Mable was too occupied in her excitement about her new hat and the walk by the river to notice anything amiss with Mr. Brennan, and laughed as he stepped out the door.  Her eyes tightened just slightly at the way the man referred to her brother, but the expression disappeared as quick as it came when she was asked about her home state.

"Oh, Mr. Brennan, it is wonderful," she said with reverence, a hand splayed out on her chest.  "Where I grew up was, at least.  My brother and I were raised on a farm, if you could call it that - lots of open land and not much else.  Our dad didn't care for the manution - manu - manufacturing business, or large towns, so we had to make so with what was local.  It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, though that's true for any place I guess.  Oh, but right at the edge of our land, there was the most beautiful mountain range.  It faded blue like the sky in the distance, and every morning the sun rose up right over it.  It was an amazing thing."

There were so many good memories about her home, and they all came flooding back with just one simple question.  There were just as many bad memories too, of course, but Mable kept those stories to herself.

"There was no shortage of trees to climb on our land, and I'm actually very skilled at doing so now!  My brother and I would spend much of the day outside playing, and many of the nights too, if weather permitted.  And good thing we did!  I'm sure we would have had a hard time getting comfortable enough to sleep on the road if it weren't for all those years of practice."

Of course, they're reason for staying out so long was more than not wanting games to end, but.  Mr. Brennan didn't need to know that.  Mable wanted Pennsylvania to sound alluring, not... well, anyway.

"I'm not surprised that my brother didn't tell you about our home, but it does make me sad.  He's quite tight lipped, isn't he?  No worries, though, that's what I'm here for!  What a pair, us two - he talks too little, and me too much.  Enough about my home, though!  Where did you come from?  What made you come here?  I'm sure you must have some interesting stories!"

Malachi had never visited the states – he had never had any reason to, and figured he never would. The young girl’s vivid descriptions of her home almost could have made him regret that fact.

A farm on lots of open land, mountains rising in the distance. Trees to climb when, as she put it, weather permitted. Although far more talkative all around, Mable seemed well-spoken and articulate like her brother, with that same foreign accent sometimes reminiscent of his own.

“That must have been beautiful,” he said, though he struggled to imagine it. England was beautiful in its own way, but Malachi had never spent much time in a place as open and… and as fresh as Mable made her home sound.

He lived in old buildings, surrounded by a faith older still. He moved, and moved, but did not settle down. He met many people and learned the ins and outs of their whole lives, but he was not known to them.

“Oh, I…”

That dreaded question again. He came from nowhere, he wanted to say, and had nothing of interest to tell. He tried to imagine a farm like the one she described, but he thought of a cellar door instead.

“I’m from the kingdom of Joseon.” Malachi glanced down at her, and clarified, “Korea.”

Had it truly been as calm as he remembered? He had been so young when he left.

“We lived in a place called Naganeupseong. There was a wall around the whole village, and for years I never knew what was beyond it. Once I was old enough to walk, I used to go all the way up the tallest hill, and every day I'd try to see over it,” and when his parents returned to their hut after dark to find him gone, they had always known where to look.

Back then – when his reasoning skills were rudimentary, his logic only that of a child – he thought his curiosity had brought a curse upon them. If only he had been content with the things he could see, he’d thought, nothing would’ve dragged him outside of that wall.

Now he could barely remember what it had looked like inside.

“Then… my father brought me to London, and that’s where I grew up. It’s a lot more…”

How to put it kindly…

“Crowded, there. The air feels different. It has its charm, but I prefer it here where there’s space to breathe. I came here to Whitby because St. Hilda’s – my church – needed a new parish priest, and the bishop sent me.”

The bishop hated him, more accurately, and liked uprooting him any chance he got. But Mable didn’t need to hear about that.

Mable wasn't certain she knew where Korea was, wasn't certain she had ever heard of the place before, but that didn't matter.  The mention of a kingdom intrigued her, and she listened closely to Mr. Brennan's words.

She knew what living inside walls was like, though she suspected Mr. Brennan's walls were more literal than her own.  Her walls were were her youth, the near constant bruises on her brother's body.  Her hill was not tangible either; her hill were her brother's words and promises of something better coming soon.

"We're both very far from home, then, aren't we?"  Her voice was quieter than it had been before.  She had never said so to her brother, but she missed the farm they grew up on.  She missed the freedom, she missed not worrying about finding a place to sleep, and a small part of her missed their father.  Perhaps Mr. Brennan would understand those sentiments.

"But we're probably never going back, even if we want to.  Do you want to?  I shouldn't assume, but you sound like you miss Nagan - Naganeup... Korea.  How old were you when you left?"

Very far from home… yes, he supposed they were.

He would have been lying to himself if he thought to consider the place he came from as ‘home.’ It would have been just as much of a lie to drape that label over the city of London, or even over the estate his father left behind.

Malachi did not miss the village he was born in, but he could forgive the girl’s assumptions. It existed fondly in his memory, but everything was blurred, like a fog had been cast over it. Life for him would have been different there – he supposed it might have been easier, but now? Now he existed only in-between; he was as foreign to them as he was to the English men he grew up with.

“Young,” was his vague answer. Old enough to remember, young enough not to understand.

“There is no reason for me to go back. I have a good life here, and I’m afraid I’m too old to start over.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The River Esk flowed steadily as ever, following the gentle curves of the street he led them down. Cool light glinted off the water and sparkled across its dark surface.

“I’m sure that you and your brother will find the same. A good life, that is,” Malachi brought his hands behind his back. “You’re both young, and the world is wide. If you’re not able to find it here in Whitby, you will find it somewhere.”

He hoped for it to be true.

“Your brother said that you’re here because you wanted to travel… but I sense that there’s more to it than that?”

When Malachi glanced down at her, his smile had faded, but his expression was open, nonjudgmental. He did not wish to interrogate the poor girl, but he had to know if they were running away from something that could follow them here.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Mable, but – will you tell me if you’re safe?”

Mable didn't think there was such a thing as being too old, especially not to start over, but maybe she was too young to understand.  She supposed if there was someone who would understand such a thing better than her, it would be Mr. Brennan.  He was an adult in every sense of the word, and - did he call himself a father, before?  Maybe he had children and a wife he couldn't leave behind.

When the man's smile faded, so did the girl's, but where his expression remained open, Mable's shut off entirely and she looked away.

The babbling river gave her little reprieve, though.  Mr. Brennan's words echoed around in her head along with her brothers.

"I... well, I don't think I should say, sir," she said, trying to keep her voice indifferent.  "We're safe as far as I know, but my brother knows more than I do."

She knew some, but only what he'd told her.  Debtors after their father, and in his death, would be after them.  They'd have no way of finding them across the ocean, she'd been assured, but she had also been instructed to tell absolutely no one the details.

"I'm sorry sir, I'd say more if I knew, but my brother..." Mable searched for the words to explain, but came up with nothing.  Instead, she found the tall man's eyes again and shrugged.  "My brother."

That answer inspired no confidence whatsoever. Malachi found himself frowning once the girl had looked away, his brows drawn together with worry. She could have just lied, and while he would not have been naïve enough to believe it, it would have been less concerning than the answer she gave.

My brother, she repeated. The words echoed faintly off of cobblestone and exterior walls in the relative silence of the night.

“I see,” he nodded. He managed to smooth out his frown before she looked his way again.

It would do him no good to push her on the matter, and he had no desire to cause her discomfort.

“Well,” Malachi focused forward again, determined not to get them lost. “If you ever feel unsafe, please find me. That goes for your brother, as well.”

Not that he expected Edmund to take him up on it if he ever did. He’d accepted help so reluctantly, and Malachi was not oblivious to the fact he had finally allowed it most likely on account of his sister.

Quick to change the subject, he announced, “I have a brother too. A younger one. He is…”

The priest shot Mable an uncertain look, one brow raised.

“…Tolerable? But we’re not nearly as close as you and Eddie seem to be. Have you always gotten along so well?”

Mr. Brennan's offer was appreciated, even if Mable couldn't express it at the moment.  Once the man was facing forward, Mable returned her gaze once again to the river, still frowning.

Oh how she regretted her words now that they had left her mouth.  Even if she hadn't given anything away, her answer was more than suspicious.  She hoped Mr. Brennan wouldn't tell anyone else, or ask her brother for further details.  Not even her imagination could come up with what would happen in that scenario.

There was a pause following the man's question as Mable thought carefully about how to word her answer.  It was an easy one, but she wanted to make sure she wouldn't say anything else that would make Mr. Brennan more worried than he already was.

"From the time I was a baby, we were very close," she said slowly.  "My brother raised me."

There was more she wanted to say, there always was, but she didn't want to have to deflect any more questions.  The idea of Mr. Brennan having a brother intrigued her, though, and she was reminded of her thought just before.

"What's your brothers name, sir?  And do you have any other family?  You called yourself a father before, do you have kids of your own?"

His previous question had quite obviously dampened the young girl’s bubbly demeanor, but Malachi was determined not to let any worries that he’d potentially planted in her mind fester. After all, he had taken her out of the hotel room to explore and take her mind off of things, not make them worse – he just wanted her to know that there was someone in her corner.

A nod was the priest’s only reaction. Like that of his other question, Mable’s answer was vague. Another subject he was better off not prodding at, then.

“Oh, his-”

Wait, what?

Malachi felt his eyes widen subtly at that. So she really was just unaware? That ruled out the possibility of the siblings being Catholic…

“No, no,” he shook his head, smiling sheepishly all the while. “’Father’ is my title within the church, as a priest. While I was still training to become one, it was ‘Brother’ instead.”

And if the bishop was not such a spiteful old bastard (when it came to him), he could have been Bishop Brennan next.

“So it is custom for my parish-” and generally everyone else “-to call me Father Brennan, as I serve as the… well, I am meant to follow in the footsteps of God the Father. I have no children of my own – priests take certain vows which disallow things like that.”

Distractions. He understood why.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to explain any of this to anyone. It all sounded so strange when he tried to put it into words like that… he pushed a few errant strands of black hair behind his ear and kept walking.

“My brother’s name is Levi, though. He lives in London with the rest of the family.”

Well, now Mable felt a little bit silly for being oblivious.  But she had asked, and the man was not unkind with his answer, and Mable appreciated it.  Many adults would not be as patient with her, she knew from experience.

"I'm sorry for all my questions Mr. - ehm, father - oh."  That felt strange, calling a man other than her dad, father.  But it wasn't father, it was Father, yes, Father, a title as he'd said.  Still, Mable wasn't sure how to continue or what to call the man, and hesitated before settling on, "Mr. Father Sir, I've never been to church , and I don't know a lot of what is common."

She and her brother made long enough treks into town for her lessons three times a week, and being younger than she was now, it was a very long trip.  They had not been eager to do it again on Sundays just to get yelled at by a stranger behind an altar.

"I didn't know people in the church couldn't have children either.  Does it not allow marriages either?  Oh, well, I should guess not."  People were not supposed to have children outside of marriage, she forgot.  Her own life was evidence it happened anyway.

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear you can't get married Mr. Father Sir.  I think you'd be a very good husband, you're very tall."  Mable felt bad for every woman in the world that would not be able to marry him now, and all the babies that would never be his children because of his position in the church.  The more she thought about it, the deeper her frown got.

"But... what will you do if you fall in love?  Will you leave the church?  Or will you have to just - love from a distance?"  That thought made her feel even worse, especially because she felt she already knew the answer, but looked up at Father Brennan anyway, waiting.

Mister… Father Sir?

That brought a smile back to the priest’s face, small and involuntary though it was. It really had not been her intention to disrespect him then, by ignoring the title when he first gave it. She’d simply never been to church.

Well – he had never been to church either, at her age.

“Just ‘Father’ is fine,” he guided gently, “and that’s quite alright.”

Malachi was not surprised by the questions that came next – they were natural things to wonder about, especially when it was all new – but he was afraid he did not have any answers that would please her. He supposed when one looked at it from the outside, it did all seem rather unnecessarily lonely.

Her comment regarding his height, and it relating in some way to his potential to be a ‘very good husband,’ only widened Malachi’s smile. What a… peculiar thing to say, and yet it was one of the kindest things he’d heard in some time. Mable might have frowned, but what was there to be sad about?

“Ah. Well, leaving would be an option,” he began with a deep inhale, “but the priesthood is a lifelong commitment. When I became a priest, I promised my life to the church, and that means giving up things like partnership, secular ambitions, wealth…”

He was not making it sound any better, was he? The look he gave her was only moderately embarrassed.

“…I am married to the church, essentially. If I was to fall in love, I hope that I would have the strength to love them from a distance.”

Malachi was not worried about falling in love. He might not have been as strict as he should have been with his vows, in the past, but love had never been a part of the equation. Was he even capable of loving someone the way that husbands loved their wives? Was anyone in the world capable of loving him?

“It is not as lonely as it sounds,” he said quickly. “The church allows me to help more people than I ever thought I could.”