A Dance in Donegal

by Jennifer Deibel

  Chapter 50

  Moira squinted as she stepped out in the bright sunlight. After so long indoors, she greeted the fresh air like an old friend. Most of the pain had subsided, and the gash in her head no longer throbbed with each movement. Occasional flashes still haunted her memory with images she’d rather forget, but even those were coming with less frequency and intensity.

  Peg’s arm linked through hers, and Colm tipped his hat at the women. “Shall we?” His eyes sparkled in the bright March sun.

  The air still held a bit of a chill, but the harshness of winter had mostly departed. Moira’s heart felt light for the first time in weeks.

  “After you, m’lord.” Moira curtsied dramatically. The trio laughed and set off toward Áedach’s.

  As they passed the halla, Moira paused. It didn’t look near as dark or foreboding as it had in her dreams of late. A gaggle of women buzzed about the place, hanging window boxes and sweeping leaves.

  Peg patted Moira’s hand. “They’re startin’ preparations for the grand Paddy’s Day céilí.”

  Moira nodded.

  “Ye don’t have to go, ya know, peata. I know the halla holds dark memories for ye.”

  “Indeed it does.” Moira heaved a sigh. “At the same time, I’ve dreamed of dancing at a céilí in that halla since I was a little girl. I pray God gives me the strength to attend.” She looked down at the traveling dress she’d worn the first day she rode into town. It was faded and the cuffs were fraying. It was her only gown now. The one Declan had torn asunder was beyond repair—or so Peg had said. Not that she could bring herself to wear it again anyway.

  Moira’s heart sank at the thought of attending the céilí in so drab a garment, but her gratitude to God for sparing her life outweighed the disappointment—most of the time.

  The trio reached Áedach’s hovel. The door was open and smoke circled up from the entrance. Moira knocked on a stone near the door. “May I come in?”

  “Aye, Miss. Please do,” Áedach said from within.

  Moira looked from Peg to Colm and back.

  “We’ll wait out here for a few minutes.” Colm took hold of Peg’s hand. “But we’re only a step away should ye need us.”

  Moira nodded and ducked inside.

  Áedach was sitting up. More color filled his face than she’d seen even before he’d fallen ill. A small fire crackled in the corner, and Moira’s cloak—which had remained with the lad since her first visit—was folded neatly by the door. The odor of sick and sweat had wafted away through the open door, for which Moira was exceedingly grateful.

  “Áedach.” Moira smiled. “You look so well! I’m happy to see you up and with such color to your cheeks.”

  Áedach tried to hide a grin and looked at his bare feet, which he then tucked up underneath himself.

  “Colm and Peg said that you’d asked for me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Aye, marm.” He drew swirls in the dirt floor with his fingertip. “I just . . . I wanted to say t’anks. Yas didn’t have to do what ye done. Especially after the way I treated ye.”

  At a loss for words, Moira nodded. “It was my honor.”

  “Why?”

  Moira jumped at the intensity of his voice.

  “Why’d ye do it, like? Ye could’ve just let me be. Let me . . . die. Why’d ye go out o’ yer way to care for me?”

  Moira shifted into a more comfortable position, crossing her legs beneath her. “It’s quite simple, really. God told me to.”

  Creases spread across his forehead. “Wha’?”

  Moira laughed. “You did treat me horribly, Áedach. I won’t be shy in saying so. I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to leave you here on your own. But God”—she paused, choosing her next words carefully—“He reminded me that none of us are perfect. The Bible says all have done wrong, or we’ve left good undone. But He forgives us and loves us just the same. My heart was just as dark as yours when I . . . hesitated to help you in your time of need.”

  Moira squeezed her eyes tight, the pain and disgrace striking anew at how close she’d come to playing such a key part in a young man’s death. “Don’t you see, Áedach? God has been so generous with His love and mercy for me, I couldn’t help but extend the same to you.”

  Áedach pursed his lips and nodded, staring a thousand miles away. “I canna say I totally understand, Miss.” He shrugged. “But I’m grateful. And . . . I’m sorry.”

  Colm poked his head in the door. “Are we interruptin’?”

  Moira laughed. “Not at all, Colm. Come in.”

  Colm ducked inside while Peg poked her head in the door, holding a packet wrapped in muslin cloth and tied with a string. “Just a wee somethin’ for the lad, now he’s feelin’ better.” A broad smile graced Peg’s face.

  Áedach’s eyes widened, and he pointed to his chest. “Fer me?”

  “Aye, lad.” Colm laughed. “We canna have ye fallin’ ill again after these women worked so hard ta nurse ye back to health.”

  Slowly, as if in a stupor, Áedach untied the string and opened the cloth packet. The muslin was that of a new shirt. It was wrapped around a new pair of breeches and a hearty woolen jumper, the same fleecy white color as the lambs dotting the Donegal hillsides. His jaw fell open. “Gabh raibh mile maith agaibh.” He ran his fingers over the soft fabrics. “I’ve never had the likes o’ these in my life. I don’t desairve such a gift.”

  Colm chuckled. “It’s a grand good thing the Laird doesna give any of us what we really desairve.”

  Moira fought to keep her own composure. How did Colm and Peg afford such a lavish gift?

  “Come now, let’s give the lad some privacy to dress.” Peg motioned for Moira and Colm to join her out of doors.

  Once out in the cool breeze, Moira gaped at her friends, her hands spread wide. “How on earth?”

  The couple shared an endearing glance and burst into laughter. “I’ve been knitting that jumper for Colm for months. When we learned of Áedach’s condition, and certainly after we’d visited, we both knew that jumper was meant for the lad. The rest of the clothes were bartered for easily enough.”

  “Yet another benefit o’ my trade.” Colm rocked on his heels, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You two never cease to amaze me.” Moira shook her head.

  The door scraped open, and Áedach cleared his throat. He stooped through the door, squinting and raising his hand to block the sunlight. After a few weeks in that dark hovel, Moira could only imagine the shock of stepping outside. He stood for a moment, hunched with a hand over his face. When he finally straightened, blinking, he held his hands out. “Well, what d’ye t’ink?”

  Peg clasped her hands over her mouth and fawned over the lad. “Don’t ye look breá!”

  Áedach’s cheeks reddened.

  “Oh!” Colm jumped. “I nearly forgot.” He grabbed his satchel and pulled out a pair of shoes. The leather was slightly faded, but the soles and laces were in good condition. “They’re nothin’ fancy, but they’ll keep yer cosa dry.”

  Reluctantly, Áedach reached out for the shoes. He turned them over and over in his hands before leaning against the wall to slip them on. The thin leather reached up over his ankles and hugged his feet as he tied them snugly. He sniffled and ran the back of his hand across his nose. “I’ve no way to repay ye.”

  “Och!” Colm waved a meaty hand through the air. “’Tis a gift, lad!”

  Áedach shook his head. “I just wish—oh wait.” He ducked back inside, and in a flash returned with a small paper in his hand. He held it up for the group to see. Intricate swirls and knots filled the page. “It’s nuttin’, really.” He shifted his feet back and forth. “Just a bit o’ doodles with the burnt end of a twig. I saw them on a rock once and just copied them down from memory when I was alone.”

  Moira, Colm, and Peg moved closer to get a better look. A spiral swirl filled each corner of the paper, and a knot of three unbroken triangles filled the center.

  P
eg smiled. “’Tis the trinity knot. How fitting.”

  Moira gingerly ran her finger over the knot representing the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, taking care not to smudge the drawing. “It’s lovely, Áedach.”

  “’Tis my gift to ye.” He shrugged. “After all ye’ve done, it’s the least I can do.”

  Colm gave Áedach’s shoulder a fatherly squeeze. “Ya don’t owe us a thing, lad. But if ye do nothing else but spread this kind o’ love to others, I’ll be happy.”

  Áedach smiled and offered his hand to Colm, who shook it heartily.

  Peg wrapped an arm around Moira’s shoulders and squeezed.

  What a mighty God You are.

  Chapter 51

  It was the first real spring-like day of the year, and Ballymann shone like a new ha’penny. The gales had retreated back over the mountains, leaving in their stead a gentle breeze that set the budding flowers swaying.

  Moira had never seen so many people bustling about the village center. Folk lingered in doorways and strolled in the streets. Instead of people rushing from this place to that, faces down against the wind, smiles greeted every passerby and laughter floated through the air. Life had returned to the seaside village, and with it the joy that had been tucked away to endure the long, dark months of winter.

  Ignoring the stares at her fading bruises and hushed voices whispering of her suspected character flaws, Moira smiled at the whole of the town as she made her way to help with the preparations for the upcoming Paddy’s Day celebration.

  Despite the gleesome weather, apprehension niggled at Moira. She’d not returned to the halla since that horrible day, and the haunting memories threatened to keep her away for good. But if she did that, she’d be allowing Declan to steal an even deeper part of her. The idea of redemption spurred her on toward the building, praying for strength all the way.

  However, when she arrived at the halla, she gasped at the sights that greeted her. The walls, freshly whitewashed, gleamed in the spring sunshine. Window boxes overflowed with flowers of every color. It was as if the halla itself had washed itself clean from the horrific events and offered Moira the chance to do the same. Colm and Sean perched at the top of the roof, cleaning up the thatch and patching any weak spots. Peg came bustling around the corner, chatting away with Bríd. Both women carried wide baskets full of flowers.

  “Moira, beag !” Bríd all but dropped her basket and ran to embrace Moira. She cupped Moira’s face in her hands. “How are ya, dear? Peg’s told me ye’ve had a rough time of it.”

  Moira smiled. “Yes, I’m fine now, thanks. It’s so wonderful to see you.”

  “What d’ye think of our wee halla here? Isn’t she lovely?”

  Moira looked over the building once more, the renewed exterior mirroring the renewing God was doing in her own heart. “Yes, yes she is.”

  In the distance, Moira caught a glimpse of a strikingly elegant woman. Her lavender gown flowed flawlessly to the ground, and her silvery hair was piled in an intricate weave of plaits on her head.

  “That’s Lady Williams,” Bríd whispered in her ear. “The widow of one of the great landlords of Donegal. Sent here from Britain, they ruled their tenants with great kindness—something that canna be said for all the landlords we’ve seen. Wonder why she’s out today? We rarely catch a glimpse of the woman.”

  “At one point, way back when yer mam was still here, the Lady claimed her daughter was promised to marry John Adair—son of Cornelia Wadsworth, owner of Glenveagh Castle,” Peg added. “But we never saw or heard any evidence to that. The man only visited a handful of times during his summer holidays from his studies abroad.”

  Moira nodded, keeping her eyes on the beautiful older woman in the distance.

  Bríd’s eyes clouded. “Yer mammy met him once. When she worked at the castle.”

  Moira and Peg looked at Bríd, bewilderment painted on their faces.

  Bríd waved her hand as though swatting the memory away like a fly and then linked her arm in Moira’s. The three women headed around the side of the building to fill the window boxes and planters lining the walls on the ground. All the while Moira felt Lady Williams’s eyes boring into the back of her head.

  As the women worked, they chatted about the weather and the upcoming celebrations, before circling back to the weather. It seemed no matter if the weather was horrid or beautiful, the Irish could talk of little else. With the laughter of her friends echoing in her ears, Moira became keenly aware all other talking and movement had ceased.

  Following the gaze of the rest of the crowd, Moira saw Áedach shuffling up the road, proudly wearing his new togs. As he approached the halla, one mother quietly nudged her daughter behind her. Others watched in silence, falling back a step or two, scowls darkening their faces. Without a word, Áedach smiled and dipped his head toward Moira and her friends, picked up a broom that had been abandoned on the ground, and began sweeping the path leading to the halla’s door.

  Moira and Peg looked at each other, eyebrows raised, smiles playing at the corners of their lips. Bríd, unaware of all that had transpired between the lad and Moira and the Sweenys, took a protective stance in front of Moira.

  “It’s alright, Bríd.” Moira laughed. She stepped out from around the corner and walked right up to the lad. “Good morning, Áedach.” She smiled warmly at him.

  Whispers rippled throughout the crowd. Moira couldn’t hear everything that was said, but she could hear enough. Brazen. Hussy. Tairt.

  In thee, Lord, do I trust. I am not afraid. What can man do to me?

  “It’s good of you to come.” She smiled as sweetly as she was able.

  Áedach looked around and hung his head. “Ye don’t hafta talk wit’ me, Miss. I know what folk t’ink o’ me.”

  “Seafóid!” She waved her hand through the air as she practiced the Irish word for nonsense Colm had taught her.

  Áedach’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open. The two burst into laughter. “Aye, Miss.” He bobbed his head. “I just wanted ta help. After all the trouble I caused, it seems only right.” He shrugged and continued sweeping.

  “You’re a good lad.” She patted his shoulder and turned back toward her flowers just as Peg was approaching.

  “Good morn’, lad.” Peg smiled and placed a motherly hand on the boy’s shoulder. A new wave of whispers rippled through the bystanders, though not a single foul sentiment was uttered. “Keep up the good work.” She patted his shoulder and turned back to her own duties.

  As though Peg’s example defused the anger of the crowd, each one resumed their work. Some nodded slightly to Áedach, some merely softened their expressions as they picked up their spades or paintbrushes or sacks of spuds.

  Moira stole a glance at the roof just in time to see Colm wink down at Peg, and Peg blow a sly kiss to her husband. Sean stood, silhouetted by the sun behind him, looking down at Moira. One hand rested on his hip, the other draped over the tall handle of his spade. With his face shrouded in shadow, Moira couldn’t read his expression, but his stance looked to be one of dismay. Was he cross with her for interacting with Áedach in public? It seemed every move she made only served to drive him further away.

  Even as her heart ached to call him down and talk through the chasm that stretched between them, she offered a polite nod and returned to helping Peg and Bríd plant the last of the flowers.

  Sean shook his head in disbelief, watching Moira engage Áedach in conversation in front of half the village.

  Even after all she’s been through, compassion reigns supreme.

  She had looked up at him, and their eyes had locked, but the smile on his face seemed to make little impression on her. A sadness filled her eyes that cut Sean to the core, and he stood atop that thatched roof wondering what he’d done to distance her so.

  “She’s a remarkable lass.” Colm stood next to him, hand on his shoulder.

  “Aye.” Sean watched her take her place with Peg and Bríd and continue planting flowers, workin
g the dirt with her lithe fingers, using as much care with the tender shoots as he’d seen her use with everyone who’d crossed her path. “That she is.” Sean felt Colm’s stare, and he turned to meet it.

  A playful smile tickled the corners of Colm’s mouth. “There’s more work to be done, lad.”

  More work than you know, man. God, give me wisdom.

  Chapter 52

  Whispered voices carried on the breeze as Moira made her way to Áedach’s home later that afternoon. Clear skies stretched overhead, but the air held more bite as the sun hung low over the horizon. “I won’t be long,” Moira had told Peg as she departed from the halla. “I just want to see how he fares after a full day of activity.”

  As she approached, the voices grew louder.

  “Ye’ve got it all wrong, it’s not like that ’tall!” Áedach’s voice was laced with intensity.

  “Bah!” The second voice was familiar, but Moira couldn’t attach a name to it. “She is as I say, lad. She’s a disgrace, an’ she comes from disgrace. Stick wit’ the plan!”

  Moira ducked behind the large oak tree, guilt nagging the pit of her stomach for eavesdropping.

  “I . . . I can’t! She’s been so kind to me. If ye’d just listen,” Áedach pleaded.

  “No!” The second man’s raspy voice echoed through the valley. “Keep to the plan. I’ll not say it again. That woman runnin’ her mouth ruined my life. We will—we must—devastate her.”

  “But, Uncle!”

  The door swung open and Moira ducked below the wall. Peeking through an opening between the stones, she could see the hunched silhouette of an old man shuffling out of the hovel and heading farther out into the field. He turned back to Áedach. “Ye know yer task. Set yer tongue a’waggin’.”

  The last of the fading sunlight illuminated the man’s wrinkled face, a wayward tooth protruding from his lips.

  Buach! Moira clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Buach is Áedach’s uncle?