Historical Fiction

Paris, 1788 Margot’s fingers moved deftly, weaving golden thread through rich velvet as she sat hunched over her embroidery frame. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the opulent drawing room. Outside, a cool autumn breeze rustled the trees lining the Rue Saint-Honoré. She paused, flexing her cramping hand. At twenty-three, Margot was already one of the most sought-after embroiderers in Paris. The nobility clamored for her exquisite handiwork adorning their gowns and jackets. Little did they know that hidden within the intricate patterns and flourishes were secrets that could bring their world crashing down. ...

Emilia’s hands trembled as she climbed the iron ladder, her breath forming small clouds in the chilly night air. At the top, she paused, glancing furtively down the empty cobblestone street. Seeing no one, she quickly slipped a folded piece of paper behind the glass pane of the gas lamp. “May this light guide you to safety,” she whispered, before descending and melting into the shadows. It had been three months since Emilia began her nightly ritual of leaving secret messages at lamp posts throughout the city. What started as an act of quiet defiance had grown into a full-fledged underground network, with Emilia at its heart. ...

Ellie Pearson pressed her nose against the car window, watching identical houses blur past as her family’s station wagon wound through the streets of Levittown. The summer heat shimmered off the pavement, distorting the perfectly manicured lawns and cookie-cutter homes. “Almost there, kiddo,” her father called from the driver’s seat. “You excited?” Ellie mumbled a noncommittal response, pushing her thick glasses up the bridge of her nose. Excited wasn’t quite the word. Anxious, maybe. Terrified, definitely. She’d never been good at making friends, and now here she was, thrust into a new neighborhood in the middle of summer vacation when everyone else already had their social circles firmly established. ...