He’d been wearing an orange hat for his walk down the mountain and had hung it and his red plaid jacket by the door when they’d entered the kitchen. He stood up now and walked toward the living room.
“We could drink our coffee on the front porch,” he suggested. “It’s such a fine morning, and the sun is warm.”
Libby set their dishes in the sink and poured two cups of coffee. “How do you take yours?” she asked.
“Black,” he answered, walking through the living room and heading out the front door.
Libby imagined he was making himself at home because he’d visited Mary Sutter often and had decided to revive the habit with her. She smiled as she followed him out. It seemed she had inherited a priest with an appetite.
They sat in companionable silence, drinking in the view while they sipped their coffee, and Libby decided she was more amused than annoyed by Father Daar. He said the most outrageous things and showed up out of nowhere when least expected.
She still couldn’t decide how old he was. He dressed like a priest from the sixteenth century, was obviously a Scot like half the people she’d met here, and appeared positively ancient.
“Have you lived in Pine Creek long, Father?” she asked.
“A bit over eleven years now,” he told her. “I came here with the MacKeages.”
“From Scotland?”
“Aye.”
Realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate, Libby decided to head their conversation in a different direction. After all, she had a man of God at her disposal. Why not pick his brain? She was entitled, considering four of her precious eggs were in his belly, not to mention the one decorating his coat.
“Do you believe in magic, Father?”
The old priest choked on his coffee as he shot her such a confounded look Libby didn’t know whether to be embarrassed by her question or alarmed by his response.
“It’s an innocent question, Father,” she defended. “Considering we’re looking at this beautiful landscape.”
“Oh,” he said, relaxing back into his seat. “Ya mean, do I believe in the magic of nature?”
“Yes. That. But I was also wondering if you believed in a more… well, a more mystical kind of magic, too.”
“How mystical?” he asked, giving her a crooked look.
“Like witches and warlocks and… wizards?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Libby said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I was talking about things like reincarnation, intuition, and… well, maybe a person being gifted. Have you ever met anyone who claimed they had a special gift? What with you being a priest and all, you must have had people come to you with such concerns.”
She was blathering like an idiot. Her cheeks felt hot, and she was almost sorry she’d brought up the subject.
But only almost. Dammit, she was stumbling onto sacred ground here. But if she was going to fall flat on her face, why not do it in the presence of a priest? Wasn’t he bound by those vows he couldn’t remember not to tell anyone about their conversation?
“Gifted?” he softly repeated, turning fully in his chair to face her. “Like what? Give me an example of what you think of as gifted.”
Libby set her cup of coffee down on the porch rail and rubbed her sweating palms on her thighs. She took a shuddering breath, and, as was becoming her habit, she jumped into the fire with both feet—but only partway.
“I’m talking about a mother coming back as an owl,” she said, dancing around her own personal problem, trying to get a feel for Father Daar’s thinking. “Have you seen Robbie’
s pet?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding, eying her suspiciously. “He calls her Mary.”
“And do you believe she’s Mary, Father?” Libby asked.
“That the woman’s spirit has come back to be with her son?”
“I believe that if Robbie MacBain needs his mama right now and the boy feels that the owl is her, then aye, Mary’s here.”
“Like an imaginary friend?”
“Nay. The owl is real. And that she’s attached herself to Robbie is also real. Everyone experiences things that can’t be explained sometime in their lives. Haven’t you?”
For a crisp November morning, Libby was feeling quite hot under the priest’s probing stare. This had not been a good idea.
“I’ve experienced things I can’t explain,” she admitted.
“But I don’t know if I would go so far as to say I believe in magic.”
Libby saw his gaze lift to her white lock of hair, then back to her eyes. His face wrinkled into a smile.
“Aye, Libby, I’m thinking ya do believe,” he softly contradicted. “And that it bothers ya when ya can’t explain something that’s happened. But that’s the point of magic, isn’t it?
Ya needn’t understand it, only accept it for the gift it is. Why have ya come to Pine Creek?”
His question was asked so subtly, and because she was still trying to deal with what he was saying, Libby answered without thinking. “Because I got scared.”
“Of something that happened to you in California? Something ya can’t explain?”
She was in for a penny, so she might as well spend the whole dime. “Yes. Something happened that I can’t explain.”
Father Daar rose from his chair and stood in front of her, leaning against the rail, his clear blue eyes looking directly at her. “Something big enough to turn your entire life upside down,” he speculated. “And ya think that by coming here, ya can hide from it?”
He shook his head. “Libby, the questions ya’re asking me and the evasive answers ya’re giving make me believe that ya have been given a gift ya don’t want. Am I right?”
Libby stared down at her folded hands in her lap. “I don’t think I have a choice,” she whispered. She looked up at him. “And that’s what scares me. I don’t know if I can control this gift or if it will end up controlling me.”
“Have ya tried?”
“Once,” she told him. “After I discovered it.”
“And?”
“And it worked. But then it started to… I became scared,” she told him honestly. “I felt myself spinning out of control, like I was being consumed by this… this thing. Voices were calling me, tugging at me, and I ran.”
“And ya haven’t tried since.”
“No.”
“Ignoring it won’t make it go away, Libby.”
“I know that.”
“This gift, do ya consider it to be good or bad?”
“Good,” she said, squinting up at him. Libby stood up and paced down the porch, turning back to face him. “But it’s not that simple, Father. If I can’t control it or don’t have the wisdom to apply it properly, then it could turn out to be a bad thing. I could end up hurting people instead of helping them.”
“Ah,” he breathed, nodding in understanding. “So it’s not the gift ya fear but yourself.
Ya do not want the responsibility that comes with it.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Libby whispered, hugging herself.
“I was perfectly happy with my life.”
He cocked his head at her. “Were ya? Truly? Then why do ya suppose your gift chose now to show itself?”
“I don’t know why.”
Father Daar straightened and walked into the house, forcing Libby to follow in order to hear what he was saying.
“Since ya’re obviously not willing to tell me what happened in California,” he said as he slowly made his way through the living room, “then I can’t advise you. I can only say that ya gotta experiment with the thing.” He stopped at the coatrack in the kitchen and took down his jacket and hat, then turned to face her. “Practice, Libby. Play with it.
Learn what it’s wanting to teach ya.”
“And if I blow up TarStone Mountain?” she asked, smiling lamely.
He studied her for several seconds, trying to decide if she was kidding or not. His eyes suddenly lit with amusement, and he chuckled out loud. “These mountains have exploded once or twice already,” he told her. “They can handle whatever energy ya’re playing with.”