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Chapter 41

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Moira pushed aside the twinge of guilt for not insisting Sean join them and focused her full attention on Declan, who was regaling her with the tale of how he became a barrister in Dublin.

“It’s quite rare for someone from a little village in the Gaeltacht to be accepted to practice law at such a prestigious firm. But when I showed up to be interviewed, they liked what they saw.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Was he checking for her reaction? Her approval? “That’s fascinating, Mr. O’Malley.”

Declan feigned a cough into his hand that sounded remarkably like “Declan.”

She swatted his arm in mock discipline. “You’re awful, Mr. O’Malley!”

“Hopefully that’s not such a bad thing?” He stopped walking and steadied his gaze upon hers.

Moira’s heart thumped wildly in her chest, and she fought to find the right words. How does one answer a question like that?

He released her arm and offered a shallow bow. “I don’t mean to press. I just like to joke, that’s all. Shall we continue?” He gestured along the path and the pair fell into step again. “So, tell me—what convinced a young American girl like yourself to pull up stakes and move halfway across the world to Ballymann, of all places? Why not Paris? Or Vienna?”

Her lips parted in a grin. “Paris and Vienna didn’t ask.” Bubbly laughter rolled off her tongue. “In all honesty, though, I couldn’t not come. I love teaching. I love seeing that moment when everything falls into place and a pupil suddenly understands a concept they’ve been struggling with. I love seeing the world through fresh eyes every day. It’s my calling, teaching. How could I not do it? Plus, it’s the last thing my mother asked me to do before she”— Moira swallowed—“before she passed.”

Declan’s eyes were wide, and the corners of his mouth drew downward. Clearly he was impressed with her passion and sense of duty. “Well, that makes perfect sense, Miss Doherty. Especially the more I get to know you. And I’m sorry to hear about your mother. But you missed half the question.”

Moira furrowed her brow.

“Why Ballymann?”

She sighed wistfully. “It’s the halla.”

Now Declan’s brow creased.

Moira read the confusion covering his face and couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, not just the halla. I grew up on the noisy streets of Boston, listening to Mother’s stories about good ol’ Ballymann and her beloved Ireland.”

Understanding dawned in Declan’s eyes. “That explains it. It always comes back to the mammy.” They laughed again. “But tell me more about the halla. Why are you so drawn to it?”

“Every few months, our Boston neighborhood—which is mainly filled with other Irish immigrants—would hold a traditional céilí. They were the highlights of my year. No sooner would one céilí finish before I began counting the days to the next one.” She looked at Declan but couldn’t read what he thought, so she continued. “Each and every time the festival ended, Mother would get a far-off look in her eye and say with a sigh, ‘Moira, darlin’, it was a lovely dance, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes, Mother,’ I’d say. And she’d always respond, ‘Ah, but there’s nothing like a dance in Donegal.’”

Declan smirked. “Really? She loved the musty auld hall with the stale smell of stout and sweat wafting from decades-old woolen jumpers?”

Beginning to feel a bit foolish for waxing so poetic, she decided to try once more to help him understand. “I never heard much about my mother’s life here in Donegal, but what stories I did hear always surrounded the céilí. She would tell me tales of how Paddy Blue-socks had one too many pints, or how Father O’Friel tripped during his solo Sean Nós dancing. But my favorite stories were the ones she would tell about the old halla. She’d talk about how everyone in town would gather on cold nights and heat up the thatched building with their dancing, laughter, and craic. I always dreamed of one day seeing the place for myself, but never dared to believe I actually would.”

“So, what did you think?”

“What did I think about what?”

Declan held his hands out, palms up, and bobbed his head as if that would coax an answer from her. “About this mystical halla when you finally stepped foot inside! Was it everything you’d dreamed it would be?”

The only thing that masked her ire at his sarcasm was the embarrassment flooding her as she was forced to confess. “Well . . . I haven’t actually seen it yet.”

Declan guffawed and slapped his knee. “What? You must be joking.”

She chewed her nail before answering. “I’d been so busy when I first arrived, and I didn’t know where it was. Then time got away and . . .” She was about to detail the difficulties she’d encountered, but something nagged inside not to say anything. “And life got full.”

Declan shook his head. “I don’t mean to poke fun. Truly, I don’t.” He shrugged. “I thought with how important it was to you, that would’ve been one of the first things you’d have done when you arrived, that’s all.”

“Oh!” She hopped and clasped her hands together as the memory dawned on her. “I’ve seen the outside, actually.”

He looked at her in confusion.

“One day, Peg and I passed by it on our way from her house to Áedach’s, but we hadn’t time to stop in. But don’t you worry, I’ll get there.” She chewed her lip. “Eventually.”

He smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye, and Moira could almost see the wheels in his mind turning. “Yes, you will, Miss Doherty. You will indeed.”

“You make it sound so ominous, Mr. O’Malley.” She chuckled coyly.

“Not ominous. But we can’t have Ballymann’s finest teacher go without fulfilling her lifelong dream. And you know the Paddy’s Day céilí’s coming up soon.” He arched his brows and flashed his dimple.

She clasped her hands behind her back, digging her fingernails into her skin trying to rein her thoughts in beneath his handsome gaze. “Ah, yes. Then I do believe you’re right. I’ll see the halla in all her Paddy’s Day glory before we know it.” She looked over her shoulder and realized they were standing at the path to her door. “Well, Mr. O’Malley,” she said, “thank you for accompanying me home. I wish you a good afternoon.” Then she turned on her heel and hurried for the door before he could attempt to grab her hand again as he had done that morning.

“Good night,” he said.

She turned and offered a slight wave to him from the doorway, and as the door was closing Declan mouthed a single word.

“Moira.”