Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  She stepped outside, and her breath caught in her lungs. The temperature had plummeted over the course of the day. She could hardly bear to take the air in. What had brought on this sudden turn in the weather? Before stepping out and away from the protection of the house, she set her cane against the side of the house. Her hands free, she pulled her coat on and buttoned it high, hoping to offer a little respite from the iciness. She took up her cane once more and stepped out from under the protective covering of the porch.

  The driving wind was unrelenting and loud. She took a step. Then another. But the third was unsure, and she wobbled. The storm robbed the landscape of what little light there might have been. Keeping to a straight path was crucial to reaching Mrs. Claire’s home. If Cecily was thrown off even the smallest bit, she’d find herself wandering in the vastness, completely lost.

  She took careful, deliberate steps, searching with her cane for any rocks or dips in her path. After only a moment or two, a sudden gust toppled her entirely, sending her sprawling to the ground.

  Splinters. Howling wind. Sharp pain surging through her side. Her heart pounded hard in her neck. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  Snow pelted her face in the darkness. There was no light. Not a single ray or point. Cloud cover had rendered everything dark. Which way had she been facing when she fell? She couldn’t see her landmarks, not one.

  Oh, heavens. Which way was Mrs. Claire’s? Tavish’s? Was she even on the road anymore?

  She shifted to her hands and knees. The punishing wind didn’t relent. She felt about and found her cane. Found two pieces. That was the splintering she’d heard. She’d have to stumble her way back without its help.

  If she stood up facing the same way she’d been when she fell, Tavish’s house would be on her left. Or would it? A dangerous thing to be wrong about. She could find herself wandering farther and farther afield.

  Slowly, carefully, she moved to her feet, clutching the pieces of her useless cane. She turned her head to the left. No lights. No clues. Snow fell harder. The bite of frigid air punishing. A core-deep shiver shook her hard as the arctic temperatures clutched at her.

  She was lost. Completely turned around.

  She forced slow breaths. What should she do? She couldn’t simply wander around aimlessly, but neither could she stand there and freeze to death as the night wore on. Tavish and Finbarr would never guess she hadn’t successfully returned to Mrs. Claire’s house, and the old woman would likely think she’d chosen to remain at Tavish’s house rather than brave the weather.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fight off the invading cold. Pain clawed at her hands and face.

  “Cecee?” The wind carried Tavish voice.

  “Tavish!” She called back, praying he was near enough to hear. “Tavish!”

  Suddenly he was there. His hands were warm against her face “I was afraid you’d be farther down the road. The storm’s growing bad. You’d best come back inside.”

  “I don’t know where the house is.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I can’t see it. I tripped and found myself turned around. I didn’t—”

  He pressed his fingers to her lips, cutting off her words. “I know these storms, and we’ve but a moment before even I won’t be able to see the house. We have to get back inside as quickly as possible.”

  He put his arm around her, pulling her in close as he led her swiftly away. The snow must have been thick. The toe of her boot hit the first step of the porch before she could see the tiniest hint of light from the house.

  “I never would have found my way back,” she said quietly. “If you hadn’t come looking for me . . .”

  “The weather’s been threatening to turn this way.” He led her past the porch and inside the blessedly warm house and the welcome light within. “I should’ve thought to check before you set out.” He kept his arm across her back as they stepped farther into the warmth of his house. “Sit near the fire. I’ll fetch—You’ve broken your cane.”

  She nodded against her increasing shivers. “I fell on it.”

  “Are you hurt?” He ran his hands down her arms. “I don’t see any blood.”

  “I think my side’ll be bruised, but nothing—nothing worse than—” Her emotions rose without warning, clogging her throat, preventing the very words she was attempting to speak. She pressed her eyes closed, trying to hold back tears. Her body shook, giving away the turmoil she couldn’t hide.

  “Cecee?” Tavish’s voice was soft, concerned.

  She held up a hand, hoping to cut off the inquiry she sensed was coming. An onslaught of questions would push her past the point of recovery. Her composure was too fragile.

  “Your hand’s trembling,” Tavish said.

  Her entire body was trembling. She was falling to pieces.

  Outside had been so dark. She’d been utterly lost.

  “I didn’t know which way to go.” Her near whisper twisted with delayed panic. Although the crisis had passed, her emotions seemed to be only just recognizing the danger she’d been in. “If you hadn’t found me—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  She struggled for breath. She’d been lost in the grip of an intense storm. So dark. So cold. The trembling spread, leaving her shaking from head to toe. A hot tear escaped her eyes.

  “It was so dark.” Her whisper broke as her strength ebbed.

  His hands slipped from her arms to her back, and he pulled her into an embrace. “You are safe now. And you needn’t leave again until the weather has calmed.”

  Cecily couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held like this. She’d received goodbye embraces from grateful students and their families. On occasion, one of her younger students had given her an enthusiastic hug after mastering a skill. But this was different.

  Tavish was offering comfort and support. This embrace was not about what she could or had done to help him; he was meeting a need in her. Noticing her. Caring. Such a tender embrace was not truly appropriate between them, but she needed it too desperately to end it on account of propriety.

  “Thank you for finding me,” she whispered, not moving the slightest bit from the reassurance he offered. “I haven’t been so frightened in a very long time.”

  “If I’d known I’d be rewarded with an embrace from a beautiful woman, I’d’ve gone about rescuing them from snowstorms long ago.”

  Oh, how she needed his humor in that difficult moment. The fear that yet gripped her heart eased the smallest bit. She could breathe more easily. And with the easing of tension in her lungs, she could think more clearly as well.

  She’d allowed herself to panic, something she didn’t often experience. For years, she’d taught her students the value of logic and calm. Maintaining her composure, especially in front of them, had always been crucial. Her current student was, she feared, seeing a different side of her.

  “Is Finbarr witnessing all of this, as well?”

  “Aye. He’s but a pace away, listening to every word.”

  She, then, had undermined her own teachings by letting herself be overwhelmed. “He will not give my word the tiniest bit of authority now, having seen me turn so watery.”

  Tavish adjusted so he stood beside her and then guided her to a nearby chair, calling to his brother, “You’ll not toss away all her good advice, will you, lad?”

  She heard Finbarr take a tense breath. “You couldn’t find your way back?” Real fear touched his words. “I hadn’t—I hadn’t thought of that danger.”

  Cecily sat in the chair Tavish offered her. He took her broken cane and stepped aside, allowing her a view of his brother’s outline, pacing.

  “What happened this evening was my own fault.” She rubbed her still-chilled hands together, hoping to warm them. “I did not take the time to evaluate the weather or visibility before I set out. If I had, I would have known not to venture forth. I was careless.”

  “But if you can forget something like that so easily, I probably will every tim
e.” He leaned against the brick fireplace. “I’ll never be able to go anywhere alone. I’ll be trapped.”

  Her heart sank at his defeated tone. He was far too much the despondent Finbarr she’d met upon first arriving in Hope Springs, and all on account of her foolishness.

  “I have travelled all over this country,” she reminded him. “Losing your vision does not have to stop you from doing what you want.”

  He walked off as he muttered, “It stops everything.”

  Cecily was sorely tempted to follow his lead and do a bit of muttering and foot dragging herself. Though Finbarr likely wouldn’t have guessed, and she’d never tell him, she was every bit as discouraged and overwhelmed as he was. Often, a world without sight was indeed a frightening place, and she hated feeling helpless. But she had decided long ago that she, not her vision, would determine the course of her life. Almost daily she fought against the worry and disappointment of encroaching darkness, but she never surrendered. She might not be able to stop the deterioration of her sight, but she refused to simply lie down and accept it.

  Tavish moved to follow Finbarr.

  “Allow him a moment,” Cecily said. “Discouragement will be his frequent companion. He must discover for himself how to navigate those feelings.”

  “Is that something you’ve learned to do?” he asked.

  “I am an expert at it.”

  Tavish abandoned the pursuit of his brother and moved, instead, to the window. “Saints, what a storm. ’Tis a regular Grand Pounding.”

  “What’s a Grand Pounding?” She stretched her legs out, moving her toes closer to the warmth of the fire.

  “We Irish coined that phrase early in our years here. A Grand Pounding is a fierce storm that rages for days on end, leaving high drifts and icy bits everywhere. We had one like this two winters ago. The snow piled higher than the door and windows.”

  “Good heavens.” She could hardly imagine. “How long will I have to stay here?”

  “That’d be difficult to guess,” Tavish answered. “Once the snow lets up, we can test it, see if it’s solid enough for walking on. Could be days, though.”

  “What about Mrs. Claire?” Her heart pounded once more. “If she’s snowed in all alone—”

  “I’d wager she’ll not have left my parents’ house yet,” Tavish said. “They’ll take one look at all of this and keep her there.”

  “You didn’t notice it,” Cecily pointed out.

  “Only because you didn’t tell me you were leaving,” Tavish said. “Slipped out without a word, you did.”

  “I didn’t want to disrupt you and Finbarr.”

  “Should the matter arise again, I’ll tell you with no uncertainty that I’d very much prefer you to ‘disrupt’ me before departing. Our weather’s full mad this time of year.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. “I will.”

  “Easy as that?” He sounded truly surprised. “You’ll not argue about bein’ independent and not needing help?”

  An interesting response, that. “Do people often reject your offers of assistance?”

  “One person in particular.” He spoke a bit under his breath.

  Very interesting, indeed. She didn’t have an opportunity to press further, nor did she know if doing so was advisable.

  “I’ll climb up to the loft and clear m’self a spot,” Tavish said, using his full voice once more. “You’ll be using the alcove tonight. ’Tis a fair bit warmer there, and I’d say, of the three of us, you’re most in need of a warm corner.”

  “Why would my using the alcove place you in the loft?” He had a bedroom, one with magical windows and an awe-inspiring amount of light. Why would anyone give that up to sleep in a dark and cramped loft? “I don’t walk about in my sleep nor will I knock on your door at all hours, if that is what is concerning you. Neither do I feel uneasy at the thought of you being across the way. You needn’t abandon your bedchamber on my account.”

  “It isn’t mine.”

  “It isn’t Finbarr’s.” Who else was there?

  “It isn’t anyone’s,” Tavish said. “And that isn’t likely to change, so there’s little point beating the topic to death. I’ll clear a place for me in the loft, and you can use the alcove.” Apparently, he’d been sleeping in the alcove.

  “I won’t take your bed away from you, Tavish. I can make do out here.”

  He spoke through a tight jaw. “I may not have a fine English upbringing in manners and civility and such, but I do know how to treat a guest.”

  Was he upset that she’d asked him about the mysterious room of light, or had he truly taken offense at her offer not to toss him out of his own bed? Both, perhaps?

  “I hadn’t meant to imply that you were uncouth,” she insisted.

  “When have the Irish ever not been viewed that way by—” He cut himself off, but Cecily knew what he’d intended to say: by the English.

  Only moments before, he’d been so kind, so comforting. Then, quick as anything, she was his enemy again. Surely he couldn’t deny that she had never held his origins against him. Perhaps it was too much to ask for the same consideration in return.

  “I will leave it to the two of you to decide what the arrangements will be tonight,” Cecily said, “and I will follow your lead. In the meantime, I would appreciate a bit of peace and quiet.”

  “Her Majesty has spoken.” The comment was made with a hint of jest but not enough to take out the sting.

  How was it that this man could feel like a safe haven one moment yet turn on her the next?

  As she settled into the alcove that night, she pushed thoughts of Tavish and his changeable personality out of her mind. But that left ample room for ruminating on what had nearly happened in the snow. She hadn’t been able to save her own life.

  What would she do when her vision was gone entirely? That was an utterly unavoidable eventuality. The unfamiliar and bustling train stations that her job required her to pass through would no longer be navigable. She knew how to listen for clues but still needed a bit of vision to orient herself at times. The day would come when she wouldn’t have any.

  Would she have to stop traveling? Would she be forced to give up the remaining items on her wish list? To never see the ocean again, or the Rocky Mountains? Stop taking on new students? How would she earn a living? Her Braille transcriptions brought her tremendous satisfaction, but no income.

  From her bed in the alcove, she stared up into the darkness, pangs of uncertainty gnawing at her. This will not defeat me. If I only work hard enough, find strength enough, this will not defeat me. Somehow.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tavish had held a number of women over the years. While he wouldn’t consider himself immune to the feeling of a woman in his arms, he’d not expected the effect of Cecily filling his embrace.

  Not once since her arrival at his doorstep weeks earlier had he let himself wonder what it’d be like to hold her. She’d been too prickly. Too stiff and off-putting. She’d not’ve welcomed familiarity with the peasantry.

  There you go again, Tavish, thinking of her like Her Majesty. Indeed, he’d blundered and called her that to her very face. Though she’d made a show of being above such insults, he’d noted undeniable hurt in her expression. Perhaps the English and the Irish were simply never meant to get along.

  None of that had mattered, though, during those moments with her in his arms. She’d been hurting and afraid, and offering her comfort had been the most natural thing in the world. Their embrace hadn’t been filled with the hilarity and joyousness of his time with Bridget, nor the unmistakable challenge posed almost constantly by Katie. This moment had been . . . peaceful. For the length of that embrace, one meant to reassure her, he’d set aside his own worries and concerns. He’d known an unexpected—and unnerving—sense of having found a haven from the far too frequent storms of life.

  He lay on his back in the dark loft, trying to make sense of it all. He liked Cecily well enough, the way anyone might
like a neighbor who lends a hand in a crisis. But there’d been nothing comforting or peaceful about their interactions before. His response to their embrace was, in a word, ridiculous.

  Perhaps she was becoming a friend. That change would certainly be a bit jarring. Yes, that was it. He was simply struggling to grasp the idea of her, of all people, beginning to feel like a friend.

  Friends. Despite his rather sharp words to her earlier, he knew how to be someone’s friend. He could manage friendship moving forward.

  In the dark stillness of the house, he thought he heard the front door open. ’Twasn’t Finbarr, for he slept on the far side of the loft. Cecily, then. But why would she be stepping into the storm after such a harrowing experience?

  Perhaps she walked about in her sleep. Tavish snatched up his trousers and pulled them on hastily. While his long nightshirt would have been sufficient, he had no wish to prance about with no trousers with a woman staying in the house.

  He climbed down then lit the lantern hanging on a peg near the ladder. If she’d gone wandering, he’d need the light to find her. In the dimness, however, he spotted her standing in the doorway, looking out into the night.

  After a moment, she stepped back inside and silently closed the door. She pressed an open palm against it, then rested her forehead there. A posture of such sadness and defeat.

  “Were you hoping to go for a bit of a jaunt?”

  “I wasn’t going to go out in the storm.” She spoke calmly, not the smallest bit startled. Apparently, he’d not been as quiet as he’d thought.

  He crossed to her, still leaning against the closed door. “You wanted a bit of a cold breeze, then? Or the bite of wind-driven snow against your face?”

  “Do not mock me, Tavish.” She made to push past him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

  “I wasn’t mocking, I swear to you. I tease a great deal. ’Tis simply my way.”