Chapter Thirty-one
Though no more snow had fallen since the unexpected blizzard, the harshness of the previous winter was fresh enough in the town’s mind that it was decided that they would hold one more céilí before pausing for winter.
The town, Finbarr had been told, had erected an enormous pavilion at the inn, creating a large, open outdoor area with a roof that expanded the space available for gatherings.
Fires were built in designated fire pits to offer light and warmth.
It was possible they might even hold an impromptu town gathering over the winter if the weather permitted. But that night would be the last céilí.
Finbarr was glad Emma was still in town for it. He was glad Emma was still in town in general.
His family had arrived a couple of hours earlier and had undertaken their annual O’Connor March along the river.
They took their sleds up and down the road, walking behind them to tamp down more snow.
It created a road Finbarr could more easily traverse on foot.
It was embarrassing, but necessary. And it was done out of love, which made it feel less frustrating.
“Though you’ve a nice clear road,” Da said, standing at his door after the family’s effort had concluded, “we’re not meaning to make you walk to the céilí.
You’ll ride to the inn with your ma and I.
She’s not had you to herself in weeks and weeks, and she’s itching for some uninterrupted time with her baby. ”
“She does remember that her baby is well past twenty years old, doesn’t she?”
“It’s hard for a parent to remember how grown their children’ve become.”
They were soon enough settled. Ma sat in the center of the wagon bench. Da held the reins and drove. Finbarr sat next to his mother, with Madra content in the wagon bed.
“Seems you and Emma are getting along better,” Da said as they drove along.
“I think she’s finally forgiven me for how terrible I was to her after the fire.”
“But have you forgiven yourself, Finbarr?” Da had a way of asking very philosophical questions.
“I’ve tried to.” Finbarr said. “I also don’t want to excuse the things I said. I don’t ever want to make those mistakes again.”
Ma squeezed his hand, having been holding it from the moment he climbed into the wagon. “Mother Nature did you a kindness in keeping Emma here a little longer.”
A question had been hanging on Finbarr’s mind ever since Emma’s return.
Dare he ask it? Ma had a tendency to jump to conclusions about things and, yet, if he were to ask his brothers, they’d tease him mercilessly.
His sisters would never let go of the possibilities.
Ivy would tease him every bit as much as the O’Connor men.
Ma and Da were likely his best option.
“What does Emma look like? The last time I was able to actually see her, she was just a little girl. I have tried over the years since the fire to adjust what I remembered of her to match how old she was. I can’t even begin to now.
She seems so different, even though she also in many ways feels exactly the same. ”
“She’s stunning,” Da said. “Your nephews, those of that age, fell all over themselves when she arrived. She still turns their heads, but they’ve accepted that she’s not interested.”
Was she interested in him? He pushed the thought away immediately.
“Her hair is quite dark now,” Ma said. “It’s darker than when she was little. So is Ivy’s. Emma wears hers in a soft twist. It’s very pretty, likely a fashion in Baltimore. And her eyes are still a very beautiful shade of blue.”
“Her expression was so often too old for the sweet little child she was,” Finbarr said. “Has she grown into it?”
“The heaviness that was there has shifted into something more thoughtful and ponderous,” Da said. “And there’s intelligence in her expression.”
“Though there’s still worry as well,” Ma added. “There’s no mistaking that.”
“There’s a lot on her mind,” Finbarr acknowledged. “But does she look happy?”
Ma squeezed his hand again. “When she’s with you, she does.”
He shook his head, a little bit frustrated. “I’m in earnest, Ma.”
“As am I.” She actually sounded a little offended.
“She does seem happier with you,” Da said. “And you seem happy when you’re with her. It’s been good to see.”
“Losing your connection to her has been painful for you these past years,” Ma said. “It’s done my heart good to see you regain that.”
“I don’t know that I fully have,” Finbarr said. “But I’m grateful for every little bit of her trust that I’ve regained.”
Eimear was sitting on Finbarr’s lap, just like she’d done during the last céilí he’d attended. And just like that last céilí, Emma arrived with an offering of shortbread. This time, though, he knew it was her. And having her nearby warmed his heart even as it pounded a little harder.
“Shortbread is my favorite,” Eimear said.
“I know.” Emma sat in the chair next to him.
“Are you staying here with us?” he asked.
“If you’d like me to.”
“I—I would very much like you to.”
Her arm brushed his, a sure indication she had moved closer. “I had almost forgotten these last five years how much I loved the céilís. They are joyous.”
“They are that.”
“They are also a little exhausting.”
He laughed. “They are that, as well.”
Finbarr felt Emma’s arm thread through his and she leaned a little against him. “Your ma is wearing a beautiful blue dress. I suspect this is the first time she’s worn it. She brushes her hand over the skirt once in a while and then smiles to herself. I can tell she feels pretty wearing it.”
“A new dress and her famous colcannon. Ma is outdoing herself for this final céilí of the year.”
“How did you know she brought colcannon?”
“I rode here in their wagon. I could smell it. And, passing the food table earlier, I can also say with conviction that someone brought an apple pie or apple tarts.”
“With so keen a sense of smell, I can only imagine how miserable it is for you to pass a horse stall.”
Again, he laughed. So did she. Even Eimear laughed, though she likely didn’t know what they were laughing about. He couldn’t remember the last time a céilí had been so easily joyful.
“Patrick and Ian are sneaking around the food table,” Emma said, “and they look unabashedly mischievous. What do you suppose they’re up to?”
“Tavish and I used to steal whatever Ma brought off the food table, but we would do it in a way that she was sure to catch us. She would scold us and tell us we were ragamuffins, and we would laugh while proclaiming our innocence.”
“I don’t know how your Ma put up with all of you. The O’Connors excel at mischief.”
“Complaining?”
She laughed once more. “Not at all.”
“Shortbread is my favorite.” Eimear sang the words more than she spoke them. “Shortbread. Shortbread.”
“I thought I was your favorite, Eimear,” Finbarr said.
He felt her tiny little hands take hold of his face. “You are my most favorite, Finbarr.” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Finbarr wrapped the arm Emma wasn’t holding around the precious little girl.
“I am about to be your most favorite, Finbarr,” Emma said. “Because I am letting you know that Patrick and Ian have absconded with your ma’s bowl of colcannon and are hurrying in this direction, with her close on their heels.”
“No doubt to blame me for their thieving ways,” Finbarr said.
“No doubt.”
A moment later, Ian spoke. “Finbarr, save us!”
“They’re guilty, Ma!” Finbarr called out. “Even I can see that.”
To which Ian and Patrick burst into laughter. So did Emma. Heavens, it felt good to so easily join in a family joke again. He hadn’t even realized until that moment just how much he’d missed it.
“You lads are nothing but trouble.” Ma’s scolding—with unmistakable amusement under it as always—broke through the laughter. “You put that colcannon back so everyone can enjoy it.”
“Snitched on by our own brother,” Patrick declared as his voice trailed off. “Shocking!”
“Like I said,” Emma chuckled, “the O’Connors excel at mischief.”
Mischief Finbarr had been part of again.
“Aidan’s walking this way,” she said.
A moment later, a shadow passed in front of them. “Will you dance with me, Emma?” Aidan asked.
“I’d love to.”
Quick as that, she was gone.
Finbarr tucked away his disappointment, not wanting to diminish her enjoyment of the party. Ma hadn’t been wrong when she’d said he was happier with Emma around. He was. That he missed her already when she’d been gone less than a minute didn’t bode well for the future stretching out ahead of him.
“Aidan helps Dr. Jones,” Eimear said, still resting against his chest with her arms around his neck.
“Yes, he does.”
“Why do we not call him Dr. Aidan? I don’t know the answer to that, but I think about it.”
“Because he’s not a doctor,” Finbarr said. “To be a doctor he has to go to a special school to learn all of the things doctors know.”
“Our teacher can’t teach him that?”
“She can’t,” Finbarr said. “The schools that teach that aren’t in Hope Springs.”
“He wouldn’t like going to our school,” Eimear said. “He’s too old.”
Aidan was younger than Finbarr, which meant Finbarr must have seemed absolutely ancient to the little girl.
“Would Aidan have to go very far away to go to doctor school?”
“He would, but not forever.”
“Oh, good. His mama and papa would miss him.”
The whole town would miss him. But he would return with the knowledge and skills to help, and he would return prepared to live his dream.
Finbarr going to St. Louis meant being able to offer Aidan a place to live.
It meant Aidan wouldn’t be alone, but neither would he.
While he was, just as he’d promised Emma, currently acting on the assumption that he was staying in Hope Springs, he couldn’t entirely clear his mind of the question that hung in front of him.
If he chose not to go to St. Louis, that would mean Aidan likely couldn’t either. He was grateful he hadn’t told Aidan of the possibility. At least Aidan wouldn’t have started building up his hopes.