“And it’s nearly Christmas.” Cecily liked the idea more and more. “The season is excuse enough for a party. Perhaps I could convince Ciara to attend; if I remember correctly, she’s the sister who has distanced herself from them of late.”
“’Twould be something of a miracle if you managed all that,” Granny said.
“I can at least try.” This might very well be the miraculous approach she’d been looking for. “And if Ciara doesn’t agree to join us, the rest of the family would still enjoy themselves.”
Granny patted Cecily’s hand, a gesture she’d employed often of late. “That’ll do the trick, Mr. Attwater, you’ll see. You’ll win them over.”
“I intend to,” Cecily said. “I fully intend to.”
“Miss Attwater.” Mary Dempsey, the O’Connors’ elder daughter, could not have sounded more displeased to have found herself in her company.
For her part, Cecily was relieved at the unforeseen encounter. She had invitations for both O’Connor sisters and did not wish to overly burden Katie with the necessity of driving her up and down the road to make her deliveries. Her friend was waiting in the buggy as it was, willingly spending her day helping Cecily. To have reached the door of Ciara Fulton, nee O’Connor, at nearly the same instance as Mary was a bit of unforeseen good fortune.
“Have you come to call on Ciara?” Mary asked incredulously.
“Only to deliver an invitation.” Cecily turned to face Mary, who stood very nearly behind her. “I have one for you as well.” She reached into her drawstring wrist bag and pulled out an invitation, which she held out. She could make out Mary’s outline and a few very minor details, yet she depended upon her other senses to fill in far too many empty spaces. The folded paper did not shift at all in her hand; Mary had not taken it from her, nor, as near as she could tell, had she reached for it.
The door beside them opened on protesting hinges. Enough light illuminated the space thanks to what Cecily suspected was a cloudless day for her to make out the silhouette of a woman in a long dress. Ciara, no doubt.
“Miss Attwater?” Did the sisters realize how very similar their voices were? If not for the fact that they stood on opposite sides of her, Cecily would have struggled to know which of them was speaking.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’ve come to deliver an invitation.”
“To me?” Ciara sounded surprised.
“And your husband.” Cecily did her best to sound confident. While the family wasn’t overly fond of her, this sibling offered a unique challenge. Being a bit distanced from her own family, Ciara wasn’t likely to be warm with someone almost universally disliked. Still, Cecily meant to try.
“Did my family send you?”
Mary answered from behind Cecily before she could. “Do you think an Englishwoman would do the bidding of the Irish?”
Cecily forced her expression to remain neutral despite the derisive declaration. If all went well, the party to which she was attempting to deliver invitations would be the first step toward overcoming the distrust she’d inherited.
“But she has come with you,” Ciara said to her sister.
“We arrived at the same time is all,” Mary said. “I came to see if you’d care to join Ma and me for a bit of quilting this afternoon.”
“I’ve a great deal to do here.” Her tone sounded odd, but in a subtle way. Cecily would’ve expected determination or stubborn-ness in the rejection, or at the very least, conviction. Instead, she heard sadness and something bordering on desperation.
“You’ve not spent an afternoon with us in ages,” Mary insisted. “Surely your chores can wait until evening.”
“I’ve a great deal to do,” Ciara repeated.
Silence descended on the two women. Neither spoke, and neither left. Cecily couldn’t see enough to know if they were looking at each other. But one did not need a clear view to know that a world of hurt lay between them.
Cecily did not know Ciara’s reasons for shutting her family out, but she was entirely certain it was a matter of deep-seated pain. The O’Connors were a family in agony.
“I must return to my work,” Ciara said, her voice taking on a determined edge that rang a little too strong. She was making a show of being unbendable. An invitation might be exactly the excuse she needed to venture from the exile in which she had, for reasons yet unknown, placed herself.
“I won’t keep you,” Cecily said, turning her head toward each of them in turn. “Either of you. I only wished to deliver these.” She handed them both an invitation. This time, they both accepted the offering. “I hope to see you there.”
They made vague responses, owing to not having read the invitations yet, most likely. Cecily smiled and stepped carefully back in the direction of Katie’s waiting buggy.
“Any difficulties?” Katie asked when Cecily drew near.
“Such a tension between them,” Cecily said as she settled into her seat once more.
“That, there is. Ciara’s pulled into herself these past months, but not a soul has any idea why.”
The buggy lurched forward before settling into a relatively smooth clip.
“Has Ciara always been uncomfortable around children?” Cecily asked.
“What makes you think she is?” Katie’s doubtful tone made Cecily question the conclusion she’d come to.
“Several weeks ago, Ciara was at Tavish’s home with the other O’Connor women. She seemed to be getting on with them well enough, if perhaps distantly, until she was asked to tend to Biddy’s little one. Then Ciara sounded quite suddenly on edge, and she made a swift departure.”
“Odd, that,” Katie said.
Either the discomfort was, indeed, connected to the baby, or something else in the interaction Cecily hadn’t noticed or been aware of. It truly was not for her to insert herself into the affairs of someone she hardly knew, someone who had not invited her evaluation, but the pain she’d heard in Ciara’s voice a moment ago wouldn’t let her mind rest on the issue. Cecily never could be easy in the face of another person’s suffering.
“Is her husband equally distant?”
“A bit, yes.” Katie seemed to think on it a moment. “He isn’t as distant as she is, though.”
“Do they ever seem at odds with each other?” She was being unforgivably nosey.
Still, Katie didn’t seem to object. “No. What little I’ve seen of them tells me they’re as close as ever. Closer, even.”
Circling the wagons. Cecily had seen it often enough. Something difficult had happened, she’d wager, so Ciara and her husband had turned to each other for strength. In the process, they’d turned others away, however unintentional or counterproductive.
Ciara’s isolation was more pronounced than her husband’s, Katie had said.
“I wonder what is breaking her heart,” Cecily wondered quietly.
“You think it’s a matter of pain?” Katie asked.
“I am certain of it. Her voice held a heavy note of sorrow just now.”
“I doubt the O’Connors realize as much,” Katie said. “They speak of her absence at family functions in terms of rejection and defiance.”
Her absence likely felt that way to them, especially added to their other struggles.
“Perhaps you might suggest a different perspective,” Cecily said. “They are more likely to listen to you.”
“I'll consider it.” Katie brought her to her next stop: Ian and Biddy O’Connor’s home. Cecily made her way to the door, invitation in hand. Based on the dress and height of the woman who answered the door, she assumed it was Biddy. But from somewhere inside, Biddy’s voice asked after the newcomer.
“’Tis Miss Attwater.” Mrs. O’Connor, then, stood before her.
Mary had said something about the women gathering for some quilting. This must be where they’d gathered.
“I’ve come with an invitation,” Cecily said. She grabbed a second invitation and held both out to Mrs. O’Connor. “I am holding a small Christmast
ime party, and I hope you and your husband can come. I also have an invitation for Ian and Biddy and their family. I would dearly love for all of you to attend.”
“A Christmas party?” Mrs. O’Connor sounded more surprised than confused.
“A small gathering.” Nervousness clutched at Cecily’s mind. Her lungs shrank with uncertainty. She wanted to ease the difficulties between herself and her student’s family, but the invitation was more than that. She wanted a friend. A connection. She was reaching out and begging for someone to reach back. She was asking for someone to see her loneliness and care enough to alleviate the isolation if only for the length of one evening.
“You are inviting us?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.
Cecily nodded. Though the gesture was not useful when others utilized it with her, it worked perfectly well when she directed it at others. “Your family as well as the Archers.”
“Mrs. Claire does not mind the influx of people in her home?”
Cecily had made quite sure of that. “She does not mind.”
“I will give Biddy your invitation,” Mrs. O’Connor said. It was not an acceptance, but neither was it a rejection out-of-hand.
“Thank you.”
No one had refused her invitations. No one had mocked her for extending them.
A glimmer of hope, however small, hovered on the horizon.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The evening of Cecily’s party arrived full of promise. She’d delivered the invitations and had chosen a day near enough to Christmas for the O’Connors to feel festive without the party interfering with their holiday plans. The weather cooperated. The roads stood clear.
She felt hopeful. More than that, she was excited. Cecily remembered fondly the parties her mother held at their home so many years ago. The entire house had overflowed with happiness and friendship and welcome.
Before her eyes had begun their descent into blindness, Cecily often imagined being the hostess of such an evening. It wasn’t the fine gowns or elegant decorations or fancy guest list that had appealed to her, but the joy that accompanied such gatherings. To know she had friends who cherished her company, and to bring happiness to people she cared about. The very possibility had warmed her heart.
She set her fingers on the lip of the table and slowly made her way around it, squinting at the plates of goodies on the surface. She couldn’t make them out with any degree of clarity. She double-checked the stack of plates and napkins, quite a few of which she’d borrowed from Katie, not having access to enough.
She could show the O’Connors that she was a person worth knowing. She could convince them to allow Finbarr to return to his previous lessons and schedule. And she would get to spend time with Tavish. All in all, the night’s prospects were good.
Tavish hadn’t been by since her banishment, though Finbarr had. The young man had returned to Joseph Archer’s home a few times to work, and he’d sought her out, needing advice on being more efficient in the tasks he’d taken on. The lessons proved a challenge, as she had to sort out chores she’d never done herself and think of ways to help him tackle them. She enjoyed the undertaking immensely. But in all of that, Tavish never came by, never dropped in to offer a good day, never sent a greeting with Finbarr.
She told herself he was simply being careful to maintain family harmony. He was being cautious and considerate of his parents’ concerns. That would improve after tonight, when his family realized she wasn’t a threat. After tonight, she would be at least marginally accepted. Then Tavish could resume their . . . friendship.
That word didn’t sit well on her mind or in her heart. She felt more than that for him. Pointless though it was, she’d begun to fall the tiniest bit in love with the charming Irishman.
“One thing I will say for you, Mr. Attwater, you set a tasty table.”
“Does everything appear correct?” Cecily asked. “None of it smells burnt, and I think I managed to arrange it pleasantly, but I see so poorly in the dim light that I cannot be sure.”
“Mrs. O’Connor frets in precisely the same manner before every céilí, convinced the world’ll stop spinning if a single tart or biscuit is out of place.” Granny’s rocker squeaked against the floor. “But I’ve never heard a lick of complaint.”
Yes, but the people of Hope Springs already liked Mrs. O’Connor. She wasn’t attempting to prove herself to the neighbors. If her offering succeeded or failed, it made little difference; the town would love her just the same. Cecily had no such reassurance.
“What is the time?” she asked Granny. The clock was no longer visible to her.
“A touch after six o’clock.”
“After six o’clock?” The party was scheduled to have begun at six.
“Only a touch, dear.”
The gathering was intended to be a casual one, she reminded herself. The guests would, no doubt, come and go as the evening wore on. Everything would be fine.
She made her way to the front window. Granny’s rocker sat directly beneath it, as Tavish had fixed the draft. Cecily carefully lowered herself into the vacant seat beside Granny. She was near enough to the window that she would hear any approaching wagons or voices. She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax.
Why was the evening’s gathering making her so nervous? One of the things she remembered most vividly about her mother was her graciousness as a hostess. Cecily would simply imitate her beloved mother, call on those long-ago memories, and all would be well.
Hope Springs was the only place she’d accepted a job where she’d felt utterly unwelcome. Her students had often been difficult. Her efforts had sometimes been dismissed. But overall, she’d been treated well. She’d found friends and acceptance.
But this town, this family, were breaking her heart.
“They will come.” Her whispered declaration was a desperate one.
“Of course they will,” Granny said.
Cecily waited. For fifteen minutes.
An hour.
Two hours.
No one came. Not one single person. Not Katie. Not Finbarr. Not Tavish.
Granny’s rocker made only the occasional squeak. She hadn’t spoken in some time.
“Granny?” Cecily had to repeat her name twice more before getting a mumbled response. “It’s time for bed. You won’t sleep well sitting in your rocker.”
“But what—what about your party?”
“All finished,” Cecily said. “I’m going to clean up. You go get some sleep.”
Granny must have realized there had been no party. Even so, she rose and shuffled toward her room. “I will see you in the morning.”
“Good night.” Cecily maintained her light and easy expression until she heard Granny’s door close.
Alone, she let her shoulders droop and her heart drop clear to her boots. No one had come. Not any of them. That was a message impossible to misunderstand. It was a fist to the gut and a slap to the face. Little point pretending otherwise.
Her mother’s legacy of graciousness offered little solace and even fewer answers. What kind of hostess never had a single guest to welcome?
A pathetic and unwanted one.
She wrapped the uneaten sweets and pastries in paper, tying the packages with twine, then setting them in the cupboard. She wiped down the table, swept the floor, and blew out the lanterns. In the darkness, she stood alone, swallowing down tears that threatened.
The O’Connors had made their point.
She wouldn’t try again.
“I used to like Christmas.” Tavish stood at his front window, watching the gray sky. The entire O’Connor clan, including Ciara, though she hadn’t stayed long nor said much, had gathered at Tavish’s home on Christmas morning. “We’ve passed a rather gloomy couple of years.”
Ian’s gaze was on Tavish rather than the threatening clouds. “Last year we’d a brother no one was certain would live to see the new year. That put something of a damper on the festivities.”
“Aye. ’T
was a difficult time, that.”
Ian’s gaze only grew more focused on him. “What has you in the doldrums this year? Finbarr’s improving. The town is at peace. Yet here you stand frowning and glowering.”
“Maybe I’ve simply become a grump in my old age.” Tavish turned from the window, though he didn’t move to join the rest of the family. “Or maybe you just have overly loud children.”
“You are turning into a grump.”
Tavish sat on a stool near the window. “Katie told me often enough that I needed to be more somber. Seems I’m finally managing to.” His gaze wandered to Finbarr, who sat a bit removed from the family, though he didn’t look as miserable as he had in months past. “He’s doing a little better.”
“Do you think he’ll ever be the Finbarr we used to know?”
Tavish shook his head. “Cecee says he won’t, that passing through the sorrows he has will’ve changed him. But she seems to think he can be happy again.”
“I’d be more likely to believe that if she seemed happy,” Ian said. “But I’ve seldom seen her anything but sour.”
That sounded nothing like the Cecily he knew, yet he’d thought much the same about her when they first met. He understood her better now.
“She had to be forceful when she first arrived,” he said. “Finbarr would never’ve listened to a word she’d said otherwise. Most’ve the rest of us still don’t.”
“You seem to pay her enough heed,” Ian said.
Tavish held his hands up in a show of surrender. “Da already ran me down with that particular train of thought. You needn’t travel those tracks as well.”
“We none of us wish to see you hurt again.” Ian was wearing the poor Tavish look of his once more. Pity was a hard pill to swallow, and Tavish had been doing just that for years.
“I’ve no plans to be hurt again. I’ve no time for it. Between our baby brother, my land, this family, and my dear ol’ granny, I’ve enough to keep me plenty busy.”
Ian’s gaze turned to the window. “Speaking of dear old women, where is Granny? She was supposed to be here this morning.”
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