Chapter 32

It was eerily quiet when Moira and Peg reached the hovel. No hacking cough rent the air, no groans echoed the child’s plight to the fields and rock walls. A sickening panic gripped Moira, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t waited for her feelings to catch up with her mind.

“Oh, Peg, why did I delay? Pray that my fear and selfishness haven’t cost the lad his life.”

Peg offered a sympathetic glance and gestured to the door as if to say, “There’s only one way to find out.”

The stench was nigh unbearable when Peg removed the bark door from its resting place. Pressing her handkerchief to her nose, Moira ducked her head inside the dark room, all the while praying to find the lad alive.

Áedach looked as though he hadn’t moved a muscle since Moira left him the evening before, and her ears rang from the silence. With reverent yet timid steps, Moira tiptoed next to him and slowly extended her hand to check his fever. Just before she touched his forehead, Áedach released a growling sigh. Moira screeched and fell back onto the dirt floor.

“Is ever’thing alright, dear?” Peg’s voice called, muffled through her own kerchief.

“He’s alive,” Moira answered. She couldn’t help but wonder if Áedach had done it on purpose. To put her in her place.

He lay still and silent once again. If it was a ruse, it was a good one.

“Áedach,” she murmured, “I’m going to check your temperature. There’s no need to fear.”

The lad gave no answer, nor any indication that he either heard or understood what she’d said. His skin was gray. And even though his eyes were closed, Moira could see they were sunken, and purple shadows hung in crescents under them.

She extended her hand once again, this time reaching her mark. Though as dry as a snake’s back, he registered even hotter than he had been before. “Peg!” Panicked, Moira called, “It’s worse than I thought!”

In an instant, Peg was at her side, unpacking the goods from the basket.

The women abandoned their kerchiefs now. The reek was no less revolting, but both had need of their full capacities. Moira hastily unfolded a square of cheesecloth and poured some of the dry carrageen in the center. She then gathered the corners together and wrapped twine around them before tying the string tightly in a square knot. She placed the pouch into a bowl and poured some of the hot water from her basket onto it, letting it steep.

Peg rolled the lad so that he lay on his back and opened the front of his shirt down to his navel. The tenderness with which Peg worked struck Moira, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Easy, Moira Girl. Focus on the task at hand.

Peg readjusted the cape Moira had left with the lad and nodded at her. “Ready.”

Retrieving the poultice from the bowl, Moira wrung the excess water from the bulbous pack and patted it around Áedach’s chest, covering him from shoulder to shoulder and from chin to navel, before setting the carrageen poultice in the center of his chest.

Peg worked deftly to assemble a tincture of the seaweed and hot water. She added a generous dollop of honey and a squeeze of lemon. She poured the liquid into the tip of a baby’s bottle and carefully squeezed a few drops into his mouth.

His lips, chapped and peeling, were lifeless and still.

She turned his head to the side, though only slightly. “Ya don’t want the créatúr ta choke, but we need the tincture ta drain down his throat.”

Peg’s aged and gentle hand stroked Áedach’s hair tenderly, and she hummed a tune Moira couldn’t place. As the sweet melody floated in the air, Peg gazed at the ailing boy as though he were her own child, no hint of disgust or judgment on her face.

No longer able to hold them at bay, Moira felt tears spill down her cheeks as she watched the tender scene.

The next half hour passed in much the same way. Peg sang comforting words, stroked Áedach’s hair, and occasionally squeezed a few drops of tincture onto his parched tongue. Moira refreshed the poultice with water from the kettle and reapplied the healing herb between trips outside for kindling to feed the fire.

When the tincture was gone and all the heat from the kettle dissipated, the two women prepared to take their leave. There was nothing more they could do.

“Áedach, peata,” Peg whispered into his ear, “Moira an’ me must be off now. But we’ll be back in an hour or two to check on ye.”

He neither moved nor spoke, but Peg laid a hand upon his heart and whispered a blessing before gathering her basket and stepping out of doors.

Once outside and a distance from the hovel, Moira slumped against a sturdy oak and breathed in the crisp, fresh air. She smoothed her hair and pressed her kerchief to her face. Caring for the one who had made her short time in Ballymann so painful had not been nearly as difficult as she had anticipated. However, she also knew there was no way she could have done it with the deep tenderness and unconditional compassion with which Peg had cared for him. She raised her eyes to look at the woman standing a few feet away.

Peg’s hands were pressed to the small of her back and she arched her chest toward the sky. When Peg straightened at last, she caught Moira watching her.

“What is it, dear?” She absently pressed the back of her hand to the younger woman’s cheek, which was growing more flushed by the second.

“Thank you, Peg.” The words threatened to catch in Moira’s throat.

Peg flapped her hand as though Moira’s thanks were a pesky fly buzzing around her face. “Och! Don’t be silly.”

“No, in earnest.” Moira reached for the woman’s hand. “I was determined to care for Áedach’s health needs . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at her feet, scraping an arc in the dirt. “At least, I was after the Lord convinced me thus. But . . . well . . . I would have treated him, yes. I would have done all the same things you did today. But you moved with such compassion, such tenderness. That I could not have done on my own.”

Peg smiled and patted Moira’s hand.

“I don’t know that I can say I’ve forgiven him for what he’s done,” Moira continued. “But watching you today planted a seed in my heart. A seed of compassion that makes me believe it could be possible . . . and makes me want to act in the same way you did, from now on.”

“Oh, sweet Moira.” Peg enveloped her in an embrace the likes of which Moira hadn’t felt since she’d hugged her own mother. “Ye’re a good girl, and ye have a good heart.” She backed away and cupped Moira’s face in her hands. “A good heart, indeed. The Laird is not finished with ye, dear.”

The two stood, smiling at one another with glistening eyes, until Peg said, “Come on, now. Come home wit’ me and let’s have a cuppa and some stew before our patient has need of us again.”