1972

The years passed by gently in the little house.

The Father's eyes darkened with time, brightened with her smile. On they went, tugging back and forth endlessly as the tides, brightening, and dimming. A war that would never have a winner. A winter that seemed to never cease in its bitter and relentless mission to break his heart.

Some days he longed for that companion, that friend and mystery of time he had once possessed.

Other days the silence, the little laughs that crashed with the dish plates and car motors outside were enough.

"Papa," She said putting a hand to his cheek. "You should stay home today. You look tired."

"No, no," he protested putting his hand to her wrist and gently pushing her away. He winced and he stood up, his back full of tangled ropes and tightened screws. He had become a machine of sorts. regular and simple in his needs and habits.

"Work is work. And whatever we do, we must do it with all our might as long as we are able."

Jane, who had grown up considerably in the five years past took her strong arms to his and set him back into his place.

Her aquiline nose and shining eyes brought him ease. Just as an artist looks upon his masterpiece, the father looked to his daughter. A piece of perfection that he had but little helped to make. 

A gift not theirs alone.

"I will go today," she says firmly, "Its time." 

A command. Simple and plain in nature, yet full of compassion.

He did not have the heart nor the strength to argue with that young angel of peace.

There comes a time when the child overtakes her parents. When they hang up their cap for the last time and their offspring puts it on their heads the next morning and sets of for themselves. A small scrap of clothing to shelter them from the windy cold storms ahead. To keep their eyes shielded from doubt and pain. 

We are all handed this little cap the day we are born, along with a compass that is welded into our innermost heart. A compass that directs our every step, a hat to shield us from the savageness of the sun. 

"Jane. You should be in school. Saint Peters Port is no place for a girl of fourteen-"

She kissed his cheek tenderly, wrapping the scarf around her neck and adjusting her tattered mittens. He savored her warmth and presence best he could within that briefest second.

"Don't worry." she professes, "All will be well. Rest. You can rest now."

The twelve freckles that had lain below her eyes were blotted into oblivion now. Nothing more than a cloudy shadow of splotches remained. Faded by the sun she so loved to play in. 

While her mother remained, remained in the cherry blushed cheeks and two short braids that fell across her shoulders, the innocence of those freckles were gone.

The days of sun, or play and gardens, were now over. Oh, he saw her in every glance, in the way she said O'Connor, the way she read aloud and curled her lip when she concentrated hard. Her laughter, oh that laughter, laughter like a cure to every ill in the world. 

He had cared for her, he had taught her to love and live for others.He felt that the compass, while imperfect had been set and would guide her well. Perhaps she would be a doctor or scholar. Find some new medicine to help ease his pain. Or perhaps a school teacher-

Or perhaps she would do as her friends, teaching all who would listen to the dreams they shared.

Dreams of paradise.

"I'll be back by noon. There's broth on the stove it only needs to be heated up," she says softly, opening the old wooden door with a creak.

He nods as best as he able and his lips up curl around the edges.

There us that dancing look in his eye. "And to think I took care of you once upon a time-"

"You did," Jane said affectionately, "And now, for once, I will care for you." 

She returns once the sky has turned to black, walks the four miles home, absorbed in her thoughts as the bitter chill bites and gnaws on her exposed skin. Punishment for a selfless task rather than a reward. So often it is the case that the good man suffers more than the evil. 

The wicked one rules the Earth. The good and meek are but simple weary travelers upon it, running tirelessly on the road toward everlasting life. 

She finds herself collapsed at his feet, exhausted, broken and bruised. Her hope, her energy is diminishing, the burden she carries too great. 

Why will no one listen?

Why does no one answer? She wants to save them, she wants to rescue them from drowning in their sorrows.

Why does no one listen?

She looks up at her friend, her hero, and for once sees him as her Father. Not just Papa, her sworn guardian. Every day? How had he done this every day for her? 

Gently he puts a hand on her shoulder. "I never told you did I?"

Turning to face him, she smiles and gives her attention, though distracted she chokes out, "Told me what Papa?" 

"About the day you were born?" 

The face of Jane filled with anticipation and perplexion. "No."

"We almost thought you wouldn't make it. You were so small and you weren't crying like babies are supposed to. Silent. You were dead silent. Your Mother didn't even get to see you. They took you straight away."

She watched her Father carefully. Watched the way his forehead creased and folded into an intent frown. The way the streaks of grey in his brown wavy hair curled and twisted in meditative thought.

"After a while, your mother had had enough. She marched right into the back room despite my protest and demanded that you be handed over."

"Did they? Hand me over?"

Finn nodded.

"Once your mother had been calmed down and sat properly in a chair they brought over this brown little blanket. And there you were."

Jane gave a hesitant smile. Disappointment, she thought to herself, anything but a disappointment. 

"I didn't cry on our wedding day. Even though it was just us, no one would have seen...I watched her cry and I smiled. But holding you, seeing you two next to eachother- words can't hold that feeling Jane. Your Mother, the look on her face- I knew however much she loved me she loved you more."

Jane gave a little whimper and buried her face in his hands.

"I love you." She chided, grasping his clothing in her palm as if it would keep him within her grasp forever.

"I love you," his voice broke "Now don't cry Jane if you cry I'll start crying." 

"I wish I had known her," Jane sobbed softly through a laugh, wipping the cascade of tears away.

"You will," Finn said firmly, "You will."

He reached for the thick green book beside him and placed her hand upon it. "Do you have faith the size of a mustard seed?"

Her face contorted with sympathetic pain.

A nod.

"Then," her father smiled sadly, kissing her forehead, "You will move mountians."