Chapter 33
33
Owen sang along with Saoirse’s weaving tune as he wrapped the last two shuttles with thread—one with lavender, one with his favorite rusty red color. The singing was a good distraction. He glanced over his shoulder at Saoirse. She was intently focused on the job, brows pulled together in concentration as her hands and feet moved in the coordinated dance that is weaving. She looked like a seasoned master of the craft. Well, mostly. Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth, and Owen couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled in his chest. But then he had to look away from those lips, lest he be pulled back into the daydream of what could have been had Stout not come between them.
He finished wrapping the last spool and shuffled behind Saoirse to drop it in the basket at her side. More than the longing for her kiss, he was overwhelmed with a deep sense of gratitude. It seemed that, perhaps, his words had sunk in and she was beginning to see that God wasn’t punishing her for what happened to her family—she’d been doing that to herself. And while he wouldn’t wish that sort of tragedy on even the likes of Haggerty and his ilk, he was so grateful that God used those terrible circumstances to bring Saoirse here.
He turned and studied the loom. Only a few inches remained until they were finished with their last bolt of tweed. His gaze drifted to the stack in the corner. Even in the waning light, he could make out the unique blend and twill he’d designed and was slowly becoming known for. He counted the rolls again just to make sure his mind hadn’t played a trick on him the last seventeen times he’d tallied them.
All at once, the loom fell silent.
“I ... I don’t believe it,” Saoirse said. “’Tis done.”
Owen’s hand drifted up to cover his mouth. Then he ran it down his chin, a strange sensation filling his belly. “Dáiríre?” he said, his voice thick.
She nodded. “Really.”
A slow smile lifted his face, and he walked the length of the loom, his hand running along the finished tweed. When he got to the foot of it, he bent close to the fabric to ensure it was all done and ready to be tied off. He straightened and met her gaze, then held out a small pair of shears. “Would ya like to do the honors?”
Saoirse’s jaw fell slack, and a small grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “Are ya sure?”
Owen grinned and waggled the scissors in his hand. “I’d say ye earned it.”
She took the cutters from him, bent, and double-checked the weaver’s knot she’d tied the weft off with, then she reverently snipped the shuttle thread close to the weave. They made quick work of cutting down the heddles and pulling the finished tweed from the loom. Once they had it rolled and stacked with the others, they both stood and stared at the fruits of their labor for a long, quiet moment.
Finally, Saoirse sighed and looked at Owen. The brightness and joy in her eyes threatened to undo him. He’d do anything to make sure he saw it there every day. “We did it,” she said, sighing once more.
“Aye.” He smiled. “We did.”
They both burst into laughter and then he swept Saoirse up in his arms and spun her around. When he set her down, they held the embrace for a moment. “Thank you,” he murmured into her ear. “For everything.”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “No, thank you .”
****
Saoirse relaxed into Owen’s arms, both exhausted and elated that their task was finally complete. They stood that way, each holding the other, for a long while. When they finally parted, Saoirse took one more look at the tall stack of fabric bolts and shook her head in wonder. “I won’t know what to do with m’self now.” She chuckled and looked back to Owen.
“I can think of a few things,” he said, a sly grin tipping his mouth.
Heat flashed up her cheeks, and her pulse quickened as they drew closer to one another again. She shrugged slightly. “I suppose I could think of something to keep me busy.” Good gracious, she was getting bold.
He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. Saoirse reached up with her other hand and ran her fingertips down his cheek.
“Owen! Saoirse! Come eat!”
Owen huffed a breath out his nose, and his head drooped as he chuckled. He leaned down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to Saoirse’s cheek, then her forehead. He then tugged her hand to lead her outside. “We’d best not keep Aileen waiting.”
Saoirse giggled and followed him out into the chilly evening. As they strolled over to the road, she took in the view. The stars overhead twinkled in the unseasonably clear sky, the windows of the house glowing with the soft golden light of a turf fire. In the distance sheep bleated contentedly, and the air was filled with the most comforting and familiar potpourri. Overwhelmed with gratitude and overcome with love for this place, these people, this man, she stopped walking. When Owen’s hand tugged against hers, he looked back, his face questioning. Saoirse closed the distance until barely a breeze fit between them. She reached up and stroked his cheek, then lifted on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Owen stiffened in surprise for a split second before engulfing her in his arms and melting into her kiss.
When they pulled away, Saoirse pulled in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Now we can go eat.”
Owen laughed, shaking his head. Then he took her hand, laced his fingers through hers again, and led her down the road to the house.
When they went in, Hugh was setting plates and flatware around the table as Aileen stirred something in a pot on the stove. Next to Saoirse, Owen’s stomach rumbled.
He pressed a hand to his belly. “Pardon me,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I reckon I’m a mite hungrier than I realized.”
Once coats and hats were hung up and hands and faces had been washed, the four sat down to a delectable supper of stew and brown bread.
“Well, it seems ye two have kissed and made up,” Aileen said as she dipped her bread into the broth.
Saoirse choked on the bite she’d just put in her mouth, nearly spewing it all over the table. As she tried to right herself and take a sip of tea, Owen asked, “What d’ya mean by that?”
Aileen rolled her eyes. “I just mean ye lot came in here all smiles and hellos when ya couldn’t even look at each other yesterday.”
Saoirse, finally recovered, cleared her throat. “Oh, right. Yes, I believe we’ve worked things out.” She glanced at Owen from the corner of her eye. He flashed a subtle wink in her direction, and she warmed at the gesture.
“It doesn’t hurt that we’ve finished the order,” Owen added.
“Have you now?” Aileen’s eyes rounded, and she grinned wide. “That’s wonderful!”
“Well done,” Hugh said. “ Comhghairdeas !”
Owen nodded. “Thank you.” He looked to Saoirse, eyes shining. “I think we both thought we weren’t going to make it there for a wee while.”
Saoirse agreed but couldn’t help feeling his statement addressed more than the weaving. “Indeed.” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin and turned her attention to Aileen and Hugh. “How go things down at the school?”
Hugh sighed and shifted in his seat. “Well,” he said, “in some ways better than expected. We’ve been able to salvage a great deal more than we’d originally thought we might.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Saoirse said.
Aileen nodded and looked at Hugh. “Unfortunately, the building itself is far more damaged than we originally expected as well.”
“Exactly,” Hugh added. “In fact, several of the buildings in town have shown signs of slipping. Even ones not directly affected by the landslide.”
Saoirse’s hands dropped to her lap. “Oh, that’s awful.”
“Which buildings?” Owen asked.
Hugh shook his head. “A great many, actually. Now I think of it, there’s only one or two that still seem stable.” His gaze flitted to Aileen and back. “There’s talk of leaving.”
“Leaving?” Saoirse and Owen asked in unison.
Aileen set her spoon on the table and settled her gaze on them. “There’s going to be a meeting in the village in two days’ time to talk about abandoning it and everyone goin’ their separate ways.”
Saoirse’s heart sank. So many lives would be affected by that. Not just those who lived in Glentornan itself but everyone in the surrounding area and glen as well. The school, the church, the doctor’s office—all were utilized by the greater community in the Poisoned Glen. Sadness filled Aileen’s eyes, and Saoirse looked from her to Hugh. Clearly the two were very fond of one another. What would it mean for them if Hugh was assigned to a different school farther afield?
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Where would everyone go?”
One of Hugh’s shoulders lifted and fell. “That remains to be seen. Some folks have family in the area. Others are talking about leaving Donegal altogether. And one or two have mentioned using this as a chance to finally make the voyage over to America.”
Saoirse looked to Aileen, whose eyes swam in fresh tears. Saoirse reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. Was this one of those plans that didn’t make sense? Or was this more hardship simply for the sake of hardship?
Under the table, Owen slipped a hand around Saoirse’s free one. She drew strength from its immediate warmth and lifted a prayer for courage and wisdom. It would seem they were going to need it.