Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  She felt about for his arm, then pulled his hand to the upper left corner of the paper and gently laid his fingertips there.

  “Run your fingers over this small corner,” she instructed. “Tell me what you feel.”

  “Lumps.”

  How well she remembered her earliest encounters with raised type. “That is precisely what it will feel like for a time. Once your fingers are more familiar with the sensation of reading, you will be able to feel each small dot. Each set of dots makes a unique pattern that represents a letter. Once you learn to recognize those letters—”

  “—I’ll be able to read again.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And keep accounts and lists and records and . . . and all of those things.”

  “Yes.” She set her hands atop his. “This is why your family sent for me. The past year has been too full of darkness for you, but I know how you can get some of that back. Tell me what it is you wish to do with your life, and I will help you find a way to do it.”

  He pulled back. “What I want to do isn’t possible any longer.”

  “I have done the impossible,” she said. “I’ve given people things they never dreamed they could reclaim.”

  “I—” He pushed out a breath that sounded something like a growl. “For the past few years, I’ve been working for Joseph to buy a parcel of land he is holding for me.”

  Ah. “You wish to have a home and land of your own.”

  “I was going to raise crops and build a house for myself, have a family, live a quiet life a little removed from my enormous family. Granny, don’t tell them I said that.”

  “Said what, lad?” Granny tossed back.

  “Why do you think you can’t still do those things?” Cecily asked. “Working with Joseph will allow you to face the challenges of undertaking common chores around a farm. Between him and Tavish, you will have ample opportunity to discover the best means of caring for animals. You’re already learning to cook for yourself and to keep your spaces tidy.”

  “I suppose.” He did not sound at all convinced.

  “What still worries you?” she asked.

  His chair pushed away from the table. Footfalls paced behind her. “The fields would cover acres and acres. Even before the fire, I sometimes got turned about in Joseph’s fields. If I tried to move about them on my own, blind, I’d likely end up off in the mountains, completely lost.”

  That was a legitimate concern, and one she had never tackled before.

  “How can I make that work?” Finbarr asked, still pacing. He was moving around the room with ease. Did he realize how much of a triumph something as simple as that already was? Mere months earlier, he’d been too afraid to leave his chair all day.

  “I don’t have an answer to that yet. Yet,” she emphasized. “But if you will promise to work diligently on learning to read raised type, to continue working with Joseph, and to not give up, then I promise to ponder the challenge of a farm until I have a solution. I am certain there is one, and I will work tirelessly until I discover it.”

  His footsteps stopped. “My parents say you’re leaving in the spring. That’s not much time to fix something you’ve never fixed before.”

  “And that is the beauty of learning raised type, Finbarr. I needn’t be here in person for us to converse. I can write to you, and you can write to me.” If he wrote to her in Braille, she could read his letters after her vision was entirely gone. “If by the time I leave Hope Springs, we don’t have an answer, that does not mean the opportunity is lost. I have made connections throughout the country with people from all walks of life and all occupations. Someone among them has likely faced the same difficulty, or one similar to it. I can write to any number of people in search of answers, then write to tell you what I’ve learned. If an approach you are trying isn’t working, you need only write back, and we’ll continue to adjust.”

  “You mean to continue being my teacher even after you leave?”

  How could she make him understand? “Teaching you has never been merely a job. I asked about your dreams, what you wished to do with your life, because that is my life’s work: bringing hope to those in darkness. There are no limits of time or location on hope.”

  His chair scraped and creaked. He sat near her, but didn't speak for a drawn-out moment.

  “I don’t know why my family is so unkind to you,” he whispered. “Or why you keep helping me when they treat you badly.”

  “They’re afraid,” she answered. “When people are afraid, they do things they wouldn’t otherwise.”

  “But you’ve never given them any reason to be afraid.”

  If only fear were that rational.

  “I sound different from them. Based on what little I know of your family’s beliefs, I’m relatively certain that I hail from a different religious tradition. I come from a different area of the world. My homeland has a difficult history with theirs. Those things shouldn’t be enough to make one person view another as somehow less acceptable, but too often fear has resulted in exactly that.”

  “I don’t think of you that way,” Finbarr said. “Granny doesn’t. Neither does Katie. Or Joseph. Tavish certainly doesn’t.”

  “Then perhaps they will write to me as well.” Truth be told, she almost hoped Tavish wouldn’t. She ached at the thought of receiving letters from him, of Tavish continuing to be a part of her life, occupying the place in her heart he’d somehow managed to claim.

  She’d sought so long for love and companionship, of belonging somewhere and with someone. But having him in the most vulnerable places of her soul, yet forever out of reach, would only make her hurt that much more.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  One did not ignore a summons from Granny Claire. Stepping over her threshold, Tavish discovered his parents were there, as were Ian and Biddy, and his sisters, even Ciara. ’Twas a regular family gathering, only without the laughing voices and smiling eyes. Everyone, to a person, looked as wholly confused as he felt.

  He passed by them, crossing to the far wall where Da stood near the kitchen cupboard.

  “Any notion what this gathering’s meant for?” Da asked.

  “Not the slightest,” Tavish quietly replied. He leaned one shoulder against the wall.

  Granny, in her rocker as ever, spoke. “Now that we’re all here, and the two who I’m meaning to discuss are not, I’m calling a beginning to this meeting.”

  “A meeting, is it?” Tavish eyed her, trying to gauge her intentions. “You mean to give us assignments?”

  “I mean to give you a sermon.” Granny skewered every last one of them with a look so pointed it left no doubt of her earnestness. “Though we’re not kin, you’ve claimed me as your own. You’ve treated me with a kindness and compassion that does our Irish ancestry proud.”

  For a sermon, ’twas beginning on a friendly tone.

  “When we came to this country, we were viewed as a scourge. We sounded odd, saw the world differently, worshipped differently, hailed from another area of the world. So many in this place saw all of that as proof that we’d come to unravel the very moral fabric of their society. They believed that we, in our poverty and want, served no purpose other than to ruin their lives and destroy their country.”

  Granny leaned forward, her rocking coming to a halt, as she eyed them all. The condemnation in her eyes set most of his siblings fidgeting. Tavish had been on the receiving end of her glare in the past, but even he squirmed a bit. Biddy, standing near the door, a bit apart from the rest of the family, wrapped her arms around her middle, not looking at any of them.

  “And now,” Granny continued, “here is this same family looking at a woman among us who sounds odd, sees the world differently, likely worships differently, and hails from another area of the world than we do. And are we showing her the compassion we insisted America ought to’ve given us? No. We’re proving ourselves no better than those we condemned.”

  “Granny—” Ma began, but she was cut off.
r />   “This here’s a sermon, not a discussion.” Granny made to speak again but was seized with a coughing fit.

  Tavish quickly stepped to the sink and pumped enough water to fill a glass. He rushed the glass over to her. She sipped while he lightly rubbed her back. His family yet sat, mute, confused, and more than a touch guilty. Biddy stepped away from them all and stood with her arms crossed, looking out the window near Cecily’s desk.

  Granny returned her half-full cup to Tavish and continued with her lecture. “Finbarr told Cecily of the dreams he’s given up, the things he wishes for in his life but doesn’t believe’ll ever be his.”

  Finbarr didn’t tell anyone of his fears and worries. Not Ma or Da. Not Tavish. Yet he’d told Cecily. Tears sprang to Ma’s eyes. Pa stood with his mouth a bit agape. Ian met Tavish’s shocked gaze with one of his own.

  “Cecily promised not to rest until she’d done all she could to help him live those dreams,” Granny said. “In the most solemn of tones, she promised to never give up on him. And he, in turn, felt compelled to tell her how very sorry he was that his family was so terrible to her.”

  If ever a family looked ashamed, the O’Connors did in that moment.

  Granny coughed again. She waved away Tavish’s offer of her water glass. “Cecily spoke kindly of us,” she said. “She eased Finbarr’s distress. She, who’s received every unkindness at our hands, saved his opinion of us all.”

  “That isn’t a surprise to me at all,” Tavish said. “She’s a fine person. Far better than any of us’ve been willing to admit.”

  “We’ve reason to be wary.” Biddy still hadn’t rejoined them all, remaining not far from the door, as if ready to flee at any moment. “Whenever English and Irish live together, we are the ones who suffer. Always and always.”

  “I’m not suggesting we make her a member of the family,” Granny said. “Nor that she be your dearest friend.”

  “What are you suggesting, Granny?” Da asked.

  “That we give Finbarr reason to look on his family with pride rather than shame.”

  The hesitant silence that followed did not set Tavish’s mind fully at ease. Yet, they were listening, which was a decided step in the right direction.

  “We can be peaceable,” Granny added. “And we can help her help him.” She began rocking once more and peered through the window nearest her chair. “This’ll be her, returning with Katie Archer. They’ve been to town.” Her gaze returned to the family. “Tell me what you’ve decided.”

  “We’ll behave.” Tavish eyed his family. “Won’t we?”

  He received nods, even a look of encouragement from Ian. Biddy moved to a position behind the group, far from the door and very nearly out of sight. The others remained where they were, but no one said a word. When the door opened, the room, in fact, was unnaturally quiet. Katie stepped inside first, stopping in her tracks at the sight that met her. Cecily came in behind her and stopped very quickly as well.

  She tipped her head to one side, and after a moment, said, “More than five, but fewer than twelve.”

  What did that mean?

  Cecily’s nostrils flared with a deep sniff. “And one of them is Tavish.”

  Ian laughed.

  “And Ian,” Cecily added.

  “There are ten of us, you troublesome woman,” Tavish said. “And I’d very much like to know what smell it was that told you I was present.”

  “Berries,” she answered.

  “Truly?” He’d not worked his berries in months, the harvest being over long before winter set in.

  “Yes, Tavish. You exude the essence of berries year round,” she said dryly.

  “Troublesome, troublesome.” Heavens, he’d missed her humor.

  “Who else is here?” she asked, her unseeing gaze falling over the room.

  “M’ sisters and parents.”

  Her amusement disappeared on the instant, replaced with undeniable worry. “Are they angry with me?” she asked quietly.

  Tavish threw a look of censure at them all before answering Cecily. “No. We’ve come to see if we can help with Finbarr.” He suspected Granny wouldn’t care to be made responsible for this.

  “I am pleased to hear that.” She took a single step forward, holding her hand out tentatively. “I haven’t replaced my cane. Am I on the verge of walking into anything or anyone?”

  “You’ve plenty of open space.” Da, of all people, offered the assistance.

  Cecily took a couple of steps, stopping in front of them. “Finbarr shared with me one of his worries for the future, and I’m not certain I can sort out the best way to address it. Having your help and your minds spinning over the issue would be a godsend.”

  She’d just referred to a family who’d been unkind to her from the first as heaven sent. How could they not see how remarkable she was?

  “He still dreams of taking possession of the land Joseph is holding for him,” Cecily continued. “While he’s more hopeful about his ability to tend to animals and work in the barn and around a house, he cannot fathom how he could possibly work his fields, not being able to see where he is or where he’s going.”

  Since the fire, Finbarr hadn’t spoken of the future in any specifics. How had she managed to pull that confession from him? Could she teach Tavish to do the same? He wanted to reach out to his brother but didn’t know how.

  “I have never worked in a field,” Cecily said. “While I can conceptualize it to a degree, I would only be guessing at the exact details and therefore I’d be guessing at what and how to teach him. I need your help with that. He needs your help.”

  Only the briefest pause followed before the room erupted into a myriad of conversations. Words like “field” and “rows” and “plow” bounced off the walls. Even Ciara joined in the conversation. Ciara, who’d not spoken at length to any of them in months. Tavish didn’t see anyone else looking at Cecily, so none of them saw the utter relief that crossed her features.

  He stepped up next to her.

  “I knew I wasn’t equal to solving this on my own,” she said. “But I didn’t dare approach your family. This is almost miraculous.”

  How did she always know when he was the one who approached? Did he have such a unique scent? Or was it something else?

  “Katie promised to set the question to Joseph,” Cecily continued, “but having this many minds working on the problem sets mine at ease.”

  “Do you think Finbarr could someday live on his own, then?” Tavish hoped so.

  Cecily nodded. “When his house is built, some adjustments can be made so he has an easier time getting about in it.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Large windows, for one thing,” she said. “His vision is not entirely gone, and having light would help tremendously. Cupboards and cabinets with a great many drawers and shelves for organizing those things that most people would leave lying about but which he’d have a more difficult time locating without very specific places to store them. A bedchamber on the ground floor so he need not climb a ladder; he is capable of climbing but would appreciate not having to do so. Things of that nature can be taken into consideration when building his home.”

  Perhaps Tavish could implement a few of those things in his house so the lad would function better while living there. “What else?”

  “The paths between outbuildings can be lined with fences so he won’t get lost moving from place to place.” She didn’t even pause to think, a clear indication she’d already pondered the matter. “The family of one of my youngest students trained a dog to go about with him and steer him back in the direction of their house if ever he began to wander. While that wouldn’t entirely solve the difficulties Finbarr would face in his fields, I do think a dog would be very helpful. I would also suggest a wind chime or hanging bells on the porch. During times of bad weather, the sound would help give him a sense of direction.”

  He could live in his own house, on his own land. Independent. His own man. Amazement f
illed Tavish at the idea. “You will have given him his life back.”

  “That is why I do what I do,” she said.

  “Even when your student’s family is mule-headed.”

  She smiled broadly. “Especially then.”

  “You’re a gem, you know.”

  “Am I? Because Seamus Kelly was at the mercantile just now, and I did not get the impression that he feels the same way.”

  Tavish wasn’t overly surprised. “Well, the O’Connors aren’t the only mule-headed ones in Hope Springs.”

  She shrugged, but the dismissive gesture did not quite ring true. Cecily quickly changed the topic. “Mr. Johnson asked me to tell you that he and his oldest boy have been pondering ways to get Finbarr a cane sooner rather than waiting until the spring thaw.”

  In the few months she’d been in Hope Springs, Cecily had managed to efficiently focus the efforts of those who cared about Finbarr in ways no one else had in the year before she’d come.

  “And have they thought of a way?” Tavish asked.

  “They are whittling down a broomstick,” she said. “It should be ready in another week or so.”

  How perfect. “And are they whittling one for you, as well?” She’d been without hers for over a month already.

  “They are not so fond of me as they are of Finbarr.”

  “I’ll do it,” he offered.

  “Do what?”

  “Whittle you a cane.” Indeed, he felt the fool for not having thought of it sooner.

  “Your family would have a collective stroke.”

  There was some truth to that. “They’d not begrudge you a cane.”

  “They would if you made it.”

  He set a hand on her arm. “But you need a cane.”

  She smiled a little. He liked her smile. He liked it a lot.

  “This is one problem you don’t have to fix, Tavish. I’ll get another cane when I can.”

  He slipped his hand in hers, unsure where the impulse came from. “Well, dear, don’t be surprised should you find a hand-whittled broomstick waiting for you one morning.”