bring to Bramnor.”
I had not thought of Rafe as a free spirit, yet that moment when he had tipped his head so close to mine earlier, with the wind tearing at his hair, and his eyes darkening like a tempest, and his mouth parted as if to brush against mine, just before I kissed him...
A man willing to buck tradition—even the unwritten rule that said a viscount shouldn’t marry a vicar’s daughter like me.
Free spirit, indeed.I swallowed hard.
34:Rafe
A man afraid of death will never play the part of a live man.
SENECA
The constable had arrived early the next morning, summoned swiftly after Bridget’s accident with the sabotaged saddle. His investigation, however, left much to be desired.
“A thorn you say?” Constable Wickham scowled as he wandered through my stable, his hand trailing against the stalls. A piece of straw clung to his sleeve, which he seemed completely unaware of. “Are you sure it isn’t a prank of a silly boy? Perhaps I ought to interrogate the Dixon lads.”
“If it was a prank, I would throttle the neck of whoever did it,” I nearly growled, wanting to shake some sense into him. Too many accidents had occurred—loose animals, a stranger in the field, the stolen mosaic, and now this thorn and gunshots. Sabotage meant to frighten me. But why?
The constable had found no leads whatsoever, and I was growing tired of his incompetence.
He scratched behind his ear, eyeing both Mr. Whittle and Mr. Spencer with some suspicion. Mr. Spencer had a rolled-up blanket pinned beneath his arm, a satchel filled with supper, and matches for a fire. As soon as he was free to go, he planned to spend the night watching over Mr. Perry’s field.
