Chapter Thirty-one #2
“Mr. Tavish is walking over here,” Eimear said. “Emma would have told you that if she weren’t dancing.”
Finbarr gave Eimear a little squeeze. “Thank you for telling me. It helps.”
“I like helping you.” So sweet. So kind.
Tavish’s shadow reached him. It was nice not having to guess who it was. “I felt I ought to warn you that Eoin and Matthew are plotting to get Madra to abandon you in exchange for a chicken leg. I suspect their efforts will grow more ridiculous as the night goes on.”
Finbarr laughed a little. “Madra might actually be tempted. Heaven knows, I’d abandon you for far less.”
That brought Tavish’s laugh out. Living with Tavish that first year after the fire, things had been tense between them. Finbarr’s anger had made him a difficult person to be around, but Tavish had never given up on him. He would be forever grateful to his brother for that.
“Mr. Tavish? Can you take me to my papa?”
“Are you feeling poorly, mo mhilis?” Finbarr asked
“No. I just want my papa.” Eimear pressed a little kiss to his cheek. “Emma will be back from dancing. She’ll tell you who everyone is.”
Tavish picked her up and a lumpy shadow of the two of them moved away.
The tune and the dancing came to an end, triggering a tremendous amount of movement. Even more voices began talking. Even more people began changing where they were. Finbarr breathed through the anxiousness that always caused. He’d been calm until then.
In exactly the moment when he thought he might not be able to sit there any longer, he heard her voice. “It’s Emma.”
He relaxed immediately. She was back.
“I had an idea while I was dancing with Aidan, and I need your help to try.”
“Help with what?”
He felt her take hold of his hand and tug him to his feet. He snatched up his cane and walked with her.
“If you spot any of my nephews waving a chicken leg at Madra, feel free to change our direction. There’s apparently a plot afoot.”
Emma hooked her arm through his free one. They walked along, him following her lead. The musicians had started another tune, a slower one this time.
She unexpectedly stopped walking. “I think this spot will work.”
“Work for what? You have me very curious.”
“We can still hear the music.” She spoke as though talking to herself.
She took hold of his hand and moved, as near as he could tell, to face him.
“There’s too much movement among the dancers,” she said. “Sorting that out while you are in the midst of it would likely be impossible.”
“That’s what I discovered when I tried years ago,” he said.
“But there’s no crowd here,” she said. “You’re near enough to hear the music, but far enough from the dancers. You could dance again. You used to love dancing at the céilís.”
He shook his head. “I’d still bump into things. It’s too much to keep track of.”
“Not if your partner kept an eye on it all.”
“I don’t know, Emma. It might prove an absolute mess.”
“We’re still in our two weeks,” she said. “And for these two weeks, you’re supposed to move forward as if you’re staying. Being more a part of the céilís would make staying more joyful for you. It would let you be more a part of the town.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“There’s at least ten feet in every direction before you would bump into anything,” Emma said.
That was enough room. And Emma had already shown herself entirely reliable in matters of his lack of sight. And still . . .
“The last time I asked someone to dance with me was a couple of years after the fire,” Finbarr said, “she laughed.”
“And as I said at the time,” Emma said fiercely, “Annie Desmond is a rat. And I’m still annoyed that I was prevented from going and belting her in the gob.”
Finbarr felt something of a smirk pull at his mouth. “She doesn’t live here anymore, which is apparently a very good thing for her.”
When Cecily had first come to teach him how to live without his vision, one of the things Finbarr had told her he missed was being able to dance at the céilís.
Cecily’s assessment at the time was that he could manage it in the right circumstances and with a partner willing to, in essence, lead.
Annie had managed to convince him that was never going to happen.
Perhaps, rather than having the wrong idea, he’d simply had the wrong partner.
“I don’t know what to do with this.” He held up his cane.
“I’ll set it over to the side.”
She took it from him and stepped away. An instant later, she returned and took his hand again. Finbarr slid his other hand to her waist. She set a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve not even attempted to dance in at least eight years. And, even then, it was inside a house, with someone shouting out warnings about the placement of furniture.”
“I can shout,” she said, a bit of teasing in her tone. “Do you remember how to waltz?”
“I do.”
His first step was a tiny one, the second even more so. He managed to complete the waltz shape, even turning a little as he did.
Feeling more confident, he broadened his movements. Emma nudged him a tiny bit on one step, and he adjusted immediately, unsure what she was helping him avoid, but grateful just the same. He relaxed, knowing in that moment that her arrangements for him to dance were actually going to work.
She leaned a little closer. She was wearing her floral perfume again. He knew he would always love the fragrance because it would always make him think of her.
“When the céilís begin again,” she said softly, “promise me you’ll dance.”
“If you’ll agree to dance with me.”
She didn’t answer. His heart dropped, knowing the likely reason why. At the moment, they were seeing if either of them had reason to remain in Hope Springs. They were acting as if it were not only possible but already decided. But Emma, he suspected, still intended to go back to Baltimore.
When the céilís resumed after the long winter, she wouldn’t be there. Da and Ma had said how happy she looked when she was with him, and he had readily acknowledged that he was happier with her. But it was more than that.
Being with her had changed him in ways he hadn’t even realized he needed. And when she left, when he lost her again, his heart would shatter.