Chapter 53

The red door at the teacher’s chalet stared down at Sean once again. It seemed ages ago that he last stood on this doorstep, awaiting Moira’s answer. When the door swung open, Sean was struck by the sadness in her eyes, but her smile at his greeting brightened the dreary day. “Peg’s waitin’ for ye down at the halla.”

Moira stepped outside. “Thank you, Mr. McFadden. It’s good of you to take time away from your work to accompany me.”

Weary of the formalities, Sean longed to shake free of them and return to the comfortable banter they’d enjoyed only weeks ago. The pair walked in uncomfortable silence as far as the market. When he could no longer stand it, Sean broke the quiet. “So, how are ya doing?”

She smiled at him briefly—a tired smile pushed up by the bottom lip, gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’m just fine, thank you.”

Frustration burned in Sean’s belly. Would she never open up to him? Did she no longer trust him? Perhaps she was now distrusting of all men. After the ordeal she had survived, who could blame her? Refusing to let her endure alone whatever mixture of emotions was sure to be churning within, Sean stopped and placed a hand on her shoulder. He waited until her eyes met his and held them there. He searched her face, struck once again by her beauty—a beauty only enhanced by the grace of her character. “No, really. How are ya doing, Moira?”

For a brief moment, she covered his hand with hers and he reveled in the cool touch of her skin before she removed her hand and clasped it daintily in her other. Her head dropped and she studied her fingers.

“It is good of you to ask.” She met his gaze once more. “Truth be told, I’m weary. And I worry, though I try not to because the Lord is so very clear how He feels about worry. But I don’t understand why any of this is happening, and I don’t know how to guard myself against an enemy I can barely see.”

He offered her the crook of his elbow, and after a pause, she accepted it. They fell into step again. Resisting the impulse to envelop her hand in his as they walked, he said, “Ye’ll not face it alone, that I can promise ye.” He looked down at her profile, awed how such strength could be housed in so delicate a vessel. “Seen or unseen, I will always guard against anyone who means you harm.”

Her hand tightened in the crook of his arm. “Thank you.”

Peg and Colm were waiting outside the halla as Sean and Moira approached. Peg greeted them both with a warm embrace and a kiss on each cheek.

“We’ll take it from here, Sean. There’s only a few more things need doin’ afore the big party tomorrow.”

Sean smiled at Moira and tipped his cap. “Until next time.”

Moira tipped her head and matched his smile. “Indeed. Thanks again, Mr. McFadden.”

As he turned to go, he couldn’t help but notice her gaze linger on him longer than he’d seen in weeks.

The sun rode low on the horizon that evening, and the familiar Donegal chill had returned to the air. The preparations for the celebration complete, Peg and Moira walked in step with one another toward the chalet. Moira tugged her wrap tighter around herself and shivered.

“Oh, dear,” Peg said, “where’s your scarf?”

Moira felt about her neck. “Oh, sugar, I draped it on the windowsill at the halla when we were working.”

“No matter. No one will bother it overnight. Ye can fetch it in the morning.”

Moira considered it for a moment and nodded.

“Are ye lookin’ forward to the céilí, pet?”

“I am.” Moira released a sigh.

“What is it, then?”

“I feel terribly shallow, but I’m just a bit disappointed that I’ll have to wear this dress.” She ran her hands over the faded skirt. “I had hoped to have made my other dress by now, but with all that’s gone on, it’s still unfinished. Now with only a day before the party, I’ve no time.”

Peg nodded, a smile playing on her lips. “Aye, ’tis a shame. But fear not, lass. No gown, no matter how tattered or frayed, could quell your beauty.” She gave Moira’s cheek a motherly pat before taking her leave at the path to Moira’s door.

Lord, help me be content with that which You’ve already blessed me.

She opened the door to her chalet and froze. Her heart raced and the breath caught in her chest. On her table sat a large white box. It was certainly not there when she left. Remembering the eggshells and Buach’s threatening words to Áedach, fear gripped her. In desperation, she called Peg back.

Peg came, breathless, running up the hill to her door. “What is it, pet? Are ye alright?”

Moira extended a shaky finger toward the box, unable to form words.

Peg pushed past Moira and entered the house. She checked every corner and shadow for potential intruders, but Moira noticed a hint of a smile on the woman’s lips.

“’Tis all safe, my dear.” Peg motioned her into the kitchen and began stoking the fire. “Come see what awaits ye.”

With timid steps, Moira approached the table and reached out, hands trembling, to lift the lid from its place. Once removed, the lid fell to the floor as Moira clapped both hands over her mouth. Freshly pressed and neatly folded, the blue dress from O’Toole’s Textiles stared up at her. She ran her hands over the bodice, the velvet smooth like butter on a summer’s day. With great care, she lifted the dress out of the box and ran a hand along the sleeve, fingering the delicate peach lace at the cuff.

“Peg! What have you done?”

Peg held her hands up, palms out in protest. “Wasna me, peata.” She shrugged and moved closer to join Moira in admiring the gorgeous gown. “It seems someone wants ye to be the belle o’ the ball on Paddy’s Day.” She chuckled and wrapped an arm around Moira’s shoulders.

Carefully returning the dress to the box, Moira struggled to rein in her emotions. “Oh, Peg.” She retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “It’s too grand a gift. However am I supposed to accept it?”

Peg lifted her shoulders, her face alight with mischief. “’Twould be a great insult to refuse such a generous gesture. Besides, ya canna return a gift when ye’ve no idea whence it came.” With a flourish, Peg whisked the dress from the box and hung it in the press, leaving the door open to allow it to air.

Moira stared at the dress in disbelief, her mind reeling with possibilities of who could’ve lavished such a gift upon her. Áedach had spoken of wanting to repay her kindness, but he had no means of purchasing such a gown. Even if he’d managed to scrape the money together, how would he have gotten to Letterkenny and back? No, it couldn’t have been him.

Peg had already denied it, and with how she and Colm hadn’t shied away from claiming responsibility for Áedach’s new clothes, Moira had no reason not to believe her. Perhaps Peg had mentioned to Bríd how much Moira had gone on about the gown in weeks past? The only other people who knew about it were the McGonigles—highly unlikely given Moira’s latest encounter with her once-close friend. Other than the McGonigles, the only other person . . .

Moira’s breath caught as the realization hit her.

Sean.