Heart of the Glen

Chapter 26

26

“Och, Saoirse.” He squeezed her hand. What he wouldn’t give to take away the pain that weighed her down so. “How much you’ve had to carry. Tell me about it.”

She shook her head, her gaze fixed on their hands, fingers still intertwined. “’Twas a terrible accident.”

Flashes of his father’s fate sparked in Owen’s memory. “I hate that we have that in common.”

She met his gaze at last, her brow furrowed. Suddenly, realization seemed to dawn. “Oh, right. Yer father.”

He nodded, his jaw tense as his anger toward O’Malley bubbled just below the surface. But he forced his features to soften, lest she mistake his rigidity as being directed toward her.

“It was careless, really,” she began.

Anger boiled over in his chest. Irresponsibility had caused his father’s death. And now it had cost Saoirse everything as well, it seemed.

She glanced up at him and paused, her eyes widening slightly.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having to suffer the consequences of someone else’s lack of care or attention.” He sighed. “I know that pain firsthand. Jimmy O’Malley had been my best friend. He was helping us build the barn. I’d gone out to see to the sheep, and Jimmy and my dad were working on tying the rafters. Jimmy let himself get distracted by a pretty face when my sister walked in. He lost his grip of the rope, sending the rafter careening down. It knocked Da off the ladder and landed on him.”

Saoirse tightened her grip on his hand. “Oh, Owen. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” She laid her head on his shoulder.

He smiled at the sensation of her so near, leaning into him for comfort. He cleared his throat. He wanted her to know he would always be there for her. That he would do everything in his power to protect her from ever having to suffer such hurt again. “As far as I’m concerned, taking the life of another because of one’s own carelessness is the only unforgiveable sin, aside from blasphemy.”

Owen felt Saoirse stiffen slightly. She was quiet for so long after, he began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. Suddenly, she sat up and craned her neck to look out the small window above them. The morning light was growing brighter with every passing moment.

“Ya alright?” he asked her.

“The storm seems to have passed.” She lumbered stiffly to her feet, the atmosphere between them having shifted somehow. “We’d best be getting back.” Then she headed to the door without looking back at him.

“Saoirse?” He scrambled to his feet. “Was it somethin’ I said?”

She pulled the door open to reveal a large birch tree had fallen over and blocked the entrance to the shed. Before Owen could do anything, Saoirse scrambled over the trunk, climbed through the branches, and out into the foggy damp of a gray and dreary morning.

Owen stared after her, confusion swirling in his gut. Was she regretting their shared moment? Had he said something to offend her? Surely commiserating with her loss wouldn’t have struck a nerve. This was the second time she’d suddenly turned colder after they’d connected on a deeper level. Could she simply be scared?

He made his way to the door. With much more difficulty, Owen struggled through the branches, having to stop several times to free a snagged sleeve or trouser leg. As though wanting to keep him trapped in the shed, the branches caught his foot as he broke through the last bough. He fell onto the soaked earth, mud splashing up on his face. Perfect.

He’d just begun to feel dry after the lashing he took last night, only to have to start the process all over again now. Muttering to himself, he clambered to his feet, swiping his hands down his legs. When he straightened, what he saw froze him where he stood. Debris and rubbish were strewn all about the hillsides. His gaze drifted to the thatched roof of the weaving shed. There was a large section of damage on the corner that had taken the brunt of the tree’s fall. It was a miracle the roof hadn’t leaked overnight. Turning, he surveyed the roofs of the barn and house. Both looked fairly intact, though any farming tools that had been left outside were no longer anywhere near where he’d left them. Pools of standing water littered the view as far as the eye could see. Carefully, he trudged forward and sloshed down the hill to the front of the house. The mud was easily two-feet thick, and he had to take care not to lose a wellie with each step.

He opened the door but stood on the threshold as he pulled his feet from his boots. Aileen almost knocked him over with a hug as she exclaimed, “T’anks be to God ye’re alright!” Then she landed a hearty slap on his arm.

“Ow!” He rubbed the spot she’d hit. “What was that fer?”

Aileen scoffed. “Fer makin’ me worry m’self sick last night, that’s what.”

Owen sighed as he crossed to the stove. He couldn’t get a cup of tea in his hand fast enough. “It’s not like I could do much about it. We tried to come down but were trapped.”

“We?” Aileen’s brow furrowed.

“Saoirse,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Did ya not speak to her when she came in?”

Aileen’s countenance darkened slightly, and she shook her head. “The gairl just burst in here and went straight to the room and closed the door.” She tsked. “Tracked mud all over m’floor too.”

He stared toward Aileen and Saoirse’s room as though he could see what Saoirse was doing through the walls. Was she crying? Packing to leave?

Aileen came up next to him, sighing. “What’d ya do?”

Owen’s jaw dropped. “Why d’ya assume it was me who did something?”

Leveling a look at him, his sister crossed her arms over her chest. “’Cause ye’re the auld man who’s not had a lick of experience dealin’ with smitten ladies, that’s why.”

He started to argue but stopped short. “What d’ya mean smitten?”

Before she could answer, Aileen stopped and held up her hand, indicating for Owen to be quiet. Then she inclined her head as if straining to hear something. Moving to the front door, she opened it and waited. The faint sound of church bells drifted on the heavy air. She met Owen’s gaze, fear glowing in her eyes. “Somethin’s wrong,” she said.

Owen nodded. It wasn’t a mass time, nor a feast day. That meant the bells rang out in call for aid from any able-bodied man, woman, or child.

“We’ll have to walk,” he said, already on the doorstep tugging his boots back on. “The wagon’ll just get stuck.” His gaze bounced in the direction of the ladies’ room. When he looked at his sister again, the expression on her face suggested she believed he’d committed some egregious error. But they didn’t have time to get into it now.

He sighed. “You get her”—he flicked his head toward the ladies’ room—“I’ll get some shovels.”

****

Saoirse’s gaze pierced the ground ahead of her as they plodded down the mucky road toward the village. She absently wondered if she could bore a hole in the ground that would open up and swallow her were she to stare long enough. Sighing, she lifted her eyes to the horizon. The journey to Glentornan would take at least twice as long on foot, if not more so, given the conditions. Thankfully, the rain had completely stopped, and the clouds, while still hovering low overhead, had thinned quite a bit. The heavy moisture in the air dampened the clanging of the church bells, which still tolled on incessantly, growing more strident the closer they got.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Owen’s head pop out from his place on the other side of Aileen. Though she could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, she pretended not to notice and kept her stare fixed forward. She pulled in a deep breath, hoping the chilly air in her lungs would steady her nerves as she replayed all that had happened in the shed during the storm.

Her cheeks warmed at what others might think if they knew she and Owen had spent the night alone in the weaving shed. Granted, most of it had been a horribly awful experience—from the freezing cold to the tree collapsing onto the building to the fire Owen had extinguished, she learned after the fact, by beating the flames down with his coat.

Not all of it was horrible though. Her lips tingled at the memory of Owen’s kiss. She could almost feel his arms around her again, his lips searching hers so tenderly, so earnestly. As though he was reining in Lir, holding him back from a full gallop. Her pulse kicked up as she remembered how deliciously they had melted together in the kiss. But the sizzling memory faded as she recalled the conversation that had come next. She’d been prepared to tell him everything about the night her family died, and he’d stopped her cold. If she could force herself to be objective about it, she’d guess he was trying to be supportive. He just had no idea how his comments had had the exact opposite effect.

“Taking the life of another because of one’ s own carelessness is the only unforgiveable sin, aside from blasphemy.” His words reverberated in her mind like the church bells echoing off the peaks of the Seven Sisters forming the valley in which Glentornan lay. How on earth was she supposed to tell him that she was responsible for the fire that killed her parents, brothers, and sister—even the family dog? It was her carelessness that had sparked the blaze. If only she hadn’t been in such a hurry. To add to her irresponsibility, she’d woken late the morning of the fire, which added to her rush. Had she not overslept, she convinced herself, her family would still be safe and sound today.

As they rounded the final bend in the road before they reached the church, the ground in front of her blurred, and she lifted her gaze to the sky, blinking quickly in an attempt to force the moisture not to fall.

The clanging from the tower was almost intolerable when they joined the growing crowd gathering in front of the house of worship. Father Cunningham and Hugh were organizing people into smaller groups and assigning various tasks. Saoirse, Owen, and Aileen were asked to join a group with Bridie and John.

Their group waited while a few more people came up the path. Finally, blessedly, the bells fell silent, and the crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Right,” the priest began, “there’s been a landslide at the far west side of the village.”

Aileen and others gasped. Saoirse lifted shaky fingers in front of her mouth as Aileen settled in closer to her side.

“Hugh, Tommy, and I did a quick search for survivors. Wee Brigit Doherty was pulled from the rubble. She’ll need some time, but she’ll be alright.” The group murmured relief mixed with concern. Only now did Saoirse notice that Father Cunningham, Hugh, and several others were completely caked in mud. “Sadly, our own Doctor McGinley was killed when his cottage collapsed.”

More gasps flew up from the crowd, and a few sobs could be heard from several townsfolk. Aileen slipped her arm through Saoirse’s and pulled her close, then did the same with Owen on the other side.

Saoirse’s free hand clasped her chest as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that Doctor McGinley was gone.

Hugh stepped forward. “Ye each should know yer tasks. McCreadys, Sheridans, and Saoirse, ye’ll be workin’ with me to clear the school.” They all nodded gravely. The teacher spoke to a couple of other groups who’d just arrived and assigned them their posts.

After Father Cunningham offered a prayer of safety for the souls of those departed and of rescue for any others who may be trapped, the group silently set off for the village.

They passed John and Bridie’s home, and Saoirse noticed Bridie crossing herself and offering thanks for sparing their house and their lives. Before passing the doctor’s office, Saoirse paused. Had he only been there instead of at home, the doctor would be here now, safe. Sadly, his home was on the far end of the village near the school. Saoirse’s heart sank at the thought of the school. Thank God this didn’t happen during the school day .

As they reached the heart of the village, groups periodically peeled off in different directions to see to their various tasks.

Everyone in Saoirse’s group slowed their steps when they approached the school.

“Muise.” Bridie tugged a hanky from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

“ A Mhaighdean .” John slid the flatcap from his head and held it over his heart.

Saoirse gripped Aileen’s arm tighter while she took in the sight before her. Half of the school building was completely destroyed and buried under a mountain of muck. The other half was missing its roof.

“Careful now,” Hugh said, and he gathered everyone closer. “We need to clear the mud but take care. We don’t know what’s under there.”

“Oh, heavens.” Aileen’s hands clapped over her mouth. “You don’t think...”

Saoirse patted Aileen’s hand, and both women looked back to Hugh.

He shook his head. “No. As far as we know, no one was inside.” He looked to the rubble and back. “At least, they shouldn’t have been. Just be mindful of yer steps. There could be sharp wood and rocks just below the surface.”

Owen stepped forward, handed one of the shovels he was carrying to John, and turned to Hugh. “Where do we start?”