Chapter 30

Moira stirred the morning’s dying embers, hoping to revive them enough to heat a pot of water. With the back of her hand she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, then her upper lip. She pretended not to notice her hand quivering as it stoked the ashes with the poker she kept near the fireplace. She told herself everything was fine. When the cinders refused to cooperate, she slumped back onto her haunches, exasperated.

Everything was not fine, and the dream from which she’d awoken only magnified that fact. In the dream, she’d flashed from one scene to the next, starting with Áedach’s face, pale and gaunt, staring into the distance. Suddenly there he was, strong and healthy as ever, pinning her to the desk at school with hand a poised over her chest. One after another the haunting scenes assaulted her slumbering mind, echoes of his maniacal laughter swimming in the background, when a new voice broke through the din.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Then all went black and silence settled over the dream world. A blinding flash broke the darkness, and before her was a hill, shadowed in the dusk of a storm-filled sky. Silhouettes of three crosses divided horizon from heavens, when the image of Áedach’s face floated across the scene. That was the scene that startled Moira awake, drenched in sweat and panting.

As she sat now on the floor in front of the hearth, the early morning chill spreading as quickly as the heat from the hearth was fading, she knew the meaning of the dream. She knew none was worthy of grace; none able to earn through any scheme of man the salvation offered through the sacrifice of the cross. But what of the voice? Was it simply a reminder of Christ’s unconditional love? Or was there more to it? Did Áedach not truly understand what he was doing? Was there more to the story than was apparent?

Grace and judgment parried in a cruel tug-of-war for Moira’s heart. She desired above all else to love God well, and to serve Him the whole of her life. But could she do so if it required such sacrifice? She threw herself facedown on the floor and cried out to God.

“Help me, Father! Give me the strength to do what is right in Your eyes.” She lay there, prostrate and praying, until the words would no longer come. Her sobs slowed and her breathing returned to a normal pace. She pushed herself to standing, resolve slowly edging into the place where anger tried so desperately to remain.

As she had been praying, the truth of what God was asking of her grew stronger. She was still angry at Áedach for what he had done to her. And uncertainty of his intentions once he regained his health still sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach. But she determined, insomuch as was in her power, to not withhold the same grace that had been offered her. It would take time for her feelings to catch up to her resolve, if they ever did.

Please God, let my heart not remain hardened.

The sun was just peeking over the top of Mount Errigal when Moira set out for the market to purchase some carrageen moss. She had learned from her mother that tea made from the dried seaweed could soothe sore throats, and a heated poultice of the plant laid across the chest could calm coughs. It would be easy enough to gather carrageen herself down on the shores of Ballymann, but she had neither the time nor patience to dry it. Her earlier visits to the McGonigles’ market revealed she could fetch it already dried there, saving her both time and headache.

The enticing aroma of freshly baked brown bread and scones sent her stomach rumbling, even though she had only just finished her own breakfast.

“Hello? Sinead?” She wove between the flour sacks and barrels of produce, making her way to the back counter.

“Weel, if it isn’t Moora Darrty!” Sinead came out from behind the counter and greeted Moira with a gentle embrace. “I was afraid ye’d never speak to me again after I said such awful t’ings about yer mam.”

Moira winced. “I admit, it was quite painful to hear, but I hold you no more responsible than myself for such stories. You were only conveying what you’d heard.”

Sinead’s shoulders fell, and her whole body seemed relieved at Moira’s words. “I’m so grateful, Moira. What can I do for ya?”

“I’ve come looking for some dried carrageen, and cheesecloth for a poultice.”

Sinead’s eyes widened, and she laid a hand on Moira’s shoulder. “Ye’re not ill, are ya? I’ll do all I can ta help ya.”

“No, no, I’m just fine.” Moira chuckled, touched by her friend’s concern. “One of my students has fallen precariously ill.”

“Oh, gracious, that’s a shame.” Sinead quickly set about gathering the needed items. “I’ll throw in some fresh lemons. If ya plan to make a tea with the carrageen, lemon helps cut the bitterness.” In no time at all, Sinead was back at Moira’s side with the needed supplies, plus a small loaf of bread. “If ya need help, I can come with on yer errand. What are the child’s symptoms?”

When Moira told her of the high fever, strident cough, and sallow skin, Sinead nearly dropped the goods in her hands. “God seeve us, it’s back!”

Moira relieved her friend of the seaweed, lemons, and bread, lest they tumble to the floor. What on earth had the girl so shaken? “What’s back? What do you mean?”

“Hardly two years back, a plague fell on this land like none have seen since the Great Famine.” Fear clouded her eyes, and she paced back and forth as she spoke. “Folk say it was brought to our shores from the men who fought in the Great War. Others say ’twas the wrath of God. At any rate, it was awful. Countless died, and nothin’ could bring any cure or relief.” Sinead stopped her pacing and looked Moira straight in the eye. “Ya canna help the child, Moira. Ya canna. It’s too dangerous fer yerself.”

“But it seems like he has no one else to care for him. I can’t just leave him to die.” The conviction in her own voice surprised Moira, given she was still wrestling with taking action at all.

Sinead’s eyes rolled upward as though searching her mind for information. Then she leveled her gaze back at Moira. When she spoke again, her voice was low and her speech slow and measured. “Just who is this child?”

Moira tried to think quickly, but her mind was like molasses on a cold day. What would her friend think of her bringing aid to her nemesis? Try as she might, she could not think of any reason to give an answer other than the truth. She heaved a sigh and gave her answer to Sinead’s feet, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. “Áedach MacSuibhne.”

Sinead snatched the bread and lemons from Moira’s hands. “I’ll not do a t’ing to help that scallywag. That lad’s been naught but trouble for this village. If he’s ill enough to pass from this world to the next, I say good riddance.”

Moira fell back a step, shocked at her friend’s vehement response—and sickened to see its similarity to that which was still searching to place roots in her own heart. “I don’t believe that. I know the lad is troubled, but that’s all the more reason he needs someone to show him kindness.”

“Wheesht! Listen to ye, miss high and mighty! Well, ye do what ye will. But if ye’re to be ’round the likes o’ him, ye can stay away from the likes o’ me.”

Tears stung Moira’s eyes as she searched for a response to the venomous change in Sinead’s demeanor. “You can’t mean that, Sinead.”

“I can, an’ I do.” Sinead dropped the bread and lemons onto the counter and crossed her arms. “If ye’re gonna risk yer life for some no-good thief like Áedach MacSuibhne, so be it. But ye won’t be bringin’ his illness ’round me, or this shop. So ye just do what ye must and be on yer way.”

Moira laid the money for the carrageen and cheesecloth on the counter and left in silence. She had known people would likely disagree with her decision, but she had no idea it would alienate her from those she had come to love most. She couldn’t deny still sharing some of Sinead’s animosity toward Áedach but also could no longer deny her call to obedience. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and set a determined pace out of the shop, ready to do what she knew she was meant to do.