The Night Mark(100)

“Then God bless you, Faye. I’ll pray for you every single day.”

“I’ll need it,” she said. “You know, in case I get polio.”

“Stay out of public pools. And ponds. And rivers.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Faye held out her hand. Pat took it, squeezed it, pulled her to him and held her again, held her like he knew he’d never see her again.

“Carrick won’t get jealous if I hug you and kiss your cheek, will he?” Pat asked.

“He better not. You’re my fiancé.”

“If only my dearly departed mother could have met you. Wait.”

“What?” Faye asked, stepping back.

“My mother is alive in 1921. Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t think priests were supposed to swear like that.”

“I wasn’t swearing. I was praying. If I said Jesus H. Christ, then I’m swearing.”

Faye laughed and kissed his cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

“I will miss you, too. You’ve given me quite an adventure. Try not to do that again. I don’t want to hear any rumors about Faith Morgan managing to get herself kidnapped again or something. Once I go back home, I’m staying. This is my last trip.”

“Mine, too. And I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Faye, I mean it. This is a different world. I know you two are in love with each other, but this is an unforgiving time.”

“I supposed we’ll have to leave the island,” Faye said, glancing around the island and loving everything she saw—the shimmering sand and the dancing waters, the cottage that was her home now, the lighthouse and Carrick and Dolly... She loved it all. “I hate to do it, but I guess we won’t have much of a choice. Dolly can tell I’m already getting a baby belly.”

Faye patted her round stomach. Pat patted his flat stomach.

“I will miss this young body,” Pat said, smiling, and there wasn’t a laugh line to be seen around his mouth.

“So will Dolly. She thinks you’re very handsome.”

“Did you tell her I was already taken by God?”

“I did. Broke her poor heart.”

“She’s too young to get married. Even in ’21.”

“I think she just really wants to make wedding dresses. She’s been designing mine ever since she caught Carrick and I kissing. She thinks we need to get married. I told her I’ve been technically widowed for about twelve hours. She thinks that’s long enough to grieve.”

“I could marry you, you know,” he said. “If you like. You and Carrick. It won’t be a legal wedding, of course, but I know it would make Carrick feel better about being with you. And I am a priest no matter what year it is.”

“You could marry me,” Faye repeated.

“I could. But again, not a legal—”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You could marry me. You and me—we could get married, here, in this time, in Beaufort.”

Pat gaped at her.

“Faye.”

Faye shook with excitement. The idea had come to her in a flash. Yes. Of course. It all made sense. The pieces were clicking into place. She, Faith Morgan, could marry the man the whole town already knew was engaged to—Patrick Cahill.

“Hear me out,” she said. “You and I go into town and get married. I already said I was engaged to a sailor named Patrick Cahill. If Hartwell was as much of a gossip as he seemed, then the whole town knows the lighthouse keeper’s daughter has a fiancé named Pat Cahill. You and I get married. Then you go home. You disappear. People will assume you shipped out again, because that’s what sailors do. And when everyone finds out I’m pregnant, they’ll think it’s my husband’s. Carrick and I wouldn’t have to leave the lighthouse.”

“You’re asking me to marry you?”

“Can you think of a better idea?”

“Well...no.”

“Do you have any moral objections to marrying me? I know priests aren’t supposed to get married.”

“I’m gay, retired, and seventy-seven years old.”

“I don’t expect you to consummate the marriage.”

Pat dug his hands into his pockets and pulled the liner out to show they were empty. “I don’t have any papers on me, any identification. We can’t just walk into town and get married.”

“Yes, we can. It’s 1921, Pat. Driver’s licenses don’t exist yet and neither does the Social Security Administration. Carrick will vouch for your identity. He’s a war hero. He can get away with anything in this town.”

“You mean this, don’t you?”

“Will you?”

Pat raised his hands in surrender.

“Why not? Who knows? Maybe that’s why God sent me back here anyway.”

“You’re the best priest ever,” Faye said.

She grabbed Pat to her and hugged him. Dragging him by the hand, she pulled him into the house where Dolly still sat at the kitchen table.

Faye grabbed the paper and pencil.

“How long would it take you to make me a wedding dress?” Faye wrote. “A simple one, nothing fancy.”

Dolly pulled her measuring tape out of her pocket and wrapped it around her neck like a jaunty scarf.