Chapter 29
29
Owen watched as Saoirse walked away from him. Everything in him was screaming to run after her, to bring her home. But he couldn’t move—the weight of all she’d just told him, and the shock of what he’d actually said to her, pinned him to the ground.
He mulled the remark he’d made about carelessness over and over, equal parts still believing what he said and also feeling like what happened to Saoirse’s family was completely different. And yet ... it wasn’t that different at all from what had happened to his father. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Saoirse having to shoulder the burden of losing her entire family in addition to the guilt she felt for their demise.
Show up.
The phrase drifted, unbidden, across his heart. “What am I to show up to?” he spoke to the brisk morning air, eyes searching the sky.
He was met with only silence and the distant mournful cry of a magpie. He looked back in the direction Saoirse had gone, but she was already over the far rise, nowhere to be seen. He stared at the horizon for several long, desperate minutes, hoping to summon her back with just his thoughts. When she didn’t return, he decided he needed more help than just himself. If she kept heading on her current path, she’d hit Ballymann and then the Atlantic and would be forced to turn either to the north or south. He needed others to help him go after her and bring her home.
****
When John opened the door, Owen blanched at the dark circles that hung below his eyes and the crinkles of his skin that had seemingly deepened overnight. The poor man exuded exhaustion, and guilt washed over Owen like a rogue wave for potentially adding to the man’s cares. Clearly the recent disaster was taking its toll on everyone.
“Owen, how are ya?” John said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Owen shook his hand. “Well, I’m not grand, if I’m honest. But I can tell ya have a lot on yer shoulders already, so never mind.” He started to go, but John’s hand caught Owen’s forearm.
John pinned a look on Owen that made him feel every bit the scolded schoolboy. “Ah, now, ya can’t start a conversation like that and expect me ta just let ye go.” He stepped aside and swung his hand into the house in a low arc. “C’mon in and we’ll have a wee chat over a cuppa.”
Owen blew out a long breath through his nose and pursed his lips. “I’d love to have some tea with ya, but I’m afraid there’s no time.” He met John’s gaze and winced. “It’s Saoirse. She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Confusion tightened John’s features.
Owen quickly explained all that had happened since they left the village the night before.
“Och!” John snatched his coat and flatcap from the stand by the door. “That’s the sorta information ya lead with, lad.” He was already two steps out the door before Owen even had a chance to reply.
“Will we stop by and get Hugh?” John asked.
Owen shook his head. “He’s up at the house with Aileen.”
“Right.” John’s gaze swept the length of the village when he caught sight of another man. “Tommy! Goitse!”
Tommy O’Hanlon jogged over and greeted both men.
“Would yer new wife mind much if we stole ye away for a bit?” John asked. “Saoirse’s gone and run off.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “She won’t mind ’tall. In fact, she’ll want to help.” The young man scurried off and was back in a flash with his wife and a couple of other folks, including Nora Boyle. The small group gathered in a half-moon shape around Owen and looked to him expectantly.
Owen scratched the back of his neck and tried to gather his thoughts. “There was a ... a misunderstanding, and Saoirse’s left. But she’s truly nowhere to go, and I’m afraid she’ll be in danger if she has to spend another night alone in the wilderness. I need yer help to find her and bring her home.”
“Whadja do, lad?” Nora said, a knowing glint in her eye.
Heat flashed up Owen’s cheeks. “I ... I didn’t do anything.” Liar. “Like I said, there was a misunderstanding. And she’s all alone—no money, nowhere to stay, no job. She needs our help.”
“D’ya know where she’s headed?” John asked.
Owen nodded. “She was heading west on the Moneybeg road when I saw her last. Once she reaches Ballymann, I don’t know which way she’ll go.”
“Right.” John turned to address the group. “Me an’ Owen’ll take the Moneybeg road on through to Ballymann. Tommy and Deirdre, ye head up where the road splits off toward Gortahork, in case she turns north before that.”
“Grand so,” Owen jumped in. “The rest of ye, split off south toward Annagary.”
The group murmured their ascent and had already started to head to the main road when Deirdre asked a question. “But wait! What do we do iffen we find her?”
Everyone paused and waited for an answer, John’s stubble scratching against his hand as he rubbed his chin the only sound. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he held up a pointer finger. “I’ve got it!” He scurried inside the house and a few moments later, he returned, arms laden with holly twigs.
“Is that leftover from Christmas?” Nora asked, disbelief coloring her voice.
John answered, matter-of-factly, “Aye.” He shrugged and added, “We ended up not using all of it on Máirt na hInide. It smokes somethin’ awful. If ya find her, light it, and we’ll see the smoke and meet back here.” He handed a few boughs to each pair, and they all set off again.
Once they reached the fork in the road, everyone split off. Owen and John walked—a bit too slowly for Owen’s taste—in silence for a long moment. Owen’s imagination ran rampant with all the horrific possibilities that could have befallen Saoirse in the half hour that had passed since they’d parted ways. Everything from being run over by a horse and buggy to being overtaken by Haggerty’s band of misfits to—perhaps the scenario he dreaded most—meeting a dapper gentleman who swept her off her feet with riches and luxury.
“Yer army keeps dwindlin’, eh?”
John’s question jolted Owen from his thoughts. “Gabh mo leithscéal ? ”
Chuckling, John repeated his question, adding, “Just like auld Gideon.”
Owen stopped walking, trying to figure out what on earth had made the man think of that. “Well,” he said slowly, “aye, I suppose so.”
“And ye’ve had to replace yer weapons too.”
Owen’s brows pulled together and he crossed his arms, annoyance beginning to bubble in his chest. “John, ya know I have great respect for you.”
John nodded, a delighted glint in his eyes.
“So, I mean this with all due respect when I say, what on earth are ya on about?”
John’s laugh echoed off the slate hills surrounding them. “Think back to what ya read.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the village and church. “Yer man Gideon had to reduce the size of his army, aye?”
Owen nodded, clarity slow in coming.
“And just like we said when we chatted in the church that day, God also reduced the size of yer own army.”
Owen frowned and bobbled his head from side to side.
John’s feet scuffed the ground slightly as they started along the path again. “And I don’t know if ya noticed, but Gideon also had to replace his weapons. When the Good Laird sent the tiny army to fight, what weapons did He send ’em with?”
“Um ...” Owen’s gaze drifted to the sky as he tried to recall. “Oh, they had torches, jugs, and trumpets.”
“ Go díreach! ” John cackled. “He sent them into battle without a single sword among the lot. Instead, He sent them to fight with things no one in their right mind would consider takin’ to war.”
Owen looked at his friend from the corner of his eye. John must’ve sensed his continued confusion, because he went on to say, “What are the weapons—if ye will—that you use in yer daily life?”
Owen thought for a moment. “Well... I’ve used my shovel to fight off a fox before. Maybe a knife.” He shrugged.
John tsked. “No, no, lad. Think about what yer true enemies are.” He stopped walking again, his brows raised in question and his hands pressed onto his hips. When Owen was slow to answer, John listed off on his fingers, “Starvation, homelessness, sickness.”
Oh, those enemies.
“How would you normally fight off those yokes?” John crossed his arms.
Owen lifted a single shoulder and let it fall. “I suppose by makin’ sure I get the weavin’ done, takin’ good care o’ the flock, and keepin’ a good house so we stay warm and dry.”
A sly smile slid up one side of John’s face as he nodded. “And ye’ve lost a good portion of yer weapons lately, haven’t ya?”
Sighing, Owen scratched his jaw. “By golly, ye’re right.”
They continued walking, each scanning the area around them for any sight of Saoirse as they talked. “And the Laird saw fit to provide ya with Saoirse for a spell to help with that weaving. But if ye’re not careful, you’ll lose her too.”
“I know.” Owen’s gut tightened along with his jaw. “That’s one reason we’re out here now lookin’ for her.”
John sent a playful wink in Owen’s direction. “Aye. One reason.” Then his expression became more serious. “Owen, ya need to take a sober look at yer life and what’s happened in the last few weeks. Then ya need to look even closer to see what other weapons God’s placed at hand fer ya—and they mightn’t seem like weapons ’tall. All that’s left to do, then, is show up and let the Laird fight for ya.”
Owen opened his mouth to reply, but John’s sudden shout and point stole his attention.
“Smoke!” John shouted. “They’ve found her. Let’s head back to the village.”
“Oh, thank you, Lord,” Owen cried. John clapped a hand on his shoulder and nodded.
The trek back was mostly quiet, as John seemed to understand Owen needed some time and space to consider what he’d said.
Could John be right? Could God have placed other things in his lap to fight with that Owen hadn’t even noticed? If his true enemies were hunger, homelessness, illness, and the like, he really saw no other way to combat them or hold them at bay than his work—both weaving and farming. But something niggled in his gut, and he suspected that what he was truly fighting against was a different beast entirely. As they rounded a bend, the tower of the church came into view. Suddenly it seemed very clear indeed. Owen’s fight was not against man made of flesh and bone, or even situations that seemed bent on his demise. No, his enemy was far craftier and more treacherous than any circumstance or physical enemy could ever be. And if he wasn’t careful, his lack of trust in God to sustain and provide would destroy all that he held dear.