’Twas odd for Granny to be so late. Tavish crossed to his front door and pulled it open. The rush of cold wind set the entire family loudly requesting he close it once more.
“Just wanted to make certain you were all awake,” Tavish tossed back with a grin.
He stepped outside. If he didn’t spot Granny straight off, he’d go trekking after her. But there she was, at the edge of the road, walking arm in arm with Cecily.
His worries eased at the sight of his beloved adopted grandmother. But seeing Cecily again after two weeks brought a sense of relief so strong it nearly set him off balance. ’Twas almost as if he’d been holding his breath for the entire fortnight, only to finally have air again.
Closer she came, Granny at her side. Up the walk. Up the steps.
Stay away from the women, he’d told himself all those months ago as he’d eaten his birthday cake. Stay away. Keep your distance. Guard your heart.
He was doing a mighty poor job of following his own counsel.
“My apologies,” Granny said, reaching the door. “We dropped in at Archers and found Katie in need of cheering. Cecily, here, is as much a dab hand at bringing laughter to tearful eyes as you are, lad.”
“Is she?” He kept his tone and expression light. His heart may have betrayed him a bit, but that didn’t mean his head wouldn’t win out in the end. “Perhaps Cecee would favor us all with a tale at the next céilí.”
Cecily gave a firm shake of her head. “I think I’d do best to avoid parties. They do not tend to turn out well for me.”
The one céilí she had attended hadn’t gone well, so she likely didn’t care to attend another. That was probably for the best anyway. The town would never welcome her no matter how diverting her stories might’ve proven.
“Go on inside,” Cecily said, slipping her hand free of Granny’s arm. “And please assure the O’Connors that I don’t mean to foist myself upon them tonight.”
Foist herself? Cecily was welcome if she wished to stay. This was his home, and it was Christmas. Granny stepped past him, moving with slow steps. Tavish kept an eye on her until she’d set herself safely near the fire, then he returned his attention to Cecily.
She held up a small, paper-wrapped package. “I’ve only come along to offer these, a few goodies from two nights ago.”
Two nights ago? What was two nights ago? “You’ve confused me, I’ll tell you that much.”
“No need for confusion.” She all but forced the package into his hands. “I made a gesture and heard the response quite clearly. I will not impose again, but I do not wish the food to go to waste.”
“You’re not making the tiniest bit of sense.” He placed her package inside the house and pulled the door closed behind him, leaving only the two of them on the porch.
“Your parents will be out here in a heartbeat, demanding to know why you’re interacting with me,” Cecily warned.
“I’m only seeing to it that you reach home safely.”
“I don’t have a home. Not really.”
He’d not heard such a tone of defeat from her before. He shoved his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to reach out to her. This was precisely the path he needed to avoid. The path of friendship was fine. Being a decent human being, certainly. But giving her a place in his heart? Out of the question.
“Granny said Katie needed cheering,” Tavish said, “but I suspect you do as well. Do I need to summon my most entertaining tales of folly?”
Katie’s voice immediately echoed in his mind, words she said often in the last weeks of their courtship. “I’m in no mood to laugh just now,” and, “Teasing won’t fix this.”
But Cecily was not Katie.
“Only if you promise the tale is particularly embarrassing to you and will make me feel better about my own recent humiliation,” she said.
“Oh, I can full promise you that, a chara.” He chuckled lightly at the wide range of stories that had jumped to his thoughts. “You need only pick an age or a continent.”
Though she didn’t truly look unburdened, she did seem a bit less crushed by whatever weight she was carrying.
“I have a likely ridiculous question for you,” she said.
“Ask while I walk you home, and I’ll agree to answer it.”
She nodded and allowed him to pull her arm through his. As they walked down his front walkway, she made good on her request. “What does a chara mean? You call me that now and then. It doesn’t sound like an insult, but, given all that has happened, I wonder a little if it might be.”
An insult? Here he was worrying that he was allowing himself to care for her too much, while she stood convinced he was calling her derogatory names.
“Is it, perhaps, the Irish phrase for ‘Your Majesty’?” She did have reason to wonder.
“’Tis a term for a friend,” he said. “Not a vague or casual friend, but a particular one. A friend that a person is fond of. One he holds dear.”
Two spots of color appeared and slowly spread over her face. Though the cold might’ve accounted for it, Tavish rather suspected the cause was something else entirely. This path they were treading had more pitfalls than he’d feared.
“In the end, though,” he added, “’tis only a friend.”
That was not entirely true; the phrase could be used for someone more than that, but he couldn’t allow that kind of relationship again.
“I know,” she said. “I understand what I was told the other night. I won’t overstep my role again.”
He guided her carefully across the road. Pockets of ice dotted the landscape, and she was still without a cane. He took utmost care to make certain she made the short journey safely. “This ‘other night’ . . . is this the same night the package of goodies are from?”
She nodded.
“You speak of it as if I ought to know what you’re referring to, but I’ll admit, Cecee, I’ve not the slightest idea.”
She stopped their forward journey. “The Christmas party I hosted,” she said, brows pulled low in confusion.
“You hosted a Christmas party two nights ago?”
“I meant to.” Her brow pulled low. “I sent Finbarr home with an invitation for you.”
“He never gave me anything,” Tavish said. “Did you tell him what was written on it?”
Uncertainty touched her expression. “I asked him to try reading it in the lamp light—it would be a good exercise for him—but to give it to you if he wasn’t able.”
Well, there was the answer to that mystery. “He’s seventeen and stubborn,” Tavish reminded her. “He likely couldn’t read it, and wasn’t willing to admit defeat and hand it over.”
He nudged her along, and she resumed walking. The day was growing colder; he’d get her home and make certain she had a fire to keep her warm. “Perhaps you’d best tell me what I was meant to have received.”
“I thought if I invited your family to a Christmas party, they might decide I’m not quite as horrible as they’d like to believe.”
From the sound of it, her plan hadn’t played out well. “You invited my entire family?”
“I am nothing if not determined.” She made a valiant attempt at a lighter tone.
They reached Granny’s front path. Tavish tucked her closer to him. The path, dotted with patches of ice and mounds of frozen snow, was even more uneven than the road. “And how many O’Connors accepted your invitation?”
“They all took the written invitation I gave them.” She said nothing more than that
“You’ve given me the milk without the cream, dear.”
Her mouth and eyes scrunched in confusion.
“You’ve not answered the question,” he explained. “How many in my family came to your party?”
She paused a moment. Voice lowered, she said, “No one came.”
“What, no one?” That couldn’t be.
“Not a soul.” She made a gesture of dismissal, but her tone spoke too clearly of disappointment for him to accept it. �
�Their message hit its mark, I assure you.”
No one had come. Her offer of friendship and kindness had been utterly rejected. “I mean to give them a piece of my mind.”
“Tavish, no.” She stepped up on to the porch. “I cannot tell you how relieving it is to know that you, at least, did not thumb your nose at the invitation. We are . . . friends, after all.”
“Of course we are.” Why did those words stick on the way out?
“And as such,” she continued, “I will not cause discord between you and your family. Please reassure them that I will continue to work with Finbarr, and that his education will be completed to the best of my ability, but that I will not attempt to insert myself into their lives any more than is absolutely necessary.”
“Cecee—”
“They can consider it my Christmas gift to all of them.” She turned the knob and pushed the door open. “And a gift to you. You’ve fought this past year to keep your family whole—I’ve heard enough of what’s happened, and have witnessed enough of your efforts, to know that their happiness is essential to your own. I will not undo that happiness.”
’Twas exactly what he’d been telling himself for weeks. And, yet . . .
“But you will be all alone.”
“I’ve been alone for a long time, Tavish,” she answered. “Do not worry for me, a chara.”
A chara. Friend. Why did such an uplifting phrase suddenly strike him as heartbreaking?
Chapter Twenty-eight
Cecily spent the week after Christmas formulating a plan for the remainder of Finbarr’s education. He could more or less function around the house now. With Joseph and Tavish’s help, he was learning to tackle various jobs around the farm. She’d taught Finbarr how to evaluate a new task and determine how to best approach it. He could use those principles to face unexpected challenges; he wouldn’t need her for those things. But two things remained she could teach him. Two things she needed to teach him.
The first required a cane, which she didn’t yet have. The other, though, she was prepared to begin on immediately. Finbarr arrived at Granny’s early in the morning a few days after the new year. Cecily motioned him inside and indicated he should sit at the table.
She joined him there. “I think it is time I taught you to read.”
“I know how to read,” he insisted. “If this is about the invitation, I’m sorry I didn’t tell Tavish. I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t see it, and I was afraid if I got too close to the lantern, it would catch fire.”
“I wasn’t implying that you are illiterate.” Tavish had jumped to the same conclusion a few weeks earlier. “I meant that it was time I teach you to read in the dark.”
“Is—is that possible?” Finbarr was still uncertain, but he was no longer defeated.
“Yes,” she said confidently. “First we will test whether your eyes function well enough to read given the right circumstances, whether that means bright light on the paper or having the paper very near your eyes, or perhaps both. You can also learn to write using a ruler as a guide. I have taught fully blind individuals to do so.”
“And if my vision’s too far gone for reading?” There was the all-too-familiar discouragement.
“Those who cannot read with their eyes can be taught to read with their fingers.” She opened her copy of The Gospels, one of the few raised-type books she traveled with, and one she believed he would be familiar with. His family were church-goers. “Run your fingertips over these pages.”
A moment’s silence followed. She couldn’t see Finbarr with any degree of clarity, but she hoped he was following her instructions.
“It’s lumpy,” he said.
“This is called Braille. The letters, rather than being written with ink, are instead written with a series of dots pressed upward from under the paper. They are raised so they can be felt.”
The book scraped against the tabletop. He was pulling it closer to himself; that was encouraging. “And this really works?”
“It does. A few different raised-type systems are used, none of which is perfect, but they open up entirely new possibilities.”
“But no one around here knows about it,” he said. “No one could send me letters this way. And I couldn’t write to other people, either, because they wouldn’t be able to read it.”
“True,” she admitted, “but as I said, your vision may allow you to read in the right circumstances, and you can still write with ink. Using raised type, you could write to others with diminished sight, keep lists for yourself, balance a ledger of your expenses. And you could read books printed in Braille.”
“Books?” The enthusiasm in his voice warmed her heart.
Learning to read raised type nearly a decade earlier had changed her entire outlook about her own future. It could change Finbarr’s as well.
“I could send letters and the recipients could read them?”
“Yes. You’ll use ink for those who do not read Braille. Braille for those who do and for yourself.”
“My family cannot afford to buy books,” he said quietly.
A great many of her students were in that situation. “I have established a lending library using a collection of books in Missouri that I created. The students at the school where I was educated take turns running the library. You need only send a letter or a telegram requesting a book, and it will be sent to you. Once you return it, you can request another. I’ve been adding to the collection for years.”
“Does it have a lot of books?” More of the hesitant hopefulness.
“Quite a few, yes. Once my vision is gone entirely, and I can no longer travel as a teacher, I will return to a school setting, likely the school I attended.” She would far rather have a home of her own, perhaps continue to travel, spend time with her transcriptions. But she had to have an income, and working at the school would provide that. “I hope to spend my free time translating more books into Braille.”
“And you’d let me borrow some?”
“Happily.” She’d send him all of the books he could possibly hope for. In return, she’d hear from him now and then, perhaps learn how his family was getting along—his brother, in particular.
“Is this Braille difficult to learn?”
She scooted her chair closer to his. “Not at all, especially since you can already read. You would only be learning to recognize the pattern of dots that represents each letter, and then learn how to use a stylus and stencil to create your own raised type. It will take some effort; I won’t lie to you on that score. And at times it will be frustrating, but I haven’t the slightest doubt that you will pick it up quickly.”
“Don’t the English generally view the Irish as . . . simple?”
Was there no end to their assumptions about her? “Unfortunately, many English do think that. I, however, prefer to wait and decide what a person is like until after I get to know that person myself. A novel idea, I realize, but one that has served me well.”
“I’m sorry about my family,” he said quietly.
“So am I.” She took a quick breath and squared her shoulders. “But we have something far more pleasant to focus on just now.”
“Reading in the dark.” A hint of wonder touched his tone. “It sounds almost like magic.”
“Don’t tell your family that,” Cecily said. “They’ll deem me a witch.”
Granny chose that moment to enter the conversation. “The way you’ve captured Tavish’s attention, who swore he’d have nothing more to do with women, I’ve no explanation but dark magic.”
Cecily didn’t know where to begin responding to that declaration. “I’ve not bewitched anyone, and certainly not him. He calls me ‘Your Majesty,’ you realize, and not as anything resembling a compliment.”
“He hasn’t called you that in ages,” Finbarr said.
“And he hasn’t called on me in ages either,” Cecily returned. “That doesn’t sound like the behavior of a man who is under a woman’s spell.”
“He m
ay not come by, but he asks about you every time I’ve been here,” Finbarr said. “Every single time. He didn’t even do that with Katie.”
“With Katie?” What did she have to do with this?
“He courted her for a time,” Granny said, answering Cecily’s unspoken question. “But she was a better fit for Joseph, and he for her.”
That was two lost loves. Little wonder he seemed so burdened. Between his family and his own heartache, he’d endured a great deal.
Granny’s rocker squeaked once more. Back and forth. Back and forth. “He’s not truly opened himself up to anyone since Bridget died.”
She’d seen that for herself. “He hasn’t allowed himself to mourn her,” Cecily said. “He can’t heal if he doesn’t do that.”
“Don’t we know it,” Granny answered. “But we’ve none of us managed to convince him of it. He’ll not speak of her.”
“He’s spoken to me about her,” Cecily said.
“He has?” Granny and Finbarr answered nearly in unison, their shocked tones matching each other’s.
“Yes. On more than one occasion.”
“Now isn’t that something . . .” Granny’s contemplative voice trailed off.
Finbarr hadn’t mourned his losses, nor faced his feelings of guilt either. If only the two could open up to each other, they would both benefit.
She reviewed her unspoken list: Teach Finbarr to read and stencil Braille, especially if he hasn’t the vision to read words in ink, feel at home working for Joseph again, use a cane. She added an item: convince Finbarr and Tavish to face their regrets. A lot to accomplish in only a handful of months. She had best set herself to the first task.
“Would you like to learn Braille only if you cannot read, even when close to bright light? Or would you like to learn it either way?”
Finbarr didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his words were heavy with uncertainty. “I might not always have a lantern.”
“That is true.” But it wasn’t a complete answer.
Again he hesitated. “The Braille might be good to know.”
“Well, then. Let’s begin.” Cecily slid the book away and set a sheet of heavy parchment in its place. “I have written out the alphabet on this sheet of parchment using Braille. I’m going to place your fingers where they should be.”
Love Remains Page 23