Chapter 29

As she turned up the path to her door, Moira heard muffled voices coming from behind her house. She froze, her heart lodged in her throat. Instinct told her to run. Her feet, however, refused to move. Her main adversary lay helpless in a hovel half a mile away. Who else could it be?

Buach?

At that moment two heads—one topped with a tweed flat cap, the other a mop of chestnut brown hair—popped up over the ridge of her roof.

“Why, greetin’s to ye, Miss Doherty,” Colm called down.

“Are you alright?” Sean’s brow furrowed. “Ya look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

A spark of anger kindled inside Moira at the fright they’d just given her, but it fizzled just as quickly as it had come, replaced by a tidal wave of relief to see her friends.

“Well, you lads did startle me.” The words tumbled out of her, mixing with nervous laughter. “Whatever are you doing? The roof isn’t leaking again, is it?”

Colm’s sun-worn face crinkled with a smile. “No, no, she’s all sound for ya, Miss. We simply like to check up a week or two after a job, jus’ to make sure it’s holdin’ up well.”

The two men worked their way down and soon appeared around the north corner of the house. “I’m headin’ home,” Colm said. “You’ll be along shortly, Sean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could I make you a cup of tea?” Moira offered.

“I’d best not stay either.” Sean met Moira’s eyes. “Are ya sure you’re alright? I get the feelin’ there’s something more than just a startle from two auld thatchers.”

Oh, Sean, if only I could tell you.

Never had her heart ached so deeply for a sympathetic ear. Her visit with Áedach weighed on her already heavy heart. She wanted nothing more than to confide in Sean what she’d just seen, as well as what she’d learned about her mother, to talk through the possibilities and logic of it all. But she couldn’t bear the thought of exposing her family’s shame and chance seeing even a hint of disappointment in Sean’s eyes.

She must have hesitated too long, because Sean stepped closer. “Come now, you know you can tell me anything.” His eyes implored her to trust him. She longed to share her heart, bare her soul to him.

Not yet, Sean. It’s too risky. She couldn’t share the burden of her mother’s indiscretions, but perhaps Sean could offer wisdom for her dilemma with Áedach. That would give reason enough for her fallen countenance and would likely appease his curiosity.

“I’ve learned that Áedach is quite ill. Gravely so, I fear.” She didn’t offer how she’d come to learn of the lad’s condition. “No one else seems to notice his plight. Or indeed if they have taken notice, do not deign to care, nor offer any service to him.”

“I see.” He tugged at the hair on the crown of his head. “And is that what vexes you so?”

Moira shifted her weight. “Well, now that I know, am I not bound to action?” She searched his eyes, hoping for some wise word to set things right. Part of her hoped he would spur her to care for the lad. Part of her silently pleaded with him to say something that would release her conscience from such a duty.

“I think”—he worked the back of his neck and shook his head slowly—“I think . . . perhaps I am not the one to advise ya on such a matter.” Irritation colored his voice. His lips formed a thin line, and his hand flopped to his side.

Was he irked with her, that she would seek such guidance from him? Was it his own lack of real authority on the matter? She suddenly regretted asking him at all.

“I see.” She stepped closer to her door, but his hand caught her sleeve.

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to throttle the boy from the first time he dared show ye any fleck of disrespect.” He released her sleeve and held his hands out, palms up, as if to convey his own confusion. “I fear that any advice I might give ya would serve my own interests more than his. But if he’s as ill as you say . . .”

“Yes, well, thank you for your transparency, Mr. McFadden. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a trying day.” She opened the door and stepped over the threshold.

As she closed the door, Sean’s voice wafted in its draft, “Good day, then.”

The chalet seemed emptier and more silent than usual. She’d checked that the latch locked fully behind her. Áedach may be on his deathbed, but who knew what manner of folk were abroad in this place anymore? She hadn’t seen Buach since their unpleasant encounter in Letterkenny. For all she knew he was lurking around the corner, sucking his tooth and waiting for the opportune moment to catch her unawares.

Moira went through the motions of stoking the fire and making a meal for herself. She worked over her lesson plans for the next day. It all felt like an exercise in futility. She despised the fact that her passion for teaching was being snuffed out by the swirling mix of confused feelings about helping her most troublesome student. A knock at the door sent her into the air, scattering the papers in her hands.

Using the door as a shield, she opened it just enough to see who was there. “Colm!” She swung the door wide and resisted the temptation to embrace the dear man. Her gaze then fell upon a lovely woman standing next to him.

Her hair, like tufts of spun cotton, was piled high upon her head. Her cheeks were plump and as rosy as currant jam. She smelled of cakes and rosewater, and the gentleness on her face filled Moira with such warmth she feared she might cry.

“Miss Doherty, this is the missus.” Colm glanced at his wife and gave a playful wink. “Peg, I’d like ya to meet Moira Doherty.”

Peg grabbed both Moira’s hands and pulled her in to place a kiss on both cheeks. “It’s truly a pleasure, dear. I’ve heard so much about ye already from me auld man here.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Sweeny.”

“Tsk! Nuy, nuy, me name’s Peg.” She shook her head merrily, which set her hair wobbling like a plate of cream custard.

“Right. Peg it is, then. Please, do come in.” The group made their way into the heart of the room. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Colm cleared his throat. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed to say this to ye, but I canna help but give ye my two pence worth of advice.”

Moira knitted her brows, confused. “On what subject?”

He removed his cap and spun it in his hands. “I swear to ye, I wasn’t spyin’ on youse. But I . . . I heard what ye said to Sean. About Áedach.”

“Oh.” Moira slumped onto the edge of her table.

He must think me cruel. Or daft. Or both.

“Ye’re a kind lass, that much I can see straightaway,” Colm said. “And I know ye must be truly torn. I know how the lad has been to ya.”

You don’t know the half of it.

“Ye need to ask yerself,” he continued, “if you’re truly willing to let another human being suffer ’cause of his wrongdoin’s toward ye.”

To hear it said plainly in that way sent a shock of remorse through her. Moira buried her face in her hands. Was she truly capable of turning her back on someone in need, no matter how vile? She believed not. But to think of extending mercy to the lad drove bile to the back of her throat, burning as fiercely as her heart. She’d had no trouble having compassion the moment she saw Áedach lying helpless and dying in that squalid hole. Now, though, helping him seemed an impossible task.

All she could see in this moment was what he had stolen from her. The innocence he had nearly ripped from her reputation, the steadfast trust in her own mother he had taken from her. Áedach had robbed her of everything that mattered. How was she supposed to throw all that aside, risking exposure to his illness, to help him?

Peg moved next to her. “Ya see, none of us desairves grace. That’s why it’s called grace.” She ran a gentle hand over Moira’s shoulder.

“I don’t blame ye fer being hesitant to come to his aid,” Colm said. “Just know that if ye decide to help, Peg and I will be there with ye, each step of the way. And iffen ye don’t . . . we’ll see to the lad.”

Peg squeezed Moira’s hand. “After all, we’re God’s children too.”

The woman’s words hung in the air for a moment before she bussed the top of Moira’s head and the pair took their leave. “We’re God’s children too.” The words echoed in Moira’s mind.

“If I’m Your child, why are You allowing me to be in this situation?” She groaned the audible prayer when alone once again. When her prayer was met with silence—no sense of peace, no still, small voice in her spirit uttering an answer—she shoved thoughts of compassion and mercy out of her mind.