She pressed the palms of her hands against her burning eyes. The pressure never entirely relieved the pain, but it helped a little. She likely had very few episodes left before her vision was gone entirely. Time was running out. The Braille lending library she hoped to create seemed less and less likely to be anything but a small handful of volumes.
“The window’s not closing properly,” Tavish said. “It seems to be catching along the track. I’ll fetch some tools and see if I can’t smooth it out a bit. I’ll return shortly.”
With that, he was gone. One thing that could be said for Tavish O’Connor: he certainly didn’t want for energy.
“He has grown into a fine man,” Mrs. Claire said. “I worried for him after Bridget died. He was lost for so long.”
Cecily didn’t have the slightest idea who Bridget was but chose not to press the matter. Mrs. Claire was never overtly unwelcoming or unkind, but there’d always been something of a distance between them, one, Cecily guessed, was almost exactly the size of England.
“He is a very good person,” Cecily said. “I have had to admit to myself that I misjudged him in my first weeks here. He seemed so
. . .” She struggled for the right word.
Mrs. Claire found it for her. “Exasperating.”
Cecily bit her lips closed in guilty amusement. “I did call him that, didn’t I?”
Mrs. Claire laughed lightly, a sound Cecily seldom heard from her unless Katie was visiting. Biddy had managed to lighten Mrs. Claire’s mood as well, but she’d stopped visiting. The laughter was welcome. Cecily needed a distraction from the pain.
“Though I wasn’t willing to admit it then,” Mrs. Claire said, “you’d reason for feeling that way. He was fightin’ you and making things hard for you. Life has asked far too much of that man. When you arrived, he’d all but reached the end of his endurance. He was frustrated and angry and so very tired. None of us wished to see or acknowledge the truth of it, as you attempted to do, because we knew we were the cause of his trouble, placing our burdens on him as we’ve done these months and more.”
The sadness and guilt in Mrs. Claire’s words tugged at Cecily. “You are his family, and he loves you. Every one of you.” She left her desk and carefully moved to the spindle-back chair that always sat beside the rocker. She scooted it a touch closer and sat. “The moment he sees a need in any of you, he immediately jumps to help whenever and wherever he can. There is never hesitation. Never any question. His burdens have been great, but I do not for a moment believe they have been forced upon him.”
Mrs. Claire took a shaky breath. “I still feel the old guilt, though. I’m not even truly his family.”
“You’re not?” How was a grandmother not family?
“He was to marry my granddaughter, Bridget. But she died of a fever many years ago. She and all of my family.”
All of my family. The tears she forced back fought ever harder for release. “I, too, have lost every member of my family. I would not wish that pain on anyone.”
Mrs. Claire patted her hand, gently and kindly. “’Tis a misery almost past bearing.”
“It is that.”
“I thought when they were buried that I would be all alone. But Tavish never stopped seeing me as his Granny, as I was meant to have been. He loved me the same as he always had. He looked after me. He cared about me. Soon the entire O’Connor family made me one of their own.”
“Perhaps that is the reason I chose to be a traveling tutor.” Cecily spoke the thought as it formed. “Perhaps I am looking for a family that will make me one of their own, one that will fill the ache my family left behind.”
“And have any of them?”
“No.” Cecily took a fortifying breath. She didn’t like dwelling on the empty spaces in her heart. “I have been treated with kindness for the most part, and I have made some cherished friendships.”
“Ah, but ’tisn’t the same thing, now is it?”
Her voice dropped even as her heart did. “No, it isn’t.”
A gust of wind rattled the windows. Cold air sliced through every layer Cecily wore. “Thank heavens Tavish is going to see to that draft,” she said. “We’d freeze to death in here otherwise.”
“I’ve a mind to move my rocking chair, but I like being able to look out the window and see the world. What I can see of it, at least. My vision’s not what it used to be.”
Cecily nodded solemnly. “Neither is mine.”
Another of Mrs. Claire’s small laughs filled the space between them. “I do like you, Mr. Attwater, no matter that you’re English and therefore a terrible person.”
Too much jesting lay in the words for any degree of offense to be taken. “That is very generous of you, Mrs. Claire,” Cecily answered, unable to keep her grin back.
“Granny,” she said. “Call me Granny.”
“Are you certain?” That seemed more personal and familiar than the Irish had allowed her to be.
“Quite certain.”
Warmth swelled inside Cecily. Granny. She could almost imagine that they were family. “Will you call me Cecily? Unless, of course, you are still overly attached to Mr. Attwater.”
Granny made a sound of pondering. “Perhaps I’ll settle on Mr. Cecily Attwater. What say you to that?”
“I like it.” Cecily rose, her heart noticeably lighter. For a few brief moments, she’d been able to forget her worries and burdens and even push back, to the farthest reaches of her mind, the ever-increasing pain in her eyes.
“Why don’t I make us some tea?” she offered. “It will warm us up, and, if I don’t miss my mark, will make a fine thank you for your grandson’s efforts with the window.”
Making the tea, however, was easier said than done. The area around the stove was far from any windows, so it was nearly black as night. She stumbled around a bit, trying to locate things, before settling in to the familiar routine of touch. She’d allowed herself to grow accustomed to light.
The kettle was warming by the time Tavish returned. The wind was also still blowing.
“Saints above,” Tavish said. “That’s a mighty draft. How can you bear to sit so close?”
“I want to see out the window,” Granny answered.
“But you’ll catch your death. And don’t think I didn’t notice you coughing in church today. You need a warmer spot.”
Cecily moved a step closer. “I could move my writing desk away from the other window, and she could sit there.”
“You need the light,” Granny insisted.
She didn’t truly need it, but, heaven knew, she longed for it. Still Granny needed a respite from the cold.
“Only until Tavish stops the draft. I am happy to relinquish my spot until then.” She moved with careful steps to her desk.
Tavish met her there. “’Twill go faster with both of us working. Only tell me where you want it put.”
“Anywhere out of the way,” she said.
Tavish moved the desk. She couldn’t see where he put it, but she listened closely, placing it in the room by sound alone. She set the chair in place, knocking its legs against the desk only twice. As she made to return to the kitchen, Tavish stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. The touch sent an unexpected shiver over her in waves of warmth that even the ongoing draft couldn’t dispel.
He leaned in close and whispered, “Thank you, Cecee. Giving up your light is a sacrifice, I know. And I thank you for doing that for my granny.”
“I am happy to,” she answered, matching his volume.
“Where shall I place my rocker?”
Cecily turned in the direction of Granny’s voice. “Does she mean to move it herself?”
Tavish groaned. “I am forever surrounded by stubborn women.”
“Aren’t you fortunate?” Cecily tossed out along with a grin.
“Traitor.”
While Tavish worked on the window and Granny regaled him with stories and gossip, Cecily returned to the task of making tea and then putting togeth
er a meal. Though she only occasionally participated in the conversation going on across the way, she thoroughly enjoyed listening to it. Granny and Tavish were different in each other’s company—lighter and happier. She seemed younger. He did, as well.
She’d sensed in him a hidden heartache, a pain he kept tucked away, but she hadn’t been able to identify the source. Granny had offered invaluable insight.
Tavish had lost his fiancée. That was an ache unlikely to ever fully heal.
But had it healed at all?
Chapter Twenty-five
A week had passed with Finbarr working at the Archer home on and off. With the lad gone and Cecily not due to come by until dinnertime, the house was quiet. Uncomfortably so. Tavish had too much space and too much silence in which to think. Again and again, he pulled his thoughts away from the fire, away from Finbarr’s uncertain future. Away from his growing and confusing attachment to Cecily. He managed to, for a time. For small periods, those things would leave him in peace.
But not Bridget. Not ever Bridget.
Her death had fractured him. The passage of six years had dulled the ache, but the pain never entirely left. She had been sweet and tenderhearted. She had laughed and smiled with him. Every moment they’d been together was filled with sunshine. He’d been endlessly searching for even a piece of that ever since.
He’d had moments of it with Katie—fewer and fewer toward the end—enough to have fleeting glimpses of what he’d lost. Having that happiness almost in his grasp once more, only to lose it again had dealt a sharper blow than he’d yet been willing to admit.
Even in his distraction, he managed to finish repairing the fence around the pigpen with an hour to spare before dinner. He had work enough to do, but his hands ached with the cold. Gloves only kept them warm for so long. He turned up his collar against the wind and made his way inside to thaw out.
Winters were hard in Wyoming, hard and isolating. But Tavish had come to enjoy them. He liked the bite of cold when he was working. He looked forward to sitting by the fire each evening. He spent the winter months planning his crop and land improvements for the next year. Winters were calm and slow, and over the years, he’d learned to appreciate the pace.
Would Bridget have learned to enjoy winters as well? They’d both felt rather cooped up during the cold, dark months. He hadn’t valued the peace of a snow-covered earth or the joy of a crackling fire on frigid nights back then.
The last six years had changed him in a great many ways. Those years would have changed her as well. But the two of them would have grown and changed together.
Put her out of your mind, Tavish. Does you no good to dwell on her.
He stomped the snow off his boots before pushing open the front door and stepping inside. A bonnet sat on the end table beside the armchair, and a coat hung on a hook by the door. Cecily had come early. But where was she?
Tavish hung up his own coat, then his hat, looking about.
She wouldn’t have gone outside without her coat and bonnet. The house wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, so finding her oughtn’t’ve been difficult.
The door to the bedroom was open. The bedroom no one used. The bedroom no one was supposed to go in. He’d told her that. He’d been very specific.
He stepped up to the threshold, intending to firmly remind Cecily of the boundary. But every word, every thought fled at the sight that met him.
Only a few feet inside the room, Cecily was kneeling on the floor, quietly sobbing.
“Cecee?”
She didn’t look up. Her shoulders shook as she continued to cry.
“Saints, a chara. What’s happened?”
She shook her head but didn’t speak. He’d never seen her upset like this. Her emotions were always kept firmly in check.
Tavish knelt beside her, panic surging. She was honestly sobbing. This was no small thing. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”
She nodded. His stomach dropped; he hadn’t expected pain to be the reason for her tears. He set his hands on her arms and gently rubbed them.
“Did you fall or bump into something?”
“My eyes,” she said between shaky breaths. She’d told him that her eyes pained her every time her sight deteriorated further. It was the sign she’d been dreading.
“Oh, Cecily.” He brushed a tear that dripped along her jaw line. Based on the depths of her sobs, she must have been in agony.
She leaned the smallest bit toward him, her head resting lightly against his chest. “I’m not ready for this.”
“I can’t imagine you would be.” Losing one’s sight must be harrowing, no matter how familiar.
She still hadn’t lifted her head. If anything, her posture slumped further.
Tavish set his arms around her and, sitting back, pulled her fully into his embrace. He’d seen this same anguish in Finbarr in the days and weeks after he’d realized his vision would not return. Finbarr had never cried, but the sorrow had been unmistakable. Tavish had wanted to comfort and reassure his brother but had never been permitted to do so. Cecily, however, had turned to him. She was allowing him to see her hurting and struggling; she let him comfort her.
“I know I’m not supposed to be in here,” she said, “but I love this room.”
He wasn’t upset about that anymore. “It is a nice room.”
“It is so bright.” She shifted a little, fitting herself into his embrace. Odd that something as strange as sitting on the floor in the middle of the day felt so natural. “I’ve never been in a room filled with as much light as this one.”
“The view is breathtaking. I chose to put in a lot of windows to see the mountains.”
“I love mountains. I wanted to see the Rocky Mountains before—” She took a shaky breath. “—before I was no longer able.”
He leaned back against the foot of the bed, resting the side of his face on the top of her head, his arms still around her. “What else do you want to see while you still can?”
“The Pacific Ocean.” She answered without having to think. “And New York City. I know it’s not possible, but I’d hoped to go home one more time to see the house I grew up in, and to sit on the banks of the stream that ran near my bedroom window. I wanted to see the stone church in our village.”
He knew the longing in her voice all too well. “Home never ceases to tug at the heart, does it?”
She brushed a tear from her cheek. “My mother is buried there. I wanted to see her grave once more. I know that’s ridiculous; it’s not as though seeing her headstone would make me miss her any less. It would just feel . . . I would worry less that she is going to be forgotten. And my father is buried in Missouri. They’re both so far away.”
“I am sorry, Cecee.”
Her breath quivered, but she seemed a touch calmer. “You probably think I’m pathetic.”
“No one is required to be strong all the time, dear,” he said. “And wishing to visit the resting places of your loved ones is hardly pathetic. My Bridget is buried here in Hope Springs, but I’ve not made that pilgrimage even once since the day she was buried. That is pathetic.”
“You’re hurting,” she said.
“For six years?” He felt ridiculous to still be struggling with that loss after so long.
“Losing someone you love never fully stops hurting, Tavish.” How was it that she was offering him comfort in her time of sorrow? “It does get better.”
“I suppose.” He hadn’t been crushed by the pain of Bridget’s death in recent years but mostly because he refused to think about it.
They sat a moment, neither speaking. She didn’t pull away. She seemed less burdened. He, for once, wasn’t fighting the emotions that came up after speaking of Bridget’s death. Holding Cecily in his arms was peaceful. Peaceful. He used that word a lot when describing Cecily’s company.
“Thank you for not being angry with me,” she said. “I know I’m not supposed to come in here.”
“Why did you? Besides li
king the room, that is.”
She breathed deeply, not quivering with the effort as she had earlier. Perhaps he’d offered her a measure of peace as well. “For the past few days, I haven’t been able to see things indoors that I could see before. Everything seemed dim and murky.”
“You did knock into a few things yesterday.” He hoped his teasing didn’t offend her. Katie hadn’t cared to be teased when she was upset.
“I was simply trying to entertain you and Granny,” she said. “Your own personal Punch and Judy show.”
“Well, now, isn’t that a fine thing to have a show just for us?”
She laughed a little, but it quickly died off. “I realized last night that the sun setting didn’t change how well I could see indoors. Sunlight hadn’t been lacking; my sight was.” She leaned more heavily against him. “I came in here to see if I could still see in this room, since it’s so much brighter than most.”
“Can you?” He hoped so. She’d spoken once of how much those who depended on light longed for it.
She held her arm up, fingers outstretched. “I can see my hand, not in tremendous detail, but I can see it.” She lowered her hand once more. “That’s what made me cry. I was glad to be able to see in here, however, minimally, but disappointed that I need so much light to make out even an outline. I can’t deny it any longer: I’m losing more of my sight again.”
“Sounds to me as though we ought to move the things you’re wanting to see into this room.”
She tipped her head his direction. “I think you would have a difficult time fitting the Rocky Mountains in this room.”
“I’d be willing to try.”
Her elusive smile reappeared. Relief washed over him. Seeing her suffering, hearing the ache in her words, had pierced him.
“Barring that, the MacAllisters have a very ugly dog I’d be happy to fetch. You’d have a fine view of it in here.”
“A dream come true.” A hint of laughter edged out some of the pain in her voice.
“And you could finally get a good look at my handsome mug. I’m certain you’ve heard plenty of talk about how fine-looking a man I really am.”
Love Remains Page 20