Chapter 38

Try as she might, Moira couldn’t coax the smile from her face as she walked to the shop the next morning. Tempting though it was to hide and avoid those she knew took umbrage with her helping Áedach, obedience had to be her highest priority. So she walked in confidence, ready to face the “consequences of obedience,” as Bríd so perfectly stated. Gratitude swelled for Bríd, who gave her a way to express what was happening in her relationships with those in Ballymann.

As though coordinating with her mood, the weather was bright and pleasant. The air still held a heavy chill, but gone was the mist and fog from the previous day, and the sun shone strong and clear. When she reached the entrance to the McGonigles’ shop, Moira paused and took a deep breath, steeling her nerves for whatever assault might await her inside.

“God, give me strength.” The prayer was audible only to herself. She entered, taking time to scan the shelves and produce for what she might need. Hushed voices wafted from the back of the store, the women clearly unaware she could hear them. She was eyeing a large tub of dried beans when a whispered phrase caught her attention.

“No right, I tell you.” The voice was unfamiliar to Moira. “That lass has no right waltzin’ in here, wit’ her English an’ her ignorance of the auld ways. Now she has the gall to be risking the health o’ the whole o’ Ballymann? And for what? A good-fer-nothin’ scoundrel? Tsk, tsk! I don’t understand why they would even allow her here to begin wit’.”

The words hit Moira like a punch to the gut. Of course, she had questioned her own legitimacy as a replacement for the beloved teacher. But to hear it so bluntly, that the village likely shared such an opinion, caused her to question again what God was thinking when He led her here.

“Now, now.” The second voice interrupted Moira’s reverie. Mrs. McGonigle. “The gairl didn’t know all o’ this when she came. Sure, I doubt her mammy even told her why she left Ballymann. Moira’s a sweet lass, make no mistake. She’s in way over her head, but she’s dug her own grave now, an’ she’ll have to live with the consequences of her choices.”

Tears pooled in Moira’s eyes, blurring her vision and clouding her thoughts. Until she’d heard her name, she could almost convince herself they might be talking about someone else. There was no denying it now though. She needed to escape. To get out of there before they discovered her and thought she was intentionally eavesdropping. In her haste, she backed into the barrel of dried beans, spilling them with a horrific crash all over the wooden floor.

“Och!” In an instant she was on her hands and knees, scrambling to gather the beans, which had scattered like a herd of cats in a room full of rocking chairs.

“Let me help you, miss.” Two masculine hands brushed over hers as they worked to wrangle the wayward beans. Moira lifted her gaze, wiped her eyes with her apron to clear her vision, and found a pair of sapphire eyes staring back at her. A gleaming smile greeted her, along with a mop of perfectly coiffed jet-black hair. All except a wayward strand that insisted on hanging down the stranger’s forehead, setting his eyes ablaze in a fire of azure. Her breath caught in her chest and she fell back onto her haunches.

When she attempted to express her gratitude, a jagged mixture of breath and spittle flung forth and landed squarely on the gentleman’s nose. Mortified, Moira buried her face in her hands and her words finally materialized. “Oh my goodness, I’m dreadfully sorry.” Fumbling with her sleeve, she produced her kerchief and offered it to him, dismayed to see her hand shaking like an oak leaf in a gale.

He accepted the offering and dabbed his face, chuckling. “Please.” His voice was dark and smooth. “Don’t worry another second about it. Ye’re grand, I promise.” He offered the used hankie back to Moira and extended his hand. “I’m Declan—Declan O’Malley.”

Moira shook his hand, keenly aware every nerve in her body was awake and alive. His gaze drew her in like a hypnotist’s watch, and she couldn’t tear her attention away.

“And you are?” His brows arched high.

She blinked quickly and shook her head. “Moira.” She stared at their hands, oscillating mindlessly up and down in an endless handshake. Yet she couldn’t convince her hand to let go. “Moira Doherty. I’m the new teacher here in Ballymann.”

“Ah, so ye’re the fine lass I’ve been hearing so much about.” His eyes sparkled, and Moira noticed a dimple on his cheek that melted her inside, even as her heart fell.

He’s heard about me. Would she never be free of the rumor of her mother’s indiscretion in this place?

“I’d heard they’d hired a lass from America,” he continued. “I’d not heard she’d arrived though. I’m glad ye’re here.” He stopped shaking her hand and cupped it with both of his, his thumb gently stroking the back of it.

The action both delighted and unnerved her. Never before had a gentleman been so bold upon first meeting her, but the attention and sensation flooded her with warmth and a sense of importance. A man’s touch had never had such an effect on her either—except for Sean’s.

Sean! How could she be so foolish, letting a man she had barely met treat her with such familiarity, such audaciousness. Before she could wrangle her hand free of his, another voice entered the mix.

“O’Malley.”

Moira and Declan turned in unison to see Sean standing in the entryway of the shop. “McFadden.” Declan hopped to his feet and greeted Sean with an embrace and a manly slap on the back. “How are ya, ye auld”—the men glanced at Moira—“eh, ye auld codger?”

“I’m grand, now, can’t complain.” Though he was speaking to Declan, Sean’s eyes bored into Moira’s. “I didn’t know ye were back in Gweedore.”

“Well, you know how it is. You’ve got to get out of the rat race every now and then.” Declan’s distinct lack of accent stretched and smoothed his words. “I’d had enough of the barrister work for a while and needed to come home to good ol’ Donegal for a spell.”

“Aha. Well, glad to have ye back. I see ye’ve met Miss Doherty.”

“Yes, Moira and I were just teaching these beans a lesson, weren’t we, lass?”

Moira mustered a meek nod.

Sean’s jaw worked back and forth, and the whole of his body was stiff as a board. “I can see that. I’ll fetch a scuab.” He headed for the back of the shop, then paused. He turned to Moira. “Declan an’ I can take care o’ this, Miss Doherty. Ye go ahead about yer business.”

Moira hadn’t procured any of the groceries for which she had ventured to the shop in the first place, but the look in Sean’s eye stopped her from arguing. “Good day to you both.” She lifted the corners of her mouth in a shaky smile. As she turned to go, she nearly walked into Mrs. McGonigle and her conversation companion, who seemed to have witnessed the whole scene between her and Declan. Moira didn’t recognize the strange woman. They both shot a glance at one another before mumbling a greeting to Moira. She nodded in return and exited.

Just before the door closed behind her, Moira heard the stranger stage whisper, “The apple don’t fall tew far from the tree, now, does it?”