Chapter 35
35
Saoirse awoke with a start. Her back was cramped, so she stretched her legs out in front of her and reached her arms high overhead. Where was she? She blinked a few times and finally recognized her surroundings. She was in a chair in front of Owen’s fireplace. She had a blanket over her lap and a crick in her neck.
“Well, hello there.”
Saoirse yelped and jumped to her feet. Owen sat at the table in the kitchen, a funny little smile on his face.
“You snore.” The playful glint in his eyes sparkled as he chuckled.
“Och! I do not.” She pretended to be offended and made herself busy folding up the plaid Owen had apparently covered her with.
He stood and set an empty teacup in the basin. “Well, of the two of us, I was the one awake for the event in question, so we’ll be taking my word for it.”
Saoirse tried to hold back the laugh building in her chest, but she couldn’t. Suddenly, she felt very self-conscious. “Were you ... did you just ... sit there? While I slept?”
“No,” he said nonchalantly. “Some of us actually work around here.”
Saoirse scoffed and threw the blanket at him. He managed to dodge it before rolling laughter bubbled up and out his mouth. Saoirse adored the sound of it.
“I’m only jokin’,” he said as he closed the distance between them. “If anyone deserves to rest, it’s you. Besides,” he said as he took her hand and kissed the back of it, “I’ve only been in here for a few minutes. If you hadn’t have woken yourself up, I would’ve done. We need to get to the meeting.”
Saoirse clapped a hand to her forehead. “I completely forgot about the meetin’! Are we late?”
“No, no.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “We don’t need to leave for another hour.”
“Right,” she said, relieved. She reached up and squeezed his hand on her shoulder, then turned toward the hall. “I’ll get myself ready.”
“There’s some bread and fish on the table if yer hungry.” He gestured to the kitchen.
As if on cue, Saoirse’s stomach rumbled, sending heat creeping up her neck to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said, then she disappeared into Aileen’s room.
She quickly changed out her apron for a clean one and put on a fresh pair of stockings. Then she approached the looking glass and gasped. Even in the smoky reflection, she could see she looked an absolute fright. Her hair was completely disheveled, and somehow dirt had gotten smudged across her cheek. How long had that been there?
Without a washstand in the room, she had few options. So she licked her finger and cleared the dirt from her face, then she pulled all the pins from her hair and twisted the locks up in a fresh style, allowing a few ringlets to fall down around her face and neck. That was about as good as it was going to get. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips, hoping to add a little color, and left the room.
In no time, they had the wagon hitched up to Lir and were rumbling down the road toward the village. Both were quiet, though the silence that stretched between them was comfortable. It was a nice change from the strained silence they’d been living in the past two days. The fresh air, it seemed, did them good. That and having an escape from the growing romantic tension building between them. Saoirse had hoped kissing him Tuesday morning would relieve some of that and help them keep their minds on other matters. Instead, for her at least, it had only served to ramp up the intensity of her attraction to and affection for him. Adding how he’d been a complete and utter gentleman during their time alone only served to endear her even further to the man.
We just need to get married and be done with it. Saoirse’s cheeks burned at the errant notion. If that idea were to escape her lips on accident, someone might presume her intentions were untoward or carnal. But nothing could be further from the truth. Owen McCready had proved himself to be a trustworthy man, an able guardian, a man of faith, and a wonderful companion. And while being in his arms was entirely delightful, it was all those other things she was most eager to experience for the rest of her life.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Saoirse felt Owen studying her, but she kept her gaze trained forward as she willed her pulse to slow. “Oh, nothing much.” She shrugged. “I’m just wondering about the meeting and what might happen in the future for everyone.” Well, it was mostly true.
Sighing, Owen nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” He glanced her way, then back at the road. “I have a hunch of what the village might decide, but it could go one of several ways.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Well, I s’pose it’s really only one of two ways. Either they decide to stay, or they decide to scatter.”
As they neared the church, Saoirse’s mind returned to Aileen and what this might mean for her if Hugh had to take a headmaster position somewhere else.
Owen parked the wagon and helped Saoirse alight, then they joined the stream of people making their way into the church. When they entered, Aileen caught Owen’s eye.
“God be praised,” she cried and ran to her brother before wrapping him up in an embrace. “Thank God yas are alright.”
Owen held his sister tight and cradled the back of her head with his hand. “I was just about to say the same thing about ye.” He gripped her shoulders and held them at a distance as he looked her over. “Are ya truly alright?”
“Aye,” Aileen said, nodding. She looked absolutely knackered. Dark shadows hung below her eyes, and her hair clung to her shoulders. Her dress was covered in dried, caked-up mud.
Saoirse hugged her friend as Owen and Hugh shook hands.
“Might I have a quick word?” Hugh asked. Owen glanced to his sister, then back to Hugh, and nodded. They walked to the back of the church.
“How was it down here?” Saoirse asked. But before Aileen could answer, John Sheridan called the meeting to order.
His face was ashen with the same fatigue as everyone else’s as he stood and patted the air with his hands to quiet the crowd. “A chairde,” he began. “What I’m going to say will be no surprise to those who live here in the village. But we’ve kept this meeting because we know that ye who live in the hills need to hear what’s going on.”
Worried murmurs rippled through the crowd, which Saoirse noticed was a mite larger than any service she’d been to. Owen and Hugh shuffled down the aisle and joined Aileen and Saoirse in their row. Saoirse almost missed Hugh give Aileen a small nod. Aileen blushed and tried to hide a smile before turning her attention to the front of the sanctuary.
John scanned the group, a deep sadness shadowing the light that could usually be found in his eyes. The bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the tall windows and pooling in a golden puddle at his feet contrasted the dim mood of the crowd. “The village of Glentornan ... is no more.”
Gasps and cries went up from the people.
“Níl!”
“Say it’s not so!”
“What’s happened?”
“What about the church?”
John patted the air again. When the mumbling quieted, he continued. “’Tis true we first called this meeting in order to discuss if it was necessary to abandon the village, or if there might be a way to make it so we could stay.” He paused and scratched the back of his head. “However, during this most recent storm, another slide occurred”—more gasps—“Thankfully no one was hurt or trapped. But it has made it so the foundations of our buildings are no longer safe.”
Saoirse grasped Owen’s hand and squeezed. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held tight. What would this mean for them?
John went on, talking about what he knew most of the residents of Glentornan itself were planning to do, but Saoirse couldn’t follow his words. Her mind was swirling with questions of her own. While Owen and Aileen didn’t live in the village, they certainly relied on it for many things, including worship and fellowship. Not to mention medical care and schooling, should that need ever arise. But if that was all gone, could they sustain themselves just on the farm with the sheep? And what of Saoirse? If they were limited to the resources they could source from their land, having a third mouth to feed would tax that supply even further.
Next to her, Owen shifted in his seat and looked behind him, then around at the rest of the crowd. He leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, “Brace yerself. There could be a big fuss from the community.”
Saoirse peered up at him, worried and wondering. What sort of fuss?
A few rows ahead of them, a large, muscular man rose to his feet. “Uh-oh,” Owen muttered. He leaned in again, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “That’s Big Ed. Used to be a prized boxer in his younger days.”
Saoirse tightened her grip on his hand.
“First t’ing,” Big Ed said, holding up a meaty finger, his booming voice echoing in the large room. “I want to say I’m terrible sorry to hear yas hafta flee yer homes.”
The crowd erupted in agreement.
“Hear, hear.”
“Go díreach!”
“Good man!”
John Sheridan’s chin quivered as he nodded his thanks.
“And second,” Big Ed continued, “whatever yas need—be it a helpin’ hand or a bracin’ cuppa, we’re here.” Applause erupted and Saoirse’s grip loosened as she looked at Owen. Astonishment was painted on his face.
John was quiet for a long moment. It appeared he was trying to compose himself. At length, he said, “Thank ye, truly. Very much. I know all of us in Glentornan appreciate it.”
Father Cunningham joined John at the front of the room. “Let’s pray for all those who will be displaced by this unfortunate turn of events.” A rustling filled the room as people shifted in their seats, some to kneel and bow their heads.
As the vicar prayed, Saoirse lifted up her own prayers in agreement with his, though she added an extra prayer for Father Cunningham, as this likely meant he would be transferred to another parish.
After the prayer, the crowd slowly filed out, but a few stayed back. Conversation was almost absent, and the only sounds to be heard were the shuffling of feet and the occasional sniffle or quiet sob. John and Bridie approached their row and stopped, both offering sad smiles.
“What say ye to one last cuppa at our place? For auld time’s sake?” Bridie said, her voice cracking.
“That would be lovely.” Aileen’s eyes were red and puffy. Hugh laid his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her into the afternoon sun. Owen and Saoirse filed out behind them.
As they headed down the hill to the Sheridans’, a messenger rode up on a horse. “Beggin’ yer pardon, folks, but I’m lookin’ for an Owen McCready? I went up to his place, but no one was there. Someone on the road said to look here for ’im.”
Owen stepped forward. “I’m McCready.”
The messenger extended his arm, an official-looking envelope in his hand. “This is from Murphy’s of Donegal.”
Saoirse’s heart felt like it thudded to a stop in her chest. She instinctively drew closer to Owen, who was staring at the envelope. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to figure out what it could be.
“Would it be payment for the order?” Saoirse asked.
“No,” Aileen said behind her. “Yer man would’ve paid the balance when he collected the tweed.”
Saoirse looked up at Owen, who nodded slightly. She’d missed that part altogether.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Owen broke the seal and pulled the letter out. His eyes scanned the page, and his hands began to shake.
“What is it?” Saoirse placed a hand on his arm. “Are ya alright?”
Aileen was suddenly on the other side of him, as if she thought he might need holding up.
Owen stepped away from them, his head rocking side to side. “I canna believe it.”
Saoirse and the others held their breath, waiting for Owen to tell them if it was good news or ill.
He turned to face them all, still staring at the page, disbelief painted across his face. “They...” He swallowed and dropped his hands to his sides. “They want me to work for them. Full-time.”
“What?” Aileen exclaimed. “That’s incredible! Doin’ what?”
He looked at the paper again. “They’re wanting to centralize their production. They want me to oversee all the weavers and teach ’em my new twill and dying techniques and then manage all the production.” He looked at the group again. “Says Conn will be out here again tomorrow to discuss the particulars.”
Saoirse felt a little breathless. “That’s ... that’s wonderful!” And she truly meant it. But it was not lost on her that Murphy’s was based in Donegal Town. If he accepted that job, he’d be leaving his farm. And while she wanted only the very best for him, it did leave her feeling a mite worried about where she would go if he left. Could she and Aileen manage the farm on their own?
Aileen sidled up to Owen and began peppering him with questions he surely didn’t know the answers to as the group wound their way toward Bridie and John’s house. Saoirse kept to her own thoughts but couldn’t help the sadness that had begun to settle in her chest.
Once at the Sheridans’, Saoirse helped Bridie gather the cups and saucers and serve the tea. As Bridie settled into her chair after everyone had been served, she turned to Aileen. “So, any thoughts for what you might do if Owen accepts this new opportunity?”
Aileen blushed and dipped her head as she smiled. Her gaze flitted to Owen, then Hugh. “Well,” she said, “it’s funny ye’d ask. It just so happens I do have some plans of m’ own.”
“Oh? Do tell,” John said, a small glint returning to his eyes. Saoirse couldn’t tell if he knew what was about to be said or if he just had an idea.
Aileen reached over and took Hugh’s hand. “Hugh’s been offered a position at a boardinghouse that’s openin’ up just east of Letterkenny.”
Hugh smiled and kissed her hand. “And I’ve asked Aileen to go with me.” He scanned the group, beaming. “As my wife.”
Chaos erupted as hugs and congratulations were given out. It was only then that Saoirse noticed the thin silver band on Aileen’s left hand. She hugged her friends. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you,” she said.
“Father Cunnigham said he’d marry us next weekend.” Aileen grinned from ear to ear. “He said ’tis usually forbidden to wed during Lent, but given the circumstances, he felt it appropriate to bend the rules a bit.”
“This calls for something a mite stronger than tea!” John exclaimed and scurried to a cabinet in the corner. “Uisce Beatha all around!”
When everyone had a dram of the fine whiskey in hand, John led them in a toast. He raised his glass, and the rest followed suit. “To the lovebirds!”
“To the lovebirds!” everyone repeated. Glasses clinked together and wishes of “ sláinte ” were given. The whiskey was happily drunk by all, and joyous chatter filled the room for a long while before Saoirse, Owen, and Aileen took their leave.
Saoirse was truly happy for her friend. Aileen had waited so long for love to find her and had nearly given up hope. She deserved every happiness she and Hugh would find. But selfishly, Saoirse couldn’t help feeling like she was losing her family all over again. As the wagon rumbled over the road in the dim light of the setting sun, she hoped no one noticed the single tear sliding down her cheek.