Chapter 51

It was the first real spring-like day of the year, and Ballymann shone like a new ha’penny. The gales had retreated back over the mountains, leaving in their stead a gentle breeze that set the budding flowers swaying.

Moira had never seen so many people bustling about the village center. Folk lingered in doorways and strolled in the streets. Instead of people rushing from this place to that, faces down against the wind, smiles greeted every passerby and laughter floated through the air. Life had returned to the seaside village, and with it the joy that had been tucked away to endure the long, dark months of winter.

Ignoring the stares at her fading bruises and hushed voices whispering of her suspected character flaws, Moira smiled at the whole of the town as she made her way to help with the preparations for the upcoming Paddy’s Day celebration.

Despite the gleesome weather, apprehension niggled at Moira. She’d not returned to the halla since that horrible day, and the haunting memories threatened to keep her away for good. But if she did that, she’d be allowing Declan to steal an even deeper part of her. The idea of redemption spurred her on toward the building, praying for strength all the way.

However, when she arrived at the halla, she gasped at the sights that greeted her. The walls, freshly whitewashed, gleamed in the spring sunshine. Window boxes overflowed with flowers of every color. It was as if the halla itself had washed itself clean from the horrific events and offered Moira the chance to do the same. Colm and Sean perched at the top of the roof, cleaning up the thatch and patching any weak spots. Peg came bustling around the corner, chatting away with Bríd. Both women carried wide baskets full of flowers.

“Moira, beag !” Bríd all but dropped her basket and ran to embrace Moira. She cupped Moira’s face in her hands. “How are ya, dear? Peg’s told me ye’ve had a rough time of it.”

Moira smiled. “Yes, I’m fine now, thanks. It’s so wonderful to see you.”

“What d’ye think of our wee halla here? Isn’t she lovely?”

Moira looked over the building once more, the renewed exterior mirroring the renewing God was doing in her own heart. “Yes, yes she is.”

In the distance, Moira caught a glimpse of a strikingly elegant woman. Her lavender gown flowed flawlessly to the ground, and her silvery hair was piled in an intricate weave of plaits on her head.

“That’s Lady Williams,” Bríd whispered in her ear. “The widow of one of the great landlords of Donegal. Sent here from Britain, they ruled their tenants with great kindness—something that canna be said for all the landlords we’ve seen. Wonder why she’s out today? We rarely catch a glimpse of the woman.”

“At one point, way back when yer mam was still here, the Lady claimed her daughter was promised to marry John Adair—son of Cornelia Wadsworth, owner of Glenveagh Castle,” Peg added. “But we never saw or heard any evidence to that. The man only visited a handful of times during his summer holidays from his studies abroad.”

Moira nodded, keeping her eyes on the beautiful older woman in the distance.

Bríd’s eyes clouded. “Yer mammy met him once. When she worked at the castle.”

Moira and Peg looked at Bríd, bewilderment painted on their faces.

Bríd waved her hand as though swatting the memory away like a fly and then linked her arm in Moira’s. The three women headed around the side of the building to fill the window boxes and planters lining the walls on the ground. All the while Moira felt Lady Williams’s eyes boring into the back of her head.

As the women worked, they chatted about the weather and the upcoming celebrations, before circling back to the weather. It seemed no matter if the weather was horrid or beautiful, the Irish could talk of little else. With the laughter of her friends echoing in her ears, Moira became keenly aware all other talking and movement had ceased.

Following the gaze of the rest of the crowd, Moira saw Áedach shuffling up the road, proudly wearing his new togs. As he approached the halla, one mother quietly nudged her daughter behind her. Others watched in silence, falling back a step or two, scowls darkening their faces. Without a word, Áedach smiled and dipped his head toward Moira and her friends, picked up a broom that had been abandoned on the ground, and began sweeping the path leading to the halla’s door.

Moira and Peg looked at each other, eyebrows raised, smiles playing at the corners of their lips. Bríd, unaware of all that had transpired between the lad and Moira and the Sweenys, took a protective stance in front of Moira.

“It’s alright, Bríd.” Moira laughed. She stepped out from around the corner and walked right up to the lad. “Good morning, Áedach.” She smiled warmly at him.

Whispers rippled throughout the crowd. Moira couldn’t hear everything that was said, but she could hear enough. Brazen. Hussy. Tairt.

In thee, Lord, do I trust. I am not afraid. What can man do to me?

“It’s good of you to come.” She smiled as sweetly as she was able.

Áedach looked around and hung his head. “Ye don’t hafta talk wit’ me, Miss. I know what folk t’ink o’ me.”

“Seafóid!” She waved her hand through the air as she practiced the Irish word for nonsense Colm had taught her.

Áedach’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open. The two burst into laughter. “Aye, Miss.” He bobbed his head. “I just wanted ta help. After all the trouble I caused, it seems only right.” He shrugged and continued sweeping.

“You’re a good lad.” She patted his shoulder and turned back toward her flowers just as Peg was approaching.

“Good morn’, lad.” Peg smiled and placed a motherly hand on the boy’s shoulder. A new wave of whispers rippled through the bystanders, though not a single foul sentiment was uttered. “Keep up the good work.” She patted his shoulder and turned back to her own duties.

As though Peg’s example defused the anger of the crowd, each one resumed their work. Some nodded slightly to Áedach, some merely softened their expressions as they picked up their spades or paintbrushes or sacks of spuds.

Moira stole a glance at the roof just in time to see Colm wink down at Peg, and Peg blow a sly kiss to her husband. Sean stood, silhouetted by the sun behind him, looking down at Moira. One hand rested on his hip, the other draped over the tall handle of his spade. With his face shrouded in shadow, Moira couldn’t read his expression, but his stance looked to be one of dismay. Was he cross with her for interacting with Áedach in public? It seemed every move she made only served to drive him further away.

Even as her heart ached to call him down and talk through the chasm that stretched between them, she offered a polite nod and returned to helping Peg and Bríd plant the last of the flowers.

Sean shook his head in disbelief, watching Moira engage Áedach in conversation in front of half the village.

Even after all she’s been through, compassion reigns supreme.

She had looked up at him, and their eyes had locked, but the smile on his face seemed to make little impression on her. A sadness filled her eyes that cut Sean to the core, and he stood atop that thatched roof wondering what he’d done to distance her so.

“She’s a remarkable lass.” Colm stood next to him, hand on his shoulder.

“Aye.” Sean watched her take her place with Peg and Bríd and continue planting flowers, working the dirt with her lithe fingers, using as much care with the tender shoots as he’d seen her use with everyone who’d crossed her path. “That she is.” Sean felt Colm’s stare, and he turned to meet it.

A playful smile tickled the corners of Colm’s mouth. “There’s more work to be done, lad.”

More work than you know, man. God, give me wisdom.