Chapter 27
27
Owen tried not to stare at Saoirse as she chatted quietly with Hugh and Aileen in the portion of the schoolhouse that was still standing. By the way Hugh was pointing at things around the space, Owen guessed they were making a plan for cleaning and salvaging what they could. He watched as Saoirse nodded, then turned to grab some tags from a basket Bridie had brought over. Her gaze caught Owen’s for a split second before she looked away a little too quickly.
Owen’s brows pulled together, and his jaw tightened, matching the tension of his work while he jammed the shovel into the muck filling the other half of the school. He had no idea what had happened, or why Saoirse was suddenly so distant, but he determined to let the clean-up work distract him from his woes. Next to him, John was pushing a wheelbarrow up next to the building for them to shovel the mud and sludge into. Some of it would eventually be used in gardens or pens, but most of it just needed to be moved out. Thankfully it wasn’t bogland behind the village or the main fuel source for the area would’ve been completely lost, not to mention thousands of years of history destroyed in an instant. Instead, the mixture of mud, slate, and remnants of bushes that had once lined the hillsides would eventually grow back.
Suddenly shouts erupted from the remains of a collapsed building across the street.
“They’re alive!” someone called, desperation lacing their voice. Owen, John, and the rest of their group rushed over. John and Hugh scurried to the base of the mound where a few people worked. Owen scrambled up the rubble and caught sight of a shock of hair.
“We’re comin’! Hang on!” he called, then began digging through the debris with his hands. He pulled a split board aside, and a woman’s face came into view. Still pinned down by all manner of rubble, she looked to him out of the side of her eye, fear glistening in her stare. She blinked and took a shuddering breath.
Owen’s heart thudded to a stop. He recognized her as Nora Boyle, the woman who’d won the first pancake race just two nights ago. The woman with enough children to form a football team.
“It’s alright, we’re gonna get you out,” he told her. “Lads, come help me,” Owen said.
In a flash, Hugh and John were by his side, digging and removing obstacles. Saoirse appeared next to him and wiped the woman’s face and eyes with a damp cloth. The tenderness with which she worked sent Owen’s heart reeling. Focus.
At last, all the rubble was cleared. Owen, Hugh, John, and Father Cunningham gingerly lifted Nora out and carried her down to the street where Bridie had a chair and a cup of tea waiting.
Murmurs went up throughout the crowd that had gathered.
“Thank God she’s alive.”
“Hang in there, Nora.”
“God be praised. The children still have their mother.”
Without Doctor McGinley, they had no way to know for sure if the woman was truly alright, but the local midwife looked her over and assured them that beyond some cuts and bruises, she appeared to be fine.
After a few minutes, Bridie took the woman to her house to get her a spare set of clothes and let her warm up in front of the fire before she reunited with her children. No one could figure out how they’d gotten out of the house in time, but praise God they’d been found wandering in search of their mother earlier that morning. The others returned to clearing out the school. Aileen, Owen noticed, was never too far from Hugh and always seemed to have a question for him. A pang of jealousy pricked Owen’s heart. How he longed for Saoirse to talk with him again, to let him know what was bothering her. But every time he looked up to say something, her head spun in the other direction. He wasn’t sure if she’d been looking at him too, or if he always just managed to look up at the exact moment she was turning somewhere else. Whatever it was, it weighed on him heavier than the mud trying to pull his boots from his feet. Perhaps if he kept digging, he might find the answers to his questions somewhere in the mess in which he was standing.
A few hours later, the debris was cleared from the crushed side of the schoolhouse, and Hugh and the ladies had created a system for sorting through all the supplies that had been inside when the landslide hit. That part of the process would take quite a bit longer—much like the process of sorting through the rubble Owen found cluttering his heart and mind.
Slowly, the crowd who had come from the hills started snaking their way back to the churchyard where they’d left their wagons and things. The journey was just as quiet as when they’d come into town. No more survivors had been found, but two more casualties were discovered. Old Man Mackey and his wife—the oldest couple in the parish—had died in each other’s arms, and spirits were heavy as what was left of the community trudged up the hill.
Once at the church, John draped an arm over Owen’s shoulder. “I know just what we need.”
Owen looked at the man. “What’s that?”
His arm still around Owen, John began walking toward the church. The rest of the crowd followed suit and filed silently inside the house of worship. No lanterns blazed, and no organ music filled the air. Rather, the mournful shuffling of exhausted feet served as their processional as one by one, each family filed into their customary rows. All was quiet for a long while until Hugh began singing.
“ Rop tú mo Baile ...” His full, tenor voice filled the sanctuary. Slowly, voices began to join him as people rose to their feet.
By the third verse, Owen had joined in. “Be Thou my battle shield, sword for the fight.” But when he got to the next stanza, tears choked him. Sinking to his knees, he let the lyrics wash over him as tears silently poured down his cheeks.
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tow’r:
Raise Thou me heav’nward, O Pow’r of my pow’r.
Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.
High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heav’n’s Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.
Owen began to see that he had been keeping all his focus on his hardships, not on his source of strength. Digging through the rubble of the landslide today, hearing of the discovery of the Mackeys’ bodies and the loss of Doctor McGinley painted all too clear a picture that not one person is guaranteed tomorrow. The only guarantee is that one day our time on this earth will end, and we will stand before our Creator. So, we’d better make the best use of the time we have. Kneeling now in this sanctuary, with the sounds of worship and praise echoing around him in the wake of such a disaster, Owen started to gain clarity on what he needed to do.
Since God was the only constant, the only guarantee in life, Owen’s energy was best spent in worship and praise of Him, in believing He would do what He promised. Owen lifted his face to the cross hanging at the front of the room. He may never have an easy life. He might not finish the tweed. He might not fully use his hand again. He might lose his farm. But if any of those things happened, it would not be because God caused them but rather because He, in His infinite wisdom, allowed them.
Pulling in a deep breath, Owen slowly rose to stand, his eyes still fixed on the cross. “I believe,” he whispered. “Please help me believe.”
****
Saoirse stood at the back of the church, heart pounding. The spontaneous singing had taken her by surprise, and she’d needed some air. When she came back inside, she couldn’t force herself beyond the back row or two. It was as though the ground had gripped her feet and was holding her fast to where she stood. So much heartache and pain had befallen the people she cared about—starting with her own family, then Owen and Aileen, and now the entire village of Glentornan. She was no expert, but she wasn’t sure they’d be able to recover from this disaster. Guilt settled on her shoulders like a set of stocks in the town square. Tension crept up her neck and her breath caught in her chest.
She was foolish to think she’d be able to start over, to escape the consequences of what she’d done. It seemed her fortunes had been changing for quite some time, and once she caused the demise of her family, her ill fate was beginning to spread to others. And now, dozens more were having to pay the price for it. Never mind the fact that Owen might never be able to support himself or his family fully again. Last night’s landslide felt like confirmation that she carried with her a terrible brand of bad luck and was destined to spend the rest of her life alone in order to spare anyone else from having to share in the effects of it.
You should go. At first, she tried to shake the thought free, but soon she realized it was the only way to protect those she loved from further harm. Especially with what Owen had said the night before. He’d never look at her the same way once he knew what she’d done. She needed to leave. She could sneak out now and get back to the house to gather her few things and then disappear before Aileen and Owen got home. Turning, she tiptoed out the door.
Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she set off for home—nae, the McCreadys’ house. She glanced behind her once to make sure she wasn’t being followed, then hurried up the road.
It would take days for things to dry out from the deluge the night before, and the trek back was just as bad as the one there, if not worse due to the need to go uphill this direction. The journey took far longer than she expected, and the last few hundred yards, she looked back every few minutes, certain she’d find Owen and Aileen coming around the last corner.
A gust of wind kicked up, swirling her hair in front of her face. Fighting against it, she pulled her hair away and glanced to the sky. Please, God, don’t send more rain.
The area couldn’t handle it—the ground was already saturated. Plus, Saoirse had no place dry to stay. She had no idea where she would go. The fleeting thought of heading back to John and Bridie’s popped into her head. She knew she’d be welcome, but they would have their hands full housing at least some of those who’d been displaced when their homes were destroyed. Never mind the fact that she was trying to protect them from herself too. She would most likely be sleeping outside tonight, under a tree if she was lucky, and needed as mild weather as the Good Lord saw fit to provide. The irony of asking God’s blessing of good weather was not lost on her, given how He seemed to be punishing her for all she’d done.
At the thought of being on her own, knowing bandits frequented the area, her confidence began to falter. But as the McCreadys’ house came into view, she steeled herself to follow through with her plan.
Stout trotted down the hill beyond the house, tail wagging and tongue dangling out to one side. He came up and nosed Saoirse’s hand.
“Good boy,” she murmured as she scratched his head. “Ya take good care o’ them, alright?”
He looked up at her, eyes bright and happy, tail going double time.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiled at the dog and made her way into the house. Closing the door, she leaned against it, drinking in the place that had so quickly become her home. The mild scents of tea and dried herbs hanging in the air mingled with all that was distinctly Owen. His nightshirt hanging on the post of his bed, his favorite teacup sitting next to the basin, his flatcap on the peg by the door. She lifted it from its place and ran her fingers over the tweed, absently wondering if he’d woven it. She pulled the cap to her nose and inhaled. The earthy smell of the wool combined with Owen’s own unique scent overwhelmed her, and she doubled over with a sob. How could she leave him? Not only did he still need her help finishing the tweed, but she was fairly certain she’d fallen in love with him. Memories of their tender kiss, followed by images of all their time together the past few weeks, flooded her mind. Owen rescuing her when she’d caught her finger in a knot—and the first time she felt his skin against hers when he worked to free her from the tangle. The first time they worked the loom together, his quiet strength as he stood behind her and his baritone voice singing softly. His robust laughter filling the house while they sat around the dinner table like a wee family of three. Walking the hills with him after helping deliver wee Dubhín.
Sobs choked her and she cried out, “Oh, God, help me!”
Forcing herself to straighten, she scanned the room a final time, looking for something with which to bolster her courage. The kettle caught her eye, but there was no time for a cuppa. When her gaze fell upon the hearth, she stilled, chills prickling her skin at the sobering reminder of why she was leaving. It was for Owen’s good. For Aileen’s protection. And for the protection of all those she’d come to care for so deeply in the village.
Slipping Owen’s hat back onto the peg, she tugged the bodice of her dress and tightened her apron strings. With determined steps, she passed the fireplace, then went down the short hallway and into the room she’d shared with Aileen. In minutes, her bag was packed and she was back at the front door.
Scanning the cozy home once more, she blinked away fresh tears and stepped outside.