Miss Historian and Her Lady Guide (The Love We Found)

Traces of Time

The next morning, the town of Vigan stirred to life with its usual blend of modern activity and historical charm. Tricycle engines roared past horse-drawn carriages, while vendors hawked their wares to tourists drawn by the allure of heritage. Roxan and Dana stood on the edge of Plaza Salcedo, the town's heart, a lively center of intersecting paths and stories.

Roxan adjusted the strap of her bag, her eyes lingering on the crumpled letter in her hand. "Where do we begin?" she asked.

Dana grinned, a twinkle of excitement in her eyes. "Oh, that's the fun part. We follow the trail of whispers," she replied, spinning around dramatically. "María and Isabel... they lived here, they breathed this air, and if we listen closely enough, maybe their stories will guide us."

Roxan chuckled, charmed by Dana's energy but also slightly skeptical. "You talk like they're ghosts."

Dana shrugged playfully. "Maybe they are, in a way. Or maybe we're just unearthing memories buried beneath these stones." She paused and grew more serious. "We start with the letter itself. You said it was dated 1873, right? That means Spanish colonial rule was still strong. If these women existed, there must be some trace of them—property records, church documents, or even in old gossip recorded somewhere."

Roxan nodded, recognizing the truth in Dana's words. "I've already looked through most of the museum archives, but there's much more we could explore... old churches, government offices, and local families who've been here for generations."

Dana tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The church records might be our best bet for now. The old bell tower is just a few streets away. The records there are meticulously kept, even if they are buried in dust. And the church archivist, Father Manalo, is an old friend. Let's see if he's willing to let us have a look."

---

The Church of St. Paul loomed ahead, its stone facade tinged with age and covered with creeping vines. Inside, the air was cool and still, the silence only interrupted by the faint echo of footsteps on the stone floor. The two women were greeted by the soft murmur of prayer and the flickering light of candles. At the far end, beneath the towering altar, they spotted Father Manalo, a short, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor.

"Dana! It's good to see you again," he greeted, his face brightening. He then turned to Roxan. "And you must be the researcher I've heard about. How can I help?"

Roxan stepped forward, holding out the letter. "Father, I found this in the archives—it's a love letter between two women, María and Isabel, dated 1873. We're hoping to find more about them in the church records."

Father Manalo adjusted his glasses, studying the letter with a look of curiosity. "Hmm... I haven't come across anything like this before. But we do have records that go back several centuries—baptisms, marriages, deaths. If these women were part of the parish, there might be something."

He led them through a side door, down a narrow corridor, and into a room filled with bookshelves stacked with volumes bound in leather, some of them frayed with age. Dana's face lit up with excitement. "This is where the magic happens," she whispered.

Father Manalo brought over a dusty ledger from a tall shelf and carefully placed it on a table. "This volume covers the years around 1873. Look through it, and if you find anything, let me know."

Roxan and Dana exchanged a glance of determination before diving into the records, turning the delicate pages carefully. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as they combed through the neat, handwritten entries. Baptisms, marriages, funerals—a tapestry of lives woven into the yellowed paper.

"Here!" Roxan suddenly exclaimed, her finger tracing a line. Dana leaned in closer. "María Concepcion... baptized in 1851. The date fits. Her parents were Don Luis and Doña Camila, prominent names back then."

"Prominent," Dana repeated thoughtfully. "Which means they likely owned property, and there might be more records of them elsewhere. What about Isabel?"

They continued searching, but Isabel's name did not appear anywhere in the baptismal records. "Maybe she wasn't from here," Dana suggested. "Or maybe she wasn't baptized. There could be many reasons. Let's not give up yet."

Father Manalo returned with a frown, sensing their frustration. "What did you find?"

Roxan showed him the entry. "We found María, but no sign of Isabel."

He nodded slowly. "It's a start. If María was indeed from a prominent family, there might be more about her in the property archives at the municipal hall. I'll also ask around with some of the older members of the congregation. Sometimes the past is hidden in people's memories."

Roxan smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Father. That would mean a lot."

As they left the church, Dana turned to Roxan with renewed excitement. "The municipal hall is just a short walk away. Let's see if we can find more about this Don Luis and Doña Camila. If María's family was significant, their estate might hold more clues about her life."

---

The municipal hall, a grand building with wide steps and white columns, stood in contrast to the quaint charm of the rest of the town. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old paper and ink. Rows of wooden filing cabinets lined the walls, each labeled with a date or name.

Dana led the way, nodding to the clerk at the desk. "We need access to the old property records," she said with a smile. "We're on a hunt for history."

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched on her nose, raised an eyebrow but didn't object. "Third aisle, on the left," she said, waving them through.

They found the appropriate cabinet and pulled out a drawer marked "1850-1880." Roxan's hands trembled slightly as she rifled through the documents. Finally, she pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger and opened it carefully. There, under the names of property owners, was an entry for Don Luis Concepcion.

"Look," she murmured, pointing to the page. "The Concepcion family owned a large estate just outside the town center... and there's a note about a marriage contract. This could be important."

Dana leaned over her shoulder, eyes scanning the page. "If we find out who María married or who was associated with her, we might find our Isabel."

They exchanged a glance, both feeling the weight of the mystery they were unraveling. The pieces were beginning to come together, but the picture was still hazy, like an old photograph slowly coming into focus.

As they walked back outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the town. Roxan looked at Dana, a newfound appreciation in her eyes. "You were right about following the whispers."

Dana laughed softly. "The whispers are just beginning, Roxan. We're only scratching the surface. This town, it holds so many secrets—some forgotten, some waiting to be rediscovered. María and Isabel's story is one of them. And I think... I think it's calling to us."

Roxan felt a flutter in her chest, a mixture of anticipation and something else she couldn't quite name. She smiled. "Then let's keep listening."

And so, as the shadows of the past stretched long over the cobblestone streets, they resolved to continue their search, not knowing what they might uncover or how deeply their own lives would be changed by the story waiting to be told.