Chapter Twenty
“Blast, it’s cold.” The words froze against Finbarr’s lips.
He set his load of firewood next to the front door, under the overhang.
He’d had a devil of a time getting out to the woodpile.
The snow was still falling. The wind was biting and fierce.
If not for the system of ropes and hooks he’d worked out over the years, he’d have been blown off course and never found the house again.
He turned his face back into the still-falling snow and whistled. A moment later, Madra was at his side. He bent down and undid the half-frozen rope tied to the collar she wore. She shook, giving him no time to avoid the snow flinging off her fur.
“Thank you for that, you troublesome dog.”
He hung her rope up next to the others he used to navigate. Then he opened the door and followed Madra inside.
Only with effort did he manage to push the door closed against the powerful wind. The storm had continued all night long, and, now late in the morning, it was raging still. Who knew how long it would continue.
Finbarr pulled his coat off and hung it on the peg near the door.
Without warning, arms were around him, hugging and holding him. “It is snowing so hard, Finbarr. I was afraid you would get lost.” Emma.
He hesitantly rested his arms around her in return. To his surprise, that set his heart pounding a little. “You were worried because I can’t see?”
“Because no one could see in this blizzard. What if something had happened to you?”
“One benefit of being almost entirely blind,” he said, “I already have a system in place for navigating in bad weather. I tie myself to a rope strung between the house and the barn. If I get turned around, I can follow the rope back home.”
“Then you’ll be safe when you have to go outside?” she pressed.
“Probably safer than anyone else in Hope Springs.”
She sighed. “Do you promise?”
“That I’m safe?”
“That you’ll be careful,” she said. “If you get yourself lost, I’d have to go look for you, and I suspect I’d be awful at it.”
He laughed. “I consider myself adequately warned.”
She stepped back, out of his embrace; he immediately missed having her there. How strange that was. He’d not held her since she was a little girl–and not often then–but he’d quickly grown attached to the idea of doing so as often as she’d allow.
Finbarr listened to her walking across the room to the door of his bedroom, his thoughts spinning.
Emma had kept him at arms’ length, literally and figuratively, for almost ten years.
There’d been a chasm between them that he’d never been able to bridge.
But she’d turned to him last night to comfort her after her nightmare.
And she’d just now held him in relief that he was safe.
And, in the oddest bit of it all, his pulse had picked up while he’d held her.
Emma. How could he now be reacting this way to Emma? She seemed comfortable with him now, more or less. But things weren’t healed between them. And she wasn’t staying in Hope Springs. He wasn’t entirely certain he was staying in Hope Springs.
“I’m not very bright, am I?” he muttered.
Madra bumped his leg.
“You aren’t supposed to agree with me on that, you troublesome dog.”
She thumped him excitedly with her tail. Madra always liked when he talked to her. Finbarr didn’t know how he would have survived the last six years without her.
“Finbarr!” Emma’s worried voice reached him from the bedroom.
Grateful he knew his house well enough to move quickly, Finbarr rushed directly to her. “What’s happened?”
“Her eyes, Finbarr. Something’s the matter with her eyes.”
Finbarr’s heart dropped. Joseph had told him how Eimear’s fevers impacted her eyes. “Swollen?”
“Nearly shut,” Emma said.
“Have you been able to look at her eyes themselves? Are they red?”
“Yes.” She sounded scared. “What are we supposed to do when this happens?”
“I don’t know.” He wished he’d thought to ask during his many conversations with Joseph. But caring for Eimear in her illnesses had never fallen to him.
“Her rash is much worse,” Emma said. “I don’t know what to do for that, either.”
“My stomach hurts, Emma.” Eimear’s tiny voice pulled Finbarr’s attention in that direction. “And my arms and legs. And my eyes. And my head.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Emma said.
Finbarr sat on the edge of the bed and felt around carefully until he found Eimear’s arm, then took her hand. “What do your Ma and Da do for you when you’re ailing like this, mo mhilis?”
“I don’t remember,” she said quietly.
Emma’s hand rested on his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do, Finbarr,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to help her.”
Finbarr set his hand on hers. “I have willow bark. We can make her tea to help with the fever. And a cool, damp cloth across her eyes might relieve some of her discomfort.”
“I can do that.” She sounded a little less overwhelmed.
She stepped away, but he kept hold of her hand. “Everything’s labeled in braille.”
“I can still read braille, Finbarr. I’ve practiced these past five years.”
“Why would you practice if you weren’t coming back?”
She slipped her hand out of his. In a voice that sounded almost embarrassed, she said, “In case you decided to write to me.”
She left on that unexpected admission, leaving Finbarr dumbfounded.
Emma had hoped he would write to her? He was part of the reason she’d left Hope Springs.
The tension between them had added to her struggles and sorrow.
He’d never have imagined she’d expected anything from him other than to leave her alone.
“Finbarr?” Eimear whispered. “Will you hold me?”
“Of course.” He shifted closer to her.
“I can’t see you because I can’t open my eyes.” He could feel her moving, probably sitting up.
“Emma told me your eyes are plaguing you.” He put an arm around her.
“My heart can still find you.” Her arms hooked around his neck.
Finbarr stood, holding her gently. “My heart and Emma’s heart will always be able to find you, mo mhilis. You trust us to look after you, and let yourself rest.”
She curled against him, her face hot against his neck. Her fever was worryingly high.
“Let’s get you cozy on the bench. I can build up the fire so you don’t get chilled.”
“You won’t leave me?”
“I won’t leave you.”
Unless he accepted the job in St. Louis and started a new life there. Eimear hadn’t even remembered Emma when she’d returned for this visit. Would Eimear forget him too?
The blanket Emma had used the night before was still on the bench. Finbarr laid Eimear on it. He felt around and found the edge of the blanket hanging down. He lifted it and tucked it around her.
“I can’t see, Finbarr.”
“That’s a little scary, isn’t it?”
“Are you scared because you can’t see?”
Finbarr brushed his hand lightly over her little face. He wished he knew what she looked like, if what he imagined matched reality. “Sometimes I’m scared. But Madra helps me.”
“I help you too.” Her tiny voice shook a little.
“Yes you do, my darling little Eimear.”
“And Emma is helping me.”
“She loves you.”
“She loves you, too, Finbarr. She told me.”
Finbarr lightly kissed her fevered forehead. “Rest, mo mhilis. Emma and I will watch over you.”
He placed a log on the fire, grateful yet again for how unwavering Cecily had been in her determination to teach him to function in a world he could no longer see. He’d been so sure at the time that building a fire, cooking for himself, living on his own, was all entirely impossible.
He stood once more. The fire provided just enough light for him to make out the shadow of Emma walking toward him.
She stopped in front of him. “She looks like she’s sleeping again,” she whispered. “We will have to wake her when the tea is ready.”
We. His foolish heart liked hearing that, but he pushed away the reaction. Thoughts of leaving Hope Springs had likely made him sentimental was all. And he was sometimes lonely in this house. He needed to not allow his mind to weave outlandish things.
“I never should have taken Eimear for that walk yesterday.” Her whisper was heavy. “I just wanted some time with her. If we’d stayed home, Eimear would be there now with Papa and Katie, and they would know what to do for her. It’s all my fault, Finbarr.”
Her emotion echoed what he’d heard in her voice the night before. “I blame myself,” she’d said.
In the year following the fire, she’d said more than once that the tragedy of that night had been her fault. And Finbarr didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself for, in a moment of anger and frustration and grief, telling Emma that he blamed her too.
She carried too much weight, took on responsibility for too many things. Little wonder she’d had to leave Hope Springs just to breathe.
“What if she grows more ill, Finbarr? What if—?” He heard her swallow thickly.
“You brought her here, out of the snowstorm,” he said. “She’s warm and being looked after. You helped your sister when she needed you.”
“Your sister needs you.” She said it the way one would when quoting something. “Did you—did you send the telegram?”
“What telegram?”
Her silhouette moved a little away. “Someone sent me a telegram. ‘Please come home. Your sister needs you.’ That’s all it said. I’d assumed it was referring to Ivy, but I’m beginning to suspect the person who sent it was referring to Eimear.”
“You came back because someone asked you to? Even not knowing who it was or why exactly they were asking?”
“It was the first time anyone has said they wanted me to come back. I suppose I just really wanted to believe I was actually needed.”
She’d had to cross the country to feel some peace. And she’d waited years for someone in Hope Springs to say they wanted her to return.
How was it this town had managed to hurt her so deeply for so long?