And more about the strengths of curses and visions and specifics against evil... It was valuable not because it was true; it was valuable simply because it was.
Like their own Father Malachy’s talk of gentry bushes inhabited by the wee folk and strange, unexplainable happenings in the woods in winter moonlight. Once he had told Jessica of seeing a woman in a black dress in the shadows at the back of his church. Struck by something terrible in the woman’s expression, the old priest had asked her if she’d wanted to confess her sins. In a low, trembling voice, she had said, “It’s too late for you to hear my confessions, Father. I am damned.”
The woman had placed her bare hand on a wooden crucifix above the baptismal fountain and then — Father Malachy had blessed himself at this point — she had fled the church, and Father Malachy had told Jessica, whispering now, “You can still see the imprint of her hand, the mark of her fingers burned into the sacred wood.”
Jessica had turned her eyes to where Father Malachy’s finger had directed them, to the cross above the baptismal fount where there was, in truth, a warp or shadow on the grain of the wood. She knew it could have been made by freezing winter temperatures or shafts of strong sunlight through the stained glass windows, and that it could well be that Father Malachy had fallen asleep in a pew and dreamed the whole thing. Yet the truth of it one way or the other didn’t seem to matter very much, she decided; what mattered was the faith of the old priest. Just as the important thing about Liam Mallory was not the exact truth of his words but the magic of belief that charged his life and his energies with significance.
As Kevin turned to pick up another strip of metal with a pair of tongs, Jessica said, “You’re welcome to your real world, Kevin. I like old Liam’s world and I like feeling a part of it.”
“That’s an easy choice for Miss Jessica Mallory of Easter Hill to make.”
“Now what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Kevin O’Dell?”
“It means that you don’t have to worry about Number Ten buses, factories or anything else in the real world. You’ll be off to boarding school next year where you’ll have a toff’s education, a nice little Jaguar or Mercedes when you’re old enough, lots of time for theatre and musicals. You’ll find you’ll miss Fluter and Windkin more than you do the human beings here at Easter Hill.”
Tears of hurt and anger started in her dark eyes. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Kevin.”
“Now listen, Jessica, I didn’t mean—”
“If you didn’t mean it, why did you say it?”
“But, Jess, let me—”
The young lad stopped there, startled and almost frightened by the cold intensity of her expression, the dangerous anger in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m sorry, lass. I mean it. I’m sorry.”
A strange, little chill went through Jessica. She had experienced something unfamiliar to her, a stir of resources, a surge of power that made her apprehensive. “It’s all right, Kevin,” she said, troubled by the hurt in his face and frightened by her own anger. “It’s all right.”
Then Jessica turned and ran with Fluter from the blacksmith shop and up the lawns to Easter Hill.
She had never had a quarrel with Kevin before, not even a misunderstanding, and the memory of it disturbed her the rest of the day. At dinner she was quiet, and Andrew wondered aloud if she might be coming down with something.
“No, I think I’m a little tired from the trip,” she said.
“Yes, you look a bit pale. Why not tuck in early, Jessica?”
“I think I will, Andrew.”
He folded his napkin and held her chair as she rose from the table. “Mr. Brown’s been damming up two streams in the south pasture. He thinks they’ll make fine duck ponds.” He glanced at his watch. “Since it’s such a fine evening, I’ll take the bay hunter out for some exercise and see how the project’s coming along.”
In the great hall, he put his hands on her shoulders and smiled into her eyes. “I missed you very much on this trip, Jessica.”
“I missed you, too, Andrew. There’s still so much to tell you.”
“All right, run on up now and I’ll come in to say goodnight to you.” He kissed her on the cheek and she would always remember the feel of his big, caring hands on her shoulders, the roughness of his tweed jacket and the familiar smell of his worn, leather cigar-case.
Jessica stood at the windows of her bedroom looking down at the gathering dusk toward the stables. A yellow rectangle of light glowed and she could see Kevin’s shadow occasionally as he moved about tidying up.
It seemed to Jessica then that she had somehow become older than her years. A breeze from the terrace outside her room stirred her long hair which was still damp from the bath. She recalled a game they had played on soft dusky nights like this, with Andrew reading in the library and Mr. Brown putting the last touches to the rosebeds.
From her window she would signal to the stables with a flashlight and Kevin would answer with a light of his own, then he would collect “messages” from Windkin and bring them to Jessica, climbing the big oak tree and swinging from its top limbs to the mansard roof and on down thick clusters of ivy to Jessica’s terrace.
They talked in whispers until it was dark, Jessica with her elbows on the windowsill, Kevin kneeling on the terrace. Their happy acceptance of a make-believe world had added a sweet and exciting innocence to their friendship.
But she remembered one experience that hadn’t been so casual and tranquil. They were exploring caves on the beach below the house, searching for shells and mosses and sea mollusks. Kevin was about to plunge his arm into a dark pool formed in a crevasse by the waves when Jessica was seized suddenly by a vividly ominous premonition.
“Don’t, Kevin!” she shouted. “Don’t!” Running to him, she grabbed his shoulder and threw him aside with such a burst of strength that he went sprawling onto the wet floor of the cave.
“Damn it, what’s the matter with you, girl?”
“Look, Kevin, look!” Using a piece of driftwood, she probed into the small dark pool of water and finally brought up the pale, gelatinous form of a poisonous ray-fish, swollen as big as a soccerball.
“Lord Almighty, how did you know it was in there, Jessica?”
“I knew it was there. Haven’t I told you to listen to me?”
“Yes, Jess, but I never know when you’re serious. I mean, real serious.”
“Well, you’d better start learning...”
“That I will,” Kevin said. He smiled and rubbed his aching shoulder. “You got a grip on you like a blacksmith, Jessica. You could have broken my arm.”
“I’m sorry, Kevin. I was frightened for you.”
Acting on an impulse now, Jessica found her flashlight and played it across the weathered boards of the stables. Within minutes she heard the sound of footsteps above her and then the creak and rustle of the stout, ropey ivy as Kevin dropped lightly onto the terrace.
“I’m sorry I spoke as I did, Jessica. Everything seems to be changing so fast.”
He was feeling the same bittersweet loss which she had experienced, Jessica realized as she watched him pick up a handful of leaves from the terrace and let the wind blow them from the palm of his hand and spin them off into the darkness. A frown darkened his face.
“It used to be that all this was home, Jessica. Ballytone, Easter Hill, the Head and shores, all the country around here. A place where the O’Dells belonged.”