Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  He spun her around as the whistled tune continued. Around and around. It felt almost like flying. And though she didn’t want to end the magical moment, she couldn’t help her impulse to tease him a bit.

  As they made another turn, she flinched. “Ooh.” She hopped backward. “My toe. Ooh.”

  “Heavens, did I stub your toe?”

  She meant to keep the ruse going a bit longer, but couldn’t hold back her laugh.

  “You vexing colleen. Your toe’s not stubbed at all, is it?” Far from sounding offended, Tavish began laughing along with her.

  “I couldn’t resist,” she said.

  “You most certainly could have,” he countered.

  “I had no one to laugh with in Lincoln,” she said. “I’ve missed it terribly.”

  He pulled her a touch closer as he spun her about in the dance, still chuckling lightly and, she imagined, grinning broadly. “You laugh and tease all you want here, Cecee. ’Tis one of my favorite things.”

  Cecily leaned her head on his shoulder. She didn’t know where the impulse had come from, but the gesture was so natural, she couldn’t fight it. She was near enough to see, however vaguely, his chin and neck. Odd how not being able to see a person made such innocuous details feel very personal. She closed her eyes and concentrated on those bits of him that were familiar. His scent. The sound of his boots on the floor. The rich baritone of his voice. The infectiousness of his laugh.

  The past few days he’d been quite charming, truth be told. But this moment was different. Dancing with him, Tavish felt like home.

  “Despite the damage you’ve done to my toes, you are proving yourself a fine dancer.”

  “Vexing. Vexing.” He held her so close that she felt the words as he spoke them. “I’ve been falsely accused, I have.”

  “Will you forgive me enough to help me think of a way for Finbarr to dance at the céilís if he wants to? I haven’t the slightest idea how, at least, not yet, but between the three of us, we’ll think of something.”

  “A fine goal,” Tavish said. “It’d be good to see you there again, lad.” That brought Finbarr’s whistling to a halt, and not, she guessed, to one of eager anticipation. “For you to dance would be a fine thing for the lasses.”

  “I doubt they’ve missed me much,” Finbarr said.

  And there was another issue Cecily hadn’t thought of: being admired by girls his age would be an important thing for him. Of course it would. He was likely convinced he was looked on with nothing more than pity. That would be a blow to his pride, his hopes, and his fragile confidence all at once.

  The tune had stopped, but Tavish still held her close. “We must find a way to help him feel confident enough to spend time with his friends again, to view himself as worthy of wooing a young lady.”

  “I know.” Tavish spoke just as quietly, leaning low so their conversation would be private. “How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know.” She leaned more fully against him once more. “I don’t know.”

  Footsteps sounded on the porch. A quick wrap on the door was followed by its opening. “Tavish?” The voice was Mrs. O’Connor’s. “We’ve come to—” Her words stopped abruptly. “Good heavens, what in the name of Mary Mack is going on here?”

  “Cecee was showing Finbarr how someone who can’t see can still dance,” Tavish said.

  “And do all people who can’t see end their dances with a . . . hug?”

  Tavish laughed, quite as if he couldn’t hear the tone of heavy censure in his mother’s voice. “If so, I think I’d best find myself a blind woman, as I very much enjoy ending a dance with an embrace.”

  He was making this worse. Cecily swore she could hear Mrs. O’Connor growing alarmed. And if Cecily was correctly interpreting the second set of heavier footsteps, Mr. O’Connor was there as well, no doubt, just as horrified.

  Cecily slipped from Tavish’s arms, doing her best to place the others in the room. “Is the road clear enough to leave the house now?”

  “It is.” Heavens, Mrs. O’Connor’s words were cold and clipped.

  “I had best make my way back to Mrs. Claire’s now,” Cecily said. “I’ll have no hope of successfully arriving in the dark.”

  “I’ll walk you over,” Tavish offered.

  “No.” She held her hands up in a frantic attempt to stop him. “You stay here with your family.”

  “Are you certain you can make the return safely? You haven’t your cane anymore.”

  “I’ll be careful.” She crossed to the coat hooks by the doorway. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  “Perhaps you could take the next day or two off,” Mr. O’Connor said. “You’ve been trapped here for a couple of days. I’d wager you could all use some time apart.” He spoke softly and not truly unkindly, but his words were more demand than suggestion.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered with a quick dip of her head. “I’ll wait until Monday to return.”

  “That’d be best,” Mrs. O’Connor said.

  Cecily slipped out, keeping her chin up and her emotions clamped down.

  She understood Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor’s objection to the very personal circumstances in which they’d found her and Tavish, though truly, nothing untoward had happened. But they’d dismissed Tavish’s explanation out of hand and hadn’t seemed to hear in his jesting tone any reassurance that the situation wasn’t serious.

  Perhaps it didn’t matter. Even friendship between her and their elder son was more than they were willing to accept.

  The local Irish were unlikely to ever welcome her among them; their song of “greeting” made that clear. She had, however, held out hope that the O’Connors, at least, would allow her a portion of their good opinion.

  They seemed grateful enough for her work with Finbarr, but it seemed they’d never allow her to be anything but an enemy.

  Chapter Twenty

  “She was showing Finbarr how to dance, was she?” Ma was fair glaring Tavish into an early grave. “Why, then, was she in your arms?”

  “Because the lad would likely have danced her into the fire.” He tossed his da a smile that, surprisingly, wasn’t returned. “She’s still working out a way for Finbarr to dance safely.”

  “And this demonstration was meant for the benefit of a boy who likely couldn’t see it?” Ma said.

  “He’s not entirely blind,” Tavish reminded them.

  “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, son.” Da spoke as he passed on his way to the table, a burlap bag over his shoulder.

  “What game is that, then?” Tavish was clearly being accused of something, and he’d very much like to know what.

  “They mean flirting with Cecily,” Finbarr said.

  “Miss Attwater, lad,” Ma said. “You’re to call her Miss Attwater. She’s your teacher, not your friend.”

  Finbarr slouched in his chair once more. “She said to call her Cecily.”

  Ma sat near the fireplace. “I don’t like how familiar she’s becoming. With either of you.” She had a way of biting her lips closed when she was trying hard to be tactful. At the moment, her teeth were near about to pop through her lips.

  Tavish crossed to the door. “I need to make certain she finds her way to Granny’s.”

  “She said she could manage on her own,” Ma reminded him.

  “I imagine she can, but it’ll set my mind at ease knowing she’s not wandering all over Wyoming.” He stepped onto the porch. The cold air stung his face. No matter that he’d been in Hope Springs eleven years, the bitterness of winter here still surprised him.

  Cecily was crossing the street at a snail’s pace, taking pain-stakingly careful steps along the path he’d shoveled in the snow that morning. She held one hand out in front of her. The woman needed a cane. Perhaps Mr. Johnson had one at the mercantile. She reached the far side of the road.

  A few weeks earlier, she’d tied a rope from Granny’s front porch to a bush at the north end of Granny’s property. The bush, she’d explaine
d, was easier to spot than the unmarked head of the narrow walking path. Tavish had also shoveled a path following the rope, knowing she’d be returning to Granny’s. He was glad to have helped, but part of him wished he’d left it alone. Maybe she wouldn’t have run off so quickly.

  Da joined him on the porch. “’Tis a reassuring thing to see how independent she is. Gives me hope that our Finbarr’ll find his way.”

  “I think he will,” Tavish said.

  “We’ve passed a long year watching him struggle.”

  Tavish was painfully familiar with the heaviness of Da’s tone. The year had been more than long; it’d been terrible. Heartbreaking. “Next year’s bound to be better.”

  “We begin a new year soon,” Da said.

  “In a few weeks,” Tavish said with a nod. They’d not yet reached Christmas.

  “No, I mean Wednesday. One year since the fire.”

  A year. Only a year. Tavish felt in many ways as if a lifetime had passed, a heartbreaking, exhausting lifetime. One look at Da told him ’twas time again to set aside his own burdens and offer reassurance.

  “Finbarr has had more moments of being himself again. Just this morning he was laughing and giving me grief.”

  “Aye, but he’s sulking right now,” Da pointed out.

  “Cecee says that’s to be expected. She says he’ll go through times when he’s discouraged and mournful, but that he’ll do better overall. She says to be patient.” He could feel Da’s gaze on him, so he turned his head slowly that direction. Sure enough, Da watched him with narrowed eyes. “Have I a bit of lunch on m’ face or something?”

  “Why do you call her ‘Cecee’?”

  Tavish shrugged. “‘Cecily’ seemed too formal a name, too prim and stodgy and—”

  “And English?” Da tossed in dryly.

  Tavish chuckled. “I suppose.”

  Da wasn’t as amused. “You’re attempting to make her something she isn’t. I’d wager you’re also spending a good amount of time teasing her and pestering her so she’ll smile and laugh.”

  “She smiles and laughs plenty on her own.” He couldn’t help a grin at the memory of her making him think he’d stepped on her toes. He hadn’t laughed that easily in some time.

  “You did the same with Katie,” Da said.

  Tavish turned back to the house. “I don’t talk about—”

  “I know you don’t, son. But it’s time you did before you get yourself hurt again. You teased Katie into laughing with you the way you’d prefer, and you fashioned her a pet name that didn’t fit the person you met but the person you were looking for. In the end, it didn’t work between you because she wasn’t the woman you were trying to make her into.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

  “And what if you fall for this Englishwoman?” Da pressed. “You’ve nothing in common. You were born to hunger and poverty. She was born to privilege. Your early years were spent in a factory. Hers were the idyllic days of a daughter of a manor. You’ve scraped together all you have. She was given an education and an occupation.”

  “I think you’re getting far ahead of yourself, there.”

  Da was not put off the topic. “Even if the two of you found a way to overlook all of that, she’d be at odds with half this town for the rest of her life.”

  “Do you not think the Irish are capable of letting old grudges go? We’ve done a fine job of it this past year, making amends with our neighbors.”

  Da shook his head. “Our troubles with Americans go back only a few years. The English’ve been slaughtering and enslaving us for centuries. Hundreds of years’ worth of history is not so easily overcome. There’d always be a chasm, a level of distrust between them. What kind of future would that be?”

  In Da’s them was a terrible strong amount of us. Tavish wasn’t considering courtship with Cecily. But the arguments his da was making brought to mind her own complaints earlier that day—her very real conviction that no one in Hope Springs would ever allow her to be secure in their good opinion. Tavish hated how true that was beginning to feel.

  “I know you’re lonely, son, but you can’t make people into something they’re not and expect to find happiness. Bridget was light and joyful even when the two of you were apart,” Da said. “She teased you as much as you teased her. You didn’t need to change her. She fit you, Tavish. The two of you were each other’s match.”

  “Yes, but she’s dead.” He set his hand on the doorknob. “I found my match, and the heavens snatched her away.”

  “I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  “Set your mind at ease, Da, and tell Ma to do the same.” Tavish shook his head. “I’ve joked about finding myself a golden-haired Englishwoman to fall in love with, but I’ve no intention of doing so. None.” He’d given up on women. “She’s Finbarr’s teacher and a friend. Nothing beyond.”

  “Are you certain of that, son?”

  He met his da’s eyes. “Quite.” He’d learned his lesson; the vengeful heavens had made absolutely certain of that.

  A man could find a great many things to do when he wished to distract himself. Tavish kept very busy the day Cecily returned.

  He’d missed her more than he’d expected to. It seemed Da was at least partly correct; Tavish had let himself grow attached to her, something not at all advisable. Not only was the entire town rather unfond of her—of her roots, at least—his own family didn’t care for Cecily either. Beyond that, she’d leave as soon as she’d taught Finbarr all he needed to know.

  Every person Tavish let himself care about left him. Every single one. He couldn’t let himself care like that again.

  So when she returned to teach Finbarr on Monday, Tavish took on extra chores in the barn, and on Tuesday he mended a section of fence in the bone-chilling wind and nearly knee-deep snow, anything to keep him away from the house. He’d agreed to be her friend—he wanted to be—but friendship seemed less and less wise. His family worried about his interactions with Cecily, and they had worries enough already.

  He trudged through the snow, his bag of tools slung over his back, his coat buttoned up to his neck to keep out the weather. He’d head home long enough to have a bite to eat and thaw his frozen body, but he’d keep his distance from Cecily. His family would fret less if he did. When his loved ones were hurting, he made it right. No matter what it took.

  He shook the snow from his feet and hat before stepping inside the house. Cecily stood near the fireplace. Finbarr sat in his usual chair. After hanging his hat on its peg, Tavish crossed to the stove, intending to eat quickly and be on his way.

  “Are you feeling unwell, Finbarr?” Cecily asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you sleep well last night?” she pressed.

  “I slept fine.” His tone was clipped. Something was definitely bothering the lad. He had taken to brooding silence ever since their parents’ visit, and Tavish wasn’t entirely sure why.

  “Are you concerned about helping at the wood pile tomorrow?”

  Tavish, himself, was a bit nervous about that. Even sighted, a person needed to be particularly careful not to topple a wood pile.

  “I am certain you feel I am being unforgivably nosey,” Cecily said. “But, Finbarr, I am a little concerned that your reticence today is the result of frustration with our lessons. I can’t change what I am doing if I don’t know what is bothering you.”

  Finbarr shook his head. Sometimes even he forgot that Cecily couldn’t see him.

  “Are the tasks I’m giving you too difficult?”

  “No.”

  “Too easy?”

  “No.”

  She was getting nowhere. Tavish stepped in. “Would you tell us, lad, whether ’tis Cecily or myself you’re put-out with?”

  “Neither.” He rose abruptly.

  “Then Da or Ma?”

  “No.” Finbarr dragged his feet all the way to the ladder. “Not Mary or Ciara or Biddy or anyone else, either. I told you
I was fine, and I am.” He went up the first rung.

  “Fin—”

  “I’m fine.” He climbed. “I’m not upset. I’m not frustrated. And I’m not going tomorrow.” He disappeared into the darkness above.

  Tomorrow. Wednesday. Saints preserve us.

  “What’s tomorrow?” Cecily lowered her voice.

  “It’s the anniversary of the fire.” Saying the words struck him with stomach-turning force. “There’s to be a ceremony.”

  “The fire in which Finbarr lost his sight?” Cecily asked.

  “Aye.”

  Cecily pressed her hands together and rested her fingertips against her lips. “It’s no wonder, then, that he’s in turmoil. His grief is still so very raw. What a horrifying prospect—passing through that pain with all the town watching.”

  ’Twould be a difficult thing for the lad, that was for certain. “I don’t know whether to tell him he can stay here, or if it’d be best for him to attend.” He hoped she would have a better idea than he did. She’d worked with students whose sight had been taken in traumatic ways.

  After a long moment, she squared her shoulders. “He won’t thank either of us for insisting on it, but he needs to go. Marking the anniversary of that tragedy understandably terrifies him. The day will be terribly difficult. But, Tavish, your brother has been hiding too long.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The next day, Finbarr sat in stony silence at the back of the schoolhouse as the rest of the town filed in for the ceremony. The glare on his fire-scarred face acted as a warning. No one spoke to him. No one approached. He was left utterly alone, which Tavish didn’t doubt had been his goal.

  Reverend Ford rose and stood at the front of the somber gathering. “Friends,” he began. “I wish we were assembled to mark a less-solemn occasion.”

  Though much had changed over the past year, changes that deserved celebrating, the tragedy that had triggered those changes was a horrific one.

  Near the front, Katie sat in Joseph’s embrace. The two Archer girls leaned against the both of them. This would be a difficult day for their family, as well.