A Dance in Donegal

by Jennifer Deibel

  Did he know about Sean’s innocent kiss to her hand? Surely word hadn’t gotten around about Declan? “It’s not like I did anything wrong.” The rock walls were fine conversation partners these days. “He was the one who took my hand—I didn’t pursue anything with the man. Besides, it was just a friendly handshake.”

  “I thought it was a rather friendly handshake myself.”

  Moira shrieked and jumped back. She’d been so busy talking to herself, she hadn’t seen Declan leaning against the hawthorn tree on the corner leading to Áedach’s road.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Dec—eh, Mr. O’Malley.” Her steps quickened, and she glanced to see if anyone else was in the vicinity.

  “Aw, do call me Declan.” He matched her pace, only walking backward. “Someone says ‘Mr. O’Malley’ and I look for my auld man.” He flashed his dimple and Moira melted inside again.

  Why did he have to be so disarmingly handsome? And charming? “Mr. O’Malley, we only just met this morning. I hardly think it appropriate for me to refer to you by your first name.”

  He spun to face forward, still matching her stride. “Have it your way. But mark my words, I’ll have you saying my name before you know it.”

  She looked at the road ahead but could feel him staring at her. Heat stung her cheeks, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling under his gaze.

  “So, where are you off to in such a hurry, Miss Doherty?” He leaned in as close to her ear as he could while keeping pace and whispered, “Or should I say ‘Moira’?”

  She stumbled at the warmth of his breath on her ear, and he deftly circled an arm around her waist to steady her.

  “Ahem, Miss Doherty will suffice, thank you.” She righted herself and stepped out of his embrace. “One of my students is quite ill and has no one to care for him. Peg Sweeny and I have been nursing him back to health. Unfortunately, she’s fallen ill herself—not with the same ailment, thanks be to God—so I’m on my own for the next day or so.” As soon as she’d said it, she wished she hadn’t let Declan know she was going to be out here alone. His forward behavior, while somewhat enchanting, gave her pause.

  “Well, I think what ye’re doin’s just wonderful.” He slowed his pace and clasped his hands behind his back, as if to reassure her of his intentions. “Not many would give the time and energy to do that for someone who couldn’t repay the kindness.”

  Moira’s mouth opened slightly. “Repayment never entered my mind.”

  “Oh, no! I didn’t mean to imply—”

  She kept walking, eyes forward. “I just meant to say I had reservations about helping the lad, but I hadn’t ever considered his ability to pay. Or repay.”

  “Well, like I said, I think it’s admirable.” Declan looked at her until she met his gaze. They smiled at one another, and the familiar heat returned to her cheeks.

  Declan shifted his gaze forward and stopped. “Well, it’s quite the small world here in Ballymann, isn’t it?”

  Moira followed his gaze.

  Sean was leaning against the rock wall under Áedach’s tree.

  Chapter 40

  Was this really happening for a second time? “Why hello, Mr. McFadden!” Moira said, grasping for words. “How lovely to see you!” Regret instantly filled her for not calling him Sean. “I was on my way here to care for Áedach when Mr. O’Malley met me on the road.”

  “Quite an extraordinary lass Ballymann has for a teacher, eh, McFadden?”

  “Indeed.” The familiar mixture of hurt and anger clouded Sean’s eyes. “I was at Colm’s earlier today and saw that Peg is still unwell. I thought ye might need my help again today wit’ the boy.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Sean.” She nodded. “I was worried I’d be on my own this time.”

  “Well, now you have double the help!” Declan stepped forward until he was nearly toe-to-toe with Sean. The two men looked each other over for a moment, volumes spoken with their eyes.

  “And you both have my thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient who needs tending.” She made her way over the wall, which proved much more difficult without Sean’s strong hand to help her, and went to see to Áedach.

  The lad seemed much the same as he had the day before, and the day before that. Moira went through her routine as usual, straining to hear what might be transpiring on the other side of the wall. Would they resort to fisticuffs? Was she imagining it all, or did they seem to be challenging each other—over her?

  If she was truly honest with herself, Sean’s quiet way coupled with his boisterous sense of humor settled a peace over her like she’d never known. He truly seemed to care for her well-being, as well as her reputation. He knew she was concerned, given the uncertainties surrounding her mother, and he seemed to go out of his way to ensure propriety at all times. Even his display of affection—if that’s truly what he’d intended it to be—was steeped in honor and consideration for her image in Ballymann.

  But Declan. Moira couldn’t deny his brazen flirtations left her more on the side of uncomfortable than cherished. But when he looked at her with those sapphire eyes, and smiled at her punctuated with that dimple, all thoughts of propriety, manners, and reputations vanished and all that was left was the beating of her heart. But what did that mean? If she truly loved Sean, she wouldn’t have such intense feelings toward Declan. Would she?

  “I never thought I’d say this, Áedach, but I envy you. Maybe I could sleep for a few weeks and wake up when this is all blown over, eh?”

  Áedach lay, motionless, oblivious to the storm of emotions raging within Moira. Releasing a long sigh, she reached for her apron pocket and produced Peg’s ledger. “Let’s stay in Psalm 23 for a while, shall we?”

  Sean eyed his childhood acquaintance who preened his hair like a dandy and resisted the urge to comment. Searching his mind for some topic of conversation, his thoughts turned to the unrest taking over the country.

  “So, what news of the war?” he managed to ask at last.

  Declan shrugged. “Things are progressing, so it would seem.” His eyes darted nervously.

  “From what I hear, things are quite desperate in Dublin.”

  Nervous laughter rumbled in Declan’s throat. “That’s one way to put it.”

  Interesting. “Is that why you decided to come home?”

  Declan toggled his head back and forth and shrugged. His eyes scanned the horizon as if searching for a change in subject.

  “Good grief, is she always in there this long?” Declan paced a groove in front of the rock wall.

  “If ye have someplace ta be, by all means, go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  Declan leveled a glare at Sean. “What is it with you and Moira, anyway? Is she promised to you?”

  “It’s Miss Doherty to you. And, no, we’re not promised to each another—not that it’s any of yer business anyway.”

  Declan grinned. Sean, willing himself to be the picture of confidence and calm, gripped the rock wall behind him until his knuckles turned white to keep from throttling the man where he stood. He refused to give Declan the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin.

  “It’s decided, then.” Declan stroked his chin and slowed his pacing until he stood directly in front of Sean. “May the best man win.”

  Before Sean could respond, the door to Áedach’s hovel opened and out came Moira, squinting against the light. “You’re both still here, I see. Thank you for your services standing guard. The patient is much the same, and if you both don’t mind, I’ll be off to put my feet up and have a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” both men offered in unison.

  Moira’s eyes darted between them. Behind him Sean heard Declan chuckle. Declan pushed past Sean and reached across the wall, sweeping Moira over it before either one had a chance to protest.

  “I didn’t want you to trip on that lovely dress.” Declan offered her the crook of his arm.

  Sean’s fingers curled into a ball, and his t
eeth clenched so tight his head hurt.

  Moira stood, motionless, looking from Sean to Declan and back to Sean. Though he wanted nothing more than to sweep Moira up in his own arms and ask her to be his for all time, he didn’t want to put any undue pressure on the lass. Sean bowed slightly at the waist and gestured toward Declan. “After you, Miss.”

  A look of confusion flashed across Moira’s face. Then she pursed her lips, setting her jaw, and stepped toward Declan. She took his arm with a confidence Sean had never seen from her before. Was she cross with him? Was she flaunting Declan’s attentions?

  The three walked up the lane, making their way to the main road that cut through the heart of Ballymann. Ahead of Sean, Declan prattled on about goodness knows what, while every once in a while, Moira would glance over her shoulder at Sean. When she saw him looking at her, she would straighten her posture and hang on Declan’s every word.

  As they neared the main road, the ugly words Sean had heard said about Moira in the shop that morning echoed in his mind. If Moira was seen walking into town with not one but two single men of eligible age without a proper chaperone, the tongues of Ballymann wouldn’t stop wagging until the rapture. He wanted nothing more than to stay with them and keep his eye on Declan, to ensure he treated Moira with the respect she deserved, but he couldn’t bear the thought that he could possibly cause her reputation any further damage.

  Sean cleared his throat. “I’ll be takin’ my leave here. I trust you’ll see Miss Doherty safely home?” His eyes bored into Declan’s, daring him to even think of laying a finger on her.

  “Yes, of course. Good day, McFadden,” Declan said, returning the sharp gaze.

  Moira’s brows knitted together, then arched. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along? You’re most welcome.”

  I want nothing more, lass. “No, thanks. I’m to call in on our last thatch repair to see how it’s holdin’ up.”

  She nodded and offered a sad-looking smile, before turning toward Declan. A thousand swords pierced Sean’s heart as he watched her take the man’s arm, her smile widening when she looked at his face.

  Chapter 41

  Moira pushed aside the twinge of guilt for not insisting Sean join them and focused her full attention on Declan, who was regaling her with the tale of how he became a barrister in Dublin.

  “It’s quite rare for someone from a little village in the Gaeltacht to be accepted to practice law at such a prestigious firm. But when I showed up to be interviewed, they liked what they saw.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

  Was he checking for her reaction? Her approval? “That’s fascinating, Mr. O’Malley.”

  Declan feigned a cough into his hand that sounded remarkably like “Declan.”

  She swatted his arm in mock discipline. “You’re awful, Mr. O’Malley!”

  “Hopefully that’s not such a bad thing?” He stopped walking and steadied his gaze upon hers.

  Moira’s heart thumped wildly in her chest, and she fought to find the right words. How does one answer a question like that?

  He released her arm and offered a shallow bow. “I don’t mean to press. I just like to joke, that’s all. Shall we continue?” He gestured along the path and the pair fell into step again. “So, tell me—what convinced a young American girl like yourself to pull up stakes and move halfway across the world to Ballymann, of all places? Why not Paris? Or Vienna?”

  Her lips parted in a grin. “Paris and Vienna didn’t ask.” Bubbly laughter rolled off her tongue. “In all honesty, though, I couldn’t not come. I love teaching. I love seeing that moment when everything falls into place and a pupil suddenly understands a concept they’ve been struggling with. I love seeing the world through fresh eyes every day. It’s my calling, teaching. How could I not do it? Plus, it’s the last thing my mother asked me to do before she”— Moira swallowed—“before she passed.”

  Declan’s eyes were wide, and the corners of his mouth drew downward. Clearly he was impressed with her passion and sense of duty. “Well, that makes perfect sense, Miss Doherty. Especially the more I get to know you. And I’m sorry to hear about your mother. But you missed half the question.”

  Moira furrowed her brow.

  “Why Ballymann?”

  She sighed wistfully. “It’s the halla.”

  Now Declan’s brow creased.

  Moira read the confusion covering his face and couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, not just the halla. I grew up on the noisy streets of Boston, listening to Mother’s stories about good ol’ Ballymann and her beloved Ireland.”

  Understanding dawned in Declan’s eyes. “That explains it. It always comes back to the mammy.” They laughed again. “But tell me more about the halla. Why are you so drawn to it?”

  “Every few months, our Boston neighborhood—which is mainly filled with other Irish immigrants—would hold a traditional céilí. They were the highlights of my year. No sooner would one céilí finish before I began counting the days to the next one.” She looked at Declan but couldn’t read what he thought, so she continued. “Each and every time the festival ended, Mother would get a far-off look in her eye and say with a sigh, ‘Moira, darlin’, it was a lovely dance, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes, Mother,’ I’d say. And she’d always respond, ‘Ah, but there’s nothing like a dance in Donegal.’”

  Declan smirked. “Really? She loved the musty auld hall with the stale smell of stout and sweat wafting from decades-old woolen jumpers?”

  Beginning to feel a bit foolish for waxing so poetic, she decided to try once more to help him understand. “I never heard much about my mother’s life here in Donegal, but what stories I did hear always surrounded the céilí. She would tell me tales of how Paddy Blue-socks had one too many pints, or how Father O’Friel tripped during his solo Sean Nós dancing. But my favorite stories were the ones she would tell about the old halla. She’d talk about how everyone in town would gather on cold nights and heat up the thatched building with their dancing, laughter, and craic. I always dreamed of one day seeing the place for myself, but never dared to believe I actually would.”

  “So, what did you think?”

  “What did I think about what?”

  Declan held his hands out, palms up, and bobbed his head as if that would coax an answer from her. “About this mystical halla when you finally stepped foot inside! Was it everything you’d dreamed it would be?”

  The only thing that masked her ire at his sarcasm was the embarrassment flooding her as she was forced to confess. “Well . . . I haven’t actually seen it yet.”

  Declan guffawed and slapped his knee. “What? You must be joking.”

  She chewed her nail before answering. “I’d been so busy when I first arrived, and I didn’t know where it was. Then time got away and . . .” She was about to detail the difficulties she’d encountered, but something nagged inside not to say anything. “And life got full.”

  Declan shook his head. “I don’t mean to poke fun. Truly, I don’t.” He shrugged. “I thought with how important it was to you, that would’ve been one of the first things you’d have done when you arrived, that’s all.”

  “Oh!” She hopped and clasped her hands together as the memory dawned on her. “I’ve seen the outside, actually.”

  He looked at her in confusion.

  “One day, Peg and I passed by it on our way from her house to Áedach’s, but we hadn’t time to stop in. But don’t you worry, I’ll get there.” She chewed her lip. “Eventually.”

  He smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye, and Moira could almost see the wheels in his mind turning. “Yes, you will, Miss Doherty. You will indeed.”

  “You make it sound so ominous, Mr. O’Malley.” She chuckled coyly.

  “Not ominous. But we can’t have Ballymann’s finest teacher go without fulfilling her lifelong dream. And you know the Paddy’s Day céilí’s coming up soon.” He arched his brows and flashed his dimple.

  She clasped her hands behind her back, diggi
ng her fingernails into her skin trying to rein her thoughts in beneath his handsome gaze. “Ah, yes. Then I do believe you’re right. I’ll see the halla in all her Paddy’s Day glory before we know it.” She looked over her shoulder and realized they were standing at the path to her door. “Well, Mr. O’Malley,” she said, “thank you for accompanying me home. I wish you a good afternoon.” Then she turned on her heel and hurried for the door before he could attempt to grab her hand again as he had done that morning.

  “Good night,” he said.

  She turned and offered a slight wave to him from the doorway, and as the door was closing Declan mouthed a single word.

  “Moira.”

  Chapter 42

  Moira was delighted to see Peg in such good form the next afternoon. Having dropped by again before heading to Aédach’s, she found Peg sitting in her chair near the fire, poring over a tattered copy of the Bible. Colm had been right—the book was massive.

  “Thank God you’re doing so well.” She bussed the top of her friend’s head. “How’s the cough?”

  “Tsk! ” Peg batted her hand through the air. “Ya shouldna be fretting over an auld biddy like me when ya have a whole schoolful o’ wee ones that need lookin’ after.”

  Colm chuckled in the corner as he spread a thick slab of butter on a chunk of the brown bread Moira had brought. “Ah, c’mon, a Stoir,” he crooned. “Ya know she’s only askin’ ’cause she loves ye.”

  Moira’s heart skipped at the word “love.” She hadn’t realized it before, but Colm was right. She loved this dear couple almost as much as she’d loved her own parents. They’d taken her under their wings, lavished the love of a parent upon her, and guided her in the fear and admonition of the Lord. Suddenly overcome with emotion, she rose and stoked the fire, hoping to keep at bay the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  “Aye, love, aye.” Peg reached out and squeezed Moira’s hand. “She’s a good girl, our Moira.”