Chapter 7
Maeve didn’t expect the knock coming.
She’d been sweeping the porch, keeping her hands busy and her thoughts from spinning the same anxious circles they’d traced since the confrontation at the general store. The sun was on her back, warming part of her body, but her stomach was still cold, and tangled up with doubt.
She opened the door and there they were. Two women. One tall and thin with her copper hair braided sharply down her back. The other shorter had warm brown eyes and a soft, open smile was holding a basket.
“Maeve Gallagher?” the tall one asked.
“Aye?” Maeve tightened her grip on the broom. She didn’t correct her surname.
“I’m Fiona,” she said, holding out a hand. “Fiona Donnelly, I mean…Fiona Hart. And this is Brigid McKenna.”
“We thought we’d come by and welcome you. Jonas said you might like some company,” Brigid’s smile got wider.
Wait…Jonas said that? Maeve didn’t know if she should feel grateful or just embarrassed.
“Please, come in,” she stepped aside, refusing to be rude to the ladies.
They entered and the cabin instantly felt warmer. Fiona glanced around, taking everything in. Maeve noticed how the taller woman glanced at the neat space, the simple furniture, and the half-sewn quilt over the chair.
“Ye’ve got it cozy already,” Fiona said.
“That’s mostly Jonas. I am happy to keep his home clean and tidy,” Maeve let herself laugh a little.
“Jonas is neat as a pin. And Gideon says he could build a house out of twigs and it’d hold tighter than anything in town,” Brigid chuckled.
Maeve smiled. She hadn’t realized how tight her shoulders were until now. She gestured to the table, and the three of them settled in. Brigid set her basket down.
“We brought a few things,” she said. “Bread, some preserves, and a bit of honey. Everybody needs something sweet now and then.”
“That’s… very kind,” Maeve felt her throat tighten up.
“Everybody needed a hand when they first came west. You’re no different,” Brigid waved it off.
“I’m not sure everyone in town feels that way,” Maeve paused.
Fiona and Brigid traded a look. Fiona’s face softened.
“We heard about what happened at the store.”
“I didn’t mean to start trouble,” Maeve’s cheeks flushed, and for the first time she realized how gossip spread in Owl Flats.
“You didn’t,” Fiona said, clear as day. “Folks talk when they're bored. Or scared of anything that doesn’t fit their tidy stories.”
“And some forget their own pasts weren’t so clean,” Brigid nodded.
“I’ve worked so hard to leave Boston behind. To leave him behind,” Maeve let out a shaky breath.
“Him?” Fiona leaned in, as if there were other people who could hear their conversation, and she wanted to shield them from hearing.
Maeve hesitated. She hadn’t told the whole truth since she left the city. Not even to Jonas. No one. But something about Fiona’s steady eyes, and Brigid’s quiet patience, broke open that knot inside her.
“There was a man,” she said, putting her hands in her lap. “He was a regular at the alehouse where I worked. He was rich and came from a socially known family. One of those men who gets believed just because he talks.”
“What did he do?” Brigid’s eyes darkened.
“He cornered me late one night,” Maeve’s voice came low. “He wanted…something I wouldn’t give. I shoved him away. Harder than I meant to.”
“Good,” Fiona’s jaw clenched.
“Not for me,” Maeve shook her head. “The next morning, he said I’d stolen his watch. Claimed he saw me near the alley where it turned up. Seamus Mulligan, the alehouse’s proprietor, didn’t want to cross a man like that. He told me I’d better go, before the constable came asking questions.”
“I’m sorry, Maeve,” Brigid reached across the table and covered Maeve’s hand.
“I didn’t steal a thing,” Maeve blinked, eyes stinging. “But rumors grow. People believe what they want.”
“Believe me, I know,” Fiona nodded. “But that’s a story for another day.”
Maeve looked up, surprised. Fiona’s face had that faraway look with shadows flickering behind her eyes.
“You’re not alone here. Not anymore,” Brigid squeezed Maeve’s hand.
“I was afraid you’d judge me,” Maeve let out a shaky breath.
“If we judged every woman wronged by some man with too much power, there’d be nobody left at this table,” Fiona let out a soft snort.
Brigid laughed, and not a fraudulent one, but it was rather a real, bright sound. “And if ya think singing in an alehouse is shocking, ya ought to hear what I did just to get by, before I came west.”
Maeve just stared at them, stunned. Then, bit by bit, she laughed. Really laughed. It scraped in her throat, unused, but something inside her unclenched.
“There. That’s the laugh I was waiting for,” Fiona grinned.
“I don’t know what to say,” Maeve wiped her eyes.
“Say y’all will come visit,” Brigid said. “Sometimes we meet at the church just to sew or talk… and honestly, we’d love to hear you sing again.”
“After what happened at the gathering…I don’t know if the town wants that,” Maeve hesitated.
“The town doesn’t get to decide what you’re worth,” Fiona shook her head.
“And that voice of yours?” Brigid nodded. “It’s a gift. Don’t tuck it away just because a few gossips can’t help themselves.”
Maeve felt something warm blooming in her chest. While it was slow and cautious, it was there. She hadn’t come to Owl Flats expecting friendship. Kindness? Not a chance. Yet here were Fiona and Brigid, offering both like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’d like that. Really, I would,” she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Good. Because you’re stuck with us, like it or not,” Fiona straightened up and smoothed down her skirt, a smile tugging at her lips
“We’ll drag ya along kicking and screaming if we must,” Brigid grinned.
Maeve laughed, the heaviness inside her finally starting to lift. She followed them to the door, something hopeful flickering inside her. She’d thought she’d be alone here. She’d told herself she didn’t care. Now, walking them out, she realized that wasn’t true at all.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
“You’re stronger than ya think, Maeve,” Fiona pulled her into a gentle hug.
“And you’re safe with us,” Brigid squeezed her arm.
She stood in the doorway and watched them head down the path, with the sunlight catching their hair. Her heart thudded steady and sure in her chest.
For the first time since she’d left Boston, she felt the tiniest spark of confidence.
No more letting a bitter man define her. No more letting rumor or fear decide where she belonged. She had friends now. Real ones. Women who understood what it meant to stand together.
With them by her side, Maeve knew she could take on anything this strange little town threw at her. Even the whispers. Even her own memories. Even that storm she sensed was still out there, waiting.
She closed the door. The cabin felt warm, the light golden across the floor.
At last, Owl Flats felt like somewhere she belonged.