The Lantern in the Storm

By the time the storm reached Alder Lane, Florence had already locked the village hall. She had promised to take the old brass lantern to Mr Finch, whose cottage stood beyond the flooded bridge. Her brother, Anya, had urged her to wait until morning, but Florence had noticed a light flickering in his window. The wind shoved rain beneath her hood. At the bridge, she stopped. The river had climbed over the lowest stones, and the wooden sign had fallen face down in the mud. Florence could turn back. Instead, she tied the lantern to a long rope and lowered it towards the cottage path below. The light swept across the darkness. A hand appeared at the window. Mr Finch was safe, but his front door had jammed. Florence called to Anya, who had followed her after all. Together, they pulled the door open from outside. By the time the village helpers arrived, the storm had weakened. Florence was soaked, tired and grinning. She had not crossed the bridge, but she had found another way to help.

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