Chapter 17

The following two days passed in a blur, with no major hiccups to mark them differently. At last, Friday dawned, bringing with it the promise of rest and respite from the mundane.

Mundane? A sour laugh escaped Moira’s lips at the thought. In mere weeks, she had moved to a new country, into a new house, started a new job, and discovered someone might be wishing her harm. A far cry from her old life.

She tried her best to force the acrid thoughts from her mind. But the more she tried to shake them, the tighter they gripped her. Doubt. Disquiet. Regret. The toxic mixture seeped into every corner of her spirit.

The church bells began their toll. Their incessant knell sounded more like a death march than a call to worship. In the fog of fatigue and worry, she gathered her things and headed for the school.

The walk seemed inordinately short. She was not prepared to face the day. Ready to finish the day? Yes. But to start it? Not quite.

She took a deep breath in hopes that the frosty morning air would bolster her energy as she pushed the heavy oak door.

After dropping into the chair behind her desk, she cradled her head in her hands.

Lord, I need Your strength to get through this day. Please, God, help me.

“Ahem.”

Moira gasped, catching herself just before falling off her seat. “Good grief, Áedach, you frightened me!”

A caustic sneer curled one corner of the lad’s mouth. Moira’s stomach fell at the sight of it.

Moira stood, forced a sugar-sweet smile on her face, and willed her voice steady. “What can I do for you? Did you need help with yesterday’s writing assignment?” She clasped her hands behind her back lest he see them trembling.

“What can ya do fer me?” His eyebrows arched and his eyes widened. “What ya can do is know what it is I can do to ye.” His sneer spread into a sickening grin as he placed one foot in front of the other, making his way toward her.

“Áedach.” The firmness in her voice surprised her. “I think perhaps you are mistaken. You might want to rethink what you are doing.” The large desk provided a welcome barrier between them. Moira gripped the edge of it.

“Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! ” He wagged a filthy finger at her. “Ya need to be keerful how ya talk to me, Miss. Ya see, I know yer saicrit.” A combination of giddy delight and power swirled in his ice-blue eyes. The hairs on Moira’s arms stood as if stirred by a lightning storm.

Anger roiled in her belly at the audacity of the boy. Rather than air her ire, she mustered every ounce of patience she possessed. No telling what the lad was capable of. “I have no secrets, young man, and I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Psh! ’Dats nonsense and ya know it. Watch yerself ’round me, Miss, or I’ll spill yer saicrit to the whole of Ballymann.”

He closed the distance between him and the desk. Pressing his hands hard onto its surface, he leaned forward until his nose was inches from hers. The stench of stale drink poured out on his foul breath.

Moira’s breakfast threatened to come back up.

“I’ll tell the priest hisself, so I will. Don’t cross me, woman. Ye’ve been warned.”

Áedach straightened to his full height, then clicked his tongue as he sauntered from the schoolhouse.

Curiosity tempted Moira to run after him, grab him by the shoulders, and shake whatever secret he thought he held.

How could I have a secret I don’t even know about?

A deep breath did nothing to steady her nerves. Her teeth chattered. The room started to spin, and her stomach lurched. She bolted outside just in time to be sick in the gorse bush below the window. Mortified, she rose, thankful to see no one else around yet. Unsteady feet carried her back into the schoolhouse, where she attempted to focus on the day before her.

Áedach didn’t return for lessons that day. And Moira was deeply grateful not to have to face the boy and his sneering gaze.

As the afternoon waned, the wind picked up, rattling the windows of the schoolhouse. The gorse bushes and maidenhair trees rocked violently in the tempest. Moira welcomed the dark weather. It mirrored her mood. If she couldn’t vent her anger and frustration to the world, she was glad to let the world do it for her.

Walking home proved difficult, though, as the gale-force winds shoved her this way and that, threatening to toss her off the path. Ahead, the sanctuary of home beckoned.

As Moira opened the door, the wind ripped the handle from her hand, shoving her inside the chalet like a used rag. It took her full weight against the door to close it and secure the latch.

With shaky hands, she smoothed the tendrils of hair that had been blown across her face. Without caring about an evening meal, she stoked the fire, then collapsed on the bed, still fully clothed.

Sleep fell upon her swift and fierce, while outside the storm continued to roil.

Moira jolted awake. Disorientation whirled in her mind. The shutters on the living room window flapped in the maelstrom, slamming against the house. Rain splashed into the room and ran down the wall. She jumped out of bed and shrieked. Icy cold water covered her feet, with more pouring off the canopy over her bed.

“You can’t be serious!” The torrent of the gales and percussion of the shutters on the house swallowed her voice.

She ran to the window. A branch must’ve broken through the glass. Moira grabbed a platter from the table. She placed it up against the hole in the glass and set a heavy book against it, praying it would hold.

One crisis averted, she returned to her bedchamber. The waterfall from the ceiling drew her attention. She gawked at the gaping hole in the roof.

What am I supposed to do with that?

She rushed to the press, snatched some towels, and tossed them on top of the canopy. Then she dragged a chair from the dining table to a spot near the bed.

Standing on the chair, she placed her hands on top of the canopy and hopped. Her upper body landed on the hard surface with a splat. Her midsection stuck on the edge leaving her feet dangling. With only flat wood and canvas under her hands, there was nothing to grab and pull herself up. Swinging her feet like a pendulum, she eventually built enough momentum to carry her legs up and over the ledge. She prayed it would support her weight.

Working as fast as her chilled muscles allowed, Moira shoved towels into the opening of the roof. The deluge slowed to a trickle. Then stopped.

“That’ll have to do until morning.” She scooted to the edge of the canopy. It hadn’t seemed so high when she had climbed up. Turning onto her belly, she slithered off the edge. Her toes searched for the chair. Lying on top of a soaking-wet canopy, with her rump dangling over a chair she couldn’t find, she chuckled in disbelief. Her body bobbed up and down with her laughter, causing her to giggle all the more.

How do you always seem to get yourself into these situations, Moira Girl?

At last, her toes found the chair, and she slid the rest of the way off the canopy.

The remaining towels in the press served as mops as Moira tried to sop up what water she could from the floor before fetching her nightgown.

“That’s one good thing about sleeping in your clothes. At least your nightdress is still dry.”

Bríd had been right about that canopy keeping out the damp. Though the top of it was soaked, the mattress was still quite dry.

Dressed in warm, clean clothes, with crises abated for the moment, Moira buried herself deep in the covers and waited for morning.