Last week we announced that Kari Edgren’s Goddess Born is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded Goddess Born, you’re in for a real treat:

Goddess Born

RWA 2013 Golden Heart Finalist

Pennsylvania, 1730

The power to heal is her divine gift—the fear of discovery, her mortal curse.

Selah Kilbrid is caught between two worlds. A direct descendant of the Celtic goddess Brigid, she is bound by immortal law to help those in need. Yet as a human, she must keep her unique abilities hidden or risk being charged as a witch. The Quaker community of Hopewell has become a haven for religious freedom—and fanaticism—and there are those who would see her hanged if the truth were revealed.

For eighteen years, Selah safely navigates the narrow gap between duty and self-preservation—until the day an ambitious minister uncovers her secret. Already tempted by Selah’s large estate, he soon lusts for her power as well, and demands marriage in exchange for his silence.

Terrified, Selah flees to Philadelphia where she strikes a deal with an arrogant stranger. It doesn’t matter that she suspects Henry Alan harbors his own dark secrets. Once he agrees to the scheme, Selah refuses to look back. But as unseen forces move against her, she’s unsure which poses the greater danger—a malignant shadow closing in from outside or the fire that threatens to consume her heart.

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

Chapter One

Come Home Quickly

Pennsylvania, May 1730

The air was still, the sky silent and empty over the wheat fields that ran undisturbed to the forest’s edge. Not yet noon, the late morning sun beat against my back, pushing me toward home. I hitched up my skirts and tried to walk faster despite a shortness of breath and the painful stitch gnawing at my side. Dirt and loose rocks crunched underfoot, each step echoing the frantic cadence in my head. Hurry…Hurry…Hurry…

Over the past eighteen years I had traveled this road between Hopewell and Brighmor Hall at least a thousand times, but never before had these two miles been as onerous as they were today. Unable to go any farther without resting, I stepped off the road into the grass and leaned against a prodigious oak to catch my breath. Sweat coated every inch of my body, causing the skin to prickle wherever my shift brushed against it. Still a mile away, I was fraught with worry and more than a little inclined to slap Mary Finney senseless. Her note, clutched tightly in my right hand, held the promise of ill news.

Come home quickly.

That was all she had bothered to write before giving the note to a neighbor who happened to be passing by Brighmor Hall on his way into town. William Goodwin, older brother of my best friend Nora, tracked me down at the dry goods store and handed over the neatly folded paper. He then excused himself, leaving me to stare at those three ominous words.

Come home quickly.

And I would have done just that if Ben Hayes hadn’t taken the horse and shay out to the gristmill to discuss the expected wheat harvest after driving me to town. Not that I could blame him. As our family’s most trusted servant, Ben had been tasked with managing much of the farm since my father took sick. Any other day I would have gladly remained in the grass beneath the ancient oak and waited for Ben to bring me the rest of the way home. Staring ahead at the rutted, stone-strewn road, I didn’t know which I regretted most this morning—the closely fitted silk gown or matching brocade heels. Neither was meant for prolonged walking, nor capable of the slightest mercy. Flexing my toes, I winced from what felt like the start of a blister. The cloth and bone stays proved equally irksome, binding my ribs and not allowing for anything beyond a cramped breath.

Reduced to an anxious, hobbling mess, Mary’s thoughtlessness smoldered like a piece of hot coal inside me. I clenched her note even tighter in my fist, crushing the linen sheet into a sweaty ball. It’s not as though it would have killed her to write another line. My mind raced for answers, but there were only two reasons to justify such a panic and my hasty summons home: either my father’s health had grown alarmingly worse or a letter had arrived concerning my impending marriage.

These were my thoughts when I spied a man in the distance on his way into Hopewell. Having dallied long enough already, I readjusted my straw hat, making sure to tuck up any stray dark hairs, and continued on the road. It took no time for the distance to fall away, allowing me a clear view of his face.

“Ballocks!” I cursed under my breath.

Other than the devil himself, Nathan Crowley was the last person I wanted to see today. Then again, the devil hadn’t been pestering me for months to become his wife. For a split second I considered cutting across the Trumbles’ property for home, but navigating the road was difficult enough. I wouldn’t make it ten steps through a field without twisting an ankle. As I also lacked the means to fly or vanish into thin air, I heaved an irritated sigh and resigned myself to the inevitable encounter.

To be fair, most folks didn’t share my opinion that Nathan was the most annoying man in Hopewell. A Quaker minister, he exemplified plain living, hard work, and service to those less fortunate. All admirable traits, and for a time I had found his company rather pleasant, if a little overwhelming. Ordinary in both form and feature, it was the fierce intensity in his eyes that set him apart from other men. Although I was never at liberty to consider his proposals of marriage, refusing him had been no trivial matter. Even now, with my betrothed on his way from Ireland, Nathan continued to labor under the delusion that I would soon be his wife.

When we finally met, I nodded in greeting, and then took another step to continue on my way. No sooner had I attempted to pass by than he stepped directly in my path, forcing me to a dead stop. In his shoes he measured a hand taller than my five and a quarter feet, and though he appeared slight in his traditional Quaker garb of brown woolen breeches and coat, it was well known that he didn’t lack for physical strength. A black hat covered his cropped brown hair, the wide-brim casting much of his face in shadow. It did nothing to hide his self-sure smile.

“Good day, Selah Kilbrid,” he said pleasantly.

“Good day, Mr. Crowley,” I said, placing particular emphasis on the “mister.” As a Quaker, Nathan did not abide the use of titles, and from the abrupt change of his expression, my insult had been noted. “You will please excuse me. I am expected home without delay.”

“I have just come from Brighmor Hall myself.”

Suspicion flickered inside of me. “Why were you at Brighmor? Did you have business with my father?”

“Yes, but he was indisposed and unable to meet with me. You may relay my best wishes for his improved health.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crowley. I will be sure to deliver your message.” I attempted to sidle past when Nathan moved in step, blocking me once more.

“You may also tell him,” he continued, “that it is time for us to openly declare our intent to marry. If we stand in meeting this Sunday we can be joined by midsummer’s day.”

I blinked several times, stunned by so forward a declaration. “Indeed, sir you must be jesting.”

“On the contrary, Selah. I’ve no patience for such games and believe my intentions have been adequately clear for sometime now.”

“Then I am very sorry, for my cousin would never forgive me if I broke our engagement after he agreed to sail all the way from Ireland.”

Nathan stretched his thin lips into a patronizing smile. “Your cousin is not a Quaker. The Elders will never approve the match.”

“You forget, Mr. Crowley, that I am also not a Quaker. My name has never been read into the membership.” Though I tried to hide it, my voice shook with anger.

He shrugged indifferently. “I have spoken with the Elders, and they agree you are a member by right of birth.”

A sudden flush of heat burned my cheeks. “You know very well that I was baptized Catholic long before my father joined the Quakers. My mother only agreed to his conversion on the condition that I could decide for myself when I came of age.”

“And yet you turned eighteen in February and continue to attend meeting each week.”

“The nearest Catholic Church is fifty miles away!”

“No matter,” he said impatiently. “Unless you stand up with me this Sunday and declare your intent to marry, I will petition the Elders to have you disowned.”

I glared at him, no longer concerned with even the pretense of civility. “Why are you trying to force me into marriage when I have no desire to be your wife?”

For a brief moment the intensity in his eyes surged. “Once I received the call to minister I sought inspiration for a suitable woman to assist me in my work. In a vision I saw your inner light and have been commanded to take you for my spiritual helpmate. It is God’s will for us to marry, to serve together in His vineyard.”

“But I am already engaged! My cousin will be here any day now!”

Nathan shook his head. “Your cousin is not a suitable match. Once the details of your conflicting faiths become known, any reasonable man would realize the marriage was failed from the start. As a gesture of goodwill, I shall even reimburse his return passage to Ireland to help compensate for any inconveniences.”

“You can’t honestly think my cousin would be so easily diverted.”

“If you believe him unreasonable, then we can marry before he arrives, to safeguard against any potential claims.”

Hell and furies! What is wrong with this man? Gritting my teeth, I spoke slowly, hoping to somehow penetrate his thick skull. “No, we cannot, not now, not in a thousand years. I would rather be disowned than marry you.”

Nathan leaned closer and I fought the urge to step back. “You are playing a dangerous game, Selah. Deny God’s will, and I shall request an official inquiry into that incident with Oliver Trumble. From what I heard the boy was near dead when you reached him.”

“Don’t be absurd,” I snapped. “He fell out of an apple tree and hit his head on a rock. Being knocked unconscious is a far cry from near dead.”

Nathan narrowed his eyes. “His older sister has a different story. She used the word miracle to describe what you did.”

“You are quite mistaken, Mr. Crowley. I can no more bring back the dead than you can.” I lifted my chin and forced a curt, derisive laugh. “Phoebe Trumble will say anything to get attention. I did nothing other than wait for Oliver to wake up before ministering to his scrapes and bruises.”

Nathan didn’t respond at once, and I thought the conversation over when he grabbed my arm, pulling me to him. “Be my wife, Selah Kilbrid, or I’ll have you charged for a witch.”

I tried to wrestle free, but he held tight. “Find one person who will stand against my father. Go ahead and cry witch. No one will believe you.”

“You foolish girl. Once your father dies, there is no one left to protect you. Even if you don’t hang, the wheat would rot in the fields from want of men willing to work for a suspected witch. Brighmor would be bankrupt within a year, two at most. Do you think your cousin would be so eager to honor your engagement under these altered circumstances?”

The initial shaking had spread far beyond my voice until I trembled from head to toe with suppressed fury. “Is this how you go about doing God’s work? By threatening to slander my name to force me into marriage?” Fight as I might, his grip remained steadfast on my arm. “Let me go!” Stomping down on his shiny black shoe, I dug my heel into the top of his foot. He grunted in pain, and I stumbled back a step, surprised by the sudden freedom.

Savage anger burned in Nathan’s eyes, turned his face an ugly shade of red. “I am prepared to do whatever it takes to have you for my wife. This Sunday we will stand and state our intentions to marry. Refuse and I’ll assume it’s because you’re a witch and unable to marry a man called of God.”

Despite my desire to say something more, like blasting him with every curse I had ever heard, my throat grew too tight for words. Silence pursued and he did not attempt to stop me a third time when I pushed by and started again toward home.

The remaining mile was nothing short of torture. Replaying our conversation in my head, I no longer heard the words of a true believer, but rather the pious twaddle of a fanatic. How else could he have come to such conclusions? And what right did he have to decide God’s plan for me?

The threat of being disowned by an entire group of people, nearly half of Hopewell’s two hundred residents, gave me pause. Over the years I had come to love my Quaker neighbors and friends and did not wish to be banished from their presence. If this happened, I still had ample acquaintances among the Lutherans, Baptists, and Presbyterians, which made up the other half of Hopewell’s population. But all these girls put together could never replace my dearest friend, Nora Goodwin. The daughter of good Quaker parents, she would be strictly forbidden from seeing me until I made my way back into the Elders’ good graces.

And from Nathan’s threats, disownment would be only the beginning if I refused to marry him. The humiliation of a witch trial and subsequent tests would ruin my reputation. Regardless of the outcome, people would never forget my being tied to the dunking chair or weighed against the scriptures, forever linking me with witchcraft in their minds. No longer would they seek me out to tend their sick and wounded, nor set foot on my land out of fear of any lingering evil. Everything my father had built would be for naught. Once he was gone, I would lose Brighmor and with it, all security in this world.

These worries had to be temporarily pushed aside the moment I reached the drive and found a red-eyed Mary Finney waiting for me. “Oh, miss,” she cried. “It’s yer father—”

“Tell me what happened,” I demanded.

“Ye know how he’s been feeling so poorly and not getting around too good on his own anymore. Well, when ye and Ben left for town I got worried with him not ringing for breakfast and I went to his bedchamber to see if he needed any help.” Her shoulders began to shake. “I’m sorry, Miss Kilbrid, but there was nothing I could do.”

My heart jerked violently. Oh, dear God, please don’t let him be dead. Please don’t—

Mary snuffled loudly. “I tried to help him but he had no more strength than a newborn babe. He told me to leave him be and to send for ye at once.” She drew up her apron to wipe the tears from her eyes. “I’m so sorry, miss.”

Relief coursed through me. “Thank you, Mary. You did well.”

There was still time, but only if I acted quickly. Kicking off my shoes, I hiked up my skirts and ran toward the large stone house. Within minutes I knelt at his bedside, heart racing and lungs fit to burst from the exertion. Staring at his damp gray hair and ashen skin, I couldn’t believe the stark change that had occurred since last night. Except for the slow rise and fall of his chest, he looked like death itself.

I hated acting contrary to his wishes, but I couldn’t let him die, especially after Nathan’s egregious threats. Four years ago I had lost my mother in an accident, and wrong or not, I needed my father.

Reaching out, I placed my hands on his sternum. The sickness was easy enough to find as it had spread throughout most of his body, but so much healing would take a great deal of focus and strength. I closed my eyes to better concentrate, relaxing a little when a small fire sprang to life behind my ribcage. The flame strengthened, and its familiar warmth flowed down my arms into the very tips of my fingers. With a deep breath, I willed the power forward, anxious for the healing to begin.

At the last moment, the warmth unexpectedly faded. My eyes flew open, and I looked at my father, dumbfounded by what had just happened. Brushing aside the first sensations of panic, I renewed my efforts, but no sooner had the power reached my fingers than it left me yet again.

“Damnation!” I cursed softly. My panic grew tenfold, and I had to fight the urge to scream in frustration. Summoning more power, I’d begun a third time when my father stirred.

“There is no use fighting against my wishes.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at me. Though never as dark blue as my own, over the past year his eyes had faded to a steely gray. A faint smile pulled on his mouth, taking much of the sting from his rebuke.

“Oh, Father!” I cried. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

“It is my time, daughter. I have no fear of dying.”

“You can’t leave me.” Tears filled my eyes. “Let me heal you once more, then I’ll promise never to ask again, no matter what happens.”

He pulled a shaky hand from under the blankets and placed it on top of my own. “I consented to be healed last summer when the sickness first started to grow. But it has come back, and even you must obey God’s will.”

“A pox on God’s will!” I yanked my hand away and quickly rose to my feet. “I have heard enough of His will for one day.”

The smile left my father’s face, replaced by worry. “Such hard words, Selah. Did something happen in town this morning?”

“Nathan Crowley happened,” I said angrily. “I met him on the road, and he told me it was God’s will for us to marry. He even claimed a vision of my inner light.” Despair threatened to sap my remaining strength when I received my own flash of inspiration. My father had only to understand the depth of my plight. Then he would have no choice but to stay with me longer. “He demanded that I stand with him in meeting this Sunday or he would have me disowned.”

“Ah,” my father said as though already familiar with this part of my antagonist’s plan. “Nathan hinted of this months ago when I first refused him my consent to court you. At the time I explained that it was impossible to disown someone who is not yet a member. It sounds like he is determined to get around this detail.”

“That and worse,” I continued with great urgency. “Nathan suspects my gift and has threatened to charge me as a witch if I refuse to marry him. Be assured, unless I submit to his demands, he’ll see me homeless, without so much as sheaf of wheat left to sell.”

Grim lines etched my father’s face. Pulling in a raspy breath, he released it in a weary sigh. “Selah, these things mean nothing.”

My heart sank alongside my last hope. “I’ll try to remember that next winter when I’m half starved and living in a ditch somewhere. Hunger and cold might mean nothing to you at this point, but they are everything to me if I wish to continue in this world.”

“Forgive me, daughter, I only meant that we must first think of the altar. Everything else can be replaced.”

“But it’s hidden. Surely there’s no risk of losing that too.”

My father shook his head. “All the land belongs to the estate. If you’re driven from Brighmor, you’ll be forced to sneak around like a thief in the night, just asking to be caught. It will be only a matter of time before the altar is discovered and you’re cut off from the Otherworld.”

The truth shot through me. No altar… No Otherworld… No power… Nathan would take everything—my home and my birthright.

When I had first come into the room I hadn’t believed my father could be any paler, but these new worries caused all the remaining color to leave his face. He stared up at the ceiling for several minutes, silently contemplating my troubles.

A spark fired in his eyes when he turned back to me. “It was a mistake to underestimate Nathan. We’ll need to move quickly, before it’s too late.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” I said miserably. “Nathan knows you’re dying. He’s probably speaking to the Elders this very minute.”

“We’ve still time—”

“No, we haven’t! Unless the sickness is cured, you’ll be dead by tomorrow night.”

My candor was rewarded with a stern look of disapproval. “Did you see this when you tried to heal me?”

I nodded sheepishly.

“How easily you break our laws,” he sighed.

Guilt pricked at my conscience, but having already crossed the line, I decided to continue forward regardless of any future punishments. “It’s only fair that you understand the consequences of your decision. Nathan knows Samuel is expected soon, and will stop at nothing to force me into marriage before he arrives. Tell me, Father, what shall I do without a parent to intercede on my behalf?”

“Do not tempt me to act against God, Selah. My first instinct is to remain here and see this fight through to the end, but God has given me another path.”

I tossed up my arms in defeat. “Then all is lost for me! I might as well surrender my birthright for good and accept Nathan’s proposal this very evening. Why start something I am sure to lose?”

“Because your downfall is far from certain. Rather than give in, you will leave for Philadelphia tonight and wait for your cousin’s ship to arrive. When you return married, Nathan will lick his wounds and move his attentions to another young lady.”

The very idea was unthinkable and I folded my arms stubbornly across my chest. “How can you send me away right now? If you are determined to leave this world, then I am equally determined to stay with you through the end.”

Anger flashed on my father’s face, and I watched him struggle to lift his head from the pillow. My heart wrenched when even this small act proved too difficult, and he collapsed back to the bed, winded from the effort. “The next fifty years are of greater concern than my last few hours,” he said faintly. “You will do as I say and go to Philadelphia to marry your cousin. The moment Samuel steps off the boat, find a magistrate and get the business done. Only then will your future be secure.”

“You want me to marry him at first sight?” I asked, taken aback. Having an arranged marriage was one thing, but marrying a man after knowing him for less than a day was inconceivable. What if he demands his marital rights the very night we are married? My stomach clenched with fear, sending hot and cold tremors racing through me.

“Come here, Selah,” my father said, his expression softening as he beckoned me back down to his side. I knelt and let him take my hand again. “Please understand this is the only way. It is imperative that you are married before returning to Hopewell, or there is no telling what trouble Nathan will stir up.”

“But I’ve never even met Samuel. What if we detest each other?” What if he’s hideous and foul-tempered? “You promised to give me time to get better acquainted before we wed.”

“It is too dangerous for you to be alone. Let me die knowing my daughter is safe from being hunted like our kind in the old world. Samuel is a good man. He has taken the oath to protect you, even unto death. Promise you’ll not return home unmarried.”

My father stared at me, his eyes pleading, and I found myself unable to deny this last request. “I shall marry first.”

His face relaxed into a weak smile. “Go and pack your trunk while I rest. When you are done, come back and draft some letters for the trip. I will need to explain the entire matter to Samuel and also beg Netty Bradford of Meredith House to act as your guardian in my place. If Captain Harlow is in attendance at the docks, I ask that you personally relay the reason for my absence. Do you recall his appearance from when you last met?”

The image of a tall man in a sea captain’s hat popped into my head. “I believe so.”

“Very good.” My father took several shallow breaths as he fought to remain master of his ailing body. “You are just like your mother,” he said, struggling now with each word. “And like her you will find that true strength comes when you learn to fear no one but God. Now leave me be. You have much to do, and I must rest if I am to be of any further use today.”

Obediently, I got to my feet and left the room. Closing the door, I slumped against it to keep from crumpling to the floor. No matter how much I wanted to be strong like my mother, I trembled with fear. I had never been more frightened in my entire life.

***

That evening Ben and I were both in dour moods when he assisted me into the carriage before climbing to his own place on the driver’s box. Worry lines creased his face and with hair like salt and pepper, he looked all of his forty-eight years. Taking the reins, he clicked his tongue, spurring the horses to motion. The coach lurched forward, and I swayed from the momentum as the wheels crunched against the gravel.

Near the end of the driveway, I looked out the window and watched Brighmor disappear from view. Hot tears streaked my face and I pulled a linen handkerchief from my pocket, denied even the smallest hope of ever seeing my father again in this lifetime—by tomorrow evening he would be dead and his spirit released to the Otherworld, far beyond where I was allowed to go. “Go dté tú fd bhrat Bhrighde,” I whispered. May you travel safely under Brigid’s mantle.

Blood pounded in my head. Pressing a finger to each temple, I tried in vain to rub the pain away. I loved my father above all else in this world. And I needed him now more than ever.

Yet, he chooses to die, a bitter voice whispered from somewhere deep inside me, and leave you to fend for yourself.

The pounding grew anew and white patches flashed before me. I pressed even harder against my temples, as much to ease the pain as to rid myself of these treacherous thoughts. Gracious God, I’ll go mad if I think of it now. I had to be strong, to hold my emotions at bay or risk giving into them altogether. There would be time to grieve once my future was secure and I no longer felt like a pawn in another person’s game. With a deep breath, I swallowed back the remaining tears. Then, piece by piece, I steeled my heart for what lay ahead.

The sun had already slipped past the horizon, casting dark shadows on the side of the road. Other than broken wheels or fallen trees, trouble was rare on this stretch of road connecting Hopewell to Philadelphia. Even so, Ben wasn’t fond of traveling at night and had loaded a brace of pistols and two short swords into the compartment beneath his seat before we left. For my own part, the letters I had prepared were tucked safely in my trunk, ready to be presented to their proper recipients.

Fortunately there was no trouble to be had, and very late on the second night, when I felt my bones could not stand another minute of being jostled about, we reached Meredith House. While Ben saw to the horses I went inside to await Mrs. Bradford’s attention.

She found me a moment later near the empty hearth. Rather than trying to explain anything myself, I simply handed her the proper letter. Breaking the red wax seal, she read its contents. I was soon assured the rooms would be mine for as long as they were needed and, having only married children herself, she was more than happy to serve as my chaperone for the duration of my stay. The preliminaries settled, she began to inquire about the seriousness of my father’s illness. When I silently looked away, she decided otherwise, and left to have the rooms prepared.

I arrived upstairs to find a maid waiting with a supper tray. Travel worn, I declined everything except a small bowl of broth. As the maid helped me undress, I requested the Philadelphia Gazette be sent up with breakfast so I could see which ships were currently docked. Not that it mattered, since Captain Harlow wasn’t due to bring The Berkshire in for another week under fair conditions. A bad storm or time spent becalmed could push the expected arrival to a full month. I sighed, frustrated with my part in this game of hurry and wait. Aided by the light of a single candle, I climbed under the covers and nestled into the down mattress, wishing to trade my worries for sleep.

The next thing I knew daylight had replaced the small flame. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I peeked out from beneath the bedding when a knock sounded on the door, bringing me fully upright. Before I could answer either yea or nay, the door swung open and the maid walked in with a breakfast tray.

“Good morning, miss. Did ye have a good sleep?”

In the midst of a yawn, I settled for nodding my response.

She placed the tray on the table and began setting out the dishes. “Mistress Bradshaw feared ye might be ill with ye hardly touching a bite of supper last night. I told her not to worry, that ye was just tired out from traveling.” She poured a cup of tea and placed the newspaper next to a basket of bread. “Here ye go. Just printed this morning.”

“Thank you.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Do you have time to help me dress before breakfast?”

“Aye, miss. And I can see to them curls if ye like.”

I chose a simple cotton gown, then sat quietly while the maid looped my dark curls into a neat bun. Once she left I went to the table, determined to behave as though it were any other day. My stomach growled its neglect and I focused on the soft-boiled eggs and fresh bread before turning my attention to the newspaper.

A single essay, titled A Modest Enquiry into the Nature and Necessity of Paper Currency, took up the entire front page. Stifling a yawn, I turned the page. The inside contained a sermon that had been delivered the previous Sunday by a renowned Quaker minister on the moral harm of dancing, theater, and other frivolous activities. I skipped the sermon, settling instead on the public notices for employment, lost and found goods, and items for sale.

Reading to the bottom, I turned the page, hoping to find more notices for stray horses and runaway servants, when my eye fell on the list of ships currently docked along the Delaware. While sipping my tea, I began to scan the list more from interest than expectation. The Larkspur, which had docked ten days prior, was departing tomorrow morning. Makepeace arrived three days ago and was advertising for able seamen for its voyage to the West Indies. As I trailed a finger down the long list of arrivals and departures, I gasped, nearly choking on a mouthful of tea.

The Berkshire had arrived yesterday afternoon.

“This can’t be!” But there was no denying the bold black ink.

The mantel clock read a quarter past ten. I jumped up for my hat and gloves, frantic to be off at once. Best case, Samuel would be staying at a guesthouse for a few days to make any necessary purchases before leaving the city. Worst case, he had left Philadelphia and was already halfway to Brighmor. My only hope was that he had not departed the ship without first informing Captain Harlow of his plans.

At least I had the presence of mind to get Ben on my way out of the inn. Mrs. Bradford, would still be well put out once she got word of this outing, but there was no time to waste in finding the woman.

I refused to wait for the carriage, choosing instead to walk the three blocks to the river. The vast number of ships at anchor offered an impressive sight. Under normal circumstances I would have appreciated such evidence of our modern times if not for the great inconvenience they posed for finding The Berkshire and Captain Harlow. Luckily for me, Ben was not so easily discouraged. Taking my elbow, he led me through the bustling crowd. He stopped only twice to ask about The Berkshire and in no time had me in front of the right ship.

A group of men stood nearby, but I paid them no heed as I debated the best way to get a message to the captain. Deep in thought, I didn’t notice Ben had left until a minute later when he came back with a gentleman at his side. Although I hadn’t seen the man in years, his appearance was little altered and I recognized him at once.

Captain Harlow removed his hat and bowed gracefully. “Good Morning, Miss Kilbrid.”

“Good morning, Captain Harlow,” I said, returning the greeting with a small curtsey. “I have come to enquire about my cousin, Mr. Samuel Kilbrid. Do you know if he took up residence in town or left straight away for Hopewell when you arrived yesterday?”

The captain looked nervously at Ben and then back to me. “I’m afraid neither, Miss Kilbrid.”

I blinked in confusion. “Well, then where is he? Did he remain on the ship?”

“No, miss, your cousin is no longer onboard,” the captain said, slowly shaking his head. “He was struck with the palsy and died at sea.”

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