Chapter 23

Located near the top of Upper Main Street not far from where the wagon was hitched, The Central Bar buzzed with patrons. Moira stared at the whitewashed building. The two-story inn and pub loomed strong and menacing with its black-trimmed windows. She wasn’t entirely comfortable setting foot inside a public house—her mother’s warnings about women and pubs echoing loudly in her mind. Yet other women came and went unbothered. And Mrs. McGonigle certainly didn’t seem to mind. She had gone barreling into the place like it was the last ship to America during the Great Famine.

Moira stepped inside, squinting against the hazy darkness. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and a high counter, flanked on all corners with tall posts, stood in the center of the room. Mirrors lined the wall behind the counter, so the countless bottles of amber liquid appeared never-ending. A few figures sat at the bar in seeming world-changing conversations with the pints before them. A crackling fire in the hearth completed the cozy ambiance.

At the far end of the room, Sean motioned for the group to join him. They all took their places at the table. Within minutes, each was served a steaming bowl of soup. Moira inspected the creamy broth, filled with potatoes and leeks, before tearing off a chunk of the crusty brown bread that had been served with it. She dunked the bread into the hot ambrosia and delighted as the liquid soaked it. She lifted the bread to her mouth and closed her eyes to better savor the experience. Salty and creamy, the hearty soup satisfied her down to her toes—exactly what she needed after the long morning of travel and shopping.

The group enjoyed their meal and lively conversation as seconds of soup and bread were offered. Mr. McGonigle regaled them all with the tale of his excellent bartering skills, and Sinead recounted with great fervor the finding of the dress—and with great disappointment, Moira’s refusal to purchase it.

From her seat at the end of the table, Moira was able to engage each of her new friends in conversation with ease, as well as take in the entirety of the room. Sean sat to her right, Sinead to her left, with the elder McGonigles beyond.

Sinead and her mother excused themselves to the loo while Mr. McGonigle—who now insisted Moira call him Paddy—made his way to the bar in search of a pint. Moira, intent on sopping up the last of her soup with the delicious bread, stopped mid-dip. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and her stomach sank with the sense that someone was watching her. She looked up from her dish and scanned the room. In the far corner, a lone figure sat in the shadows. Moira squinted to see through the darkness. The silhouette leaned forward, bringing his face into the light. Hard eyes glared at her, while aged lips nursed dark port from a glass.

Buach. Without thinking, Moira placed her hand on Sean’s forearm.

Sean looked at her hand on his arm, and then to her face. He must’ve seen in her eyes the fear that was coursing through her, pushing her lunch to the back of her throat. “What it is, Moira? Are ya alright?”

Moira swallowed the bile in her throat and shook her head. “That man in the corner there.”

Sean’s gaze followed hers and landed on Buach, who was shuffling to his feet and heading in their direction.

“I see looks aren’t the only t’ing ye have in common with yer mother.” Buach’s voice was thick with intrigue and drink. His steely eyes dropped to her hand on Sean’s arm, and a crooked smile formed on the old man’s lips.

Moira dropped her hand to her lap, bemoaning the brazen appearance of her innocent gesture. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean by that remark.”

Buach sucked on his wayward tooth. The tsk, tsk, tsk of it churned Moira’s stomach.

Sean pressed his palms to the table and rose to his full height. “Ye’ve had too much to drink, auld man.” His voice was calm, but anger flickered behind his eyes. “G’on now and find a place to sleep it off afore ya say something you’ll regret.”

Buach and Sean stared at one another. Neither man moved. Seconds seemed hours. Moira heard nothing but her heart pounding in her ears. By the rise and fall of Sean’s shoulders, he was straining to control his anger. She looked from his shoulders to his face. His jaw worked back and forth, then he leaned forward until he was inches from Buach’s face.

“I said get.” He gave a slight motion to the door with his head. “And ye’ll leave Miss Doherty alone. Or ye’ll have me ta answer to.”

Buach turned his full gaze to Moira, annoyance and fear spiraling in his eyes. “Yer mother’s tale will come ta light sooner or later, peata. Then the whole of Ballymann’ll know the truth about ye. I’ll tell ye the same thing I did that day by the beach: keep yer eyes wide open.” With a final tsk at his tooth, and a slight flinch when Sean crossed his arms over his chest, Buach turned and shuffled out the door.

Sean lowered himself to his seat and turned his attention to Moira. His eyes probed hers, his hand working the back of his neck just as she’d seen him do in her chalet. “Moira, I dunno what is going on here. And I want to ask ya, but I don’t want you to think my asking means I doubt ya.”

Moira nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Do ye have any idea ’tall what everyone is talkin’ about? Too many people have brought up this idea of a saicrit for it to be a complete bunch a malarkey. I just wonder if there might be a wee bit o’ truth to it? Even a half truth?”

Tears pooled in Moira’s eyes, and she willed them not to fall. “As true as the day is long, I have no idea what is going on.” She rested her chin on her hand and allowed her mind to retrace the weeks since she’d come to Ballymann. “Buach mentioned my mother when he found me on the beach the first Sunday I was here.”

“I remember that day well,” Sean said.

“Then Áedach threatened to reveal my ‘secret.’ And I didn’t like the look exchanged between Sinead and her mother when we passed by Glenveagh.”

“I noticed that too.”

“I came to Ballymann because Mother wanted me to be the teacher after Mrs. McGinley passed away. She had told me of her wonderful céilí dances in the village hall and the beauty of this land, but outside of that, she never talked about life in Ballymann. I don’t even know what she did for work before coming to America.”

The two sat in silence, chewing over the information. Finally, Sean cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. When he spoke, his voice was soft and kind, and Moira saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Do you think it’s at all possible that . . .” He shifted again and ran his hand through his hair. “Is it possible that this, this saicrit, has anything to do with yer mother doin’ something wicked?”

Moira’s heart ached to see Sean struggling so, wanting to be so tender with her. “I hate to admit it, but the same thought has crossed my mind.” She sighed and nibbled on a rogue fingernail, deciding to keep her dreams to herself for the time being. “Mother was the most honorable, decent person I’ve ever known. But I can’t help but wonder if perhaps that wasn’t always so.” She searched Sean’s face and found only compassion.

“If she’s anything like you”—he laid a hand on hers briefly—“I can’t imagine anything unseemly about her ’tall. But I promise you now, I will help you uncover the truth, and I will stand by your side. No matter what.”

Moira mouthed a silent “thank you.”