Molly looked out at the ocean, trying to see what it was that had captivated the old woman so completely. The waves crashed against the boat, their foamy peaks reaching up like grasping fingers before sinking back into the depths. Yes, it was beautiful in a wild kind of way, but right now Molly could do with a little less beautiful and a bit more dry-and-warm.
She glanced toward the retreating crowd of tourists making their way towards the pubs and guesthouses in the village. “Did you come with anyone? Would you like me to call them back for you? I don’t want you to be left behind.”
“Left behind?” the woman chuckled softly, her skin crinkling as she smiled. Molly couldn’t put an age to her. She looked ancient, all deep lines and wrinkles, but her cheeks were rosy and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Nay, dearie. I havenae been left behind. Ye see, life is full of choices. Paths that branch off in unexpected directions. And right now I’m exactly where I’m meant to be: right here, talking to ye.”
“Oh, right,” Molly replied. “I see.”
“Do ye?” the woman asked with a mischievous grin. Then she stuck out her hand. “I’m Irene, my dear. Irene MacAskill. It’s a pleasure to meet ye.”
Molly took the old woman’s hand and shook it. “Molly Anderson.”
“Aye, my dear. I know.”
“You do?”
The old woman’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I have just spent two hours on a boat trip with ye.”
“Oh right. Yeah, of course. Sorry.” Irene still had a hold of her hand and was watching her with a deep, knowing gaze. A little uncomfortable, Molly cast around for something to say to fill the silence. “So...um...do you live around here?” she asked at last. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in the village before.”
Irene released her hand and waved airily. “Och, I come from all over, my dear. Here. There. Everywhere. The Highlands are me and I am the Highlands, as ye might say.”
Molly nodded. “Shall we get you back on solid ground, then? Here, I’ll help you up onto the quay.”
She held out her hand, but the old woman didn’t move. Instead, she continued watching Molly with a stare that was starting to make her uncomfortable.
“There are better things around the corner, Molly Anderson,” she said after a moment. “If ye have the courage to choose a new path. Dinna let fear hold ye back from seizing the opportunities that lie ahead.”
Molly blinked in surprise, a sudden swell of uncertainty in her gut. How could this woman know the struggles she faced? The boat seemed to sway beneath her, though she knew it was anchored securely to the dock.
“Wha— how do you—” Molly stammered, but Irene’s enigmatic smile only deepened.
“Sometimes,” Irene said, her voice lilting like the ocean breeze, “we must trust in the wisdom of the sea and the whispers of our hearts. It will guide ye well, if ye let it.”
“Really?” Molly snorted. “Well, I’ve been asking the sea for guidance for a while now, but it doesn’t seem to be listening.”
Irene watched her. Her gaze was very unsettling, like it was spearing Molly to the spot. Was she a retired headmistress or something? She certainly had a stare like one.
“Well, it was nice chatting to you,” Molly said. It wasn’t. It was strange and disconcerting, but her father had taughtalwaysto be polite to passengers. “But I’d better be getting on. Looks like the storm is going to get worse.”
She held out her hand again to help Irene up, but the old woman still didn’t move. A wisp of gray hair came free from her bun and fluttered around her face. She ought to look out of place, this ancient old woman with the backdrop of the wild waves dancing behind her, but she didn’t. She looked like she belonged. Like she was part of the wildness and the wildness was part of her.
“This is a mighty vessel ye have here, lassie,” Irene said, patting the wooden seat beside her. “With a grand name. Do ye know what a selkie is?”
“A mythical creature,” Molly answered. “A woman that becomes a seal according to the old folk tales. My da named the boat—he’s a bit of a sucker for all that old rubbish. And besides—the tourists love it.”
“Old rubbish?” Irene said, her brows rising. “Do ye not believe in the old tales, then? In magic and destiny?”
“Now you sound like my da. You should meet him: the two of you would get on like a house on fire.”
“He sounds like a wise man, yer da. But ye didnae answer my question, lassie.”
Molly could feel rain starting to run down the back of her neck, despite her waxed rain cape. She really wanted to get somewhere warm and dry. Irene, on the other hand, didn’t look in the least bothered by the weather.
“No, I don’t believe in magic and destiny. Who does who is more than ten years old? We all just have to make the best of what we’re dealt.”
Irene’s expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall see.” Her eyes flashed as she looked up at Molly. “Every life is a collection of choices, my dear. Every path is but one step in front of another, and where that path leads is a result of those choices. Ye say there is no such things as destiny? As magic? Are ye willing to take the chance to find out? Are ye willing to take the path that will lead ye there? If ye do, then perhaps ye will discover the path ye were born to tread and the one who will walk it with ye.” She hauled herself up. Her head came level with Molly’s chin and she gazed up with a smile. “Think on it, my dear. Ye willnae have long. Yer choice will come soon.”
With that, she patted Molly on the cheek, then hopped out of the boat and up onto the quay as nimbly as a mountain goat. She paused, looked back at Molly. “Och, but this weather makes my old bones ache. Time for a wee dram of whisky, I reckon. Good night, my dear.”
