Heart of the Glen

Chapter 10

10

The next morning, word arrived from Doctor McGinley summoning Owen to the village for a checkup.

“Can the man not make the journey to you?” Annoyance laced Aileen’s voice, and Saoirse shared it. Owen was just getting used to being up and around, and now the doctor expected him to make a bumpy wagon journey who knew how far away? It seemed a ridiculous expectation.

Owen shrugged and reached over to scratch Stout between the ears. The dog responded with a single tail thwap on the floor and a lolling tongue out the side of his mouth. “I presume he’s got a good reason. And it’s just to Glentornan.”

Aileen scoffed. “Oh, just Glentornan.” She rolled her eyes and turned to Saoirse. “It’s a wee village nestled in the heart of Poisoned Glen, about twenty minutes away by cart down a windy road more deeply rutted than a nun’s worry lines.”

Saoirse couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up at Aileen’s colorful commentary.

Owen stood—more easily than he’d seemed to so far—and stretched. Saoirse tried not to notice how his linen shirtsleeves pulled taut against his shoulders as he did so. “It could be good,” he said. “We missed Sunday services. We could stop in at Friday services afterward.”

“Well, now, that’s true,” Aileen replied. “We need to stay on the Big Fella’s good side.”

Saoirse nodded, but inside her heart raced, and sweat prickled the back of her neck. She’d not been to a church service since her family had died. She wasn’t sure she and God were on speaking terms—and she wasn’t entirely sure whose fault that was. There had been many a day since the fire that she had no interest in darkening God’s proverbial door. Then others when she desperately needed His tender touch of grace. But she was certain He wanted nothing to do with a transgressor like her.

“Shall we all go, then?” Owen asked, looking between the ladies. “I can set Stout on sentry duty with the flock.” At his name, the dog sprung to attention and trotted to the door, his tail eagerly expressing his opinion of that idea.

Saoirse swallowed the thickness in her throat. “That’s grand, so.” She decided she’d go and just sit quietly. If God wanted to show up, He could, but she’d not beg.

“I’ll bring the wagon around,” Aileen said and snapped her fingers. Stout immediately bolted through the door and to the northeast field.

****

Some time later, the three sat shoulder to shoulder across the wagon’s bench. Owen had scoffed at Aileen’s idea that he might be more comfortable riding in the back. He wasn’t going to lounge back there like some invalid, and he wasn’t going to relegate either of the ladies to that fate either. So they all crammed on the bench. Now, with part of his hip hanging off the outer edge, he wondered if his sister might’ve been right. The wounds on his side had improved greatly over the last week, but bracing his core still hurt pretty strongly. He could never tell Aileen that though. He’d never hear the end of it if he did.

Aileen drove the rig, Saoirse sat in the middle, and then Owen on the far end. As they bumped and rumbled along the road, he tried not to notice when his knee would brush against Saoirse’s. At one point, his left hand was resting on his leg. When Aileen took a corner a little too quickly, Saoirse gripped his fingers and instantly his hand was on fire. Not so much from pain, as that wound was also beginning to heal, but from her touch.

“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks pink.

When he knew she was steady, he slid his hand from her grip. “Ye’re grand,” he said around a tight-lipped smile. It made no sense for him to want to snatch up her hand again, but he did. He rubbed his palm against his trouser leg a few times and pushed the thought from his mind.

Slowly but surely, Fadó wound along the southern edge of Dunlewey Lough, which eventually turned into Upper Lough Nacung, where they turned right and entered the tiny village of Glentornan. About a dozen or so cozy stone buildings lined either side of the dirt road that ran through the center. Most of the buildings were homes, but one served many purposes, including where Doctor McGinley would take patients from time to time. Aileen slowed the wagon to a halt, and the three lumbered down. Even though it caused him great pain, Owen reached up with his left hand for Saoirse and Aileen to hold onto in turn as they alighted.

Saoirse excused herself to explore near the lake’s edge while Aileen said she was going to check in with a friend. Owen made for the doctor’s makeshift office. He squinted at the dim interior as he entered.

“Ah, Owen, good to see ya.” The doctor rounded the small rectangular table that served as his desk. “Thanks for coming.”

Owen nodded. “Of course.”

Doctor McGinley approached, his arm extended as though he meant to shake Owen’s hand. Owen lifted his still-bandaged right forearm and waved it. “Och!” The man smacked his own forehead softly. “Silly me, I don’t guess we’ll be shakin’ hands anytime soon.”

Owen didn’t find the situation as humorous as the doctor did, so he just responded with a nod. He knew McGinley didn’t truly think Owen’s predicament was funny, but he still hated that he had little to no use of his dominant appendage.

“Have a seat.” Doctor McGinley gestured to another table about the size of a small bed. “Let’s see how we’re progressing.”

He started by having Owen remove his jumper and linen shirt in order to examine the wounds on his torso. It didn’t take long for McGinley to remove the bandages from around Owen’s ribs and set straight to poking and prodding. The man’s hands were like ice, and Owen yelped and sucked in a gasping breath.

“Perhaps ye should treat yerself to a cuppa after this,” he said when he had returned to his senses.

The doctor chuckled. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I’ve never been able to warm up these blasted hands.” He moved around to check Owen’s back. “But ya know what they say, ‘cold hands, warm heart.’”

“Mm,” Owen replied. “Nice try, Doc.” The pair shared a laugh, and the physician came back around to the front of the table.

“These all look great,” he said, gesturing to the wounds on Owen’s sides and back. “Are they still sore?”

“A bit,” Owen said, certain that his definition of “a bit” and the doctor’s varied greatly.

“Well, they’re comin’ along nicely. And it’s to be expected that they be a mite tender for a while longer.” He began unwinding the bandages from Owen’s left hand. “And while ya won’t be tossing any cabers anytime soon, ya should be able to move pretty freely now without restrictions there.”

Owen nodded, gladdened by the news, even if they’d not yet looked at the worst of it.

The last of the gauze was pulled away, and Owen’s stomach churned at the sight of his jagged, stitched flesh. The sutures were well done, as far as he could tell, anyway. He’d helped plenty of ewes deliver lambs, and he’d stitched up many a gashed sheep or horse rump, so he was no stranger to a bit of gore. But something about seeing his own flesh in such a state was unsettling.

Doctor McGinley turned Owen’s arm this way and that, inspecting his handiwork. After a few long minutes, he straightened. “All in all, I’m very pleased. There’s no sign of infection, and it looks like ye’ve done a good job keeping the dressings dry. The wounds look to be healing right on track.”

Owen released a sigh of relief. “Good to hear.” He shifted on the chilled tabletop. “How much longer do ya think I have till I’m right as rain?”

McGinley’s teeth made a hissing noise as the doctor sucked in a slow breath. “Hard to say. Another few days, maybe, for this arm.” He stepped off to the side and rummaged through his bag. “The cuts on your left are much more superficial than on your right. So, you’re lookin’ at another week at least, plus longer after the stitches come out to continue healing.”

Suddenly the door opened, and Saoirse bounded inside. “Sorry, Aileen, I got a litt—” She stopped short, mouth agape, then stared at Owen’s bare chest for a long moment before blinking and slapping her hand over her eyes. “Good gracious me, I’m terribly sorry!” She turned around and bumped into the doorjamb. “Oof.”

Owen couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled deep in his chest.

“I, uh ... I thought this was the house that Aileen had said she’d be in, but clearly I was mistaken. I’m so sorry. I’ll just go.” She finally dropped her hand from her eyes, stepped outside, and reached back to grab the door handle. She tugged the door closed, but not before Owen caught her steal another glimpse of him.

Owen turned his attention back to the doctor, who stood with a roll of fresh bandage in his hand, and the most amused look on his face. “Well ... shall we continue?”

****

The frigid blast of wind that assaulted Saoirse’s face as she left the doctor’s office did nothing to soothe the burning in her cheeks. She lifted her eyes to the heavens and took a steadying breath. When she lowered her gaze, it landed on Aileen, who stood in the doorway directly across the street.

“Get a wee bit lost, eh?” A playful light danced in Aileen’s eyes.

Saoirse fought the urge to look at the door behind her. “I may have gotten a bit turned around.”

Aileen stepped aside and gestured Saoirse across the road, her shoulders bouncing in amusement. “C’mon, a chara .”

Though they were the only two outside, Saoirse looked both ways before finally shuffling across and joining Aileen at her friend’s house.

Saoirse entered the modest home and was greeted by an older woman with a lovely, genuine smile. “Bridie, this is Saoirse, the girl I was tellin’ you about.” Aileen gestured from Saoirse to her friend and back. “Saoirse Fagan, Bridie Sheridan.”

Bridie skirted the hearth and approached Saoirse, hand outstretched. The silver streaks in her hair glistened in the muted afternoon light. “ Céad míle fáilte !”

Saoirse shook the woman’s hand. “ Go raibh míle maith agat .”

Bridie led them into the sitting room and invited them to rest by the fire. The small room was moderately furnished, but the fire in the hearth filled the space with warmth. The three passed the time sipping tea, Aileen and Bridie catching up with one another, and asking all the compulsory introduction questions for Saoirse.

After a while, a church bell in the distance tolled five o’clock. Aileen stood. “We’re heading to Friday services. Are ye and John goin’?”

Bridie laughed, the wrinkles around her eyes deepen ing, softening her features even further. Saoirse liked her immensely already. “Sure, what else would we do?” Bridie answered.

Aileen joined in the laughter, and Saoirse smiled.

“Well, we’ll see yas there, then,” Aileen said, then crossed the room and looped her arm through Saoirse’s elbow. “We need to fetch Owen from McGinley’s and then drive the wagon around.”

“Of course, of course,” Bridie said as she walked them closer to the door. It was another few minutes before they actually left, however, due to the multiple rounds of goodbyes and offers of more tea and subsequent declines.

At last, they reached the end of the ritual that takes place in every Irish home upon the leaving of guests, and Aileen and Saoirse stepped out into the frigid evening.

They turned left out of Bridie’s house and started up the street heading east. Heat flashed in Saoirse’s cheeks when she glanced across to the doctor’s office. The windows were dark, so clearly Owen was no longer there, but the image of him sitting on the table in his trousers with no jumper or shirt on was burned into her brain.

Owen was nowhere to be seen, but Aileen seemed to know where she was heading. “So,” Aileen said, tugging gently on Saoirse’s arm. “What d’ya think of our Glentornan? Quite the booming metropolis, eh?”

Saoirse laughed. Clearly quite a few people lived here. And she noticed for the first time that one of the buildings boasted a greengrocer sign. Across from that was a pub with orange light glowing in the windows. But otherwise, it was barely a village. “It’s lovely,” Saoirse replied. “Where is the closest city? What if you need a hospital?”

Aileen shrugged. “Well, Ballymann is about an hour or so that way.” She pointed west. “It’s a mite larger than Glentornan. They have three pubs.” She puffed up her chest and nudged Saoirse with her elbow.

“And that way past Glenveagh another hour or so”—Aileen pointed toward the mountains—“is Letterkenny. It’s a proper town with a cathedral, hospital, clothing shops, and the like.”

As they passed the pub, Aileen waved toward the window, slowed her steps, and eventually stopped.

The door swung open, and out came Owen, his eyes dark and his expression brooding. He barely acknowledged the ladies before turning and hastening toward the wagon.

Saoirse leaned closer to Aileen. “Is he drunk?”

Aileen kept her eyes pinned on Owen’s back, pressing her lips together. “Uh-uh. He doesn’t drink.” She studied her brother in the waning light before tugging Saoirse along. As they scurried behind him, she muttered, “Something’s not right.”

Once back in the wagon, the journey to the church took about ten minutes, but it felt like an hour as they rode along in silence. Saoirse kept her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, trying with all that was in her not to bump into Owen. Not only because she could not bear it after her embarrassing blunder back at the doctor’s office but also because his mood had soured so much in the time she’d been chatting with Aileen and Bridie. She almost worried he’d toss her overboard at the slightest misstep—if it was even possible for one to misstep while riding in a wagon.

At last, they arrived at the church. One other cart sat outside, and a handful of parishioners were winding their way to the entrance of the stone building. The white walls gleamed, even in the muted twilight, and two large wood doors greeted them. The tower loomed tall on the opposite end of the church, its four spires practically spiking the clouds. “It’s gorgeous,” Saoirse said with a sigh.

“It’s made of white marble and blue quartzite that was mined in the area,” Aileen told her. “Such a sad story.”

“Oh?” Saoirse turned her gaze on Aileen.

“Aye. Lady Jane Russell—the landlord of this parish until the late 1800s—wasn’t a particularly nice lady. She and her husband doubled and tripled rent for the tenants of their land. But her husband died just three years after moving here, and she had this church built in his memory about sixty years ago.”

Aileen pointed to a field just southwest of the church building. “And there, you can just see a large headstone. That is a communal grave for one of Lady Jane’s daughters, her son-in-law, and four of their ten children—most of whom died before six months of age.”

“How tragic,” Saoirse said, her hand pressed to her throat.

“What’s tragic is the hundreds, if not thousands, of people who died because of that woman,” Owen said. “The only good thing she did was give us this church, then leave,” he grumbled as he slipped inside.

Saoirse followed Aileen in and joined Owen on a pew about halfway up the aisle. Half a dozen others sat scattered in various places around the room. If this was anything like Saoirse’s church back home, each one of them sat in those exact places every single time they attended service for no other reason than that’s where their family had sat the first time they came.

The rector ascended to the pulpit, and the service began. He opened with prayer, then read two passages.

The first was from the book of Joshua, recounting the battle of Jericho. “My friends,” the priest began, “God commanded the Israelite army to be strong and courageous and to march around the city for seven days.” He paused and scanned the small crowd. “A full week of doing the same exact thing, with no apparent results. And yet, they marched. Then, on the seventh day, they marched silently around the city seven times.”

Next to her, Owen shifted and grunted softly. Saoirse absently wondered how on earth he managed to sit on the pew so long. He must have been so uncomfortable.

“But then!” The priest’s raised voice jolted Saoirse back to his message. “On the seventh lap, they shouted loudly and broke jars concealing torches. When they did, the walls protecting the city came crashing down, allowing the army to defeat their enemy and take over the city.” He let his words reverberate around the vaulted ceilings, his arms stretched wide, matching his grin. Saoirse couldn’t help the smile tickling her own lips in response, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure why.

At length, he lowered his arms, and his gaze went back to the large book in front of him. When he spoke again, his voice carried the hush of awe. “How incredible is that? Days upon days of nothing. Now, I wasn’t there—though I know some o’ yas think I’m old enough to have been.” Laughter rippled through the congregation. “But I don’t have to have been there to understand what many of them were likely feeling. I wonder how many of them began to doubt, began to question why God would have them do such a silly thing. And just when I imagine their faith may have begun to falter, God reminded them of His power and might. How many of you—of us—have felt the same way? Wondering if all the motions we go through are worth it, especially when God seems silent.”

Saoirse blinked against the sudden burning behind her eyes. Two rows in front of her, a young girl with ebony ringlets turned around and smiled at her. Saoirse returned the grin and offered a small wave. The girl waved back, but then her mother gently eased her back to face forward.

“And it wasn’t just this once,” the rector continued. “Listen to what the Scriptures say in the book of Judges.” He read a long excerpt about God delivering the Midianite army into the hands of the Israelites by choosing Gideon, the most unassuming man, to lead the army. God dwindled the army’s size down from ten thousand to just three hundred. He had them surround the enemy camp, shout, and break jars hiding torches. Not a single soldier carried a sword or any weapon at all, but the enemy army was defeated because they got so confused that they turned on themselves, thinking they were fighting the Israelites.

“Don’t miss this, a chairde . Sometimes God’s plans for our victories are so vastly different from our own that they don’t make any sense. They may seem downright ridiculous, but it’s always best to follow His lead and accept His provision and help as He provides it.”

The priest then led them in a prayer, and Saoirse willed the thrumming in her chest to slow. The way the priest spoke stirred something inside her, but she wasn’t sure what or why. Then, just as the closing hymn began, Owen shot to his feet and stormed outside. Both Saoirse and Aileen jumped at the sudden movement, then turned and watched him leave. When the door closed behind him with an echoing thud, Saoirse looked to Aileen, who appeared just as confused as Saoirse felt. Aileen shrugged and knelt as the final prayer began. Saoirse followed suit, dutifully bowing her head and closing her eyes. But her thoughts were nowhere else but with Owen.