26

Our Lord is the opposite of that. He has created a universe of order and rules—but He himself is so much bigger. So full of mystery.”

The words kept replaying in Libby’s mind as she held Mamm-wynn’s hand in her own. She hadn’t meant to catch that exchange between Bram and Oliver, but how was she supposed to have closed the door when she’d heard her brother state so baldly that she had no use for God? When she’d been so shocked at hearing the words from his lips that she couldn’t help but hold the door an inch open to hear Oliver’s response to it?

When the question of whether he was right pounded ferociously at her heart?

How had he even known that? She’d never breathed a word of her doubts to anyone at home. Never given voice to her questions, not until she came here. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint Mama by asking such things, and Bram—she didn’t frankly know how Bram felt about matters of faith.

She has no use for God.

Libby rested her forehead on Mamm-wynn’s hand, not sure why that statement made her eyes burn. But it wasn’t exactly true. Not given the words Oliver had spoken, which were. Perhaps she saw no point to the version of God she’d been taught since childhood, the one who was himself limited to the point of being boring, who wanted only obedience to a set of strict rules and for His children never to question Him. The one who was at war with science and the evolution of human thinking and who demanded one choose between faith and knowledge.

But how could she go on thinking that really was what God was like when she’d seen something far different since coming here? She’d closed the door after that reply from Oliver, but his words had followed her up the stairs and into Mamm-wynn’s room.

“How did you know?” she whispered, turning her face a bit so she could look at the lady’s. “How did you know where Beth was? How did you know to send Oliver to St. Mary’s a month ago? To bring me a shawl, to lend me a necklace? How did you know that we’d . . . ?” She couldn’t finish that sentence—because Mamm-wynn was wrong about that part. Perhaps Libby had fallen in love with Oliver, but that didn’t mean he’d want to marry her. Why would he, when she, with all her questions, would make such a terrible vicar’s wife? Bram was right. She wasn’t good enough for the Reverend Mr. Tremayne. She couldn’t be what he needed.

Something brushed her head, and she started before realizing Mamm-wynn had lifted her other hand, that she was stroking her fingers weakly over Libby’s hair. Her eyes blinked open too, and the corners of her mouth had moved up a few precious degrees. “The veil.”

“Pardon?” Perhaps Darling’s loud purring from where he was curled up at the lady’s shoulder had garbled Libby’s hearing. Or perhaps these first words she’d spoken in days were disoriented, confused. But she’d spoken! That was worth shouting about. And Libby would shout it, in a minute. She’d go for Oliver and Beth and let them know. Once she could tear her gaze away from Mamm-wynn’s.

Because it didn’t look confused and unfocused as it had been. It looked piercing. And yet soft. Like a shaft of light. “The veil is slipping,” she whispered. “The one between worlds. As it did for Grandmama.”

Though Libby didn’t know exactly what she meant, she knew she didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded far too much like death. “Don’t talk so. You’re going to get well.”

“Yes.” Her lips curled higher. “I will, for a while. But these old eyes are seeing different truths now. Different facts.”

Libby shook her head. “I don’t understand. There is only one set of facts.”

“Is there?” That fairylike chuckle slipped into the room, made Darling shift, curl into a new position even closer to Mamm-wynn, and redouble his purring. “Is that what your microscope has shown you?”

She opened her mouth but then paused. “It shows me that what I assume is sometimes wrong. That what my eye sees is only a partial story.”

“Exactly so.” Mamm-wynn nodded, her eyes slipping closed again, though only for a moment. “As our eyes always do in this world. We see only in part. But there is more. More to this physical world that your magnifying lenses can show you. And more still beyond it that we need a spiritual lens to see.”

Her chest went tight. “The mysteries.”

“How an old woman can know where her granddaughter is hiding.” Mamm-wynn’s fingers drifted back down to rest on the bedcover. “How sometimes the future can be whispered into our hearts. How one Man’s blood can take away our sins.”

The tightness was different this time than what she usually experienced. Not the anxious squeezing that made her stomach ache. But the kind she felt when Oliver looked at her. The kind she’d known when Mabena had called her friend. The kind that had seized her when Mama and Bram presented her with the microscope last Christmas, proving not only that they knew her but that they loved her as she was.

The kind that spoke of truth beyond facts. Of the spirit beneath the cells of her body. Of a God who called her by name and made a place for her in this world where she was allowed to explore it. Of a Son who did the miraculous, the impossible, so that she might live after those cells returned to dust—and so that she might love beyond all reason in the interim, knowing that’s where true treasure lay.

That really was the mystery. Not how a plant grew or whether a comet was a chartable phenomenon or a harbinger of supernatural destruction. Those they could learn about and come to understand, as Oliver had said. But how sins could be forgiven, how Jesus could have taken them upon himself with death and then come to life again, how they could somehow partake of a world beyond the physical one she so loved . . . those were the things that belonged to faith. Those were the things science couldn’t answer, and didn’t need to.

Why, then, had so many people focused on the wrong side of things and taught it to her? Why was the miracle of Christ presented as something simple, something easy, something to be taken for granted and not even thought about overmuch, while so much attention was given to arguing about the things they could easily discover with a telescope or microscope? It seemed to her that there were mysteries enough to contemplate about the divine nature of God and Christ to keep one busy for a lifetime—just as there were things enough to learn about their world through observation, which didn’t need to be debated so much as explored.

She’d thought she had to choose one or the other. That she couldn’t have both faith in what she couldn’t see and understanding of what she could. That if what she learned of the world didn’t agree with the things she’d been taught to believe, she must choose between belief and observation. Why had it never occurred to her that the problem wasn’t with the beliefs, as Oliver had said, but with the interpretation? That God was bigger than man’s finite understanding of Him and of His Word? That it was people, not the Lord, who tried to make her choose?

“There now.” The hand she held squeezed her fingers, relaxed again. “I knew you would see. A heart like yours that wants to understand the world around her cannot help but see when it goes earnestly looking.”

“I think I’d been afraid to look too closely. Afraid I couldn’t accept the answers—that God would demand I accept this world on faith that it works and never ask how it does.”

Mamm-wynn chuckled and let her eyes slide shut again. “But then there are the Daniels in history—the ones who make their fame with both prophetic visions and earthly knowledge. They can be your model. Your hope.”

“You’re very wise, Mamm-wynn.” Libby leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I see where Oliver gets it.”

That the lens of the spirit was to faith what her microscope was to the world—that was a thought that brought unspeakable peace to her mind. More, it was one that made her crave both lenses—the physical and the spiritual. Knowing God didn’t mind her understanding the one made her long to know more about the other.

“Will you sing to me?” Mamm-wynn’s eyes were closed fully again, and she repositioned herself a bit against her pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard you.”

Had she ever? In church, perhaps. But then, Mamm-wynn didn’t seem to be limited by what Libby remembered as the past. A mystery she could either call madness or accept as a part of this woman she’d so quickly come to love. “What would you like to hear? A hymn?”

“Mm . . . no.” She sighed and nestled deeper. “An aria. Beth will never sing me those—she hates opera. Silly girl.”

“So does Bram. He always makes fun of me when I sing them. Or maybe it’s because I’m not all that good.”

“I love to hear you.” Mamm-wynn gave her a small, tired smile. “Sing ‘L’amour est un oiseau rebelle.’”

“One of my favorites. I always sing it when—”

“When you’re painting. I know.”

She could sit here wondering how, when Libby had never admitted that to a soul here, or she could give her this simple gift she asked for. She chose the second option, launching into a quiet rendition of her favorite song from Carmen.

“Love is a wild bird that no one can tame, and you’ll waste your time trying to catch it.” She’d always loved the first verse. It was no wonder it sprang to mind when she was painting, given how often birds were her subjects.

And how true those words were. Love really was like a bird. You didn’t know where it might settle, or when. You couldn’t tame it, couldn’t force it. Couldn’t often predict it. You could call and call for it and never would it flutter down. Then, at the most unexpected time, in the most unexpected place, there it was.

Here it was.

By the time she finished, Mamm-wynn had fallen asleep again. For a moment she felt guilty that she’d monopolized her entire waking and hadn’t told the lady’s grandchildren that she’d spoken, responded, seemed like her usual self, just tired. But she’d go and let them know now.

She scooped Darling into her arms and turned, jumping a bit when she saw Oliver leaning into the doorframe, Bram a step behind him. She expected her brother to give her his usual sigh over the opera or joke about her torturing an ill old woman with it. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything.

Neither did Oliver. He just tracked her approach with that watchful look of his, and when she paused in front of him, he looked deep into her eyes. No doubt seeing, because he was Oliver, all the thoughts that had settled. All the peace that had taken the place of the questions inside her. The fresh yearning to learn more about the beyond, as well as the here and now.

And he smiled.

Mabena turned her face toward the rising sun and let it warm her. She breathed in the scents of salt and sand and sea. Felt the smooth wood of the oars in her hands, the firm seat beneath her. The pull of the water against the paddle. Birds called out to each other, chattering about where the fish were swimming and what predators circled above, no doubt. From the distance came the fading shout of a fisherman.

Home.

“We could just stay right here for the next few hours. I could look at you longer.”

Casek’s soft voice made her smile and face him again. She’d slipped from the house with the first fingers of dawn on the horizon to meet him on the beach, so they’d have time for a nice row before their days began. She could begin every day like this and be happy.

Well. She’d be even happier after they married. When first she’d wake beside him, and then they’d head for the gig, hands entwined. It was a dream that had rooted itself in the bedrock of her soul over the last week. “Somehow, my love, I don’t think the world would stop if we did. And I don’t think either of us would be happy to let it pass us by—not today.”

But Casek didn’t dip in his oars again yet. Just kept on looking at her. “I don’t care a whit about pirate treasure or princes or maps or silver.”

“No.” He didn’t. That had never been what drove this man forward, brought his fists up, or inspired his world. He wasn’t the sort to ever leave her for the pursuit of more. How had she not seen that years ago? That all his volume and bluster were just the waves crashing against the sturdy rock of him. He was the steady one. It was just that, in the Scillies, steady meant storms and waves and winds as much as sunshine and blue skies. “But you care about the lads who have been poking about looking for it.”

He sighed and looked to the shore, hands gripping the oars again now. “We lose so many of them. To the mainland. To the sea. To hard living. We can’t lose more to this, Benna.”

“Which is why we’re going to put a stop to it. Today.” They dipped their oars in unison, their stretching forms mirror images, since they faced each other.

His face was still clouded though. “I don’t know that we can stop it entirely. Not if these are just hirelings here now. More will be sent. More lads lured into treasure hunting. More skulls knocked in when they don’t deliver what the gentlemen want.”

“You think he can’t be trusted? Lord Sheridan?”

Casek screwed up his face in dismissal. “Not him. The ones from London, the family of Beth’s friend. Them I don’t trust. Not if they mean to double-cross Sheridan. He may have his head in the clouds of legend, but I think he’s harmless enough. This Scofield bloke though . . .”

“Or whoever he hired. And Lorne.” They’d asked around about him last night, while the ladies and gents were having their fancy dinner at Oliver and Beth’s house. Settled themselves down at the pub with Tas-gwyn Gibson, who was more than happy to lend a hand. Apparently, when Sheridan had shared what he knew of Lorne yesterday, her grandfather had been convinced he was the one who’d knocked him upside the head on Monday. He had a vague recollection of seeing a little dinghy that he recognized as one the Morrises had rented out for the summer, and of hearing a voice behind him curse in a rough London accent.

They still couldn’t be certain if it had been Lorne or the Scofields’ lackey that had knocked her head in Piper’s Hole, but they’d learned more than Mabena had hoped. More than she wished were true. A few islanders had ferried Lorne about here and there until he’d rented that boat for himself, all of them reporting that he seemed keen on learning every facet and rock and crevice on all the islands.

Not that the islanders had told Lorne much—they all had a healthy distrust of incomers whose interests went beyond mere curiosity—but they couldn’t exactly stop him from exploring. And they’d been seeing him for weeks, here and there. No one was certain where he was staying. Some thought St. Mary’s, others Bryher, others still reported seeing him here on Tresco late enough at night that he couldn’t have meant to leave.

Bad news, all of it.

But they’d come up with their own plan to keep Casek’s students safe from Lorne’s influence. One that wouldn’t interfere with the scheduled search of King Charles’s castle later today.

“There they are.” She nodded to the beach by the Hills’ little house, where Perry and the Grimsby boys were even now stealing down the sand toward Mr. Hill’s old rowboat. Just as Casek had overheard them planning to do yesterday—to sneak over to Piper’s Hole this morning.

Casek had said he’d debated trying to talk them out of it, letting them know he’d heard their plans. Perhaps even warning them away from Lorne directly. But it wasn’t so long ago that Casek had been a boy just like them. He’d known that forbidding a thing would only make it more alluring. So instead they’d decided to put themselves here, now.

Enough morning mist hovered over the water to help their voices carry. “That’s what Beth said.” She recited her agreed-upon line to get them started, turning her head a little to send the words toward the lads, though careful to keep her eyes trained solely on Casek, who didn’t so much as glance toward the shoreline.

“I know she’s the one who found what silver’s been found,” he added. “But Samson? Makes no sense.”

As they’d hoped, the boys had ducked down beneath the hull of the boat. But they’d be listening. “She says it’s where she found the treasure map.” It wasn’t. She’d yet to say where she’d found what she did—an omission that hadn’t slipped by Mabena. “She probably has the rest of the crate in whatever cottage she’d been staying in.”

“Maybe. But do you really think we can convince her to send it to the Scofields?”

“We have to. If we don’t, she could be in danger.” They’d debated this tack, too, and decided it was the most likely to convince the boys. “We need to find it, get it to them. If she’s too stubborn to save her own skin, we’ll save it for her.” They’d probably not believe that Mabena meant to undermine her cousin for the sake of silver. But for her own good? Anyone would believe that.

And if they could convince them to go to Samson this morning instead of Piper’s Hole, that ought to keep them safely out of the way.

They continued their northward row and their fabricated discussion until they were unquestionably out of the boys’ hearing and the caves were within view. They turned into one of the smaller ones, stowing their boat out of sight behind a boulder and scrambling into the small opening. They’d watch a few minutes and make certain the lads didn’t still come by and go to Piper’s Hole. Inspiring them not to was better—but they’d resort to command if they must.

She turned with a grin to Casek, though he’d not be able to see it in the shadows. “I still can’t believe the headmaster has resorted to fibbing to his students.”

A beam of light blinded her from deeper within, accompanied by a click that echoed ominously off the rocks. “And I,” said a clipped London voice she’d hoped never to hear again, “can’t believe two such fine prizes wandered in here of their own volition.”

“Lorne?” Casek stepped between Mabena and the light, an arm reaching behind him to steady her. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Ain’t you a clever one.”

She balled her hands into Casek’s shirt to keep from doing anything stupid. They could just slip back out. They’d have to be faster than him, but they knew the caves—that was in their favor. And a moving target would be harder for him to hit than a still one. “It was you on Sunday, then? But I thought it the Scofields’ man we were coming to meet.”

The rocks and water took his chuckle and distorted it. “You don’t know half as much as you think you do, luv. Now. Do as I say, and I won’t have to kill either of you. Turn around. Slowly. Hands where I can see them.”

Mabena’s muscles coiled as they turned back to face the opening. They could make a run for it, scamper over the rocks and back to the boat.

Casek half-turned his face. And murmured in Cornish, “Do as he says.”

“But—”

“I can’t risk losing you, Benna. Not again. Not for good.” She’d never heard his voice so low and tight. His words drifted back to English. “No more lives. It’s not worth it.”

“See, and on that”—Lorne must have prodded at Casek, given his quiet grunt—“we’ll just have to disagree.”