Chapter 25
Áedach and Moira stood face-to-face in her classroom, a scant handbreadth between them. “You will not threaten me again.” Moira’s voice was firm and low. Her words deliberate. “I have nothing to hide. You hold no power over me.”
The wiry lad licked his lips and scanned Moira from head to toe. Her skin prickled under the intensity of his leer.
“Oh, I’ll be sayin’ what’er I please, marm.” The words dripped with rancor. “An’ ye have no idea wha’ kind o’ power I hold over ye.” He closed what small gap remained between them in the empty schoolhouse and raised his hand. It hovered just over her shoulder.
Her heart raced and no breath could escape her chest. Moira feared she might faint but refused to allow him the pleasure of seeing her flinch. Instead, she stretched her spine tall, steeling her gaze firmer into his. Seconds stretched into eternity as the silence hung around them like a shroud. He lowered his hand but traced the contour of her body in the air, unhurried.
Despite her best efforts, Moira shuddered.
“Perhaps we should see how far the apple falls from the family tree? See if ye folluh in yer mammy’s footsteps, like?” He bit his bottom lip and leaned closer. Fearing he might attempt to kiss her, Moira lunged to the side, managing to free herself from his imposing stance.
“You spew venom and folly!” She hastened to the door of the schoolhouse and opened it. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve with this lunacy, Áedach, but God will deal with you and your lying ways.” She whipped her index finger toward the door.
A shadow smacking of fear flashed across Áedach’s face. He stuffed clenched fists in his pockets and sauntered toward the open door, but a sickening smirk grew on his lips. He stopped in front of her.
Moira gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the handle, prepared to swing the door into the lad’s head should he try anything more than a passing nod.
“We’ll see now, marm. We’ll see.”
Moira watched the bones of his spine sway through his threadbare shirt as he sauntered outside.
As Áedach’s outline disappeared around the corner, movement across the road caught her eye. Sean.
His arms were laden with all manner of thatching gear. He watched as the troublesome teen departed before turning his attention to Moira, eyebrows raised.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed.
For the first time since the ordeal began, she released a full exhale and tension melted from her shoulders. No, she wasn’t okay. When would this end? She wanted nothing more than to run to Sean. To let him shield her from Áedach and secrets and old men with stale drink on their breath.
But she couldn’t. She had too much to do to let herself be distracted by a man. And if Áedach’s insinuations held any truth, kindling any romance might well be the nail in the coffin of her newly sprouted life in Ballymann. She managed, instead, a weak smile and a slight nod.
Colm’s voice carried on the wind, beckoning Sean. His countenance fell, and he looked at the tools and hay in his arms, then back to her. He stole a glance over the hill and took a half step toward the schoolhouse.
“Sean! Déan deifir! ”
Moira motioned for him to go.
He shrugged, offered a silent “sorry,” and dashed off in the direction of Colm’s voice.
Overwhelmed by relief and lingering fear, Moira sank back onto the door and sighed. Was she willing to follow through with whatever warning she had just given Áedach? She had been clear that he wasn’t to bully her any longer, to be sure. But what would she do if he did?
As deeply as she believed that neither Áedach nor Buach truly held any secrets about her mother, she couldn’t shake one nagging question: What if they do? And what if they’re true? Moira had to find out the truth once and for all, but getting the information would not be easy.
It was clear Bríd and the McGonigle family had at least some idea about what was going on. The only question now was, who would be most likely to divulge knowledge? Moira thought back over her encounters with each person.
From the beginning, Bríd had been an incredible support and help—a comforting mother figure, which Moira needed far more than she had realized. However, each time Buach or the secret came into the conversation, Bríd had dismissed it and shifted the subject.
Paddy, God love him, seemed blissfully ignorant of anything other than groceries and his daughter.
Mrs. McGonigle had been the one to stifle Sinead from saying anything further when they passed Glenveagh Castle on Saturday. It seemed unlikely she would reveal anything.
Sinead, however, seemed to know whatever it was Buach alluded to. She also seemed to assume Moira knew about her mother’s history with Glenveagh—and whatever hidden meaning it might carry.
Nerves gnawed at Moira’s stomach. She needed to get Sinead to open up to her but feared the girl would believe Moira only wanted to be her friend in order to glean information. Moira desperately wanted a friendship with this lass who brought such life and laughter into every relationship. She also couldn’t stomach the idea of cultivating a bond knowing Sinead held knowledge that could prove hurtful to herself or her reputation.
Moira mulled over the delicate balance while she locked the schoolhouse door and turned to head for home. Just as she rounded the corner onto the main road, a breathless ball of skirts and hair flew across the street and grabbed on to her.
“Youse won’t believe this, now. Wait ’til I tell ya.” Sinead held up her index finger while pressing her other hand to her bodice, swallowing gulps of air. After a moment, she continued. “Mammy says ye can call over to us Sunday evening.”
Moira stared at her friend and raised her eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the message.
Sinead only stared back, wide-eyed and grinning, bobbing her head up and down with glee.
“Oh, er, that’s lovely, thank you. What time will you be expecting me?”
“What time will yew be expecteeng me,” Sinead said, mimicking Moira by using a thick voice to disguise her accent. It was clear the girl was holding back laughter. “Ye don’t hafta be so proper, Moira. It’s me ye’re talkin’ to, not Mrs. McGinley. Pop ’round about five o’clock.” Her dimples deepened and she gave her friend’s cheek a tweak before bustling across the road once more.
Moira stared at her friend, dumbfounded but amused. She’d heard few people other than Sean refer to Mrs. McGinley, the former teacher. The woman must have gained a reputation for propriety. That certainly hadn’t been the reputation Moira had built with her flaws and foibles.
Though she hadn’t had the chance to ask additional questions as to the occasion, she was grateful that someone was beginning to accept her in this village. Most people in town ignored her. Or at least they appeared to. But Moira noticed the lingering stares and heard how voices hushed to a whisper when she rounded a corner. Even her own students kept a polite distance when she saw them in the McGonigles’ market or at the beach.
Life in Ballymann was proving to be far more lonely than she had anticipated, so the prospect of an evening with a family for which she was growing to care very deeply was salve for her homesick heart.