A Dance in Donegal

by Jennifer Deibel

  Chapter 60

  Music and laughter greeted Moira when she returned to the Sweeny house. She felt refreshed from her time of reflection, and a smile lit her face, despite the grief still gripping her heart. So many friends, neighbors, and even people from neighboring villages filled the house, Moira could hardly fit inside the door.

  Sinead met her and pulled her into the throng, placing a kiss on each cheek when she finally got close enough. “Wha’ d’ye think? Quite the party, aye?”

  “Quite!” Moira laughed. “I thought this was a funeral.”

  “Oh aye, ’tis!” Sinead bobbed in time with the lively reel pulsing from the sitting room. “Give me an Irish wake over an’ Irish weddin’ any day!”

  Moira’s eyes grew wide. “Truly?”

  “Oh, aye! The wake is a celebration. O’course folk are sad and there are tears and all that. But they send their loved one off wit’ joy and gratitude for a life well lived. And we celebrate tha’ we got to be a part of it—even if it was over too soon.”

  “And the wedding?” Moira couldn’t imagine a funeral being more joyful than a wedding.

  “Oh, there’s love and happiness and all.” Sinead rolled her eyes. “But we take our marriage vows very serious, like. It’s a happy occasion but very somber.”

  Moira nodded, then caught sight of Peg. She greeted her with a hug and offered her condolences once again.

  Peg’s eyes were red and black shadows grew beneath them, but she bore a smile. “My Colm woulda loved this, ya know?” She looked around, tears pooling again.

  “I know.” Moira took Peg’s hand in hers and squeezed.

  Just then, the door to the room where Colm lay in repose opened. The three neighbor women emerged from the room and led the crowd outside. Peg stood next to the outside door, Moira next to her. With slow, even steps, Sean and the three men from the day before carried Colm’s body out of the house. Once outside, their pace quickened greatly. The musicians fell in line behind the men, Peg behind them, and the rest of the crowd followed.

  The journey, though only to the next road over, was an arduous one. The crowd continued their songs and stories as they walked, but Moira struggled to keep pace. Why didn’t they use a cart to carry the body to the church and gravesite? Her breaths came in ragged puffs as she purposed to stay with the group.

  Sinead glanced at her, a knowing smile on her lips. “If ye think this part’s bad,” Sinead spoke into Moira’s ear as though reading her thoughts, “wait ’til the walk to the reilig.” She gestured across the main road toward the ocean. The gray spires and Celtic crosses of the graveyard jutted into the air. How had Moira never noticed it before?

  Not located next to the church where Moira had expected, the cemetery was on a hillock right by the ocean. Moira could see the narrow footpath that zigzagged around the bottom and wound its way upward. She couldn’t fathom having to carry a coffin on such a path.

  When the party finally reached the church, they were greeted by the priest, his face solemn and his few wispy hairs flapping in the wind. He led the congregation inside, and the service began.

  Though lasting only three quarters of an hour, the ceremony was lovelier than Moira had imagined—despite not being able to understand any of it because every word was in Irish. Moira was moved, once again, by the depth of care that surrounded Peg and the strength of heart Peg displayed. Though she knew the days and weeks to come would be the real test for Peg, Moira couldn’t help but feel with such a support system in place, her friend would be alright.

  As they huffed along to the graveyard, Moira’s feet stepped over and around stones and roots that jutted out of the rutted pathway that was barely wide enough for three people across. No wonder they don’t use a horse and cart.

  When they finally reached the top of the hillock, Moira sucked in a breath. Áedach stood by the open grave, his hair whipping wildly in the wind that had picked up during the service.

  The congregation murmured and two men went around the back of two large gravestones and grabbed the lad, holding his arms behind his back. “What did ye know of yer uncle’s plans?” one of them growled.

  “Nothing! Not until it was all over, anyway.”

  “Lads.” The priest laid a hand on each of the men’s shoulders. “’Tis not the time.”

  Both men scowled at Áedach but let him go with a shove, nearly knocking him into the grave. When he regained his balance, he backed out of sight.

  The graveside service consisted of lowering the coffin into the ground and laying two spades in the shape of a cross on the lid.

  “In case they’re wrong and Colm wakes up, he can dig himself out,” Sinead whispered. Moira shuddered at the thought.

  More prayers were said and blessings spoken, before each of the parishioners, starting with Peg, dropped a handful of dirt into the chasm. The congregation then snaked its way back down the hill and the men headed for the pub, while most of the women went to their own homes. It was time now for the widow to have her privacy.

  “Ye’ll come home with me, aye?” Peg looked at Moira and Sean in turn.

  Privacy of her choosing. “Of course,” they agreed.

  “And bring the lad.” Peg nodded to a tall cairn with a statue on top, behind which they could just see Áedach’s hair flapping in the wind.

  Chapter 61

  Moira set about making the tea and Sean gathered enough chairs for all of them to sit by the fire. With the tea properly served and their fingers and toes beginning to thaw after the hours spent out of doors, Sean turned his attention to Áedach.

  “Now, lad,” Sean said, “none of us here hold any fault against ye for what took place. But ’twould serve you well to be forthcoming with anything you know.”

  Áedach shifted in his seat and looked nervously at each of them.

  Moira reached out and patted his hand. “It’s alright, Áedach. You’re safe here.”

  Sean couldn’t tear his eyes from Moira and the way she cared for the lad. The poor creature was scared half out of his wits. Compassion radiated on her face, and though Sean knew she was exhausted, she somehow poured the same level of energy into caring for him as she had caring for Peg the night before. And for Áedach the weeks he lay dying in his hovel. And for her students each day she’d been charged with their care. Whatever doubts could have remained in his heart about his love for Moira vanished in that moment. Sean blinked hard to keep the tears at bay. Focus, man. ’Tis not the time, nor place. He glanced at her face once more. But it will be soon.

  “Go on, now. Let’s hear it.” Sean willed his voice to be calm and soothing.

  “Whan ye first arrived, Miss Doherty, Uncle Buach pulled me aside.” Áedach swallowed hard. “I’d not seen him in a long while . . . not since the night he first introduced me to the poitín.”

  Sean ground his teeth. Just like that snake of a man to hook a child on drink. He nodded to encourage the lad to continue.

  “He told me the story of how he’d caught yer mammy with that fella over at Glenveagh.” He leaned his head toward Moira. “An’ how ye’d come to make sure he’d paid fer his crime. But he told me he hadna done it—that yer mammy had lied about that to keep him quiet about her romancin’ yer man Adair.”

  “Is that why you were so angry with me?” Moira’s face was the picture of calm as she questioned him.

  He nodded. “Aye, marm. And I’m verra sorry. Had I known—”

  “No need, lad. You couldn’t have known your uncle was lying.”

  “Anyway,” Áedach continued, “Uncle said I needed ta make sure ye didna cause any trouble, and to threaten to spill yer saicrit if ye did.”

  “‘Set yer tongue a’waggin’,’” Moira whispered, staring a million miles away.

  “Well, yeah.” Áedach looked surprised. “Tha’s exactly wha’ he said. But I had no idea he was plottin’ ta harm ye. I know I done some things ta ye, Miss, that desairves punishment far worse than ye’ve ever given me.”

  “Yes, y
ou were rather hateful.” There was a twinkle in Moira’s eye, despite her firm tone of voice. “But I figured a long illness that nearly killed you tamed you some.” She winked at him, and the first smile Sean had ever seen on Áedach’s face shone brightly.

  “Aye.” The boy nodded. “But that’s not really why I came today.”

  Every eye was trained even harder on the lad. “Well,” Peg said slowly, “why did ye come, then?”

  Áedach rose and paced the room. “Ye and Colm were so good ta me. I didna set that fire, but I didna stop it either. I know ye have no wee ones ta continue lookin’ after ye now that Colm’s gone. I came to offer my services, such as they are.”

  Peg pressed a hand to her mouth, stood, and enveloped the boy in an embrace. “I’d be honored to have ye look after me, Áedach.”

  “I’d only ask one t’ing in return, if I could be so bold?” His face turned crimson.

  Peg’s brow furrowed slightly. “What might that be, lad?”

  “I only ask that ye and Miss Doherty—if she’s willin’—keep reading to me from the Bíobla.” He ducked his head and chewed his thumbnail nervously.

  Sean, mouth agape, looked from the lad to Peg to Moira and back before the room erupted in laughter.

  “I think I speak for all of us,” Moira said, “when I say that we can definitely do that.”

  “Amen!” Peg looked to the ceiling, hands clasped and fingers laced together.

  “Only if I can join too,” Sean said as he laid a hand on Áedach’s shoulder.

  “That settles it,” Moira said. “Weekly prayer and Bible reading at the Sweeny house.”

  The group cheered before a revered silence settled over them. As Sean studied each of their faces, awe washed over him, and he was humbled that such beauty could come from such darkness.

  Chapter 62

  More than a week had passed since Colm’s funeral, and Moira had just spent the first night in her own home since the fire. She had been staying with Peg, keeping watch over her, cooking, and cleaning up after the wake. She was willing to stay as long as Peg needed. Moira had planned to stay longer. In fact, she had not wanted to leave the Sweeny house, but Peg insisted.

  “I’ve got to start living life again sooner or later,” she’d told Moira. “Besides, I won’t be alone once Sean and Áedach finish building my caretaker’s chalet in the back.”

  With the truth about Moira’s past now out in the open, the people of Ballymann finally seemed to be warming to her. Many stopped and chatted with her in the shop, and she heard from many parents that the children were looking forward to returning to school.

  Sitting now in the quiet morning light of her own home, with no school day ahead of her, Moira dropped to her knees. “Lord, I never would have dreamed You would bring about such beauty and redemption from the ashes. Thank You for the miracle You’ve worked in Áedach’s life, and forgive me for when I’ve doubted You. Help me live a life worthy of that to which You’ve called me.”

  She continued in that posture of prayer, soaking in the presence of the Almighty. The clock ticked away on the mantel, but she had no inkling of how much time had passed. If it weren’t for the knock at the door, Moira felt she could have passed the entire day there in prayer.

  She answered the knock and was surprised to see Sinead at her door, smiling like a giddy child on Christmas morning. “Good morning, Sinead. What brings you by this fine morn?”

  A hearty laugh bubbled up and Sinead wagged her head. “Doncha know it’s no longer morning when midday has passed?”

  Moira’s brows raised. “Surely it isn’t midday yet?”

  “Nearly one o’ the clock!”

  Moira stepped back, allowing Sinead into the house.

  “I’ve come ta request the honor of yer presence.”

  Moira sat at her table and motioned for Sinead to do the same. “I’m sorry?”

  Her boisterous laughter was contagious, and before long both women were cackling, though Moira didn’t quite know why. When the laughter died down, both sighed deeply. Moira placed a hand on Sinead’s. “Oh how I’ve missed you, friend.”

  “Aye.” Sinead nodded. “And I, ye.” Sinead squeezed Moira’s hand. “Now, that’s enough o’ that. There’s not much time.”

  “Not much time for what?” Moira asked.

  “I was sent to bid ye come at two o’ the clock. And ye’ve been requested to wear yer new frock.” Sinead nodded, satisfied that she’d delivered her full message.

  “Two o’clock? Where? Who’s inviting me?”

  Sinead wagged a finger. “Tsk, tsk, tsk! Just get on yer fancy dress, I’ll help ye with yer hair, we’ll pinch up some color in those cheeks, and ye’ll be ready in time. Aye?”

  Moira shook her head, curious what in the world could be happening. However, it was clear Sinead was going to offer no further information. She retrieved the dress from her press, and Sinead squealed from across the room.

  “Oh, Moira, I didn’t know that was yer new dress!” She clapped her hands and jumped up and down in place. “Where did ye get it?”

  “From O’Tooles,” Moira teased.

  “Och!” Sinead swatted the air. “I know tha’ ! But how?”

  Moira shrugged. “It was left here on my table as a surprise. I was meant to wear it to the Paddy’s Day céilí, but then—” Her countenance fell.

  Sinead crossed herself and then kissed her thumb. “Aye, was a sad Paddy’s Day fer us all. I can’t remember ever hearing about a time when all festivities were canceled.”

  The friends clasped hands, letting the gravity of the moment settle on them once more. Sinead was the first to break the silence. “We’d best get ye dressed, love.”

  The girls worked in tandem getting Moira out of her faded traveling frock and lacing and buttoning up her new velvet gown. When Sinead tied the strings of the apron around her waist, Moira looked down at herself and ran her hands over the rich fabric.

  “I can still hardly believe it’s mine.”

  “Let’s see to those locks, aye?” Sinead worked Moira’s hair into an intricate weave of plaits and curls. When she placed Moira in front of the looking glass, Moira could hardly believe her eyes. She turned toward her friend, whose eyes were teeming with joy.

  “It’s nearly two o’ the clock, dearie. Ye best be on yer way.”

  “But where am I going?”

  Sinead pressed her lips together and moved to the door, opening it for her friend. When Moira stepped out, her mouth fell open at the sight that greeted her. As far as the eye could see, men, women, and children—her precious students—lined the street. As Moira stepped onto the footpath, Aoife ran up, threw her arms around her waist, and squeezed.

  “I knew you’d stay!” She handed Moira a single flower, grabbed her hand, and led her down the street. One by one, each person handed her a flower and offered a curtsy or bow. Every now and then, one of her students would run up and join them, or someone would call out a greeting on the breeze.

  Tears of joy pooled in her eyes as Moira realized she had done it—she had saved her mother. Not her mother’s life but her legacy. Understanding bloomed like a daffodil in spring, and Moira finally realized why God had brought her to this place.

  As they walked, Moira assumed this was the village’s way of welcoming her back to the school, so she started to turn down that road. But Aoife tugged at her hand. “No, Miss, this way. Toward the halla!”

  Sean’s heart pounded in his chest and blood rushed in his ears. He paced back and forth, wearing a path in the freshly swept dirt floor of the halla. The community had worked all week to clear the rubble from the fire because of their excitement to help Sean execute his plan.

  A commotion outside drew his attention. Children squealed, footsteps filled the road, and the murmur of a crowd grew louder. He stepped outside, shading his eyes against the sun with his hands, and grinned.

  Moira, surrounded by a throng of skipping, laughing children, made her way down the street. Flow
ers overflowed from her hands, and joy radiated from her face as she greeted each member of the community in turn. Someone leaned in and said something in her ear. She just laughed, shrugged, gestured “I don’t know,” and continued down the road. His heart swelled at the sight of her in her new gown.

  He had taken great pains to get to Letterkenny and back in time to surprise her with it before St. Patrick’s Day. He’d scraped together every extra shilling and worked some odd jobs for various folks around town to earn the price of it. Seeing her in it now, with her face shining and eyes glistening, took his breath away.

  “Miss Doherty, look!” Aoife pointed right at Sean.

  Moira’s gaze followed the direction of the girl’s finger until her eyes fell on him. She stopped, brought a hand to her mouth, and laughed. Resisting the impulse to run like a spring lamb and scoop her up into his arms, Sean merely extended a hand and beckoned her: Come.

  Chapter 63

  Moira’s pulse raced and a fresh spate of tears sprang to her eyes as she took in the sight of Sean standing in front of the halla, hand extended to her. A deeper sense of love for him welled within her, and she ran until she reached him. Her arms full of flowers from the townsfolk, she had no free hand with which to accept his. She looked around until her eyes fell upon Aoife.

  As if on cue, Aoife darted over and held her arms out. “I’ll hold yer flowers for ye, Miss.”

  “Thank you very much, my dear.” Moira leaned over and deposited her veritable garden into the girl’s waiting arms. After brushing the leaves from her sleeves, she laid her hand in Sean’s. “Good afternoon, Mr. McFadden.”

  Sean curled his fingers around hers, and her heart fluttered at the warmth of his touch.

  Leaning over, he pressed his lips ever so lightly to her fingers. “Miss Doherty, ya look a dream.” Playful mischief brightened his eyes and he nodded toward the door. “Shall we?”