Chapter 14

Clang! Clang! The church bells tolled, startling Moira awake. She tried to move but a shooting pain in her neck kept her still. Slowly her eyes focused on the fireplace. Why is the fireplace in my bedchamber? And why is it on its side? Her head and body ached, and her mind struggled to catch up. Gingerly she lifted her head and looked around, familiarizing herself with her surroundings.

“What in the world?” Confusion surrounded her like a fog. She sat in a chair by the open window in her front room. Dew covered the windowsill, her arms, and the crown of her head. She shivered from top to toe.

I must have fallen asleep singing! Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at her silliness. Images of home flooded her mind, surrounded by the familiar tune of her childhood. She remembered now.

The lullaby had done its job—it had put her to sleep. A peaceful sleep full of dreams of home and family, for which Moira was more grateful than she could express.

But to fall asleep in front of an open window and allow a chill to have its way with her had been foolish. She willed herself to stand and was by no means steady on her feet. Finally regaining her bearings and balance, she shut the window tight and tended to the fire before seeing to her breakfast.

The hot tea went down smoothly, warming every inch of her as she sipped. Although she had fallen asleep very late, she had somehow managed to wake up with plenty of time to eat a leisurely breakfast and fully prepare for the school day ahead.

“Thank you, Lord, for the church bells,” she spoke to the ceiling.

The chills eventually dissipated as the fire crackled awake and the tea worked its magic from the inside out. Her bones ached. She prayed it was merely soreness from sleeping in such an awkward position. She could not afford to be ill the first week. Nor could she afford to let grief or pains overtake her better judgment.

After seeing to her morning ablutions, she opened the door ready to venture out into the new day, determined to face whatever challenges awaited with strength and grace. Her breath caught in her chest as the sheer beauty of Ballymann struck anew with full force.

The sun shone bright—a rare occurrence in Donegal in February—casting rainbows over the emerald sea. Thatched roofs, frosted with dew, sparkled like jewels on velvet. Each breath brought a potpourri of grass, dew, and the sweet scent of turf. Moira closed her eyes, took one final cleansing breath, and stepped resolutely out the door.

Whoosh! Her slick-soled boot met with the dew-damp stone of the threshold, and her bum landed firmly on the limestone.

“Oof!” Moira sat stunned for a moment before glancing around to make sure no one had seen her fall. “Well, so much for a graceful start to the day!”

Laughter bubbled up from deep within. Though she knew she must look like a fool laughing on the damp walkway, she couldn’t stop. Before long, a rolling belly laugh drifted on the air over the sleepy town.

“I do believe it is going to be a great day, Moira Girl!”

Before rising to her feet, Moira noticed small white bits crushed on the stones before her. Several eggshells lay scattered on the path from her chalet. Some on the stones, pulverized from her fall. Others hidden under the bushes on either side of her doorway. Moira grimaced, searching for a reason they would be there, but no logical reason presented itself.

“A few eggshells never harmed anyone. At least they’ll keep the slugs away.”

Rising to her feet, Moira adjusted her skirts and brushed the dirt from her hands and backside. Looking around once more to make sure no one was witness to her comedic mishap, she started down the footpath to the main road.

She looked back for a moment and renewed admiration for her charming little home filled her heart. Passing the small market, Moira made a mental note to stop in after school. Busy thinking of a list of items she wanted to collect—tea, butter, flour, and bread soda—Moira barely noticed Bríd approaching before the woman was in front of her.

“Well, hallo, lovey. I missed havin’ ya ’round last night.” The old woman wrapped Moira in a warm hug. The pair rocked back and forth before finally releasing one another.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Bríd! I was just on my way to school. Walk with me?”

Bríd feigned a deep think before linking her arm in Moira’s and heading off down the road with a lilt in her step.

“So, peata, how are ya findin’ the chalet? Are ya keepin’ the fire lit, now?”

Moira laughed. She had missed the company of her friend more than she’d realized. Her heart stirred at the realization that she actually had a friend.

“Yes, ma’am—er, Bríd—the fire is lit, and I’ve gotten a little better at using the embers. At least I think I have.”

“That’s brilliant, peata. Glad to hear it.” Bríd eyed her. “You seem awfully chipper this mairnin’. All is right in the teaching world, I wager?”

Moira took a sidelong glance at the woman and smiled. “Yes, I’d say it is. A few growing pains still, but it’ll all come together in time. This morning has been a comedy of errors.”

The pair turned down the street where the school stood. Gravel crunched beneath their feet, and Moira wrestled with whether or not to tell Bríd about her little midnight serenade and waking up in the windowsill. While she dearly valued her new—and only—friend in Ballymann and wanted desperately to open up to her, she didn’t know how Bríd would react. Would she think Moira silly? Would she deem her an unfit role model for the children of the parish?

“First of all, I slipped coming out of the house.” She opted for the safe version. “I was quite the sight, I tell you. Then, I noticed a stash of eggshells scattered across the front walk.”

Bríd stopped, her brows furrowed as she looked Moira square in the eyes. “Eggshells, ya say?”

Moira chuckled. “Yes, it was the strangest thing. I guess a bird must have nested in the bushes nearby. Or perhaps they came from the large oak south of the chalet.” She paused, picturing the number and size of the shells. “Although, they seemed quite large for a nesting bird. They looked truly like hen’s eggs. Quite curious.”

Bríd rolled her lips between her teeth and then laid a hand on Moira’s shoulder.

Silence stretched between them. Each second Bríd didn’t speak was another brick on Moira’s already weighted heart.

Bríd’s eyes clouded.

“What is it, Bríd? What’s wrong?”

Bríd inhaled sharply and forced a smile. “I’m sure it’s nothin’, peata. I’m an auld woman, prone to superstition. I’m sure everything’s fine. Plus ya have the good Laird watchin’ over ya. Anyway, I’d best be getting home now.” She laid a kiss on Moira’s cheek before giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze and scurrying off toward the main road.

“Keep yer fire lit, peata!” she called over her shoulder with a wink and a wave before disappearing around the corner.