Chapter 49

Moira stared at the doorway Sean exited through as though she could watch him disappear over the hill.

Forgive me, Sean. Don’t give up on me yet.

“Now, peata, ye’ll have some broth.” Peg handed the steaming bowl to Moira. Compassion and kindness shone in her eyes, as always. “Would ye like a report on how yer own patient fares?”

After taking a moment to savor the rich, comforting liquid, Moira set her spoon down eagerly. “Oh, yes, please, Peg. How is Áedach?”

“The lad continues to improve.” Peg lowered herself into the chair across from Moira. “A slight fever’s still on him and the cough lingers, but his face isn’t so wan and he’s taken some broth and tea.”

Relief washed over Moira. “Thanks be to God.”

“Indeed!” Colm agreed from the table behind her.

“Ya havna heard the best part.” A grin spread across the older woman’s face. “I was in such a state of concern over ye a couple days past, that I saw to his ablutions and treatments and bade him farewell. He stopped me afore I could get out the door. You won’t believe what he asked me.” Peg paused for dramatic effect.

Moira leaned forward in her chair, ignoring the ache in her hips. “What? What did he ask?”

“He looked right at me and he says, ‘Will ye not read ta me from the Bíobla, Mrs. Sweeny?’” Peg cackled and slapped her knee. “Can ye believe that?”

Tears sprang to Moira’s eyes and she bowed her head in awe. “The Lord is willing that none should perish. Thank You, God.”

“Well said, peata.” Peg patted Moira’s hand tenderly. “There’s one more thing.”

Moira raised her eyes to meet Peg’s, lifting her brows in question.

“The lad’s been askin’ fer ye,” Colm said through a cloud of crumbs.

“Me?” Moira spun about in her chair and winced from the shooting pain in her head. “Whatever does he want with me?”

“He wouldna say,” Colm continued, circling around to stand in front of her. “I’ve made it clear that it would be a wee while afore ye could make the journey there—but I’ve only told him that ye’re unwell, not why ye’re unwell. But when ye feel up to it, Peg and me’ll go wit’ ye.”

Moira sank back into the chair, her tea and broth forgotten. Questions swirled in her mind. If the lad had been asking to be read to from the Bible, surely his reasons for wanting to see her wouldn’t be sinister in nature. It was hard for Moira to imagine Áedach preferring her care over Peg’s—Peg had such a gentle and nurturing way about her, as Moira had been blessed to experience firsthand.

For a brief moment, she entertained the idea of venturing out to Áedach’s that afternoon, but when she rose to return to her bed, the throbbing in her head and aching in her joints convinced her to wait.

Once back in bed, Moira slid Peg’s ledger from the bedside table and thumbed the pages. How kind of Peg to leave it with her. She opened to the book of John, where she’d left off with Áedach, and continued reading.

“For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” Fresh tears stung her eyes. Wasn’t she condemned already? Condemned to a life defending against rumors and whispers dragging her character and that of her mother through the mud. Condemned to live with the physical and emotional scars of her foolish behavior. Condemned to lose the man she loved because she was conned by a handsome face and a beguiling smile. She read the words again.

“For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world: but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned.” Peg entered the room with Moira’s forgotten broth and a fresh pot of tea. She sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at the verses Moira was pondering. She reached up with a tender hand, rough and calloused from a lifetime of service in her home, and wiped tears from Moira’s cheeks.

“’Tis a powerful idea, aye?”

Moira nodded.

“I remember when it first dawned on me what God was truly sayin’,” Peg continued. “It doesna matter what the world says I am. It doesna matter even what I believe myself to be—and I have some dark thoughts when it comes to me own heart, to be sure. If I believe in the Laird Jesus Christ, and what He did fer me, I canna be condemned.”

Moira picked at a fingernail.

Peg hooked a finger under Moira’s chin and raised her face to look at her with the tenderness of a mother. “I know ye feel responsible for what happened, but ye canna live in defeat. Ye love the Laird, and ye follow hard after Him. Not a man on earth can condemn ye. Besides, no woman desairves what happened to ye.”

Moira wasn’t entirely convinced, but as she looked at Peg and the sincerity shining in her eyes, gratitude washed over her for this unexpected friendship. “Thank you.”