Chapter 34
34
The next morning, Owen was up early to ready the tweed order for when the courier from Murphy’s arrived. After every twig snap and gust of breeze, he checked the horizon for signs of Saoirse coming up the road. He’d offered for her to stay last night, back in Aileen’s room like before. She’d blushed and thanked him for the offer but said Bridie would be expecting her and she didn’t want to worry her hostess.
That was something Owen greatly admired about her. She was one of the most thoughtful and considerate people he’d ever known. Which made knowing how the fire that took her family started all that much more difficult to swallow—and his remarks about carelessness as well, for that matter. He still felt that those who caused the death of another human through their own negligence should be held accountable. However, there was a difference between true negligence and sheer accident. What happened to Saoirse’s family was the latter, as far as he was concerned. But had Saoirse truly come to believe that for herself?
When the wind picked up, Owen tugged his flatcap down over his ears and glanced toward the sky. A few wispy clouds skittered across the vast expanse of blue, but dark, ominous ones were building out over the sea. If the weather followed its typical pattern, they’d be in the middle of another squall by nightfall. Once again, his gaze drifted toward the road leading up from the village as he wished, not for the first time, that he had insisted on going to John and Bridie’s to collect Saoirse in the wagon this morning. He’d offered last night, but she’d refused, saying the walk would do her good. However, at this moment, he wanted nothing more than to have her by his side.
Finally, he saw a shock of strawberry-blond ringlets bobbing its way toward the house. A wide grin split his face, and he scampered down the hill from the shed like a schoolboy who had just been called in for pudding. He arrived at the front door, breathless, just about the same time Saoirse rounded the final bend before the house.
“‘Mornin’,” he said, still grinning like an eejit.
“And good mornin’ to yerself, sir,” she replied, an equally big smile lighting her face. He met her halfway to the door and pressed a kiss to her cheek, which turned the loveliest shade of pink. “Are ya all set for yer man from Murphy’s?” she asked.
Owen glanced back toward the weaving shed and nodded. “Aye. I’ve got it all by the door. Just waitin’ for the man himself.”
“I still can’t believe we did it,” she said looking up at him, eyes aglow.
“You did it, really.” He held up his right hand. “And I mean that quite literally.”
She took his hand and kissed the back of it. “It was a team effort. I had the best apprenticeship master.”
Owen scoffed playfully. “Well, when ye’re right, ye’re right.” He laughed, and she bumped his side with her elbow. “Cuppa while we wait?”
Saoirse nodded and they headed inside.
Just as they were finishing their tea, the Murphy’s wagon rumbled up outside. Owen and Saoirse exchanged a glance, both clearly eager to see if their work would pass muster. They met the man outside. Owen greeted him and shook his hand. “Conn, how are ya?”
“Can’t complain now, so I can’t,” Conn replied. “Rain’s a’comin’ though. Can feel it in my bones.”
Owen looked to the sky. “Aye,” he said. “I believe it is. Let’s get ye loaded up and back on the road, then.”
Owen and Saoirse led Conn and the wagon around to the weaving shed door. As they loaded the bolts of fabric into the wagon bed, Conn inspected a few of them. He bent closer, brows furrowed, and rubbed the cloth between his fingers. “Hmm” was all he said.
Owen’s stomach sank, and the familiar weight of worry settled on his shoulders once more. Next to him, Saoirse slid her hand through the crook of his arm. “Be strong and courageous,” she whispered.
Thunder rolled overhead, and the wind began to pick up.
“Help with this, will ya, lad?” the man said, holding up a large leather cover.
“Cinnte,” Owen said, rushing to help him spread it over the bed of the wagon and secure it down.
“Can’t risk the damp settlin’ in to it, y’know?”
Owen knew all too well.
“Right. I think that’ll do nicely. Well done, and thanks very much,” Conn called over his shoulder as he scrambled onto the seat at the front of the wagon. “Till next time.”
Owen and Saoirse walked behind him down the hill. When he faded out of sight around the bend, Saoirse slipped her hand into Owen’s. His fingers curled around hers and he squeezed.
Saoirse gasped and looked up at Owen, mouth agape.
“What?” Owen asked, his heart kicking up in pace.
She smiled and lifted his hand up. Only then did he realize that it was his right hand holding hers. He laughed once and opened his hand, letting hers slip free. Slowly, he flexed his fingers. They felt stiff, almost foreign, but at least they were obeying his commands. He worked until they curled all the way into a fist, then carefully opened them again.
“Buíocihas le Dia,” she said on a sigh, eyes closed.
“Aye.” He nodded. “Thanks be to God, indeed.”
****
Thursday morning, Owen stood at the hob waiting for the kettle to boil. He yawned and scrubbed his hand down his face. He’d barely slept the last two nights. Just after Conn had left, the skies opened and didn’t stop until late last night. Even the town meeting had been postponed until this afternoon. Aileen and Hugh had gotten stuck in the village yesterday evening. They’d gone down to continue working at the school Tuesday morning, and when the storm hit, there was no safe way for them to return. Owen presumed Aileen had stayed with the Sheridans since then.
But that had left Owen and Saoirse here alone. While being alone with Saoirse was top of his list of things he wanted in life, this was not the way in which he wanted to do it. Given their newly rediscovered affection for one another, both were so concerned about propriety that they’d hardly spoken for two days.
Between the racket from the storm and the magnetic pull of knowing Saoirse was just through the next door, sleep had eluded Owen both nights.
It wasn’t that he felt they were both incapable of controlling themselves but more that he wanted to do whatever he could to let her know that her honor mattered to him and that he wanted to preserve her reputation. If spending a night trapped in a weaving shed together could’ve set village tongues wagging, how much more so could spending two full nights alone in his own home?
The door to Aileen’s room scraped open, and Saoirse shuffled into the living room. Purple shadows ringed her eyes, and her hair—which had been pulled up into a tidy bun the night before—now half-dangled down the side of her head. She scratched her arm and yawned. “Mornin’.”
Owen smiled. She’d never looked more beautiful, and he counted himself lucky that he got to be the first one to greet her that morning. “Get any sleep?”
She lifted weary eyes to meet his. “Not much.”
“Me neither.” The kettle whistled, and he poured the boiling liquid into the teapot, stirred, and put the lid on. He gestured to the table. “Come sit. I’ve got just the thing.”
She shuffled over and flopped into the chair. He poured a steaming cuppa and placed it in front of her, along with a slice of brown bread and a rasher of bacon.
“I’m afraid I burned the bacon a bit.” He shrugged. “Aileen usually does the cookin’.”
Saoirse drew in a long sip of tea, eyes closed, and sighed. “Thank you.” She sounded like she’d been crawling in the desert and that had been her first drink of water in days. The power that a mere cup of tea had to improve just about any situation had always struck Owen funny.
“I wonder how she’s doing?” Saoirse asked, sounding a bit more awake.
Owen tried to infuse a lightness in his voice. “I’m sure she’s grand. Bridie’s probably fed her so much, she’s about to burst.” Saoirse laughed. Owen only hoped he was right and that nothing sinister or disastrous had befallen his sister.
“What’s on the docket today?”
Owen stretched as he thought. “I need to get out to the fields and see to the sheep. Check their water, make sure Haggerty’s not been back.”
Saoirse nodded. “Need any help?”
Owen smiled. “If you’d like, I’d love the company.”
Her head bobbed again, and she took another sip of tea. Owen stood and went down the hallway to a small press to grab some things he wanted with him in the fields. When he returned, Saoirse’s head lay on the table. Her eyes were closed, and she was snoring softly.
He watched her for a moment, wanting to soak in the peace that finally rested on her face. Quietly, he tiptoed over and brushed the hair from her face, then carefully scooped her up in his arms. He carried her to one of the chairs by the fire and set her down. Then he grabbed a plaid from his bed and draped it across her. Bending at the waist, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered.