I heard feet scraping against the wooden floor, heard people on the steps outside, and knew the service was over. Cheerful Irish voices called out good-byes to friends and family, until hardly a crowd was left at all.
The sounds of wagons and horses faded, and I crept back around the side of the church, unwilling to be seen.
As I got nearer to the front of the church, I heard the unmistakable voice of Sean O’Donnell. Laughter undulated in every syllable he uttered. “. . . make him live in the church, then he won’t be late. In addition to that, we’d be rid of him, mostly.”
A kind woman’s voice was gently reprimanding. “Now, Sean, that’ll do. Besides, he feels bad enough. Don’t you, Patrick?”
I pressed my shoulder against the church, my stomach clenching for some reason.
His voice was perfect, and it made my heart pound. “Of course, Mam. I promised it wouldn’t happen again, and now I’ve broken that promise. It’s just that . . . this inspiration comes at the worst of times. I can hardly stop mid-stroke.”
Pastor O’Donnell’s voice was heavy but not unkind. “Your talent is a gift. But the Lord expects us to divide our time wisely.”
His wife cut in before he could launch into another sermon. I found myself smiling at her words. “The Lord also believes in Sunday dinner, Patrick, love—so why don’t we save the lessons for later, hmm?”
“Oh, all right. But first I must gather my notes.”
“Should we wait for you?” she asked.
“No, I’ll be along.”
The wooden steps rattled and then I spotted Patrick and Sean walking on either side of their mother, holding her arms like it was the most natural thing to do. Sean was whispering something to her, and she actually threw back her head and laughed. It was an angelic sound, and I wished more than ever before that I could step out and meet her too. But that would be unwise. I didn’t want to mess up anything Patrick and I had in the future. He’d already seen me once in the past—I couldn’t let it happen again.
Once they were nearly to the house, about a quarter mile away, I stepped around the corner and made my way up to the entrance of the church.
The one-room church was more dimly lit than the last time I’d been inside, but that was due to the coming storm that hindered the light outside. There were no lights or candles.
Several pews were in the center of the room, leaving an aisle along each wall. Simple windows lined the length of the building, and a wooden pulpit sat at the back end of the room. Dominating the space was a large wooden cross mounted onto the back wall. It wasn’t really ornamented; some delicate etchings, and that was all. But it was still incredibly beautiful.
A middle-aged man stood at the pulpit, wearing a plain black robe with a white collar. His head was bowed over a sheaf of papers, which he was trying to shuffle into his thick Bible. He glanced up when he heard the floor creak beneath my feet, his penetrating blue eyes taking in my presence.
His aura was as I remembered it—peaceful, happy, and simple; much like the church he loved so much. There were more bits of gray than last time, and the green uneasiness had also lengthened. A dull brown also faded in and out of nearly every other color. It was a pain I’d put there; the pain of knowing the fate of his family, knowing what he would have to do to bring that future into play. But white was there too. Hope. I wondered if the hope Alex had seen in me was as prevalent as this. If so, I’d be amazed.
He had a lined face, but the effect was pleasant. Comforting. Real. His hair was thinning, especially on the top of his head. But his brown hair had managed to retain most of the color, despite the few silver hairs creeping in at the temples.
He breathed in deeply, a thin smile lifting his face. “Kate. You’ve returned.”
My own mouth twisted up without prompting. “Pastor O’Donnell.” I paused, but when he didn’t say anything else, I added, “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
His eyes widened, as if surprised at his own staring. “No! No, of course not!” He set his Bible down and hurried around the podium, coming to me quickly. I didn’t expect him to throw his arms around me, but I didn’t regret getting his powerful hug. “Oh, I’m so relieved! I’ve been praying every day for your safety. How long has it been for you? Did you manage to escape from the Demon Lord? How is Patrick? Have you heard anything more about Sean?”
I chuckled, pulling back enough so I could look into his eyes—eyes that dimly matched Patrick’s. They weren’t quite as brilliant, but maybe I was prejudiced. “We got out all right. It’s been over five weeks now.”
“Five weeks?” he muttered, astounded. “Heavens.”
“How long for you?”
“Eleven days,” he replied at once, proof he’d been keeping a careful record. “Isn’t it amazing? I can hardly wrap my mind around it. But if the Lord can, that’s all that really matters. What of Patrick?”
I extended the note, unable to stop grinning. “It’s from him,” I added, when he simply stared at the proffered paper.
His eyes lit up; he took the folded paper with fingers that trembled with anticipation. He began to unwrap the message, belatedly asking me to sit, if I’d like. We sat together on the front pew and I tried to look at anything other than his face. I knew this was a private moment for him, but it was hard to keep my eyes from wandering back to take in his expression.
He scanned the message, and I saw his jaw clench once. His eyes were moist with emotion and his aura was constantly changing, shifting to brighter colors. The pain was still present, though, flaring occasionally.
He looked up at me, a thin smile cracking through. “Have you read this?”
I shook my head.
He handed it over immediately. “I think you should.”
I tried not to look too eager as I focused on the small and neat script.
Dear Father,
I have so many things I would like to say. So many things I wish to tell you. In the end, I am rendered thoughtless. If it weren’t for Kate, I probably wouldn’t say anything at all. But she’s right—I have a miraculous opportunity, and it shouldn’t be wasted.
Let me begin by reminding you of my love. Despite the things that transpired between us, you remain my moral compass. You will always be the one I look up to. The one I wish to emulate. I know that telling Mother about these things is impossible now. She doesn’t deserve the burden. But someday, please convey my truest love to her. Let her know that I will never stop revering her, that she will always be my angel.
I wish more than ever that I had you with me. Times are so uncertain. I don’t know what to do. Sean is not the same person. He is a Demon, in every sense of the word. He has done so much. So many terrible things. But if he is completely evil, why do I still love him? Why do I find the thought of killing him so sickening? If I don’t do something, he will haunt me forever. He will haunt Kate. I can’t allow that. I feel so lost. So afraid of what is to come. I can only hold on to your hope, trust in your faith.
Despite everything, I want you to know that I am happy. Happier than I have ever been. I love Kate with all my heart. With all my strength. With all my thoughts. With every breath I breathe. When you think of my death, I don’t want you to think of pain and loss. I want you to think of Kate. For she is my happiness. She is my home. She is my heaven.
I love you, Father. I will for the rest of eternity.
Your son,
Patrick
I was blinking back tears. Pastor O’Donnell handed me a white handkerchief, which I took at once. While I wiped my eyes, his markedly rough voice filled the room. “He has always amazed me with his ability to express emotion, whether through art or the written word. He is an extremely talented young man.”
“He is,” I agreed quietly. I glanced up at him, gently brandishing the letter. “Thank you. For letting me see this.”
“Of course. I’m sure he wanted you to know.” He retrieved the precious letter and folded it care. “But I should be thanking you. For so many
things. For convincing him to write this, for carrying it to me . . . for your very presence in his life.”
I blushed. “It’s not like it sounds. I mean—he’s all those things to me.”
“Are you calling him a liar?” he asked calmly.
“No, but . . . You know what I mean.”
He nodded. “And I approve of your modesty. Humility is an important trait. But don’t let it become self-deprecation.” He leaned back against the hard bench. “But enough of my lectures for one day. What brings you here?”
I did my best to bring him up to speed. It was easier than I thought it would be—the story just sort of poured out. I cried as I talked about my grandfather’s death, but he was patient with my rush of emotions. After the tears stopped falling, I felt amazingly refreshed. I told him about all the Guardians and Seers watching over me and my family, about the reward the Demon Lord had put out for me. I told him I’d come here to train some Seers so they could assassinate the Demon Lord and stop all of this from happening.
He wondered what that would do to us, if the Demon Lord never lived to force me back in time. He was especially anxious to know if it would save Sean from becoming Far Darrig. I didn’t have any answers for him, but I think he could hear the doubts I harbored about the last one.
The only thing I didn’t tell him about were the dreams I’d been having about Sean; the ones where I killed him. I didn’t want Pastor O’Donnell to know about my weakness. He was trusting in me to make everything right, to save his youngest son; I couldn’t do that if I killed him.
By the time I was finished he was shaking his bowed head. “These are indeed dangerous times, Kate. I understand Patrick’s unease.”
“He worries a lot.”
“He worries about you. About all those he loves.” He hesitated, raising his head to meet my gaze. “How much longer can you stay?”
I could already feel the uncomfortable pull in my stomach, beckoning me to come back to my own time. I ignored it. “However long you need me to.”
“I would like to reply to his letter. I’ll write quickly, I promise.”
“Of course.”
He stood at once. “I haven’t anything to write with here. I’ll need to return to the house. But I feel terribly rude asking you to stay here alone.”
“Don’t. I’ll be fine.”
“I will hurry,” he assured me. He was already moving, walking briskly past the pews. I watched him until he disappeared behind the door. I heard his retreating footsteps, and then—aside from the growing stiffness in the wind—silence filled the steadily darkening church.
Thirteen
May 21, 1797
Kate Bennett
Wexford County, Ireland
I didn’t remain sitting for long. I wandered over to one of the near windows, watched as the clouds thickened for the coming storm. I took in the beautiful countryside until it began to rain; the effect was both relaxing and melancholy, and I could only stand to watch the raindrops sliding down the glass for a short time.
I moved to the pulpit, opening the Bible to expose Pastor O’Donnell’s notes. I let my eyes run down the words he’d hand-written, skimming the markings and marginal notes without definite purpose. I’d read parts of the Bible, and though I was familiar with most of the popular stories, I’d never actually studied the words. My mother had read the New Testament daily, and I knew my father favored the Psalms and Proverbs. It seemed that Patrick’s father did as well.
He’d circled some of his favorite verses and my eyes were immediately drawn to one of them—Psalm 33:22. “Let thy mercy, O Lord, be upon us, according as we hope in thee.”
That seemed to fit perfectly with all this talk of trust and hope. I turned a small chunk of pages, almost excited when the next marked verse jumped out just as readily. “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger” (Proverbs 15:1).
I had mixed feelings about this one. Sean’s face leapt immediately to mind; was this some kind of divine intervention? Was I supposed to see this verse because this was the way to help him? Should I put away my anger and treat Sean with sympathy and love? I wondered if that was humanly possible. It was the age-old moral, to love your enemy. Could I do that after everything Sean had done to me personally? To those I loved?
I turned a single page, still feeling troubled. Proverbs 16:25 fell into view. The words were ominous and made my arms feel strangely heavy. “There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”
Right on cue, the first boom of thunder shuddered nearby. I jumped, my hand jerking harshly against the edge of the podium, earning my palm a shallow scratch. But even without the theatrical emphasis of the thunder and the sting of pain, the verse was haunting. I don’t know why the words seared into my mind so completely. They didn’t seem to have anything I could relate to, unlike the other scriptures. And yet . . . It seemed eerily prophetic.
The mission to assassinate the Demon Lord seemed like the right thing to do. But it would lead to death. Maybe one day he would be a horrible enemy of good, but when the Demon Lord was killed, he would be a frightened little kid. Could that possibly be the right path to take? Ensuring the death of an innocent child? And what of all the repercussions? Would his death lead to other deaths? Or would the people he killed come back to life? Would my grandpa come back?
The door to the church opened—a gust of wind blew in, whipping some of the pages closed. I looked up to see Pastor O’Donnell, dripping wet and still in his black robe. His was breathless from running. “My family believes me to be insane . . . I’m sorry for how dark it is.”
“It’s fine.” I stepped away from the Bible, away from the words that kept playing over in my mind.
We met in front of the first row of pews and he handed me a sealed envelope. There was something small and heavier than paper inside, but my fingers didn’t investigate the curiosity because he was speaking. “I apologize for keeping you so long. There was so much to say . . .”
“I understand. And it wasn’t any trouble. No one will be missing me.”
“Really?” he asked, water dripping from the tip of his chin. “How do you mean?”
“It’s instantaneous for them. I’m gone and back in the same second.”
“How amazing.” He exhaled loudly, trying to slow the low panting as he reached to take my free hand. His rough palm rubbed against my smoother fingers. “I’m grateful for you, Kate. I will continue to pray for you.”
An unbidden smile twitched the corner of my mouth. “Actually, I was hoping you might say one of those prayers with me now.”
He bowed his head. “As you wish.”
We didn’t bother to sit down, and he didn’t release my hand. Our eyes squeezed closed. He began to pray.
Unlike last time, when I’d been so overwhelmed by so many emotions, I tried to listen to every word Pastor O’Donnell said. He began by addressing God as if He were a dear friend he respected greatly. His words were comforting and warm, as deep and meaningful as I remembered. His tone of voice changed as his words became especially personal. “Bless thy daughter Kate as she goes through these horrible trials. Let her know of thy love and the love of her departed loved ones. Let her know her strengths, her wonderful potential.” He paused briefly, nearly overcome with emotion. “Please, dear Father, be with my sons. Bless and watch over them. Let them know how fortunate they are to have Kate in their lives. Help Patrick as he protects her, and bless Sean in his darkest night to see hope again.”
He was quiet for at least a full minute. His hand was shaking. I tried to steady him by flexing my fingers around his. I don’t know if I helped or not, but he was speaking again—not as surely as before, as if he wasn’t positive of the words. As if they came from somewhere else. “Bless Kate in her coming trials. Let her have the courage she will need. Keep her faith strong as it is tested. When she sees death next—no matter how many times—let her understand that thy ways are higher tha
n our ways. Bless her to make wise choices, for she will be influencing so many lives.” Another pause. “And bless Patrick that he will not blame himself for the things to come. Let him know, as Kate knows, that all will be resolved in the end.”
I didn’t like the sound of this. The things he was saying, the blessings he was imparting . . . They were as ominous as the scripture I’d read. At the same time, there was comfort; I was beginning to feel less frightened of the future. More prepared to face whatever was coming. The only thing that had me aching was the thought of more deaths. Please, I prayed silently. I can’t lose anyone else. Please . . .
Pastor O’Donnell finished his prayer. I’d missed the end, but I didn’t mind. I don’t think I could have taken much more foreshadowing. His grip on my hand tightened, and then he impulsively pulled me into a firm embrace. His strong arms reminded me so much of my father, my breath was stolen.
“I love you, Kate. I thank God for the chance I had to know you.”
Had? I thought mentally, a second too late. I could feel myself beginning to fade. I was being pulled back. I willed myself to stay, but it took a lot of concentration. “I have to go,” I said into his shoulder.
He nodded against me. “I know. Godspeed, Kate.”
“Thank you for everything. I love you too . . . Dad.” I don’t know what possessed me to add the last part. But his aura showed me that he was pleased. It was the last thing I saw. His arms evaporated around me, and I was falling. The sounds of the storm vanished. My eyes were already rolling back into my head.
Patrick grunted as he caught me, his words already trailing away into my dreams. “I’ve got you, Kate. I’ve got you . . .”
***
Present Day
Kate Bennett
New Mexico, United States
I knew I was in the warehouse long before I opened my eyes. I could hear the echo that filled the spacious room, ringing off the ceiling and walls as Toni talked easily.
Guardians (Seers Trilogy Book 3) Page 21
