It was more out of astonishment than acquiescence that Mable allowed herself to be pulled close to Father Brennan's side.  For just a second, she tensed as the man's arm moved above her, until it rested harmlessly - no, more than that - comfortingly around her shoulder.

Inexplicably, a drop of water from her hair splashed into her eyes.  She blinked them furiously to clear them, turning her head down so the hat she wore hid her face incase they fell.

Shouldn't it be impossible that someone as big as Father Brennan could touch her so gently, be so kind?  It went against everything she knew.  It made her happy and sad at the same time.

Mable only finally released her lip from between her teeth when she was questioned.

"It depends where I am.  Back on the farm I would - don't laugh, but I would pretend to be a fairy.  I would make mud-soup from dirt and leaves and sticks and pretend to serve it in my fairy restaurant!  My brother would always clean his plate."  The words were more giggles by the end, Mable obviously enjoying the memory of that game.

As she spoke, an arm wriggled behind out from between her and Father Brennan, wrapping behind his back and holding onto his clothes.

"Sometimes my brother and I would dig holes, too.  Really big ones!  Once, he dug so far down he could stand in it and couldn't see over the top.  We'd also build small dams in the creek, and watch how it made the water flow differently.  On the road to New York, I would play a color spotting game with myself.  Oh, in the hotel, I was making a picture with those little pebbles I was throwing.  That one's a little difficult though."

If there was anything off about Mable’s demeanor, Malachi did not appear to notice. It did not even strike him as something to watch for – he just saw that she was cold, while he was a bit warmer.

“A fairy?” the priest inquired, smiling all the while. That was not one he heard often. If anything, he was meant to guide children away from such fantasies. It was not good for one’s spiritual health to play into the make-believe, but then, why did it really matter? If it amused them, and made them happier for it, then he did not see the issue.

If God was all-powerful, then no make-believe creatures could threaten that.

He felt an arm snake out from between them to hold onto him. Wished again that he had some sort of towel to wrap around her like a warm, fluffy cocoon.

The only holes he had ever dug had been graves. He supposed that, if he’d climbed down into them, they would have been just deep enough that he’d have had to stand on his toes to see out.

“Ah? I noticed those,” Malachi said in regards to the pebbles, “I’d say you managed it. It looked like a boulder to me. Or… a cat curled up in a ball.”

That was a bit of a stretch, but it wasn’t untrue. The shape had been there.

They passed by darkened buildings and alleys, and as they gradually got closer to the hotel, he could see the faint flicker of candles in the occasional window as they walked by.

“I think the local fishermen would be upset if we built a dam, but maybe… we can build our own little creek instead. On the beach,” he suggested. “And we’d be digging too.”

How was it that Father Brennan was so much older than her, and yet had enough imagination to see a cat where Mable had only been able to see a rock, or a potato?  Her face was blank as she let that register, and then split in half with a smile.

This man was so fascinating to her.  Mable leaned further into his side, already warm from their pseudo-hug.

"The beach then," she decided.  "We can do most of the things on our list there.  I can bring my brother, and all three of us can dig.  I bet the hole will be big enough to fit the three of us!  And - oh, I wonder if fairies live on beaches?"

She hadn't imagined that before.  All the fairy's she'd ever thought of before lived in forests, where there was greenery for miles, and animals big and small to ride on and help and befriend.  But the beach was still a part of nature.  Surely, fairies would live somewhere in the sand or rocks.  They could make friends with the crabs, and save fish that swam too close to the land.

Having come to a satisfying conclusion, Mable nodded and squeezed Father Brennan lightly where her arm was around him.

"You know, I think they do.  So we can play fairies on the beach too, and make sand-mud-soup instead.  Only if you want to, of course.  If not, we can play my pebble game!  I think you'd be very good at it.  You have a very colorful imagination, Father."

More of the fairy talk! Malachi could not tell from the girl’s tone if she was serious or not. Did she actually believe there were fairies, or was it just a part of her game?

He gave a hum as he considered this – though it surely must have seemed like his thoughtful look concerned the question of whether or not fairies lived on beaches, instead – and looked down at her again when he felt her arm squeeze his waist.

A quiet laugh escaped him as she deemed his imagination ‘colorful.’ Was it any more so than thoughts of little fairy creatures?

“There’s no reason why we can’t do both,” said Malachi. “Once we finish the sand-mud-soup, we can play your pebble game. Oh! We could play it with whatever we find on the beach – shells?”

He had not actually been down to the beach yet. Hadn’t had the time nor the reason to. There had to be shells and stuff like that.

Whether or not Mable genuinely believed in fairies, she did not elaborate on any more.  Her eyes widened, light from candles and the moon reflecting within them.  Both!  Why hadn't she thought of that?

"Both sounds wonderful, Father!  The shell idea too.  I've heard some people collect shells too, maybe we can have a competition!  To see who collects the most.  Or the prettiest!  And then use the spoils for the pebble game.  You're so smart."

Just talking about it made Mable excited for all of the possible games they might play.  If holding onto Father Brennan wasn't so nice, she'd twirl and jump and skip down the street back to the hotel.

And she'd have Father Brennan do it too.

Perhaps in the morning.  Meanwhile, the hotel in question got closer and closer as they walked down the street.  Mable was not ready for the walk to end.

"Do you have a favorite color, Father?"

It had been far too long since he had been around children like this. It felt like ages since he’d last seen Nettie, and longer still since she had been Mable’s age. There was something so refreshing about spending time with her and not worrying about how it made him appear, or whether his humor undermined the things he preached.

Malachi shook his head, but quickly clarified, “not a favorite, but I suppose there are colors I prefer.”

Yet another question he had never really given any thought.

“Black, white, blue – I could not choose a favorite. Do you?”

Why did so many adults now have a favorite color?  Just preferences they always said, but wasn't that the same thing?  And even if it wasn't, was it really so hard to choose a favorite?  Mable didn't think so.  But then, she wasn't an adult herself yet.  They probably had a lot more to think about that what colors they liked best.

Now that she was thinking about it, even her brother would give a different answer every time she asked.  She figured it must just change a lot, or maybe he'd been picking the first color he saw to placate her.  Mable wouldn't out it past him.

"Green," she was quick to say regardless.  Her tone suggested that there was some layer of humor to the answer she might have been about to elaborate on before she stopped herself.

"Like - my eyes, and trees!  Blue is very nice too, though, but black and white are scary.  What makes you prefer them?"

Oh, her eyes were green, weren’t they. Malachi leaned down once she’d said it, tilting his head to peer beneath the hat she still wore. Yes, they were a very pretty shade of green, and not a color often seen either.

As he straightened his posture to look forward again, he felt another laugh escape before he could even think to quiet it.

“Why do you think they’re scary?” asked Malachi, clothed from head to toe in black and white as he was. Mostly black, sure, but the touch of white around his neck still drew the eye.

“They are the color of the night sky, and the moon, and- some cows are black and white too, aren’t they? Words on a page, the keys of a piano… I don’t think any of those things are scary.”

When Father Brennan leaned over to see her eyes, Mable happily looked up at him and made her eyes as wide as she could while smiling.  She was always so proud of her eyes, and the fact she shared them with her brother.

His words made her pout though.  Of course cows were black and white, and the moon and sky and piano keys, though Mable was only familiar with two of those things.  And Father Brennan himself, but that wasn't what she meant.

"Well, those things are alright, but storm clouds can be black, and lighting flashes white and then terribly loud thunder always follows it.  Those are scary."

The girl's tone was just slightly lower than it was before, as if saying it too loud would summon the clouds and heavy rain.  Mable's free hand moved to touch where Father Brennan's rested on her shoulder.

“Mm, perhaps,” Malachi replied, unconvinced. “Storm clouds are more of a gray though, don’t you think?”

They had never struck him as all that scary, either, but he was used to them. Perhaps they weren’t as common where Mable had grown up, or they could have been all too common. He enjoyed the rain; the gray-tinted overcast, the scent of wet stones and soil, the sound of it raining down against the rooftops.

His fingers wiggled where she touched his hand, before settling down over hers. The hotel was in sight up ahead, and farther down the street, he knew the sleeping church awaited.

“What other colors do you like, then? Or are none of them comparable with green?”