A Dance in Donegal

by Jennifer Deibel

  The two women locked eyes, and in that moment, Moira knew they were forever bonded in a special sort of kinship forged through the fires of hardship and spiritual connection.

  “Her cough is fine, by the way,” Colm called through a mouthful of crumbs. “I’d say by tomorrow she’ll be right as rain.”

  “I’m glad to hear it!” Moira lowered herself onto the wingback chair opposite her friend. “It will be nice to have your company again tending to Áedach—once you feel strong enough, of course.”

  “Aye.” Peg nodded. “I’m looking forward to that as weel, peata. How is the lad, anyway?”

  Moira shrugged. “It’s difficult to say, really. His temperature seems to have stabilized somewhat, but he still hasn’t roused. And then there’s that terrible cough.”

  “The poor créatúr.” A slow, heavy sigh eased from the woman’s lips. “All we can do is keep on wit’ what we know and keep layin’ him at the Laird’s feet.”

  “Amen.” More crumbs accompanied Colm’s fist on the tabletop.

  “Well said, dear friend.” Moira gave Peg’s hand another squeeze. “Speaking of, I’d best be off. I’m hoping to get home a bit earlier this time and enjoy a nice, quiet evening in front of the fire.”

  Colm saw her to the door, and she pulled her cloak tight around her neck as she headed for the main road. Thoughts, prayers, doubts, and worries swirled through her heart and mind as she walked. Prayers for Áedach, prayers for herself, worries about her mother’s secret, and doubts about her own reputation vied for her heart’s attention.

  Just as she rounded the corner onto Áedach’s road, a large blur landed at her feet with a thud. Jumping back with a start, she stumbled, dropping her basket, its contents scattering on the road.

  “Oh, Moi—Miss Doherty.” A strong hand grasped hers. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you so.”

  Moira looked up to see Declan’s eyes, swimming with concern and remorse, staring back at her. She swiped the hair from her forehead with her free hand. “Why, Mr. O’Malley, whatever were you doing?”

  He placed his other hand beneath her elbow, steadying her. Moira tried to ignore the feel of his touch.

  “I . . . I just . . .” His eyes fell to his feet and he offered a sheepish shrug. “I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or slap the man. “Well, I’d say you succeeded.”

  Nervous laughter enveloped them both. Declan gathered her things from the road while she brushed the dirt and moss from her skirts.

  “I truly am sorry.” He handed her the basket. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

  “What did you want to ask?” Glory be, he was handsome.

  “I know you’re off to tend to Áedach.” He paused while she nodded. “And I’ll leave you to do just that. But I wanted to ask if you’d meet me here, right at this spot, this time tomorrow?”

  She stared at him and raised her eyebrows.

  “Maybe not this exact spot.” He eyed the ground where she’d dropped the basket. “But here at the corner. I promise, no tricks or jokes this time. I have a surprise for you.”

  Curiosity mingled with uncertainty at his request. She rearranged the items in her basket. “I don’t know.”

  “Aw, say you will, Miss Doherty?” He removed his cap and bowed deeply at the waist.

  Curiosity and unease played a nauseating game of tug-of-war within her. She had to admit the possibilities of what his surprise could be were intriguing. But then there was also the nagging sense of apprehension she’d felt during her previous encounters with him. Although he had toned down his forward behavior. Ach! How far her mind could wander!

  “Please?” He looked up at her and grinned.

  How could she resist that smile? His giddy, boyish delight tipped the scales in favor of her curiosity. “Oh, alright, Mr. O’Malley.” She dipped a curtsy. “I’ll meet you here this time on the morrow.”

  Declan clapped his hands together. “Lovely. Perfect. Until then, Miss Doherty.” He bowed once more before stepping aside to let her on her way.

  Chapter 43

  Billowy clouds decorated a cornflower sky while myriad questions swirled in Moira’s mind. Ignoring the slight disquiet gnawing at her gut, she wondered anew at what surprise Declan might have in store. It delighted her that he would go to any such lengths. She also noted that Sean had orchestrated no such gesture, grand or small.

  Yes, Sean had happened to be there for some of the more harrowing experiences Moira had been through in Ballymann, but that was more by sheer happenstance than his own design. Besides, it would be rude of her not to at least see what Declan’s surprise was.

  Footfalls on the path behind her broke through Moira’s thoughts. Smiling to herself, she turned on her heel. “You couldn’t wait until tomorr—” But no one was there. She scanned the horizon, examining each rock and tree but found nothing but God’s nature. Sweat prickled her palms and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat. Though she was nearly at her destination, the ailing boy’s hovel would offer little protection from anyone who might be about with sinister intentions. Her pace quickened, and she surprised herself with the speed at which she hopped the wall.

  Blood rushed in her ears, every leaf rustling in the breeze. Taunting her. Even her own footsteps haunted her, tricking her senses into believing a predator was just within reach. Bothering not with the formality of knocking, she thrust the lean-to door open and ducked inside.

  Her breath fighting to escape her lungs, she hunched behind the door and watched through the cracks in its bark for any sign of her follower. When no one appeared after a moment or two, the pounding in her ears subsided and her breathing slowed. She exhaled a sigh of relief and chided her imagination. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, she turned to tend to her patient.

  A shriek escaped her lips, and she fell back against the wall. There sat Áedach, awake, fully alert, and leaning up against the corner.

  The pallor of his skin and labored breaths told her he was not yet well but improving.

  “Áedach.” Moira’s parched tongue could barely eke out his name. She swallowed hard and plastered a smile on her face. “It’s good to see you awake—you gave us quite the fright, you know?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but instead of words a splitting cough broke the silence between them. Moira rushed to his side and offered him a sip of tea from her flask. Between rasps, he eyed the flask warily before searching her face.

  “It’s only tea, I assure you.” She offered it again.

  Taking the container, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed. When it smelled innocent enough, he shrugged and braved a small sip. In a flash he upended the beaker and chugged heartily.

  Moira grabbed his hands, lowering them to his chest. “Easy, lad, easy. You mustn’t drink too much too quickly. I know you’re parched, but small sips every few minutes is best or your stomach will distend.”

  He glowered at her but obeyed, raising the drink to his lips again, this time taking just a nip. Moments passed without another word spoken.

  Moira searched her mind for what to say. Did he know why she was here? Did he remember how she’d left him for so long the first night she’d found him here? Did he mean to harm her?

  “How are you feeling?” she asked at last.

  He grunted. “Like I fell off the top o’ Mount Errigal.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” Stirring the fire back to life, she sighed deeply. “You were quite ill, Áedach. We thought we were going to lose you.”

  “‘We?” His lip curled up at the corner.

  She busied herself looking through her basket of goods, trying to shake the memory of Áedach’s body pressed up against hers when he threatened her at the schoolhouse. “Mrs. Sweeny and I have been treating you. Though I have to say, we didn’t hold out much hope for you at first.”

  “Auld Lady Sweeny, eh?” He shook his head in surprise and attempted a
sarcastic chuckle, but it sent another ripple of hacking coughs through his body, and he had to take another swig of tea to settle it once again.

  “You’ve been unconscious for over a week, lad. You need to take things slowly and rest as much as you can.”

  “A week!” He mashed his eyes with the heel of each hand, as though that would cause him to wake up in a different reality. “I’d o’ never dreamed I’d be nursed back to health by the likes o’ ye.” He shook his head again and raked a hand through his matted hair.

  “Well, I never dreamed I’d be nursing the likes of you back to health either.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He waved a dismissive hand.

  Moira rolled her lips between her teeth while she visually inspected her patient. Clearly his chest still ailed him greatly and needed continued treatment with the poultices. She had no way, however, of knowing if his fever had broken without a proper examination. Caring for the boy when he was unconscious and on the brink of death was one thing. Touching him and being in such close quarters while he was awake was quite another. Though clearly in a weakened state, he was still Áedach, and as far as Moira knew he still held the same ill will toward her as he had a fortnight ago.

  The Lord had called her to care for the lad, hadn’t He? Surely that meant whether he was awake or not. She whispered a prayer for strength and scooted closer to her patient, but she left a foot between them—for propriety’s sake as well as to ease any uncertainty he might hold for her intentions.

  “Áedach, I’m happy to see you awake and talking, but you’re plainly far from fully recovered. I need to see if your temperature has come down. And you need a poultice treatment.”

  He shifted uncomfortably and smoothed his hands over his tattered clothes. At length he nodded and averted his gaze from hers.

  She laid a shaky hand upon his forehead, relieved to discover the searing heat she’d felt from him thus far was gone. “You’ve still a fever, but it’s lower than it was, thanks be to God.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks as she opened his shirt to apply the poultice. Having him awake for the treatments was proving far more awkward than she had expected. After patting his chest thoroughly with the herbs, she placed the poultice in the center of his sternum.

  He looked from the poultice to her and back. “What now?”

  “Well, um—” Now it was her turn to shift nervously.

  “What is it, so? Yer face is the color o’ summer berries. Wha’ else must ya do?”

  “In order to get the full benefits, the herbs must sit on your chest for a good while. I’ll refresh it with hot water a few times in the process.”

  “So . . . we just sit ’ere?”

  “Yes. Usually, though—” Her voice trailed off. She needn’t have been so sheepish.

  “Wha’? Just say it, woman!”

  “Usually, while the herbs do their work, I read aloud to you. From the Scriptures.”

  Áedach pursed his lips and lines creased his brow, showing his confusion.

  Moira produced Peg’s notebook, wagging it in her hand. “I’ve been reading the Bible to you. God’s Word?” His blank stare spoke volumes. She searched her mind for the Gaelic word—she’d heard Peg and Colm use it before. At long last it came to her. “Bíobla. Am I saying that right? I’ve been reading from the Bíobla.”

  Recognition dawned on his face before his eyes clouded and he sank back against the wall once more. “Do wha’ ya like.”

  “We’ve read quite a lot in the Psalms, but I’ve also read some from the book of John—eh, that’s Eoin, I believe?” She looked to him for confirmation but found only a blank stare and furrowed brow. She cleared her throat and read, “‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’” She lifted the poultice from his chest, dipped it in the hot water, squeezed out the excess with her free hand, and placed it back on his chest. “‘For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed on the name of the only begotten Son of God.’”

  “Humph.” Áedach shifted, clearly uncomfortable. She jolted when he snatched the poultice from his chest, flinging it so it landed in the bowl with a plop. Clutching his shirt around himself, he turned away from her.

  Staring at Áedach’s back, the clear path of his spine protruding beneath his rag of a shirt, Moira silently gathered her things to go. She pulled her cape—which lay in a heap at his feet—up to cover his body. After a final stoke of the fire to be sure it wouldn’t go out prematurely, she turned toward the door. As she pushed it open, Áedach stirred.

  “Ye’ll come again amárach, won’t ye, Miss?”

  Moira smiled. “Of course.”

  Chapter 44

  The brisk air refreshed Moira as she twisted and stretched, relieving her back from the ache of crouching in that small space for so long. Rather than getting easier with time, it seemed the aches built one upon the other so each visit was more stiffening than the last. Moira was too grateful, however, to pay much mind to her aching back. Grateful that her patient was on the mend. Grateful that he didn’t seem to mind her tending him, and grateful that he hadn’t tried to harm her while she was there. Perhaps that for which she was most grateful, though, was the chance to share with him—albeit briefly and somewhat begrudgingly on his behalf—that he was loved by God no matter what.

  “Let him hear it, Lord.” She echoed her heart’s cry. “Let him truly know that he is loved.”

  And let me hear it too. The reality of her own shortcomings washed over her anew, and her heart swelled even further at realizing God’s grace.

  Somewhere across the wall, the sound of footsteps returned. Moira’s pulse quickened, and she ran her hand along the back of her neck, coaxing the hairs standing on end back into their place. A scan of the fields surrounding her revealed nothing, and the dimming light of dusk offered no help. Would that it were July rather than early March and the sun would lend its light well close to midnight. Alas, it was sinking into its watery bed at five o’clock.

  She continued down the road, anxious to reach the village center and the opportunity for more people milling about. The footsteps grew louder behind her, picking up speed. Moira started to run but stepped on the hem of her dress, causing her to splay her hands on the road to keep from falling completely. By the time she righted herself, the footsteps were nearly upon her. She chose to face her foe.

  She spun about on one heel and her hand flew to her chest. “Sinead! You gave me such a fright!” Laughter bubbled up and she brushed the dirt and pebbles from her hands. “Why didn’t you call out to me?” Moira reached out to hug her friend. Sinead recoiled from her touch.

  Surely she’s not still cross with me for tending to Áedach?

  Sinead pierced Moira with her gaze. “I see ye’re followin’ in yer mammy’s footsteps, so ya are.” Disgust covered her face, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Moira combed her thoughts, trying to reconcile what exactly Sinead could mean by such a remark.

  Judgment and disdain dripped from the laugh that rolled off Sinead’s tongue. “Ye were in there an awful lang time, Moira dearie.” She looked Moira up and down. “In a single lad’s shanty, alone? Ye were certainly in there lang enough for—” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Just how exactly are ya nursin’ puir Áedach back to health, eh?”

  The accusation hit Moira like a slap in the face. “How dare you! How could you think I would ever do such a thing?” Hands shaking, Moira smoothed a hank of hair from her face. “If you’d have listened more closely, you’d have known the extent of my nursing duties was the application of an herbal poultice and reading from the Good Book.” Bile swirled at the back of her throat.

  “So ya say.”
Sinead circled Moira slowly. “All I know is Ballymann’s teacher spent an extended amount of time alone with one of her male pupils. It seems to me, Moira Darrty, perhaps the rumors about yer mammy weren’t so unfounded ’tall.”

  Moira gasped, gripping the handle of her basket tightly to keep from pummeling Sinead where she stood. Splinters from the basket pricked her skin. “Say what you will, Sinead, but you know I would never dream of such a thing.” Tears stung her eyes, but she continued. “Think back to our time together in our better days—days not so long ago. You know me.”

  “Turns out I don’ know ye as well as I thought I did. I wonder how the good folk of Ballymann would feel about this turn o’ events? I’d venture ta guess they wouldn’t want such a filthy tart fillin’ the wee minds of Gweedore’s best an’ brightest.”

  Stunned, Moira turned in silence and walked toward the town. Did Sinead really believe Moira to be so indiscreet? Surely others would believe the truth of what she was doing with Áedach. But what if they didn’t?

  “Don’ think I won’t say anythin’,” Sinead called after her. “Ye watch yerself, Moira Darrty. Watch yerself, an’ watch yer back.”

  How had her life come to this? In Ireland barely a month and she had already been avoiding shopping at the market in order to escape the whispers and stares. But with her supplies running low, she knew she would have to face the McGonigles sometime. “One of the joys of small-town living,” she muttered to the emptiness. “Only one place from which to buy your groceries.”

  “You know, they say talkin’ to yerself is either a sign of brilliance or insanity.” Sean was leaning against the rock wall at the corner of the main road. His legs stretched long in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His arms overlapped at his chest, and a playful smile was on his lips. How good it was to see him. How safe.

  She offered him a weak smile. “I sure feel like I’m losing my mind today.”

  Concern flashed across his face and he rose to his feet. “Is everythin’ alright?” He glanced down the road behind her, the muscle in his jaw working back and forth. “Did somethin’ happen with Áedach?” Ruddy stubble peeked out along his jawline. His green eyes were as clear as the reflection of spring hills in a calm lake. How could she have forgotten how handsome he was?