The Mermaid's Sister(66)

“He raised you well,” Father Patrick says. “That I can see, even with these old eyes. Glory be to the Lord, who doth provide.” His face is alight with happiness. “And here you are with your fine young lady, asking to be wed. I am blessed to witness this day.”

Seeing the priest’s joy makes my heart sing. Everything that has happened in our lives, from O’Neill’s babyhood under the apple tree until now, has worked together to lead to this one perfect day.

“Will you marry us, Father?” I ask. “Today?”

“It would be quite unorthodox, without banns or special dispensation. I am sure my superiors would not approve. But how could I refuse the boy with my brother’s birthmark?”



Father Patrick marries us in the parsonage garden, beneath an arbor of fragrant pale-pink roses. The gardener, his five-year-old daughter, and her crooked-tailed kitten are our witnesses. O’Neill and I exchange rings we found among the Sea King’s treasures—gold bands that are perfectly sized and matched, as if the Sea King had somehow known our future. Perhaps he had.

The little girl claps when we seal our vows with a kiss, and the kitten startles and runs to hide in the hedges.

“Come here,” I say to the girl. I take a pearl from my pocket, one of three I kept from Maren’s jar to remember her by. “My sister gave this to me, and it is very special. Keep it so that you may always remember this happy day.”

“Is it a treasure?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, “a very great treasure. It came from sadness but led to joy.”

O’Neill kisses my cheek. “Mrs. O’Neill Scarff,” he whispers in my ear. “You are sweet and kind as well as brave.”

“I do not know if I am any of those things,” I say, “but I am happy.”

“Not as happy as I am.”

“Do you pick a fight with me so soon? Five minutes after the wedding?”

He quiets me with a kiss. If that is how he chooses to win our arguments, so be it.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE





Smoke funnels out the chimney of the cottage where I was raised. Twilight is upon the mountain, and the lamplight glows golden through the windows.

How they knew we were coming, I do not pretend to know. But as the horses halt, Auntie and Scarff spill out the door and run to us. Osbert scampers at their heels, howling with wyvern delight.

Kisses and tears are exchanged in abundance.

“She is safe, our Maren?” Auntie asks, gripping my elbows.

“Safe with her Sea King father,” I say. “And she is happier and more beautiful now than you could ever imagine.”

“For that, I am glad,” Auntie says. “And I am glad you are home safe as well.”

“Hear, hear,” Scarff agrees.

O’Neill lifts my hand to show them my rings. “We are married,” I say, blushing as befits a bride.

“By the very priest who found me under the apple tree,” O’Neill says. “That is a story you will enjoy, Scarff and Auntie.”

“So young!” Auntie clucks her tongue. “But no matter. It was meant to be. We have always known it, haven’t we, Ezra my love?”

Overcome with emotion, Scarff replies by gathering O’Neill and me into his arms again. His eyes and beard are wet with joyful tears. “All our children are safe and happy,” he says. “Who could wish for more?”



After breakfast the next morning, O’Neill leads me to the Wishing Pool. His face shines with love and mischief.

“Look,” he says. He points to the tree whose vandalized trunk has always warned us of the fruitlessness of wishing. Someone has changed the words.

“‘Swishing gets you nothing’? Honestly, O’Neill!”

“Well, I couldn’t leave it as it was. It was a lie. Besides, I made a solemn pledge to my true love that I would destroy it, and I could not bear to burn the poor tree down.”

“It was a lie,” I agree. “Sometimes wishing gets you something.”

“Wishing got me everything,” he says. “Eventually.”

I dive into the deep water of the Wishing Pool, new dress and all.

Just as my sister would have done.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS





I owe a debt of gratitude to the many dear friends who have encouraged me on this exciting journey. I could not possibly name each of you here, but I think you know who you are!

Special thanks to:

My husband, John, for putting up with me and quietly believing in me. You mean more to me than words can say.

My sweet grandmother, friend, and fellow book fanatic, Shirley Thomas. You read it first!

My wonderful parents, Tim and Shelley Selleck, for a million reasons.

Williamsport NaNoWriMo cohorts Brenda Crowell, Amanda C. Davis, Laura Rook, Kristina Solomon, and mascot Codi Zanella. Extra thanks to Amanda for being an incredible beta reader and for sharing your knowledge of weird nineteenth-century stuff.

Jenny Brown (writer’s care-package queen), Christine and Jeff Doty, Cindy and Rodney Knier, Mary and Sarah Stover, and Lara Hughey. Friends like you are priceless.

Sunday Parfitt, for inspiring the first line with your parental wisdom.

Pastor Brian C. Johnson and the Kingdom Writers, for accountability and prayers.