The two stood, smiling at one another with glistening eyes, until Peg said, “Come on, now. Come home wit’ me and let’s have a cuppa and some stew before our patient has need of us again.”
Chapter 33
The stew was thick and rich, with a pillowy mound of mashed potatoes spooned onto the center. Its warmth soothed Moira’s body as well as her spirit. The pair ate in silence, both enjoying the respite from the dank hovel and the stress of caring for a dying patient. The ticking of the clock and the occasional clink of spoon against bowl were the only sounds, and neither woman seemed to mind.
Suddenly the door burst open and the hearty laughter of two work-tired men filled the air. Peg wiped her mouth, aimed a weary smile at her guest and then her husband, and rose from her seat. “Fáilte abhaile, love.” She bussed Colm’s cheek and took his coat.
Moira rose to greet the man of the house, who was still chuckling along with the mystery guest shadowed behind him. “Hello, Colm—” The words caught in her throat as the other man turned around. “And . . . Mr. McFadden, it’s lovely to see you again.” She hurried back to her seat, her cheeks burning. She hadn’t seen Sean since their disagreement outside her chalet the day before, and the tension, thick as butter, enveloped them.
Sean cleared his throat. “Miss Doherty.”
Peg arrived with two fresh, steaming bowls of stew, and the men took their places at the table.
Moira kept her eyes on her bowl, stirring more than eating, annoyed that Sean had robbed her of the appetite for such a delectable dinner.
“So.” Colm broke the silence. “How’s the patient?” All movement at the table froze, his question hanging in the air like Irish mist.
“Well,” Peg ventured, “it doesna look good. The puir lad’s temperature is as high as Errigal, and I canna believe that cough of his hasn’t already split him in two.”
Moira felt Sean’s eyes boring into the top of her head, and she wished she could crawl into her bowl and hide under the mash.
“Patient?” Sean queried. “Are ye fine, upstanding ladies caring for one of Ballyman’s ailing citizens?” His question was innocent enough, but his voice dripped with sarcasm. It was obvious he knew the pair were caring for Áedach, and he was clearly troubled about it.
Moira’s eyes shot up to meet his. “Yes,” she answered, a bit more sharply than she’d intended. “As I’ve told you already, young Áedach MacSuibhne has fallen deathly ill. Peg and I are working to ease his suffering as best we can.”
Sean grunted in acknowledgment and shoved his spoon into his dish. He thrust a far-too-large bite into his mouth, sending broth spilling down his chin and onto the table. He wiped the mess with the back of his hand and continued eating.
Moira grimaced. His animal-like disregard for polite dinner decorum disgusted her. An inexplicable desire to goad him overwhelmed her. “Yes,” she continued. “And we’ll be going back after supper to see to his evening care and ablutions.”
Sean’s spoon stilled and his eyes slowly raised to meet hers.
Moira shifted uncomfortably in her seat, regretting her impulse to press into his obvious frustration. She was too far into the charade now though. She’d have to hold her ground.
“Well,” Sean said at last, finally using his napkin to clean his hands and chin, “just ye be careful out there. It’ll be dark soon and ya never know who is lurking in the shadows.”
“Now, Sean,” Peg crooned as she collected Moira’s plate. “Ya know very well we’ll be careful. There’s no need to put the fear of God into the lass. The Laird has given her a task, and there’s nothin’ ye can do about it.” She punctuated her statement with a stiff nod before heading to the kitchen.
Taking her cue, Moira joined Peg. The pair worked quickly to ready the basket of goods for their final visit to the patient for the night.
“‘Nothin’ ye can do about it’? Humph! ” Sean’s boot heels struck the ground in angry steps as he walked home. What was the lass thinking? What could possess her to go out of her way, risking her own health, to nurse the scourge of Ballymann to recovery?
“Sean . . . Sean!” Colm came running up the path, breathless.
Worry seized him, and Sean grasped the man’s shoulders as soon as he reached him. “What is it? Is Moira alright?”
Colm stopped short. Even in the moonlight Sean could see the glint in his eyes.
“Aye, I imagine Miss Doherty is right as rain.” He held up something in front of Sean. “Ya left in such a tizzy, ya forgot yer hat.” A full grin split Colm’s face and a hearty guffaw bellowed into the cold night air.
“Oh.” Sean snatched the hat from Colm’s hands and stuffed it on his head. “Thanks.”
“Come now, lad.” Colm’s voice held no hint of judgment or joking. “What is it that vexes you so?”
Releasing a deep sigh, Sean folded his arms and leaned against the rock wall that lined the side of the street. “Does it not bother ya? Peg lookin’ after that . . . that boyo?”
“No,” Colm said without hesitation. “Why does it bother ye? No offense, lad, but what business is it of yourn?”
Sean took off his hat and shoved his hand through his hair. “It’s not safe, man. Don’t ya see? You know what the lad is capable of, how he’s treated Moira.”
Colm laughed. “Son, the boy is on his deathbed. What sinister deed do you imagine him committin’ when he canna lift his own head?”
“That’s not the point.” A sheep bleated in the distance. “Oh, be quiet with ye!” Sean called into the darkness.
“There’s no need beratin’ one of God’s créatúrs just because ye’re upset at—and in love with—a pretty lass.”
Sean’s mouth fell open and he sputtered, “I . . . what . . . er . . .”
Colm remained silent and pinned Sean with his stare.
“I can’t help it, Colm,” he said. “I tried to warn her that it wasn’t safe, but she just won’t listen. It’s infuriating!”
Colm’s shoulders bounced as he raised a hand to level a steady slap on Sean’s back. “Welcome to na mná, lad. Welcome to women.” He chuckled some more, obviously delighted at his own joke. “In all seriousness, though, Peg was right—the Laird has given this task to Moira. And ye canna stand in her way of obeyin’.”
Sean shook his head. “How do ya know it was the Laird, and not some stubborn idea she came up wit’ on her own?”
“Ya know yerself the way Áedach has treated her. An’ who’s to say what else he’s tried to do that she hasn’t told us about? Would ye conjur such an idea if things were turned ’round?”
Sean’s shoulders slumped. “My own reaction was to throttle the lad, and I said as much to Moira.”
“I know. Ye forget, I heard.”
Sean nodded.
“I think,” Colm continued, “maybe yer upset more that she didna take yer advice than ye are that she’s put herself in any danger.”
He didn’t want to give the auld man the satisfaction of agreeing with him, but in his heart, Sean knew Colm was right.
“Aye, maybe,” Sean managed at length. “But it’s not just for the sake of my own ego, ya know.”
“Mm-hmm.” Colm’s head bobbed in the darkness.
“I just want what’s best for Moira.” Sean hoisted himself off the wall and paced in front of his mentor. “I just don’t see how caring for that rógaire is what’s best for her, command of the good Laird or not.”
“Careful, Sean. Ye’re standin’ on shaky ground wit’ that argument.” Colm joined Sean on the road and squared himself so they were looking eye to eye. “Smack in the middle of what God is askin’ is the best place for any of us to be. I know you want what’s best for the lass, but I think yer confusin’ the idea of best with the idea of safe.”
The words struck Sean with such force he had to steady himself lest he stumble back from the blow. Had Colm always been so wise? Had Sean always been so selfish?
“Thanks, Colm.” Sean extended his hand. “Good nig
ht.”
Colm grasped his arm, holding just below the elbow. “Oíche mhaith, a mhac.”
Chapter 34
Moira pulled her cloak tighter around her neck and tucked her face against the biting cold. It was a bitter day, and the mist hanging in the air stung her cheeks as she hurried to the schoolhouse. Desperate for the respite of the fire that would soon be roaring in the school’s hearth, she jogged the last few yards to the musty old building.
Once inside, she set to work stoking the leftover ashes, bringing the slumbering fire back to life. When was she last here? Days had blurred together, and Moira had been walking through life in a fog thicker than the one suspended outside. She remembered very little of the past week, save caring for Áedach and her dispute with Sean, no longer certain which vexed her more.
As the fire crackled to life, Moira backed up as close as prudence allowed. The heat radiated up her spine, warming her skirts and thawing her aching toes. She hoped it would dispel the mist that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her mind as well.
Lord, give me strength.
The children would be arriving any moment, and she longed to be fully present, giving them the full of her energy and the attention they deserved.
Down the road, the church bells tolled the first note of their morning song. Moira planted a smile on her face, closed her eyes, and awaited the sound of shuffling feet scurrying up the path.
The bells rang out the final clang, but Moira still stood alone in the schoolroom. She waited. Minutes ticked by. It was typical for one, maybe two students to be tardy, but everyone? Something wasn’t right.
She moved to the window, but there was too much condensation to see much of anything. Wiping the pane clear with her sleeve, she looked again. Not a soul could be seen on the path in either direction. Grabbing her cloak, she headed back out of doors.
The biting cold greeted her like a slap in the face. Nevertheless, she pulled the door closed and made her way to the middle of the street. Beyond the church, only a hawthorn tree could be seen on the horizon. As she looked toward town, the silhouette of a cart passed in the mist on the main road, but there were no children as far as the eye could see.
Moira counted on her fingers, reminding herself of the date. To her mind it was Friday, but perhaps in her state of mental fatigue more time had passed than she realized?
She made her way to the McGonigles’ shop. A few folks milled about inside, availing themselves of the freshly baked scones or collecting their latest messages. She recognized a few from the Sunday night gathering, which now seemed a lifetime ago.
Mrs. McGonigle rounded the corner with an armload of bread, which she delivered to a waiting patron. The two carried on a brief conversation in Gaelic before the customer left and Mrs. McGonigle wiped her hands on her apron and turned to head back behind the counter.
“Good morning, Mrs. McGonigle.”
“Miss Doherty.” She gave a curt nod and busied herself moving jars from one shelf to the next.
“It’s a soft day,” Moira continued, using the phrase Bríd had taught her to refer to the veil of mist outside.
“That it is.” Mrs. McGonigle kept her eyes on her task, rearranging the jars a few more times without looking up.
Moira shifted her feet. Why was Mrs. McGonigle being so aloof? She decided to press forward anyway, choosing to believe the woman was merely tired. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what day it is? I’m afraid I have my calendar all jumbled in my mind.”
Mrs. McGonigle shot her a wary glance, her brows knitted together—in confusion or annoyance Moira couldn’t discern. “’Tis Fridee, lass.”
Moira chewed her fingernail. Friday? Then where were all the students? “Do you kno—”
“Is there somethin’ I can get fer ya, lass? If not, I’m gonna have to ask ye to make room for the other customers.”
Moira blinked hard. Just a week ago she was considered part of the family. What on earth had happened? “I’ll take half a loaf of brown bread, please,” she managed to say after an uncomfortable pause.
When Moira stepped to the counter to retrieve the bread, Mrs. McGonigle took a marked step backward, holding the rag over her mouth and nose.
More confused than ever, Moira thanked her for the bread, left her money on the counter, and made her way out into the frigid morning.
Perhaps I will find more warmth out there.
On the street, all manner of people milled about—all manner except children—braving the elements in order to take care of business. This sight no longer surprised Moira, as she had learned soon after arriving that if she waited only for good weather to accomplish a task, nothing would ever get done. She decided to circle back to the school in case the students had arrived in her absence. Moira hoped they would have a half-decent explanation for their tardiness.
The schoolhouse was dark and quiet, save for a slight orange glow that could be seen through the foggy windows. No children loitered. None came up the path. Utterly perplexed, Moira headed back to the main road to go home and drown her confusion in a nice hot cuppa.
Just as she turned the corner, sweet little Aoife came up the walk with her mother. Moira waved excitedly and hurried toward them.
“Aoife!” Moira stopped short in front of the pair and offered a smile. “Mrs. O’Sullivan, how do you do?”
Aoife smiled in return. “A Mhúinteoir!” She stepped out to hug Moira, but her mother grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back, forcing the girl to stand behind her.
“Marm.” The woman’s sharp voice was kitten-like compared with her glare. She snatched Aoife’s hand and nearly dragged the girl across the street.
“Mrs. O’Sullivan? Is everything—”
“We’re after bein’ late, marm. Leave us be.”
Moira couldn’t be sure because of the mist, but she thought she saw tears sliding down Aoife’s cheek as she offered a shy wave before her mother yanked her around, turning the child’s back on Moira.
Moira’s free hand slumped to her side and she took her frustration out on the ground with a stamp of her foot. What on earth was happening?
More than solitude and yet another cup of tea alone, Moira needed the company of a good friend. Peg was resting this morning before their planned trip that afternoon to check on Áedach, and Sinead would obviously not welcome her company. She hadn’t the energy for the possible row a visit to Sean might spark—not to mention the impropriety of such a call. Her list of possible companions grew thin. Then, through the mist, a beacon of welcome flickered in the dusky light, much as it had the night she’d arrived.
Bríd! Of course! It had been forever since the two had shared a proper visit over a pot of tea. She started toward the guesthouse, her mouth already watering at the thought of Bríd’s brown bread. As she raised her hand to knock on the door, her stomach sank.
I hope she’ll welcome me.
Bolstering her courage with a deep breath of Irish mist, she knocked and waited.
The door swung open, and Bríd’s eyes grew twice their size when she saw Moira. “Oh, peata!” She scooped Moira up in an embrace, the aroma of bacon and bread wafting from her curls. “How are ya, dear? It’s been ages. Come in, pet, come in.”
She grabbed Moira’s hand and led her into the sitting room, where a roaring fire awaited. “How are ya, dear? How’re the wee dotes down at the school? Is yer chalet holdin’ up well in the spring gales? Wait, don’t answer that. First, cupán tae!” She spun on her heel and bustled into the kitchen.
Moira helped herself to a seat by the fire—the same seat in which she’d sat her first stormy moments in Donegal. It felt like years since that night. What a comfort to be back.
Bríd burst back into the room with a tray loaded with her famous tea and biscuits and a few slices of brown bread still steaming from the oven. She poured tea into both cups, sat back, and released a contented sigh.
“Now, peata, tell me everything.”
Moira sipped her
tea and smiled. “Things are never boring in Ballymann, are they?”
Bríd cackled and slapped her knee. “I suppose you could say that. We may look like a sleepy auld village, but there’s plenty o’ drama to go ’round.”
Moira meant to laugh, but it came out as an exhale through her nose that connoted derision more than delight. She regretted it immediately. “You could say that again.” She helped herself to a slice of bread, giving herself time to formulate her next words. “One of my students has been ill.”
Bríd nodded. “Áedach.”
Moira wagged her head. Truly nothing was secret, was it? “Yes. Peg Sweeny and I have been looking after him. I honestly didn’t want to. He’s been such a bane for me, as you well know.” She took another bite, savoring the buttery goodness.
“But ya couldn’t verra well let the lad die, right?”
“Exactly!” A cloud of crumbs burst from her lips and she wiped them away, too keen to get her story out to be embarrassed. “Other than Colm, you seem to be the only one who understands that. Sinead McGonigle, who I thought was a good friend, has all but disowned me, and Sean”—she tossed her bread onto her plate—“eh, Mr. McFadden, was quite bothered by the whole notion. Both of them think me daft or naive.”
Bríd reached across and patted Moira’s arm. “The Laird said to love and pray for our enemies. He didna say ’twould be easy.”
Tears threatened to spill into Moira’s tea, and she bit her lip so hard trying to keep her composure she tasted blood. “Thank you for understanding,” she said at last, her voice a scant whisper.
“Aw, peata, I know you’ve had a hard time of it since ya arrived here. But God didna bring ya here just to let ya fall. Trust Him and His ways.”
“Thank you.” Moira pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “Maybe you can shed light on something else?”
“Of course, if I can.”
“None of my students showed up for school today. Is it a holiday I don’t know about?”
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