A Dance in Donegal

by Jennifer Deibel

  The door eased open, and a wash of warmth and light flooded the room. “Oh, peata, ye’re awake.” Peg’s soothing hand brushed Moira’s hair from her face as she finished emptying her stomach. Though embarrassed at her state, Moira was grateful for her friend’s presence.

  “Just take it easy,” Peg crooned. “Ye’ll be wantin’ to go slow now at first.”

  Gingerly, Moira pushed against the side of the bed to sit up. The throbbing in her head instantly intensified, and she lay back down. Every muscle in her body ached, and her legs felt as if they’d been ripped from her torso.

  “Peg? What happened? How did I get here?”

  Peg’s eyes, filled with compassion, looked over her face. She offered a sad smile. “Sean and Colm brought ye here. Ye were attacked, peata. In the halla. D’ye have any memory of it?”

  Declan’s stubbled face and the stench of his breath flashed in her memory. She turned her face to the wall. “Yes, yes I do. I’d hoped it was a nightmare.” A few tears slid down her cheeks, wetting the pillowcase beneath her. Sean and Colm had seen her . . . like that?

  “Oh, dearie.” Peg stroked her hand. “I’m so very sorry. This should never have happened to ye.”

  “No, it shouldn’t have.” Though she wanted nothing more than to hide away from the world forever, Moira forced herself to turn and look at Peg. “I never should have gone in there with him, Peg. I was so foolish.”

  “If ya don’t mind me askin’, love, why did ye?”

  Heat burned behind Moira’s eyes, and she licked her lips while she searched for just how much to tell her friend. “Decl—er—Mr. O’Malley had asked me to meet him at the corner of Áedach’s road. He had a surprise for me.”

  Confusion flashed on Peg’s face, but she nodded, encouraging Moira to continue.

  “At first I was flattered, you know? He’d been so charming.”

  Peg tipped her head to the side, eyes narrowed, obviously not sharing Moira’s original opinion.

  “But,” Moira continued, “as the time drew near, I realized something. I saw how foolish I was being and decided I needed to make it clear I wasn’t interested in anyone except . . . That I wasn’t interested in a friendship or anything else with him.” She shuddered. “Not wanting to appear rude, I met him there to tell him that I no longer wanted his company, because my heart belongs to—”

  Sean knocked on the doorframe and entered the room. Moira clamped her mouth closed and searched for what she could say next.

  “I’m so glad to see ya awake, Miss Doherty.” Sean’s green eyes bore into hers.

  She dipped her head. “Thank you, Mr. McFadden.” Did he know all that had happened? Surely he’d never accept her now that . . . now that she had been attacked in such an intimate way.

  “Moira was just telling me how she had come to be in the halla with Mr. O’Malley.” Peg looked from Sean back to Moira. “You were saying he’d asked you to meet him, because he had a surprise for you. And you’d agreed only to tell him, what, my dear?”

  Moira wished the bed would open up and swallow her whole. Must Sean stay for this part of the story? When he pulled a chair from the hallway and took a seat next to Peg, Moira knew there was no escaping it. As mortifying as it was to admit her foolishness, she didn’t have to admit to them why she didn’t want to pursue Declan’s friendship any longer.

  She cleared her throat. “That I no longer wished to keep his company.” She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. “When I got to the corner where we were supposed to meet, I found a slip of paper with my name on it and an arrow pointing north.”

  “And you followed it?” Sean’s voice cracked with disbelief.

  She looked away from his intense gaze. “Yes, I did. I see now how foolish it was of me, but I truly just wanted to say my piece to him and be done with it.”

  “It’s alright, peata.” Peg patted her hand and offered Sean a sidelong glance. “Go on.”

  “The night Mr. O’Malley walked me home—after you left us, Sean, after we’d been to Áedach’s house—I had told him how I’d longed to see the halla. I thought he’d wanted to . . . to make a dream come true for me. I was so very wrong.”

  Peg and Sean sat silent, waiting for her to continue.

  “I was wary at first, but when I got a glimpse from the doorway, I couldn’t help but go inside. I’d waited my whole life to see it. Once inside, however, Declan got angry when I told him I didn’t want to see him any longer, and he—” Moira stopped her story there, wishing to leave the shameful details unspoken.

  “Well,” Peg said at length, “ye’re right that ye shouldna gone inside there with him—with any man—alone. But that doesna mean you desairved what he did to ye. Thanks be to God, Colm and Sean came along when they did before—”

  Moira’s breath caught in her chest, and she clutched the bedcovers to her neck. She remembered falling, hitting her head, blacking out. Had Declan not then run off, stopped his attack?

  Sean’s face reddened and he worked his hat between his hands. “Aye, we heard ye scream and rushed in. I pulled him off o’ ye.”

  Then he knows? Sean knows the depth of my shame? No wonder his eyes held such anger. There’s no hiding the truth from him now, and he certainly won’t want a woman who’s been ravaged.

  “I’m quite tired,” she managed at last. “Thank you both for your visit. And thank you, Mr. McFadden, for your help. I do believe you saved my life.” She gingerly turned on her side to face the wall again, fighting to keep the sobs from rocking her body until she knew she was alone.

  “I’ll come back in a wee while with some broth and tea for ye.” Peg kissed her temple and quit the room.

  “Just rest now.” Sean’s voice was thick—with emotion or anger, Moira couldn’t tell. “We need you well. All of us.”

  The door closed, and all the tears and shame she’d been holding in burst forth in wracking sobs that sent excruciating pain through her entire being. She welcomed the pain. It was the payment for the foolishness that had cost her the love of a good man. And very nearly her life.

  Chapter 48

  Moira awoke to the sound of the door scraping open and the soothing scent of tea arriving just ahead of Peg, who set a tray of tea and brown bread on a small table and took the seat next to the bed.

  “How’re ya feeling, love?” Peg poured a steaming cup. Moira watched the steam float and swirl until it disappeared long before reaching the thatched ceiling.

  “I’m alright.” Moira sighed. “My body will heal, but I’m not so sure about my pride. How could I have been so foolish, Peg?”

  “Tsk! Ya need to give yerself the same grace ye’ve shown to yer patient doon the road.” She handed the cup to Moira. “Ye were only tryin’ to do right by yerself and Mr. O’Malley. Ye couldn’t have known what he was plannin’ to do.”

  “I should’ve known better.” She sipped the hot tea, letting its comforting warmth soothe her body and spirit. “I just . . . it’s that halla. I’ve dreamed of seeing it ever since Mother first told me the stories about the dances when I was a little girl.”

  “I know.” Peg nodded. “Nostalgia can be a powerful draw. But there’s no sense in beatin’ yerself up over something tha’ canna be changed now. Ye need to focus on getting better and getting back to what the Laird has for ya to do here.”

  Moira laughed the doubtful scoff of one no longer sure of the truth.

  “You listen to me, Moira Doherty. God didna bring ye here only to abandon ye now. I don’t know why He allowed what happened to ye, but I know He doesna waste a thing. Don’t let this harden yer heart. Let Him use this to heal you more deeply than ye ever thought possible.”

  Use this to heal? She nodded at Peg but questioned in her heart what possible good could come out of losing everything she held dear.

  “Now, ya just rest, eat yer broth, and drink yer tea. We’ll have ye right as rain afore too long. We don’t want Áedach floundering out there on his own, do we?”

  “Áed
ach!” Moira threw the covers from the bed. “I told him I’d be back.”

  Peg eased Moira back onto the bed. “It’s alright, pet, it’s alright. Bríd looked after ye while Colm and I saw to Áedach these last few days.”

  “Days?” The room began to spin.

  “Ye were asleep for two days after the attack. Just rest now.”

  Two days? Nothing in her world made sense any longer. Thank God for good folk like Bríd, Peg, and Colm. Moira ached at the idea of Áedach waiting for her, wondering if she’d abandoned him like everyone else.

  She relaxed at the thought that Colm and Peg were sure to continue to care for the lad with compassion and kindness, just as she would. And they could definitely be counted upon to continue reading Scripture to him.

  Open his heart to You, Lord. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the room began to fade. Let Áedach know You. Save him. And save me.

  Sean paced in front of the Sweenys’ fireplace, his cup of tea long forgotten on the table. Duffy had gone into Moira’s room an hour ago. How much more could there be to tell? It had been nearly a week since the attack, and Sean had only seen Moira in fleeting glimpses. When he tried to speak with her, she kept her answers short and void of detail, and would then require a nap, which cut their conversations even shorter.

  He wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in his arms and promise to protect her for the rest of his life, but she seemed bent on keeping him at arm’s length. Of course, he knew she would need time to heal—emotionally as much as physically—and he was willing to wait as long as it took. But having her push him away was killing him more and more each day.

  “Sit doon and drink yer tea, lad.” Colm was buttering his third piece of bread. “Ye’re makin’ even the mice nairvous.”

  Sean gestured toward the room. “How long is Duffy going to take in there? Surely he has enough evidence to convict O’Malley?”

  Colm shrugged and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “These things are quite delicate, ya know. There’s nothin’ more ye can do but wait.”

  Resigned to his fate, Sean sat at the table and took a sip of his now-tepid tea before pushing the cup and saucer away from him. He jumped to his feet at the sound of the bedroom door opening and Duffy’s feet scuffing the hallway.

  “’Tis done.” Duffy eyed the teapot and slices of brown bread on the table.

  “Ye’ll have a cuppa before ye go, aye?” Colm was already pouring the tea.

  “Ye’re a good man yerself, Colm.” Duffy licked his lips and accepted the cup.

  “So?” Sean wanted to shake answers out of the officer.

  Duffy looked at Sean from the corner of his eye, then he finished his tea in one go. He raised his eyebrows, questioning.

  “Do ye have enough to convict O’Malley?” Sean asked.

  Duffy set his mouth in a firm line and nodded. “Aye, we do. From the looks o’ the bruising on Miss Doherty, ’tis clear she was on the defensive.”

  Sean combed his fingers through his hair. At least the cur would pay for his crime. “Thank you, Officer.”

  Duffy helped himself to a slice of brown bread and saluted Sean and Colm with it before taking his leave.

  Sean pressed his palms into the table and hung his head. As glad as he was Declan was going to suffer the consequences of his actions, there was still nothing Sean could do to stave off the pain and humiliation Moira endured.

  Another scuff in the hallway caught his attention. He looked up to see Moira standing in the doorway. Her skin was pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. A large bruise covered most of what showed of her left arm, and her thick black hair was plaited over her shoulder, keeping it away from the wound on the back side of her head, no doubt.

  Peg came sweeping around the corner behind her. “Look who wanted to venture into the land o’ the livin’!”

  With careful steps, Moira made her way to one of the chairs in front of the fire, wincing as she lowered herself to sit. “I couldn’t have my gracious hosts thinking me rude, now, could I?” Despite the pain evidenced by the deepened lines around her face, her eyes maintained a hint of humor, or perhaps mere civility.

  “Welcome back.” Sean clasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out to stroke the top of her head, or wrapping her into an embrace.

  Moira nodded and offered a polite smile, her gaze lingering on his face for only a moment before turning to the fire.

  Peg patted Sean on the shoulder as she passed by and whispered, “Give her some time. She’ll come ’round.”

  He sighed. “I’m so very glad to see you on the mend, Miss Doherty. I must be off to see to our customers. I leave ye in the good care of our friends here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McFadden.” She barely glanced his way. “Good day to you.”

  Sean quit the room, welcoming the cold sting of the March morning air and vowing to do whatever it took to keep from losing Moira’s heart for good.

  Chapter 49

  Moira stared at the doorway Sean exited through as though she could watch him disappear over the hill.

  Forgive me, Sean. Don’t give up on me yet.

  “Now, peata, ye’ll have some broth.” Peg handed the steaming bowl to Moira. Compassion and kindness shone in her eyes, as always. “Would ye like a report on how yer own patient fares?”

  After taking a moment to savor the rich, comforting liquid, Moira set her spoon down eagerly. “Oh, yes, please, Peg. How is Áedach?”

  “The lad continues to improve.” Peg lowered herself into the chair across from Moira. “A slight fever’s still on him and the cough lingers, but his face isn’t so wan and he’s taken some broth and tea.”

  Relief washed over Moira. “Thanks be to God.”

  “Indeed!” Colm agreed from the table behind her.

  “Ya havna heard the best part.” A grin spread across the older woman’s face. “I was in such a state of concern over ye a couple days past, that I saw to his ablutions and treatments and bade him farewell. He stopped me afore I could get out the door. You won’t believe what he asked me.” Peg paused for dramatic effect.

  Moira leaned forward in her chair, ignoring the ache in her hips. “What? What did he ask?”

  “He looked right at me and he says, ‘Will ye not read ta me from the Bíobla, Mrs. Sweeny?’” Peg cackled and slapped her knee. “Can ye believe that?”

  Tears sprang to Moira’s eyes and she bowed her head in awe. “The Lord is willing that none should perish. Thank You, God.”

  “Well said, peata.” Peg patted Moira’s hand tenderly. “There’s one more thing.”

  Moira raised her eyes to meet Peg’s, lifting her brows in question.

  “The lad’s been askin’ fer ye,” Colm said through a cloud of crumbs.

  “Me?” Moira spun about in her chair and winced from the shooting pain in her head. “Whatever does he want with me?”

  “He wouldna say,” Colm continued, circling around to stand in front of her. “I’ve made it clear that it would be a wee while afore ye could make the journey there—but I’ve only told him that ye’re unwell, not why ye’re unwell. But when ye feel up to it, Peg and me’ll go wit’ ye.”

  Moira sank back into the chair, her tea and broth forgotten. Questions swirled in her mind. If the lad had been asking to be read to from the Bible, surely his reasons for wanting to see her wouldn’t be sinister in nature. It was hard for Moira to imagine Áedach preferring her care over Peg’s—Peg had such a gentle and nurturing way about her, as Moira had been blessed to experience firsthand.

  For a brief moment, she entertained the idea of venturing out to Áedach’s that afternoon, but when she rose to return to her bed, the throbbing in her head and aching in her joints convinced her to wait.

  Once back in bed, Moira slid Peg’s ledger from the bedside table and thumbed the pages. How kind of Peg to leave it with her. She opened to the book of John, where she’d left off with Áedach, and continued reading.

  “For God sent not
his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” Fresh tears stung her eyes. Wasn’t she condemned already? Condemned to a life defending against rumors and whispers dragging her character and that of her mother through the mud. Condemned to live with the physical and emotional scars of her foolish behavior. Condemned to lose the man she loved because she was conned by a handsome face and a beguiling smile. She read the words again.

  “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.” Peg entered the room with Moira’s forgotten broth and a fresh pot of tea. She sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at the verses Moira was pondering. She reached up with a tender hand, rough and calloused from a lifetime of service in her home, and wiped tears from Moira’s cheeks.

  “’Tis a powerful idea, aye?”

  Moira nodded.

  “I remember when it first dawned on me what God was truly sayin’,” Peg continued. “It doesna matter what the world says I am. It doesna matter even what I believe myself to be—and I have some dark thoughts when it comes to me own heart, to be sure. If I believe in the Laird Jesus Christ, and what He did fer me, I canna be condemned.”

  Moira picked at a fingernail.

  Peg hooked a finger under Moira’s chin and raised her face to look at her with the tenderness of a mother. “I know ye feel responsible for what happened, but ye canna live in defeat. Ye love the Laird, and ye follow hard after Him. Not a man on earth can condemn ye. Besides, no woman desairves what happened to ye.”

  Moira wasn’t entirely convinced, but as she looked at Peg and the sincerity shining in her eyes, gratitude washed over her for this unexpected friendship. “Thank you.”