Days later, standing in their clearing as the sun filtered through the turning leaves, they buried a small iron box containing Margaret's star charts, Agnes's poems, and Cecily's dried petals. They knew the world of 1663 was not yet ready for their brilliance, but they had proven something to themselves. Husbands, distance, and time might separate them, but in that circle, they were bound by a promise that made them girls forever.
, the quietest of the three, had a voice that could tame wild animals and a gift for writing poetry that spoke of freedom.
The girls, all on the verge of seventeen, refused to accept the rigid paths laid out for them.
By morning, the boy’s fever broke. The village called it a miracle, never knowing that three young women had risked everything in the dark.
, the blacksmith’s daughter, possessed a brilliant mind for mathematics and astronomy, mapping the stars with charcoal on scrap parchment.