Chapter Ten
She ran.
After five years, Emma ran away rather than spend even a few minutes with him. She hadn’t even said hello. In fact, she’d whispered when speaking with Joseph, apparently wanting to make certain Finbarr wouldn’t think that he was included in their conversation.
He hadn’t expected her to rush over and hug him or show any of the excitement she used to years earlier when he would arrive at the Archers’ home.
Even Ivy didn’t do that anymore, and he’d never had a falling out with her.
But he would never have guessed that Emma would refuse to even talk to him.
And he most certainly wouldn’t have predicted she would run at the very thought of being in his company.
“You can and should apologize, and you can and, I hope, will change,” Tavish had said nine years earlier after Finbarr had verbally lashed out at Emma, “but whether or not she ever trusts you again—well, that’s not something you get to decide, Finbarr.
What you’ve done, you’ve done. And you’ll have to live with the consequences of that, whatever those consequences might turn out to be. ”
The outline of his home was hovering just within the vague edges of his very limited vision. It was a bright enough day for him to see some shapes and shadows.
He turned back in the direction the Archer home sat, though there wasn’t light enough in all the world for him to see that.
Whether or not she ever trusts you again . . .
Finbarr had held out hope for nearly a decade that the rift between him and Emma would heal. Perhaps it never would. Perhaps he would pay for his foolish cruelty for the rest of his life.
Madra nudged him.
“I know, we’re almost home. You can run up ahead, girl.”
But she kept next to him, as always. Finbarr didn’t think he’d done anything specific to convince his extremely loyal companion that she shouldn’t ever leave his side. But she very seldom did.
“Is it that you can tell I’m lonely?”
Madra’s tail thumped his leg. He sometimes wondered how much she understood when he talked to her. He had no illusions about her literally comprehending human speech, but he had his suspicions that she was very good at knowing when he was worried or excited or sad.
“Don’t complain when you’re sitting around the barn, bored, waiting for me to finish mucking the cow stall.” He moved in that direction, knowing Madra would keep pace with him.
The interior of the barn was far dimmer than the sunlit outdoors. He immediately missed the light. It was never and would never be enough to actually give him back any significant part of his sight, but it allowed him to see a little, and that little was a welcome thing.
Finbarr had scattered memories of the time he and Tavish had spent in St. Louis, meeting with a doctor about his eyes, being told his sight would never return or improve.
He’d still been in a lot of pain from his injuries.
And he’d been facing a devastating loss and trying to endure the grief that had been clawing relentlessly at his troubled heart. Mostly he remembered being afraid.
He wasn’t scared any longer. But he was lonely. And, though the fear had ebbed and he’d begun wandering out in public again, he hadn’t found fulfillment or purpose. He was downhearted, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
I am offering the job to you.
Mr. Spitz’s letter returned to Finbarr’s thoughts in unexpected moments. It had happened repeatedly since he’d returned from the depot.
Uproot yourself.
Move away from your family and home.
It was that part that always stopped him up short. He wasn’t overflowing with happiness in his current life. But being away from his family was a daunting prospect.
You would be part of the family we have created here among ourselves.
He shook off the thought as he opened the door of the cow stall. Though he had corresponded with many of the teachers at the Missouri School for the Blind, they were strangers. Not family.
His hand found the cow. He gave her a quick scratch.
“Time to journey to your country estate, Bainne.” He took hold of the leather collar she always had on, something his brothers teased him about, and led her from the stall to the stall next to it. “Here you are, girl. The lap of luxury.”
She mooed.
“You’re welcome.”
He pulled the stall door closed. Bainne would stay in that stall through the next night.
Cecily had helped him formulate the strategy.
Because he couldn’t see how much of the bedding needed mucked out, he didn’t have a choice but to remove it all.
And he had to do a thorough cleaning to make certain he didn’t miss anything.
And then he had to entirely refill the stall.
Giving himself two days to manage every deep clean made it more manageable.
Mucking the stalls was one aspect of his current life that he could do without.
He crossed to the wall where he kept the mucking shovel.
He grabbed it with his left hand, quickly reminding himself that the cut he’d accidentally inflicted on himself while whittling two nights earlier was still sore.
That was going to make mucking difficult.
One-handed shoveling was tricky. And, if he could see himself doing it, it would likely be embarrassing too.
A moo echoed from the clean stall.
“I know I look ridiculous, Bainne. No need laughing at me.”
From the barn door, an actual human voice answered. “The cow’s likely laughing because you’re talking to yourself, lad.”
“And who else am I going to talk to, Tavish? Madra’s giving me the cold shoulder.”
He heard two sets of footsteps approaching. No swishing skirts, though.
“I’ll muck the stall,” Tavish said. “You need to talk to Aidan.”
“I need to, do I?”
From nearer than Finbarr was expecting, Aidan said, “According to Dr. Jones, you do.”
“I’m missing a few of the links in that chain,” Finbarr said.
The shovel was taken from his hand, probably by Tavish. “I’ll give the cow your regrets. Off with you.”
“I might object to being pushed around, but I really don’t want to muck the stall.” Finbarr gave a quick whistle. “Come along, Madra. We’ll make our escape before Tavish changes his mind.”
The dog’s tail thumped against his leg as they walked out of the barn. Finbarr could already hear Tavish setting to work.
They stepped outside and the warm sunlight hit his face.
It’d be winter soon enough, and he’d miss the warmth.
His eyes darted about taking in the shapes he could almost see.
Beside him, he could see enough of Aidan that, had he not been already aware of who it was he was standing by, he might have been able to guess. Might have.
“How is it Dr. Jones came to send you here?” Finbarr asked. “I’ve not talked to the doctor in a couple of weeks.”
“Katie’s having her baby,” Aidan said.
“I heard.”
“Ivy crossed paths with Dr. Jones while she was walking with Sean and Eimear up to Ian and Biddy’s place.
She told him that Joseph mentioned you had a cut on your hand that looked on the verge of growing pestilent.
Dr. Jones has to see someone down the Red Road, so he knocked at my house asking if I’d wander this way and have a look. ”
“Ah. The Hope Springs medical gossip mill is alive and well still.” Finbarr didn’t actually mind. The people of this town and the members of this family didn’t baby him the way they used to; that had grated terribly. “And how did Tavish come to be part of this whole thing?”
“He was stepping out of Ciara and Keefe’s house when I walked past on my way to the bridge.”
“And promptly wheedled the whole thing out of you?”
“The O’Connors are remarkably good wheedlers.”
Finbarr held up his left hand. “I’m guessing this is the cut Joseph was worried about.”
“Do you have others?” Aidan asked.
Finbarr shook his head. “And, I’ll confess, it’s more painful than I’d expected it to be at this point. It actually hurts more than it did yesterday.”
“That’s not a great sign, Finbarr.” Aidan took hold of his hand, turning it a little, likely to get more direct sunlight on it.
“If it didn’t improve by morning, I was going to walk over to the inn and see the doctor about it.”
“It does look a little putrid,” Aidan said. “Do you mind if I clean it out a bit?”
Finbarr shook his head. “It’ll hurt like the dickens, but if you think it needs to be done, then it needs to be done.”
“You’ll put up with the pain of that even without Dr. Jones confirming it’s needed?” Why did Aidan sound surprised?
“He’s trained you well. And you aren’t one who enjoys inflicting pain. If you say it’s needed, it’s needed.”
“If I had all the schooling he’s had, I’d be able to do more.” Aidan didn’t allow more than that brief moment of discouragement before returning to his usual even-keeled disposition. “I’ll need whatever good soap you have and some water.”
“There’s a bucket hanging on a nail under the eaves of the house.”
“I see it.”
“It has a cake of soap inside.”
“I’ll grab it, and we can go down to the river.”
Finbarr was grateful for the suggestion. Staying outside while the sun was bright and the day was warm appealed more than sitting in the dim interior of his house.
They were soon enough situated on the riverbank. Aidan had hold of Finbarr’s hand, doing a painfully thorough job of cleaning out the cut.
“This looks like a knife cut,” Aidan said. “It’s not jagged or torn at the edges the way it would be if you had caught it on something.”
“Knife slipped.” Finbarr hoped Aidan didn’t ask more questions. Ma’d come weeping to his house if she heard his many cuts over the past few years had come from whittling.
“Seamus Kelly had a hammer slip the other day. Smashed the tip of his thumb.”
And, quick as that, Aidan had managed to make Finbarr’s injury seem like such an ordinary thing, the sort of accident most everyone had at some point. He had a knack for that, and Finbarr appreciated it likely more than most people did.
“Have you thought about going and getting that education you envy a bit in Dr. Jones?” Finbarr asked.
“Sure, I have. But that takes money, more than just the cost of the schooling itself. I’d have to pay to get to Chicago or St. Louis or somewhere back East. And I’d have to rent a room and feed myself.”
“Dr. Jones was a penniless orphan.” Finbarr bit back a wince as Aidan scrubbed at a particularly sore bit of his hand. “If anyone’d know how to pay for medical schooling when a person has completely empty pockets, Doc would.”
“It’s not just the money. Ryan can’t run the farm without help. Ma gets weepy anytime I even hint at going away. Granny is always saying how having me here is like having my da with her again.”
“Being loved by the O’Connors is sometimes a double-edged sword, isn’t it?”
“They’ve been through a lot. I don’t want to cause them any more pain.”
Finbarr understood that well. The Johnsons, who’d lost their daughter in the fire. The O’Connors, who’d passed through so very much grief over the decades. Emma. So many people had experienced far too many hurts. The thought of inflicting more was painful itself.
“Was Emma with Ivy when she talked with Dr. Jones?”
“He didn’t say she was.” Aidan wrapped what felt like cloth around Finbarr’s hand. “I’d guess she’s helping Ma tend to Katie. She was at the sewing circle with the other ladies earlier today.”
So Emma wasn’t avoiding everyone in Hope Springs, just him.
“Did she seem to be enjoying herself?”
“She was quiet, but then she always was a little quiet.”
That was true.
“And the new teacher, you said, is more talkative.”
“She seemed to be at the céilí. I haven’t interacted with her since.”
It seemed more and more likely that his mysterious River Lady was the new teacher. That actually simplified things. With Emma intentionally avoiding him, her friend would likely do the same.
Thank goodness for the teacher. Her willingness to talk with him didn’t entirely undo the pain of Emma’s rejection, but it helped a little.