Chapter 11

That night, no matter how long Moira lay quiet with eyes shut tight, sleep eluded her. Despite her bidding them leave her until morning, a million-and-one ideas for her new home danced around and around in her head.

Earlier, fear had tightly wound around her heart about the unknowns of her little chalet. When she had finally seen how lovely it actually was, she found it difficult to bridle her imaginings.

Be still, Moira Girl. There’s no need to lose sleep over a chalet. Her scolding did little good. Eventually, and far later than she would have preferred, sleep overtook her.

No sooner had she settled into the comfort of a dream than Bríd was knocking on her door, beckoning her to breakfast. Moira washed, dressed, and ate breakfast in the fog that inevitably follows a night full of hopeful dreaming, before finally making her way to school.

Never let yer fire go all the way out. That’s the way of the turf, ya know. Use every bit for as long as ya can. Bríd’s words echoed in Moira’s head as she absently made her way to the schoolhouse.

“Good thing I paid attention to how she lit the fire in the chalet,” she said. “I should get the turf going before the children arrive today.”

Determined, Moira swung wide the schoolhouse door and marched straight to the fireplace. A basket full of the rough briquettes sat off to the side, ready for use. As she stacked the turf in the hearth just so, a terrifying thought plagued her mind, stopping her in her tracks.

The fire has long been out in this house. What if the soul of this place, these children, has gone out with it, just as Bríd warned? The idea chilled Moira’s bones as she flopped to the floor in defeat.

I am the way, the truth, and the life, my dear one. Trust in Me, not a fire.

Closing her eyes, Moira allowed the truth to wash over her. Of course the state of a hearth and fire could never determine the soul of a person! And if these children, God forbid, didn’t understand the love lavished on them from their Father above, she was going to let them experience it through her. Bríd was full of superstitions. As, apparently, were many in the village. But Moira would hold to the truth.

She returned to stacking and arranging the turf the way she had seen Bríd do the night before and set it alight. As she finished, the children began to arrive.

“Marnin’, Miss,” called one child.

“Día dhuit,” croaked another.

Moira half-turned and smiled at her pupils when there was a tug on the back of her dress. She craned her head around to see Aoife, who smiled sheepishly, waved, then ran to her seat.

“Good morning, children,” Moira sang as she rose to her feet. “It’s so lovely to see you all again today. Yesterday we spent a lot of time getting acquainted, so today I’d like to dig in and get some good work done.”

As she spoke, the children’s eyes grew bigger. Some of the students chuckled, some coughed, but most simply sat with mortified looks plastered across their face. Realizing something was happening behind her, Moira turned just in time to be enveloped by a cloud of thick black smoke.

“Och! Someone open the door!”

Moira ran to the fireplace, waving her arms madly to dispel the smoke. All around her, children coughed and gagged, flailing their hands in front of their faces or hiding their noses inside the tops of their jumpers. In the corner, Áedach laughed hysterically.

“Morning, a Mhúinteoir.”

Moira stiffened. She turned toward the door. Please, God, don’t let it be . . .

“Sean—er—Mr. McFadden! What brings you to the schoolhouse this morning?” She hoped the burning in her cheeks wasn’t evident to everyone else.

“What brings me here?” he quipped, barely hiding a laugh. “Why, not much. Only that t’ick black smoke pourin’ out from the door there, that’s all.”

Moira buried her face in her hands. “I really don’t know what’s wrong! I just learned this last night. Och! This is just lovely.”

In three strides Sean was right in front of the fire. Moira was all too aware of his presence beside her, despite the fact her face was still buried in her hands. Through her fingers she saw Sean reach to put his hand on her arm, but he stopped short and lowered it to his side.

“Well now,” he said gently, “let’s just see what we can do about this, shall we?”

Moira lowered her hands and nodded, waiting to see what manner of sarcastic comment the man had prepared for her today.

Sean crouched in front of the hearth. “Ah, see? You’ve no kindling ’tall here. You need to put some grass or paper underneath the turf.” He gestured to a stack of dried grass and hay in a smaller basket to the left of the fireplace. “And then your biggest culprit is you’ve not opened the flue inside the chimney, like this.”

He turned a black iron lever jutting out of the left side of the chimney. Immediately, a rush of air sucked the smoke up the chimney, slamming the schoolhouse door.

“I see,” Moira said, straightening her skirts. Deep down she was grateful for Sean coming to her rescue. But she restrained her gratitude to keep the mood dignified. Proper.

“Thank you very much, Mr. McFadden. I’m much obliged to you.”

“And I’ll remember that you owe me, to be sure,” he replied with a sly smile and a wink.

Moira’s face burned once more. There was no hiding it this time.

Sean brushed the soot from his hands, bid the students farewell, and left as suddenly as he had come in.

“Now, children, I think that’s enough excitement for one day. If you’ll all take your seats, we can begin.”

The children shuffled around, wiped their desks of soot and ash, and found their seats. In the corner, Áedach still laughed.