Chapter Thirty-three
Emma didn’t sleep that night. It hadn’t been difficult for her to sort out why her nightmares had grown more intense the past few nights, waking her dozens of times. This happened every year as the anniversary of the fire approached.
She hadn’t expected to still be in Hope Springs when the day arrived. It was difficult enough to get through in Baltimore, but to be here, where it had happened, was too much. She didn’t know how she would get through the day.
She had dressed for the day but hadn’t left her room. She wasn’t ready to. Every time she closed her eyes, even for the length of a blink, that day returned with full force to her memory.
Marianne screaming. Watching the barn collapse with three people still inside. Desperately hoping all three would be found and safe. That not happening.
It had been more than a decade, but it felt like mere minutes.
How could she possibly endure it?
Katie stepped inside the room and crossed to her. “You have a visitor.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t particularly wish to see anyone.”
Katie set an arm around her. “It’s Finbarr. And he predicted you would say that. He pleaded with me to at least ask, and to tell you that he understood, and that he thinks it would help if you’d come talk to him.”
Did Finbarr remember? Did he know what day it was? Would him knowing actually help or only make it worse?
Katie gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Go talk with him, sweetheart. I can tell you’re not certain it will help you, but I think it will help him. He looks . . . burdened.”
If Finbarr was hurting even half as much as she was, she didn’t want him to bear that alone.
He was in the new sitting room, waiting for her.
“It’s Emma.” She’d made certain to identify herself any time they crossed paths, knowing that was important to him.
A quick smile crossed his face, but as Katie had said, there was a heaviness in his expression. He crossed to her until his cane bumped her feet. He pulled it back and took the last step until he was directly in front of her. Then he put his arms around her, and whispered, “Eleven years.”
A lump of emotion formed immediately in her throat. Eleven years. He remembered. He understood why she was hurting so much.
She leaned against him. “I can’t ever escape the memories on this day. But being this close to it all—”
“I think you should spend the day away from here.”
“But I can’t get away from it. This entire town is part of the memories. Everywhere I go, I’ll remember someone who was there that day, or someone who wept through the funeral. I’ll remember their voices shouting around the fire. I can’t get away from it.”
Emotion broke her voice and clogged her throat. She loved this town and the people in it, but she couldn’t bear being around them on this day. Even being with her own family was difficult. How Finbarr’s presence wasn’t sending her running for the hills, she couldn’t say, but she was clinging to it.
“I thought we might go to the inn,” he said gently. “It didn’t exist eleven years ago. It wasn’t built where something else was. And not a single person living there was in Hope Springs the day of the fire. Not one of them.”
She hadn’t thought of that. It sat over a rise on the other side of the hill.
The location had been chosen because the town couldn’t be seen from the inn, preventing them from being overrun by people arriving on the stage.
But that meant Emma could spend the day in a place where absolutely nothing that reminded her of the worst day of her life could possibly be seen.
It was a refuge, one she hadn’t, in her overwhelmed state, even thought of.
“Do you think Patrick and Eliza would mind?” She did her utmost not to get her hopes up, yet she knew this was likely her only hope for getting through the day without falling to pieces.
“I happen to know they’d be overjoyed.”
“You asked them?” She wasn’t sure if she liked that possibility or not.
“Didn’t have to. Both of them love company, which is why they thrive so much running an inn. And, I suspect, with a new little one, a little bit of help would be more than welcome.”
“I would like that.” Being useful always helped her feel better and less lost. And she loved babies and children.
Finbarr’s arms slipped away. She missed them immediately. She hadn’t realized until he stopped just how much his embrace was helping her.
He motioned toward the door. “Off with us, then.”
She walked with him to the entryway, pausing long enough to put on her coat, then out the front door. She kept herself turned away from the direction of the barn. If she could avoid seeing it for the entirety of the day, that would help tremendously.
The horse and buggy sat in front of the house, hitched and waiting for them. Papa stood at the horse’s head, and looked over at her as she stepped off the porch.
“I felt certain he’d convince you.”
“We’re going to go to the inn,” she said.
Papa nodded. “A good place to spend this day.” Whether Papa had remembered what this day was or Finbarr had reminded him, in the end, he understood. And that helped.
She and Finbarr were quickly situated, with Madra at his feet and the reins in her hands. It was a very good thing she remembered how to drive. Not only did it allow her this escape, it had already given her two opportunities to spend time with Finbarr.
“Thank you for thinking of this,” she said, as they headed down the road.
“You needed an escape.”
They passed the school. The schoolyard was empty. With Miss Groves no longer acting in the capacity of teacher, school was canceled. The preacher’s wife said she could take on those duties in a few more weeks. She had a very young baby and didn’t feel equal to the task yet.
“I have enjoyed watching Sean and Rigger running around the schoolyard when I’ve passed here before,” she said. “Those two are ridiculous in the very best way.”
“I’d not realized until I started pondering it last night and this morning,” Finbarr said, “how much being surrounded by the joy and connection in this town has helped me face this day every year. It doesn’t make the pain go away or change the terrible things from the past, but it gives me hope. And hope is a powerful thing.”
“Are you really willing to leave Hope Springs and let go of that hope?”
“Are you?”
She didn’t have an answer to that. Hope Springs was healing in many ways but it was also heavy. And she didn’t know how the balance was going to tip moving forward.
Neither of them spoke again as they drove on. The silence remained as Emma brought the buggy to a stop in front of the inn.
“Patrick has stepped out,” she told Finbarr.
He smiled in the direction of the inn, no doubt guessing that’s where his brother was. “We’ve come for a visit, if you don’t mind.”
“We never mind,” Patrick insisted with his usual cheerful welcome. “Come on inside where it’s warm. I’ll see to your horse.”
While Finbarr climbed down, Patrick helped Emma alight.
Finbarr waited for her and walked at her side into the public room of the very inviting inn. No travelers were there as the stage had not resumed running. It wasn’t difficult to spot the family. Even if she hadn’t seen them, Eoin’s delighted exclamation would have given them away.
“Madra!” The little boy rushed over and immediately threw his arms around the dog.
“I probably should be offended that he’s never that happy to see me,” Finbarr said dryly.
“He certainly has his favorite.” Emma set her hand in his. He could navigate the inn with his cane—she’d seen him do it—but it would be simpler to guide him to where Eliza was holding the baby. Besides, she liked holding his hand.
“Eliza’s at twelve o’clock. You only need a few more steps to reach her.”
Finbarr gave a quick nod.
“Have you come to spend the day with us?” Eliza asked as they approached, sounding incredibly pleased at the possibility.
“We’ve come to be your children’s favorite uncle and aunt.”
Emma likely didn’t manage to entirely hide her pleasure at being spoken of in such a familial and connected way. And to be the aunt who was connected to Uncle Finbarr was a delightful thing.
“Lydia was already pleased to not have to go to school. She’ll be overjoyed to be here for your visit.”
“We’ll simply have to stay all day so she can feel herself the luckiest schoolgirl in the whole country,” Finbarr said.
Swift as that, without embarrassing Emma or making her feel small, he’d secured a way for them to stay for as many hours as she needed.
It was midafternoon, and the inn had gone quiet. Emma was holding tiny Gemma, who had fallen deeply asleep. She carefully and quietly walked up the stairs so she could lay the baby down in the hope that the little girl would sleep longer and better in her bassinet.
To her surprise, she found Finbarr in the childrens’ room. He was sitting in a chair with his eyes closed, Lydia sleeping on his lap. Eoin was lying on the floor curled up beside Madra, both of them sleeping as well.
The sight was breathtaking. Her heart ached in a strange and unfamiliar way.
It wasn’t the pain of loss. It wasn’t the worry of future abandonment.
It wasn’t the loneliness she’d felt the last five years.
It was a longing for something just like this, and the deep joy in her heart at the idea of a lifetime being with him as he loved his family.
Our family. She tucked away that unexpected thought, but her heart refused to entirely let it go.
Moving as quietly as she could, she laid Gemma down and adjusted the blanket to make certain the tiny girl was comfortable.
Emma took a breath, then turned back once more.
Finbarr—wonderful, loving Finbarr—slept so peacefully, watching over his niece and nephew, who clearly adored him.
She had seen the way all of Finbarr’s nieces and nephews flocked and clung to him.
This was the Finbarr she’d known growing up.
This was the Finbarr she had loved her whole life.
But with that came the crushing memories.
Smoke. Flames.
“I can’t see you, Katie,” her own remembered voice cried out.
“Miss Katie,” Finbarr said, “You have to get out. The whole place’ll come down on your head.”
Crackling of flames. The barn groaning as fire consumed it.
“Don’t leave me,” Marianne pleaded.
The rush of hot, punishing air tore at her. Flying splinters dug into her flesh, searing pain filling her.
She scrambled and spun and screamed. The barn had fallen.
No Katie. No Marianne. No Finbarr.
People digging. Emma tossing flaming bits of wood.
No Finbarr.
Chaos. Terror.
Where is he? Where is he?
Emma took a gasping breath, trying to pull herself back to the present. Eleven years. The fire was out. The damage was done.
Why couldn’t she escape it?
She didn’t even realize she’d closed her eyes. A foolish thing to do. That was always when the memories were strongest.
Someone touched her. Without looking, she knew it was Finbarr. And though he couldn’t see her, she suspected he knew she was crying.
“I didn’t imagine you’d escape the memories entirely,” he said softly.
“I never will.”
“Grief is a powerful thing, Emma. I don’t know that we ever entirely escape it, but it can be eased.”
“Not for me.”
“It can get better. The Johnsons still grieve Marianne, but they’ve found joy and hope again. I’m still haunted by that day, but I’ve done some healing.”
“It’s not the same,” she said.
“Not the same as what?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “You all lost so much that day.”
“So did you,” he insisted.
“But you didn’t cause this. It wasn’t your fault. Grief heals, but guilt eats at a person. It’s been hollowing me out for more than a decade.”
“When I said—”
“It wasn’t you blaming me ten years ago that tears at me; it’s that you were right. I didn’t need you to tell me that it was my fault, because I have always known. I will always know.”
Finbarr put his arms around her again. “It’s not the fault of anyone except Mr. Archibald. He lit that fire. He caused this.”
“But I am the reason we were in the barn.” She hadn’t told this to anyone.
“So many people were in the house, and they were fighting and shouting at each other. Marianne and Ivy and I couldn’t bear it anymore.
I’m the one who said we should go into the barn, that it would be quiet there.
” Her breath shuddered from her. “Marianne didn’t want to.
She said it didn’t feel safe, but I didn’t listen.
I just pushed until she agreed. And even after we were in there, she and Ivy wanted to leave, but I told them we shouldn’t. ”
Finbarr held her tighter. “Oh, Emma.”
“I’m the reason we stayed. I’m the reason we were in there when the fire was lit.
I am the reason.” The searing pain of emotion in her throat cut off the rest of her words.
Tears flowed unchecked. For eleven years, she had borne the weight of knowing she was the reason for so much suffering and loss.
For eleven years, she had known she would have to go on with the weight of all that she had done and caused.
“It feels like the fire has never stopped burning, Finbarr. I’ve been trapped in the flames for more than half my life.”
“I didn’t leave you in that fire eleven years ago, mo sholas. I’m not going to leave you now.”
Finbarr kept his arms around her. In his arms, she breathed in a way she hadn’t since the fire. Just as Ivy said, she could breathe when she was with him. The pain would likely never go entirely away. But, finally, she could breathe.