A Dance in Donegal

by Jennifer Deibel

  Moira’s heart ached to see Sean struggling so, wanting to be so tender with her. “I hate to admit it, but the same thought has crossed my mind.” She sighed and nibbled on a rogue fingernail, deciding to keep her dreams to herself for the time being. “Mother was the most honorable, decent person I’ve ever known. But I can’t help but wonder if perhaps that wasn’t always so.” She searched Sean’s face and found only compassion.

  “If she’s anything like you”—he laid a hand on hers briefly—“I can’t imagine anything unseemly about her ’tall. But I promise you now, I will help you uncover the truth, and I will stand by your side. No matter what.”

  Moira mouthed a silent “thank you.”

  Chapter 24

  A sense of urgency hung in the air as the bedraggled crew began the journey home. The clouds had settled in, driving out the mist, bringing dense fog in its stead. The sun would not delay setting, removing what modicum of light cut through the fog. Everyone was anxious to make it over the pass before darkness fell fully upon the land. It was a precarious journey over Dunlewey Pass, with steep drops to the valley below mere inches away from the wagon’s wheels. Every bit of light was needed to navigate the rutted path safely.

  As the rig rumbled and bounced over the furrowed road, heading for the precipice near the peak of Errigal, exhausted silence settled on the group. A soft snore drifted from the back of the wagon. Moira turned. Sinead lay, sound asleep, spooning up against a bolt of lace her mother had traded the potatoes for. The heaviness of Moira’s eyelids grew by the minute.

  Paddy’s voice broke the silence. “Say now, why is that wee cloud movin’?” He squinted and bobbed his head to and fro, obviously attempting to get a better read on a shape up ahead.

  “Ya daft fool,” his wife retorted, “that’s no cloud. ’Tis a sheep!”

  Sure enough, smack in the middle of the road stood an obstinate Donegal sheep. The ewe stared at the wagon, chewing stubbornly. She offered a cursory baa before lowering her head to take another bite of the sweet grass growing between the ruts. She clearly had no intention of moving. Paddy pulled sharp on the reins and the horses nickered in protest. The wagon lurched to a reluctant halt.

  Sean hopped down and ran at the sheep yelling and clapping. The sheep blinked at him and continued to eat.

  Amusement and mild annoyance played on Sean’s face. He shrugged and strode resolutely to the ewe. He scooped her up in one fell swoop and plopped her safe and sound on the hillside. She baaed once more while Sean resumed his place on the bench.

  The gang chuckled and Moira breathed a sigh of relief as Paddy called “Hya! ” to get the horses trudging along again, thankful he hadn’t tried to steer around the animal.The steady plodding of hooves and the gentle rocking of the wagon were like a lullaby. Moira struggled to keep her eyes open. She needed to stay awake. For one, she didn’t want to risk falling off of the wagon. Secondly, she had hoped to use the journey home to try to piece together what few tidbits of information she had learned about her mother’s supposed secret. She needed to figure out this mystery to which the whole of Donegal seemed privy.

  She straightened in her seat, facing the road, calling to mind what she knew so far. Her eyes, however, had different plans. They altogether ignored her attempts to keep them open.

  What in the world could Old Man Buach know that could hold such power over a girl like Moira? Sean laced his fingers together then apart over and over as he thought. He was determined to suss out what Buach and Áedach were scheming. Sudden warmth radiated up his shoulder and arm, breaking his thoughts. The heavenly scent of lavender washed over him. He looked to the source of the heat. Moira leaned against his shoulder, eyes closed with lashes splayed over her alabaster cheeks. She was fast asleep.

  He watched her for a moment, taking in the scent of her hair. His gaze traced the gentle slope of her nose. The soft breaths rising and falling. He averted his eyes and clenched his fists. God, help me protect her honor.

  For a brief moment, he considered nudging her upright. For propriety’s sake. But he hadn’t the heart to wake her.

  And you can’t bear the thought of not having her so near you.

  Sean knew what brewed within him was more than mere attraction for the lass. She was a beauty to behold, aye. But her gentle spirit and the grace with which she had handled the disturbing situations of late filled his heart with compassion. He was falling for the girl, and the harder he resisted, the faster he plunged.

  From the way she had looked at him in the dress shop, it seemed perhaps she might also hold some interest in him. He hoped she might one day fully return his affection and this secret—whatever it was—wouldn’t sever their chance at a life together.

  A life together. Could he be so blessed?

  Moira awoke with a jolt. The wagon had stopped and footfalls on the road sped the waking of her mind. She rubbed her eyes.

  Sean still sat beside her, eyes sparkling, a sweet smile on his face. “Mornin’, sunshine. Well, evenin’, I guess.” He winked and her heart melted. Then realization dawned. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder. She clapped a hand to her forehead, mouth agape.

  “I . . . uh . . . I . . .” Utterly mortified, words of explanation failed her.

  “Easy now, pet.” Mrs. McGonigle comforted her from the front seat. “There was no impropriety. Many a folk succumb to the lullaby of the Seven Sisters. Paddy and me were wide awake and yer man here was a perfect gentleman.” She patted a compassionate hand on Moira’s knee and turned to her husband, who helped her out of the carriage.

  The tension in Moira’s shoulders eased. If only the heat in her cheeks would dissipate with as much haste.

  Sean lifted his hand and offered to help her down from the bench. She nodded and bent to place her hands atop his shoulders.

  He held her securely at the waist and lifted her as effortlessly as if she were a feather pillow. He set her down and held her just long enough to ensure she was steady on her feet before releasing his grip. He then tugged on the brim of his hat, bidding her good night.

  Moira, helpless to look away, watched as he disappeared into the mist.

  Chapter 25

  Áedach and Moira stood face-to-face in her classroom, a scant handbreadth between them. “You will not threaten me again.” Moira’s voice was firm and low. Her words deliberate. “I have nothing to hide. You hold no power over me.”

  The wiry lad licked his lips and scanned Moira from head to toe. Her skin prickled under the intensity of his leer.

  “Oh, I’ll be sayin’ what’er I please, marm.” The words dripped with rancor. “An’ ye have no idea wha’ kind o’ power I hold over ye.” He closed what small gap remained between them in the empty schoolhouse and raised his hand. It hovered just over her shoulder.

  Her heart raced and no breath could escape her chest. Moira feared she might faint but refused to allow him the pleasure of seeing her flinch. Instead, she stretched her spine tall, steeling her gaze firmer into his. Seconds stretched into eternity as the silence hung around them like a shroud. He lowered his hand but traced the contour of her body in the air, unhurried.

  Despite her best efforts, Moira shuddered.

  “Perhaps we should see how far the apple falls from the family tree? See if ye folluh in yer mammy’s footsteps, like?” He bit his bottom lip and leaned closer. Fearing he might attempt to kiss her, Moira lunged to the side, managing to free herself from his imposing stance.

  “You spew venom and folly!” She hastened to the door of the schoolhouse and opened it. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve with this lunacy, Áedach, but God will deal with you and your lying ways.” She whipped her index finger toward the door.

  A shadow smacking of fear flashed across Áedach’s face. He stuffed clenched fists in his pockets and sauntered toward the open door, but a sickening smirk grew on his lips. He stopped in front of her.

  Moira gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the handle, prepared to swing the door
into the lad’s head should he try anything more than a passing nod.

  “We’ll see now, marm. We’ll see.”

  Moira watched the bones of his spine sway through his threadbare shirt as he sauntered outside.

  As Áedach’s outline disappeared around the corner, movement across the road caught her eye. Sean.

  His arms were laden with all manner of thatching gear. He watched as the troublesome teen departed before turning his attention to Moira, eyebrows raised.

  “Are you okay?” he mouthed.

  For the first time since the ordeal began, she released a full exhale and tension melted from her shoulders. No, she wasn’t okay. When would this end? She wanted nothing more than to run to Sean. To let him shield her from Áedach and secrets and old men with stale drink on their breath.

  But she couldn’t. She had too much to do to let herself be distracted by a man. And if Áedach’s insinuations held any truth, kindling any romance might well be the nail in the coffin of her newly sprouted life in Ballymann. She managed, instead, a weak smile and a slight nod.

  Colm’s voice carried on the wind, beckoning Sean. His countenance fell, and he looked at the tools and hay in his arms, then back to her. He stole a glance over the hill and took a half step toward the schoolhouse.

  “Sean! Déan deifir! ”

  Moira motioned for him to go.

  He shrugged, offered a silent “sorry,” and dashed off in the direction of Colm’s voice.

  Overwhelmed by relief and lingering fear, Moira sank back onto the door and sighed. Was she willing to follow through with whatever warning she had just given Áedach? She had been clear that he wasn’t to bully her any longer, to be sure. But what would she do if he did?

  As deeply as she believed that neither Áedach nor Buach truly held any secrets about her mother, she couldn’t shake one nagging question: What if they do? And what if they’re true? Moira had to find out the truth once and for all, but getting the information would not be easy.

  It was clear Bríd and the McGonigle family had at least some idea about what was going on. The only question now was, who would be most likely to divulge knowledge? Moira thought back over her encounters with each person.

  From the beginning, Bríd had been an incredible support and help—a comforting mother figure, which Moira needed far more than she had realized. However, each time Buach or the secret came into the conversation, Bríd had dismissed it and shifted the subject.

  Paddy, God love him, seemed blissfully ignorant of anything other than groceries and his daughter.

  Mrs. McGonigle had been the one to stifle Sinead from saying anything further when they passed Glenveagh Castle on Saturday. It seemed unlikely she would reveal anything.

  Sinead, however, seemed to know whatever it was Buach alluded to. She also seemed to assume Moira knew about her mother’s history with Glenveagh—and whatever hidden meaning it might carry.

  Nerves gnawed at Moira’s stomach. She needed to get Sinead to open up to her but feared the girl would believe Moira only wanted to be her friend in order to glean information. Moira desperately wanted a friendship with this lass who brought such life and laughter into every relationship. She also couldn’t stomach the idea of cultivating a bond knowing Sinead held knowledge that could prove hurtful to herself or her reputation.

  Moira mulled over the delicate balance while she locked the schoolhouse door and turned to head for home. Just as she rounded the corner onto the main road, a breathless ball of skirts and hair flew across the street and grabbed on to her.

  “Youse won’t believe this, now. Wait ’til I tell ya.” Sinead held up her index finger while pressing her other hand to her bodice, swallowing gulps of air. After a moment, she continued. “Mammy says ye can call over to us Sunday evening.”

  Moira stared at her friend and raised her eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the message.

  Sinead only stared back, wide-eyed and grinning, bobbing her head up and down with glee.

  “Oh, er, that’s lovely, thank you. What time will you be expecting me?”

  “What time will yew be expecteeng me,” Sinead said, mimicking Moira by using a thick voice to disguise her accent. It was clear the girl was holding back laughter. “Ye don’t hafta be so proper, Moira. It’s me ye’re talkin’ to, not Mrs. McGinley. Pop ’round about five o’clock.” Her dimples deepened and she gave her friend’s cheek a tweak before bustling across the road once more.

  Moira stared at her friend, dumbfounded but amused. She’d heard few people other than Sean refer to Mrs. McGinley, the former teacher. The woman must have gained a reputation for propriety. That certainly hadn’t been the reputation Moira had built with her flaws and foibles.

  Though she hadn’t had the chance to ask additional questions as to the occasion, she was grateful that someone was beginning to accept her in this village. Most people in town ignored her. Or at least they appeared to. But Moira noticed the lingering stares and heard how voices hushed to a whisper when she rounded a corner. Even her own students kept a polite distance when she saw them in the McGonigles’ market or at the beach.

  Life in Ballymann was proving to be far more lonely than she had anticipated, so the prospect of an evening with a family for which she was growing to care very deeply was salve for her homesick heart.

  Chapter 26

  Sinead had proven scarce following her spontaneous invitation at the start of the week. Moira had planned to broach the subject of her mother’s connection to Glenveagh Castle when next she saw her, but her friend had remained unseen. That week had held its share of other disappointments as well, and Moira was anxious to see friendly faces. Despite the low points, the days had held blessings. Áedach had been blissfully absent from school the entire week.

  Guilt gnawed at her for the thought. She brushed it away like crumbs from a plate.

  As his teacher, Moira should have investigated his absence after the second day. But, truth be told, she was enjoying the quiet pleasure of a classroom without his barbs and threats too much to go out of her way to bring him back.

  Forgive me, Lord.

  She promised in her heart to investigate if his seat went unfilled yet again on Monday.

  The thought of Monday widened her smile. A new start to the week meant the distinct possibility of seeing Sean. After the thatcher’s silent and regrettable parting last week following her encounter with Áedach, Moira noticed that Sean or Colm was always nearby when she arrived at school each day.

  One day they were pruning hedges along the roadside. Another found them investigating a questionable section of thatch on the roof of the schoolhouse, though it looked as solid as could be to Moira’s untrained eye.

  She wondered if the men had taken it upon themselves to watch over her upon discovering Áedach had made a habit of waiting for her in the shadows most mornings. She secretly hoped so.

  Grateful for caring friends, Moira gathered the freshly baked scones she’d made to take to the McGonigle family and made her way to Sinead’s house.

  Moira rounded the corner. Her steps slowed and her mouth fell open. Though it was a modest bungalow with gleaming white walls topped with a clean thatch and a door as black as coal, the house crawled with people. A group of at least two dozen more milled about the property. Smoke curled lazily from pipes. Stout laughter and the lilt of Gaelic conversations melded into a symphony of Irish delight.

  Conversations lulled to whispers and feet shuffled this way and that as Moira approached. Men gave a slight tip of their caps but refused to look her in the eye. Women dipped shallow curtsies and mumbled, “A Mhúinteoir” as she passed.

  “Hello.” The word caught in her throat. She nodded in greeting and searched the open door for any sign of a friendly face.

  “Moira! Ye came!” Sinead bounded from the bungalow, arms outstretched.

  Relief rolled over Moira as she embraced her friend. “So much for a quiet family gathering, eh?”

  Sinead’s brow furrowed. �
��Wha’?”

  “When you said to come over—”

  “Oh, youse thought it would be just ye comin’, did ya?” Sinead laughed.

  Moira nodded.

  “Ah, g’on, now. We gather every Sunday night for the craic.”

  Finally, a Gaelic word she recognized! “Well, let’s hope the craic is mighty, then,” Moira declared.

  Sinead erupted into breath-stealing guffaws. “Ah, yer a good woman yerself, Moira Darrty.” She wrapped a broad arm across Moira’s shoulder and led her into the house.

  The air inside was thick with smoke, heavy with a blazing turf fire and the heat of far too many bodies stuffed into too small a space. Moira pressed a hand to her cheeks, letting the chill from her walk pass to her already heated face.

  Sinead made a few cursory introductions, but Moira was met only with gruff nods and averted eyes.

  At her mother’s bidding, Sinead scurried off to pour tea, leaving Moira alone in the sea of strangers. An older gentleman nursing a pint of ale was the only one willing to look at her. His face was dour and puckered—from age or a cantankerous personality, she couldn’t tell. Moira thought his eyes, squinting in discerning slits, held a gleam that belied his grim expression. The same could not be said for the other parishioners.

  Moira fought to hold back the tears stinging her eyes. Did the whole town believe her to be evil? Frustration mounted, and Moira began to think she preferred the loneliness of yet another night in her chalet to the hateful silence thrust upon her here. She had just turned to leave when a voice near the hearth caught her ear.

  Craning to see beyond woolen-clad bodies and over a sea of flat caps, Moira caught a glimpse of familiar green eyes. Sean jumped to his feet, putting whatever conversation he was in to an abrupt end.

  “Miss Doherty!” He waved and began to navigate the gauntlet of people, making his way toward her. Given the throng pressing in around them, he made it to her side with impressive speed. “How are you?”