Oliver didn’t rush off as she expected him to. He stood there, eyes focused on his grandfather and yet not. Hands clenched into fists that looked as though they were meant to moor him to some invisible line.

Mr. Gibson looked up at him. “Sorry, my boy. We only wanted to find Beth. I shouldn’t have . . .”

Oliver crouched down again and rested a hand on the shoulder Libby wasn’t already anchoring. “I think, before I go tearing off in search of Mamm-wynn, we had better pray.”

Pray? Now? When it was so imperative that he find his grandmother as quickly as possible? Libby opened her mouth to tell him that was a foolish idea, but no words escaped her lips.

And she was glad of it, when she heard the words coming from his.

“Father God, here we are before you. On our knees quite literally. Begging you, our Father and our Lord, to walk before us. Lead us. Show us where to find Mamm-wynn and even Beth. We know that you love them both even more than we do. You have numbered the hairs on their heads. You know their innermost thoughts. You call them by name.”

Libby drew in a slow breath, silently, so as not to interrupt him. This wasn’t the sort of prayer she was used to, with recited words and memorized phrases. This . . . well, this was the sort one took the time to say. Not an anonymous petition to a King or Creator, as she would have made, but an earnest supplication to a Father.

This was a sort of prayer that at once bemused and intrigued her.

“We ask that you guide my steps now to them. That you keep your hand on them, protecting them. We ask for your healing touch upon Mabena and Tas-gwyn.”

Oliver went quiet, but Libby’s heart added a plea. I ask that you show yourself to me, God. If you are there, if you are the loving Father Oliver claims . . . please show me. Show me by showing us Mamm-wynn. If anything happens to her . . .

She wasn’t entirely sure it was the right sort of petition to make. Was it testing God? Wasn’t there a Scripture that warned not to do that? But Gideon had asked for proof—she remembered that story well enough. Twice he’d asked. And twice he’d been given what he asked for, to know that it was truly God instructing him.

Well, the Lord hadn’t called her to lead an army, so He wouldn’t answer her as He had Gideon. But if He knew her name, if He loved her, if He really did number the hairs on her head, perhaps He would do this now. Not just to show himself to her, but for Mamm-wynn’s sake. For Oliver’s. For every Scillonian who loved her.

“Amen.” Oliver whispered the word, opened his eyes, squeezed his grandfather’s shoulder. Met her gaze.