Chapter 30
30
Saoirse sat on the low stone wall lining the road that cut through the heart of the village—or what was left of the village. Then she stood, paced a few times, sat again, then hopped right back up. Tommy and Deidre had run to their house to fetch some tea and a blanket for her, but she insisted on staying here. On the inside, she tossed back and forth between deep relief that someone had come after her and bitter frustration that she was interrupted from doing what she truly felt to be the right thing.
A third emotion rose to the top—disappointment that it was the newlywed O’Hanlons who’d come after her instead of Owen. She swallowed that one down and tried to bury it beneath her sense of duty and a self-conjured relief. She’d told him he was better off without her. Safer. And she still believed that. But there was a part of her that desperately wanted him to find a way to convince her to see things his way. She blinked away the sting of fresh tears. Her cheeks were already raw from the nearly constant flow over the last two days.
“Ya best be careful cryin’ beneath a hawthorn tree. The fairies’ll come spirit ye away.”
Saoirse startled at Bridie’s voice, choking on the breath she sucked in quickly. As she coughed and sputtered, the older woman sidled up next to her on the wall. Soon Saoirse felt warm, gentle circles being rubbed slowly round and round her back.
“Aw, peata, I don’t mean to poke fun. I was just tryna make ye smile.” Bridie leaned forward to catch Saoirse’s eye.
Saoirse offered a small, sad smile. “I dunno. It might be better if they do ... spirit me away, I mean.”
“Och!” Bridie flapped her free hand. “Why don’t ya tell me what happened.”
Saoirse’s head hung low once more, and she gripped the edge of the wall so tightly the stones poked at her skin. While Bridie’s kind eyes and tender soul invited—nae, beckoned—Saoirse to share her burdens, fear threatened to suffocate her. The more people who knew her shame, the fewer people she had left in her life. And while she desperately wanted to protect those she cared so deeply for, it felt nearly impossible to risk losing their companionship now that she was back in their fold.
But all it took was one look in her friend’s eyes for the words to begin spilling out. She told Bridie the whole story, starting with the fire, to hiding in the McCreadys’ barn and saving Stout, to Owen’s kiss, and everything in-between. “And now,” she said as she reached the present day in her story, “I just want to protect those I love. If I stay, who knows what else will happen.”
Bridie was silent for a long minute, then her weathered hand slipped around Saoirse’s. Her other hand reached over and patted it softly. “Oh, a thaisce ,” she crooned, “I can understand why ya feel that way.”
Saoirse’s heart sank, and she braced herself for whatever the woman might say next.
Bridie pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly. “If I were in yer shoes, I’d likely feel I was an ill omen as well.” She tucked one corner of her mouth in and made a clicking sound as she shook her head. “But that’s not how God works.”
Saoirse opened her mouth to respond, but a squeeze of her hand stopped her.
Bridie chuckled lightly. “I know, it doesn’t feel like that now. But we aren’t instructed to live by our feelin’s, are we?”
Saoirse’s brow furrowed.
“Look,” Bridie said as she pulled one knee up onto the wall so she could face Saoirse. “Can you tell me one person in the na Scrioptúir that God brands with bad luck because of a mistake?”
She considered Bridie’s question and, for a second, the chaos and turmoil swirling in Saoirse’s mind quieted. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t think of a single one.
Bridie went on, “The woman at the well, the adulterous woman people wanted to stone, Zacchaeus the tax collector”—she shrugged—“all of them made huge mistakes, and íosa forgave and redeemed them all.”
Saoirse turned a credulous look to Bridie. “Adultery and taking a wee bit too much money are hardly the same as what I did.”
“Alright,” Bridie replied without pause, “let’s look at David, then. Not only did he commit adultery but he also plotted to have Bathsheba’s husband killed so he could be with her. That was no accidental death on his hands. Yet he went on to be used by God in mighty ways, and He inspired him to write some of the most beloved Scriptures of all time. Never mind the fact that he planned the deaths he was involved in. Yers was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident.”
Bridie stood, wincing as she stretched the leg she’d been sitting on. “And if that isn’t enough for ya, how about yer man Gideon that Father Cunningham’s been talkin’ about. He doubted God, asked for sign after sign, and was scared to death at what God had called him to do. He eventually led his army to victory in the most unexpected way.”
Saoirse wagged her head. “That’s all well and good, Bridie. But how do you explain all that’s happened? Why have I brought so much destruction with me?”
“Aw, pet.” She laid a hand on Saoirse’s shoulder. “I’d wager all o’ that would have happened whether you were here or not. And I’d venture to add that if ye hadn’t been here, Owen and Aileen would’ve been far worse off than they are now.”
Saoirse stood and paced across the narrow road and back. She wanted to believe what Bridie was saying, but the heavy weight in her gut held her fast.
“Look at it this way,” Bridie added, “our Lord said that the enemy has come to steal, kill, and destroy, aye?”
Saoirse nodded, the knot growing in her throat. She desperately wanted to believe what her friend was saying, but she couldn’t get past all that she’d lost. All that she’d caused to be lost.
“But He”—she pointed to the sky—“said He has come to give us life. And not just survival but a rich, full life. That has nothing to do with possessions or position and everything to do with fullness of spirit and joy. Are you living an exceedingly abundant life, Saoirse? Or is your life defined by what’s been stolen from you?”
****
Owen rounded the corner and saw Saoirse in deep conversation with Bridie. As soon as his eyes caught sight of Saoirse’s face, he took his first full breath in days. She was safe, and she was home. Well, nearly home. At the thought, the familiar pit resettled in his stomach.
What if she doesn’t want this to be home?
As he drew nearer, he could see that whatever Bridie had said to Saoirse had hit her like a sucker punch. Her eyes were wide and she stared at the ground as if she could see seven miles beneath the surface and beyond. The curiosity of what they’d been talking about gave way to the utter relief to have her close again, and he had to resist the urge to scoop her up in his arms and carry her off into the sunset.
“Saoirse,” he said, his voice breathy and rough. Nice one, eejit.
Her gaze flew up to meet his, and her jaw fell slack before she blinked hard and stiffened her posture. She nodded as though she were greeting a mere acquaintance. “Mister McCready.”
Owen blanched, but quickly scrambled to regain his composure. “I’m glad ye’re back, and that ye’re alright.”
The way she cocked her head to the side and sort of huffed out a breath seemed to say, “I’m not sure I’m alright.”
If he was honest with himself, Owen felt exactly the same way.
Bridie touched Saoirse’s arm. “Ye’ll think about what I said?”
“Mm-hmm,” Saoirse replied, her gaze drifting back to the ground as if the weight of their conversation had settled on her once again. Bridie laid a hand on Owen’s shoulder and gave him a quick wink. “I’ll let ye chat.”
“Thanks, Bridie,” he murmured, then shuffled over to join Saoirse on the wall, taking care to leave a comfortable space between them. Well, comfortable for her.
“Are ya?” he asked. “Alright, I mean?”
Her eyes darted in his direction, then back to the ground. “I will be.” Under her breath, almost too quiet to hear, she added, “I hope.”
He watched her for a moment, not sure what to say next. “Ya know ye’re welcome back up at the house. I—er, we—would love to have you come home.”
When she met his gaze at last, all the light was gone from her eyes, and a shadow of sadness clouded them. His heart clenched at the sight. “Thanks.” Her gaze flitted toward Bridie’s house and back. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it, and I’ll stay on and help ya finish the weaving like I agreed to.”
Owen sighed and reached out to grasp her hand. “Oh, I’m so glad.”
She stared at their hands for a beat before slowly slipping hers from his grip. “But I’ll be staying with Bridie and John. I’ll come up during the days to weave, but I’ll come back here”—she jutted her chin toward the Sheridans’ house—“in the evenings.”
Owen stood and slipped his hands into his pockets, trying to swallow the jagged disappointment that welled up in his chest. “Right. That’s sensible.”
“It’s fer the best.” She slid off the wall as well. “I’ll be back up in the shed on Monday. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She dipped her head and brushed past him and across to Bridie’s house.
Owen turned to make for home when he spotted Aileen and Hugh strolling around the bend into town. When Aileen caught a glimpse of Owen, her pace quickened.
“Any word?” she asked, breathless.
Owen nodded, a sigh of relief and sadness puffing from his mouth. “Aye, she’s back, and she’s safe.”
“Thanks be to God,” Hugh murmured, and Aileen nodded emphatically.
It took a long moment for his sister to tear her gaze from the side of the schoolmaster’s face, but when she finally did, her brows pulled together in concern. “What happened? Where was she?”
Owen pulled off his flatcap and ran his fingers through his hair. After a deep breath, he told them all that had transpired during the storm and what Saoirse had revealed to him about her family.
“Och, the poor créatúr ,” Aileen crooned.
“How awful,” Hugh added.
Aileen shifted her weight between her feet. “What’s she going to do now?”
Owen scratched his jaw and told them about the plan Saoirse had shared with him.
Doubt shadowed Aileen’s features, and she stepped closer to Owen. “And ye’re okay with that?”
No, I’m not okay with it! Owen shrugged. “What other choice do I have?”
Aileen looked to Hugh, her expression pleading. “Wouldja talk some sense into the man, please?”
Hugh just wagged his head and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m afraid I’m a wee bit too new to this whole situation to be of much use or to offer any sort of wise counsel.”
“And you shouldna have to,” Owen replied. Poor bloke, being dragged into this mess.
“Ya can’t be serious,” Aileen said, her voice hitching up an octave.
“What?” Owen tossed his hands and let them fall to his sides. A breeze kicked up around them, carrying the scent of turf fires with it.
Aileen pressed a hand to her forehead and mumbled something about the desperate state of men. “Ya do have a choice, Owen Sean McCready. Yer choice is to walk over there an’ fight for that gairl.”
Owen blanched, then shook his head. His sister was so naive. Owen had made it fairly clear how he felt about Saoirse that night in the shed. And from the way she kissed him back, he had guessed she felt the same way. But it wasn’t until after that their real problems started. Maybe she’d had second thoughts, and after he’d kissed her, she decided he wasn’t the man for her. As far as he was concerned, there was no question as to what her choice was. He wasn’t going to force himself on her if she truly didn’t want him.
“No.”
Aileen scoffed. “Owen.”
He gripped her shoulder. “I said no, Aileen.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you understand—”
“You don’t understand. There’s nothing to fight for.” He dropped his head, his volume dropping with it. “I already tried.”