Libby rested her forehead on Mamm-wynn’s hand, not sure why that statement made her eyes burn. But it wasn’t exactly true. Not given the words Oliver had spoken, which were. Perhaps she saw no point to the version of God she’d been taught since childhood, the one who was himself limited to the point of being boring, who wanted only obedience to a set of strict rules and for His children never to question Him. The one who was at war with science and the evolution of human thinking and who demanded one choose between faith and knowledge.

But how could she go on thinking that really was what God was like when she’d seen something far different since coming here? She’d closed the door after that reply from Oliver, but his words had followed her up the stairs and into Mamm-wynn’s room.

“How did you know?” she whispered, turning her face a bit so she could look at the lady’s. “How did you know where Beth was? How did you know to send Oliver to St. Mary’s a month ago? To bring me a shawl, to lend me a necklace? How did you know that we’d . . . ?” She couldn’t finish that sentence—because Mamm-wynn was wrong about that part. Perhaps Libby had fallen in love with Oliver, but that didn’t mean he’d want to marry her. Why would he, when she, with all her questions, would make such a terrible vicar’s wife? Bram was right. She wasn’t good enough for the Reverend Mr. Tremayne. She couldn’t be what he needed.

Something brushed her head, and she started before realizing Mamm-wynn had lifted her other hand, that she was stroking her fingers weakly over Libby’s hair. Her eyes blinked open too, and the corners of her mouth had moved up a few precious degrees. “The veil.”

“Pardon?” Perhaps Darling’s loud purring from where he was curled up at the lady’s shoulder had garbled Libby’s hearing. Or perhaps these first words she’d spoken in days were disoriented, confused. But she’d spoken! That was worth shouting about. And Libby would shout it, in a minute. She’d go for Oliver and Beth and let them know. Once she could tear her gaze away from Mamm-wynn’s.

Because it didn’t look confused and unfocused as it had been. It looked piercing. And yet soft. Like a shaft of light. “The veil is slipping,” she whispered. “The one between worlds. As it did for Grandmama.”

Though Libby didn’t know exactly what she meant, she knew she didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded far too much like death. “Don’t talk so. You’re going to get well.”

“Yes.” Her lips curled higher. “I will, for a while. But these old eyes are seeing different truths now. Different facts.”