Scarlett felt like a ship caught in irons. The thoughts weighing upon her mind were sudden and frequent and often she found herself facing them head-on like strong winds from a tumultuous storm. She was stuck and motionless, unsure of which direction to take to get the wind under her sails again. No matter what, it wasn't going to be easy.

After she had arrived home, safely returned at the hands of Captain Alexander Jones, the days grew quickly into months. It surprised Scarlett how easily she was able to return to her normal routine but settling back in to her home was a different story.

Every morning, she woke early, rushing to kindle a fire in the hearth to warm the chilled walls of the Hamilton cottage. As the rest of the household emerged from their bedrooms as well, Scarlett and her mother, Catherine, prepared a quick, though hearty breakfast to sustain them throughout the day. Afterwards, bundling herself in her cloak and wrapping a scarf around her head, Scarlett stepped outside to brave the harsh, grey weather of the English coast. She scurried down the cliff side to follow after her father, George, and her brother, William, who had set off earlier and made their way into town. She trekked through the marketplace that resided just above the harbor until she reached her father's bakery. She stepped inside, always taking a moment to admire the freshly baked goods just removed from the brick oven in the corner of the room.

“There you are, dear,” George said. “Aren't they a delicious batch today?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied with a smirk, realizing her father asked the same question every day. But as she breathed in the sour aroma of the bread, she couldn't help but agree. It was a scent she had missed dearly during her adventures with the Captain and in that moment, she was thankful to be in its welcoming presence once again.

“It's a blustery day, isn't it?” George added. “I'm afraid I have many errands to send you on today so you better hurry to beat the rain. Here is the list I made and here are the goods I just gathered to deliver.” He placed a basket on her arm and handed her the list.

“Thank you, Father. See you this evening.” She waved to her brother, who emerged briefly to bid her farewell as he dusted the flour from his hands. Then she glanced at the first address on her list and set off on her way.

She spent the rest of her day, as she often would, meandering through the rough cobblestone streets and alleyways. She stopped to visit with the townsfolk she had known her whole life, answering the many questions they posed about each member of her family and how they were doing that day. Some would even dare to inquire--ever so bluntly--about her absence several months earlier and peer at her with a concerned, though suspicious gaze. Scarlett hated that look, carefully skirting around the topic before taking her leave. She didn't know how to respond or if she even wanted to. The problem was she hadn't even told her family the whole story, let alone someone who had no right to meddle in her affairs. Once again, she felt the weight of her thoughts upon this remembrance.

Once her basket was empty, she made her return home, meeting Joseph along the way with a couple of thin books in his arms. As there was limited access to education in their town, he often borrowed books from a man who kept a humble collection. However, home duties came first and they helped their mother with tending to the garden for a while before entering the house to ponder over Joseph's literature together. Scarlett was the only one in the household with the patience to find an understanding in the book's poetic musings and thus explain the story to Joseph. They lost themselves in the stories either until Joseph had read correctly through the whole chapter or until the day had grown so dark they could barely read by candlelight. By this time, George and William would be returning from the bakery and supper needed to be prepared. Scarlett assisted her mother with chopping and cooking the freshly picked vegetables, kneading the dough and setting the table for five.

Most of these tasks Scarlett performed every day, however, could be completed absent-mindedly. No matter how busy she tried to be, there was still plenty of time for her thoughts to wander elsewhere. She dwelled in the memory of her adventures, recalling the many faces whom she had come to know and others she did not. She remembered her fears in the face of danger and her moments of courage she didn't know she possessed. She thought about her encounter with Blackbeard and how easily dire things would have been had the Captain not rescued her from his rival's hand. And of course the Captain--his piercing blue eyes underneath the shadow of his woes, the warmth of his embrace as he held her close, the tender kiss he had left on her lips and his tempting offer of adventure by his side. Her heart ached for him in the loneliness of the night and regrets settled uncomfortably in her mind. Tears she had long withheld during the day soaked her pillow at night until she grew tired and fell asleep, only to meet him in her dreams. But most of all, she thought of her sister, Grace, and the responsibility she now faced. There was only one thing she could do. Scarlett needed to find her but first, she needed to tell her family everything.

These anxious thoughts brought Scarlett back to reality. As she watched her family carry on normally around her with each passing day, it became harder to approach the subject. She had not told them details about who had kidnapped her, let alone anything she had discovered about her long-forgotten sister.

“Scarlett, dear, you've been mixing that batter for too long now,” Catherine said. “Make it into little cakes and put it in the pan--quickly, now. Supper is almost ready.”

“Sorry, Mother,” she said, following her instructions as Catherine lifted a steaming pot of stew from the hearth and scurried over to the table.

It was a cold and damp night and the Hamiltons were huddling inside the warmth of their small home. It was a quaint setting and after a long day of running about in the rain storm that drizzled down steadily that afternoon, Scarlett was grateful to be in the comfort of a long-awaited family meal.

After she placed the pan of cakes over the fire and turned to her family, however, Scarlett caught her brother's gaze. He stood with his arm resting against the back of a chair, his curly hair still damp and tousled from quickly drying it off with a towel. His face, brow creased and lips firmly set, told her he had noticed her getting lost in her thoughts and that he knew the reason for her troubled demeanor ever since her return. But the moment was fleeting and they ignored the unspoken exchange between them.

But he was right, she mused. Her thoughts bothered her to no end and she needed to tell her parents the truth. But William doesn't even know all the truth. She had only told him about their sister and the Captain's relation to the scandal, not about her love for him. He didn't realize how complicated it was.

“Scarlett, the cakes,” Catherine said. “Don't let them burn this time.”

“Sorry,” she said, turning back quickly to the fire. She removed the pan and placed it on the table, revealing a collection of golden cakes.

“Absolutely delightful,” George said with a beaming smile. “Let us pray before they grow cold.” He extended his hands to those closest to him. The family interlocked hands around the table and bowed their heads to give thanks for their daily meal. “And thank you, Lord,” George continued, “for bringing our beloved daughter home safe and sound.”

Scarlett opened her eyes, unable to focus her mind on the rest of his prayer. Though her parents frequently expressed their thankfulness for her return either to Scarlett herself or to God, his words sent a strange, unsettled feeling to her gut coupled with the look from her brother only moments earlier. This isn't right.

Suddenly, everyone uttered, “Amen,” and began to eat supper, dishing out the stew for each other and passing around the cakes to share. Scarlett followed suit but the food that once looked delicious now did little to entice her appetite. She looked to her brother again but this time, it seemed he didn't notice. It was likely because he had heard his father's prayer many times before as well. His lack of response prompted her to continue eating her supper, though her worries hovered in the back of her mind the whole time.

Once they finished eating and cleaning, the Hamiltons gathered close around the hearth with either a book or sewing in hand. Catherine threaded her needle and strung it through her fabric in several swift movements before sighing and looking up at her family.

“I was just thinking,” she began, “it was a night just like tonight that we had our Scarlett returned home to us. And what a lovely prayer tonight, George. We are so grateful you are home safe, Scarlett. It makes me happy to have our whole family back together again.” She beamed a smile at her daughter, who sat across from her with her own sewing.

Scarlett glanced at her but then avoided her mother's gaze and remained silent. This just isn't right. The guilt inside her built up more and more every time those words were spoken to her. How could she sit there and pretend everything was normal, while her sister, abandoned by her family, was out there somewhere trying to make her way in life? Suddenly, Scarlett realized her silence was not any better than that of her family’s. She needed to do something.