“Is she?” Mom huffed. “Too good to wait outside for her family?”
“It is a tad cold out. I’m sure—” Jane started.
“Let’s get inside,” Mom hurried toward the chapel.
The church was a small white structure, among the oldest in Austen Heights. But from the fresh coat of paint and occasional updated internal structure—along with a little fae magic—it had remained well maintained over the years. A picket fence ran around the front of the building and lined the cobblestone sidewalk.
A sign before the door announced the times of the two congregations that gathered there. One of the founding human pastors and fae pastors had struck up a bargain that they both could use the building for their congregations, and that deal held strong to this day. Although magic wasn’t a secret in Austen Heights, the meetings still remained separate.
The old cemetery sat behind the church. Ever since I was a child, I’d often spent hours reading there. It was my sanctuary.
The meeting would start in only a few minutes, so we rushed up the steps of the church.
“Oh,hello, Mary.” The fae assistant pastor, Brexton, stood at the door with a wide grin on his face. His hair was styled neatly, and he wore a woven brown cardigan over his white dress shirt. The easy warmth in his expressive eyes welcomed me. “How are you likingThe Fae’s Blessing?”
Tucking a stray strand that had come loose from my bun behind my ear, I looked up at him. “I’m liking it a lot, thank you. I’ll return it to you as soon as I’m finished.”
Mom, Jane, and Kitty hurried to the seats Lizzy had saved for them. I took a step to move past and join them.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Assistant Pastor Brexton. Sometimes we talked a little too much, since I studied and cataloged the ancient texts stored beneath the church for my internship and he was often there doing his work. But I didn’t know if it was always the best use of time, and I was hesitant to get caught up in yet another conversation with him when the service was about to start.
“I’m glad you are enjoying it.” He ran his hand through his sandy brown hair, causing it to mess. Some strands fell over his pointed ears and eyes, lending him a decidedlynon-pastory look. Lydia irreverently called him the hot, young pastor, although he was in his mid-twenties and Pastor Collins was only in his early thirties.
“So, you were asking about that old fae writer last week,” he continued. “I think you were reading one of his manuscripts? I scrounged around and found out the author is buried here in this very cemetery.”
I paused, perking up. “Really?”
“Yes. Here, I wrote the information down for you. Thought you might want to go check if you could find anything else about him from his gravestone.”
I took the paper, offering him a shy smile. “Thanks.”
Brexton was kind to me. He’d been the one who had talked Pastor Collins into giving me my internship in the first place.
His warm grin grew, and for a moment the light flashed, playing off of his piercing reddish-brown gaze. “Anytime, Mary. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you.”
I stuffed the paper in my pocket and rushed to join my family. I sat next to Kitty, settling onto the soft cushioning blankets someone had laid on the hard wooden pews.Whether it was to protect the benches or our backsides, I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful either way.
Mom chatted with Ms. Hetty Bates, who was seated with her knitting and her aged mother in the row ahead of us. They were the oldest fae in town. Mrs. Bates, being hundreds of years old with her gray hair and stooped posture, proved that the physical effects of age do show in the fae… eventually.
The air in the chapel smelled of old wood, carrying a quiet history all its own in every breath. Soft rays filtered in through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the benches, as though the church itself was wrapped in a patchwork quilt of light. I took it in, the atmosphere familiar, like the comforting warmth of a well-worn sweater or the gentle hum of a favorite song playing in the background, wrapping me in a hushed sense of belonging.
“What? Charles Bingley is here?” Mom stretched to observe Charles and his dark-haired friend sitting up front in the seats reserved for high fae.
“Ohhh, Charles is such a nice boy. And always so cheery and handsome too, isn’t he?” Ms. Bates turned to the elderly Mrs. Bates. “Handsome, mother.”
“He is the most kind and handsome man in Austen Heights.” Mom leaned over the pew to get a better view. “But why is he sitting with that horrible man, Darcy? He was rude to my Lizzy. I hope he knows he’s never welcome in our bakery.” She said the last part loud enough that the surrounding people stirred.
“Mom,” Lizzy hissed from Jane’s other side. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a half ponytail and a little notepad that she carried around for her job at the local newspaper stuck out of her purse.
“I don’t care how high born he is.” Mom said, increasing in volume. “If he can’t look past his pointed ears to see my Lizzy, then he’s as low as low can get in my book.”
Darcy, though he must have heard, didn’t move, but Charles glanced back at us with a worried frown. Lizzy ran a hand over her face, while Jane covered her red cheeks with her hands.
Pastor Collins rose to his feet with a no-nonsense expression.
“The sermon is about to start,” I whispered in an attempt to stop them, my sense of belonging evaporating as I felt the stares drilling into us.
