Chapter 28
28
“She didn’t tell you where she was going?” Owen asked Aileen as they rounded the final bend in the road before home.
Aileen shook her head. “I thought she’d said somethin’ to ye.”
Owen ground his teeth, which didn’t help the dull ache that had taken up residence between his temples ever since they realized Saoirse was missing. They’d swept back through the village before leaving, but she wasn’t there either.
As the house came into view, the roof of the weaving shed caught Owen’s eye. “Maybe she’s in the shed.” Perhaps she was just as antsy to finish the weaving as he had been earlier. “I’ll go check there. You check the house, Aileen.”
She nodded.
“I’ll check the barn,” Hugh said. “Just in case.” With the shortage of usable houses in Glentornan for those displaced, Owen had agreed to let Hugh stay in the barn.
Owen mumbled his ascent and trudged up to the shed. The massive tree still blocked the entrance, and the windows were dark. He’d expected the one to the left of the door to be dark, since he’d shoved some scrap material to block where the branches had broken in, but the other windows also held no light. “Saoirse?” he called.
He wasn’t sure why he was bothering to call out to her though. She clearly wasn’t in there. There was no way she’d attempt to weave in the dark. Never mind the fact that all was silent—no raucous din of the loom polluting the air. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from cupping his hands around his eyes and pressing his face to the glass, just to be sure. As he suspected, only the sight of an empty room and still loom greeted him.
Frustration and worry continued to mount in his chest, but he forced himself to breathe. She was probably back in the house sipping a cup of tea and chatting away with Aileen.
But when he arrived at the house, he found Aileen pacing the floor, hands wringing as Hugh stood by watching helplessly. Stout trotted over and stood expectantly at Owen’s side.
“Any luck?” Owen asked, though he knew the answer. Aileen shook her head, her eyes full of worry.
Hugh stepped forward. “Could she have gone to visit a friend?”
“She doesn’t know anyone except us and those in the village,” Aileen said, her voice thick. Suddenly she turned wide eyes to Owen. “Ya don’t think Haggerty got ’er, do ya?”
He hadn’t considered that possibility until now. He pulled his lips into a thin line, wagging his head. “No.” He shook his head more firmly. “No, I really don’t. That’s not really Haggerty’s way. He’s after stock he can sell at market, not another mouth he has to feed.”
“Would she have gone out to the sheep?” Hugh asked. Owen and Aileen looked at one another, tentative hope lighting their faces.
“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe.” He opened the door. “I’ll check the far field. You lot check the ones beyond the barn.” He hurried from the house, Stout tight on his heels.
As they crested hill after hill, Owen’s gaze swept from horizon to horizon, but there was naught to be seen but sheep, the odd building or two, and about a thousand different shades of green, save the one shade he truly wished to see—the nearly blue shade of sea glass that filled Saoirse’s eyes.
When they’d walked so long that Stout began to fall behind instead of trotting ahead, they turned and headed back home to check in with the others. The light had begun to fade by the time they arrived at the house to learn that Hugh and Aileen had had the same sort of luck finding Saoirse as him.
“There’s not much else we can do until the morning,” Hugh was saying as he helped Aileen dish up a meager dinner of steamed fish and veg.
Owen’s chest burned, and his lips screwed up to one side. “Are you suggesting we leave her out there all night?”
Hugh shrugged, but his eyes held compassion. “It’ll be pitch-black out there soon.” He listed off the same litany of reasons it would be foolish to go after her now as Owen had given Aileen about not chasing Haggerty when the sheep had gone missing.
“And she’s out there alone in it!” Owen yelled, pointing his outstretched arm toward the door.
Aileen settled weary eyes on Owen. “He’s just sayin’ that it’s not worth riskin’ both of yer lives searching in the black o’ night, is all.” Aileen set a plate down at Owen’s spot at the table and gestured for him to sit. Removing his hat, he raked his fingers through his hair and wrestled with what to do.
“At least get a wee somethin’ in yer stomach,” Aileen crooned. Her tone reminded Owen of how he would talk to a spooked horse. It irked him to no end.
“I’m not a child,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
Aileen scoffed. “Coulda fooled me.”
Owen tossed his hands. “I’m not being petulant, Aileen. I’m worried sick because the woman I lo—” He cleared his throat. “A woman is lost out there all alone, with little knowledge of the land or dangers hidden within it.”
Aileen’s eyes glinted, and she laid her hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Ye’re right,” she said, flitting a glance to Hugh then back. “I’m sorry.”
Sighing, Owen picked up a fork and jammed it into the food but couldn’t bring himself to eat a single bite. Stout sat at the door, his nose almost pressed into the crease between it and the jamb, and whined. When no one responded, the dog rounded and looked at each of them, his front feet tippy-tapping on the floor as he continued to whine.
“I know, boyo,” Owen said. Me too.
Owen’s leg bounced uncontrollably under the table as he looked back and forth between his sister and Hugh—both of whom were nearly finished with their food. How could they eat when Saoirse was out there, who knew where? How could they sit in this house, safe and warm, when Saoirse could be hurt or in danger? His jaw ached, and the smell of the fish, which was usually one of his favorite aromas, churned his stomach.
“I can’t take this anymore,” he said, and he stood so fast his chair fell backward. Stout barked once and pawed at the door.
Hugh sighed and rose as well. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Owen said, holding his hand out, palm facing Hugh. “I don’t want Aileen here alone. Plus, someone should be here in case Saoirse comes home.”
“Take an laindéir mhór ,” Aileen said, crossing the room and pulling down the large lantern that hung overhead in the middle of the sitting area.
Owen pressed his lips together in a soft smile and nodded as he took the light from her. “T’anks.”
After stopping by the barn for an extra blanket, he headed out in the direction of the shed. He had no idea where to begin looking, but his trek to the east had been a bust, so he went in the first direction he thought of. When he passed the weaving shed, he glanced once more in the windows. Still dark.
As he wandered, his parting words echoed over and over in his head. “In case Saoirse comes home.”
How had it come to feel like her home in such a short period of time? And how was it that the place he’d lived his whole life somehow now felt less like home without her in it? And what would he do if the worst had happened and Saoirse was no longer with— No. He couldn’t think like that.
He began to hum a tune to keep his mind occupied, stopping every few bars to call out Saoirse’s name or to stoop and shine the lantern into a copse of trees or under a bush. When he realized the tune he was humming, it was a punch to the gut. It was the same song they’d just been singing a few hours earlier in the church. He was reminded once again of the commitment he’d made—to worship and praise God, no matter what.
He lifted his face to the heavens. “God, please let me find her. Lead me to her.” He stopped short of adding “before it’s too late.”
****
The sky was just beginning to fade from black to gray. Owen dragged his palms down his face, trying to clear his vision. He’d been searching all night to no avail, and his sight was beginning to blur. He’d wandered clear up to the base of Mount Errigal and headed west from there, all the while calling out Saoirse’s name. At one point, he thought he’d seen her silhouette curled up against the base of a stone wall, but it just turned out to be an ornery sheep who did not appreciate being jolted awake from its slumber.
Just as his fatigue threatened to overtake him completely, a shock of fabric on a tree caught his attention. He ran toward it, down the small knoll, feeling as though his boots had been filled with lead. Once he got closer, he could see that Saoirse was asleep in the low boughs of an oak tree. He gained his bearings. They were on the edge of the north side of Lough Lewey.
“Saoirse.” Her name came out like a breath. She stirred and opened her eyes. “I’ve found you. At last, buíocihas le Dia.”
Her eyes widened, and she rubbed them with her fists as though to make sure she could believe what she was seeing. “Owen? What are you doing here?”
“Funny, I was about to ask ye the same thing.” He stepped forward, one hand raised. “Can I help ya down?”
Her expression tightened. “I’m not going back.”
Owen huffed as if Lir had kicked him in the stomach. “Will you at least come down so we can talk?”
****
Saoirse stared down at Owen, his blue eyes blazing in the early morning light. With his hand outstretched to her like that, it took everything she had not to jump into his arms and never leave them again. But she couldn’t. She had to be strong.
“Please?” he implored.
She let her gaze drift along the horizon, still warring with herself about whether or not to oblige. Could she trust herself? At length, she nodded, reached out, and let him help her down. Her bones ached and her neck was tight from the mostly sleepless night. It had been dreadfully cold, and the cacophony of strange noises had her checking over her shoulder all night long.
He held onto her hand and searched her face. Then he reached around and wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders. “Are ya alright? What happened?”
She pulled the plaid tighter around her shoulders, grateful for its added warmth, and turned from his piercing gaze. There was no way she could say what needed to be said with him looking at her like that. “I’m fine. Nothing happened, I just ... I need to leave.”
“But why?” The confusion and hurt in his voice added fuel to the already blazing fire of her guilt.
She shook her head and turned farther away so her back faced him, her gaze sweeping the eastern horizon. “It doesn’t matter.”
He stepped up behind her, warmth spreading across her back from his nearness. She pulled in a slow, deep breath, trying to sustain her courage.
“Oh, but it does. It matters to me.” He cleared his throat. “Very much.”
Her hands balled into fists, and she dropped her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Slowly and tenderly, his fingers slid across her back to her shoulder and gripped it.
“Owen,” she said, her voice barely audible.
His whisper was so near, his breath tickled her neck. “Help me understand. Please.”
He tugged slightly so she faced him, then reached up and wiped the tears staining her cheeks. She nearly melted at his touch, and her eyes drifted closed. “I have to go.”
“But why?” His voice was thick with emotion. “Don’t you ... I thought we ... I think I lo—I need you, Saoirse.”
“You’ll find someone else who can help with the weaving, I’m sure.” She sighed. “We’re nearly finished, anyhow.” She looked away, the force of his gaze too much to bear.
“Hang the weaving,” he said, startling her with his intensity. He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it. “Saoirse, I need you .”
When she looked in his eyes again, her heart crumbled at the pain and confusion reflecting back at her. “Oh, Owen.” Unable to stop herself, she reached up and cupped his cheek, his whiskers both soft and prickly beneath her skin. “I’m so sorry.”
When he leaned in closer, she knew she should turn away. But if she was going to leave this place, never to see him again, she wanted the memory of the taste of his kiss once more. It wasn’t fair—to either of them—but in that moment, she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and brushed her lips against his. Then again. Suddenly, with the heat and intensity of a summer squall, they burst into the most passionate, toe-curling kiss that stole her breath and sent her head spinning. Her hands slid up and tangled in his hair. Owen’s arms wrapped fully around her, pulling her close.
All at once, an alarm sounded in Saoirse’s head. What are you doing?
She broke apart from him and spun away, taking a few steps to separate herself from this most intoxicating man. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said around puffed breaths.
He was quiet for a long moment, his own breathing sounding as though he’d just hiked Errigal in record time. At length he said, his voice rough, “What if I’m not?”
Saoirse gritted her teeth, tension snaking around her jaw and down her neck. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then help me understand.” He reached for her hand. “Come back with me and we can talk about it.”
“I can’t!” she yelled, yanking her hand free. “Don’t you understand? It’s all my fault!”
A look of confusion flashed across Owen’s face, followed by a sly grin. “Well, that’s just not true. I’m pretty sure it takes two to kiss like that.”
“Och! That’s not what I mean.” She pressed both hands to her forehead and paced back and forth, trying to find the words that would let it all make sense to him. She huffed and held her arms out wide, letting the blanket fall to the ground. “You’re in the position you’re in because of me. Your hand, the sheep, the village, the landslide, all of it. It’s my fault, and if I don’t leave, I’m afraid I’ll be the death of every last one of ye.”
Owen’s stance softened, as did his tone. “Hey, hey, that landslide was an act of nature. And if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be much worse off, if not dead. The same goes for Stout. None of that is your fault. You didn’t send Haggerty and his men to steal my sheep.”
He shrugged. “In fact, if it hadn’t been for you and all you’ve done to help with the weavin’ and the house and the flock, Aileen an’ me would probably already be in the workhouse ... You saved my life.”
Saoirse’s shoulders fell and her head dipped forward as it slowly wagged. “No, Owen,” she said, her words measured, “I’m bad luck. I’m cursed. I brought this ill fate with me.”
“No, no, no,” he said, tracing a finger down her cheek. “You’re not bad luck. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He reached for her hand again, but she threw her arms in the air. “I killed my family!” she screamed.
Owen recoiled like he’d been slapped.
She coughed out a sob. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, but I’ve paid for it ever since. And now I’ve made you and Aileen and the whole village pay for it too.”
“What happened?”
Saoirse turned away again. She couldn’t bear to look him in the face as she told him the story. She crossed over to a large rock and sat on it, her gaze trained over the valley in front of them. “I was a maid at Waterstown House and it was my job to get things all going in the morning. I’d start very early—or very late, depending on how you look at it.
“But for some reason I overslept that morning. I was rushing around getting ready to leave and trying not to wake my family. It was a frigid morn, and I’d set the fire extra hot. I tossed my apron on the peg near the hearth like I always did and rushed out the door without a second glance.” Her chest shuddered with a ragged breath. “Apparently I missed the peg, and the apron knocked over a lantern from the mantel, because... the next thing I knew, the bells were clanging and a messenger came to the manor house and said there was a fire.”
“Oh, Saoirse.” She heard Owen’s steps come up behind her. “I’m so sorry.”
She scratched at a patch of moss on the rock. “I rushed back home, but it was too late. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone ... even Finn, our dog.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, but all that did was allow images of the charred rubble, still smoking, to shine brighter in her mind’s eye.
“That’s ... that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
Her head wagged slowly. “I’ve never been one for good fortune. My family always teased that if anything was going to go wrong for one of us, it would be me. I have a black thumb. Like when I tended the neighbors’ stock while they were away and every last one of them fell ill. But ever since the fire, ill fate has befallen everyone I’ve come in contact with—starting with the man who was supposed to be my next employer, and it’s just gotten progressively worse.”
Owen’s hand laid tenderly on Saoirse’s shoulder. She resisted the urge to grasp it with her own and hang on for dear life. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A single laugh puffed from her chest. “You said it yourself—taking a life due to your own carelessness is unforgiveable. And I’ve taken five.” Sobs shook her body once more.
“Saoirse, I—”
She shrugged his hand from her shoulder and slid from the rock. “I know. I’m a monster, and now I’ve allowed my carelessness to carry over and affect everyone else I love. I refuse to let anyone else pay the consequences for my mistakes anymore. I’m leaving so I can’t hurt anyone else.”
She turned, brushed past Owen, and continued up the hill to the road.