Chapter 60

Music and laughter greeted Moira when she returned to the Sweeny house. She felt refreshed from her time of reflection, and a smile lit her face, despite the grief still gripping her heart. So many friends, neighbors, and even people from neighboring villages filled the house, Moira could hardly fit inside the door.

Sinead met her and pulled her into the throng, placing a kiss on each cheek when she finally got close enough. “Wha’ d’ye think? Quite the party, aye?”

“Quite!” Moira laughed. “I thought this was a funeral.”

“Oh aye, ’tis!” Sinead bobbed in time with the lively reel pulsing from the sitting room. “Give me an Irish wake over an’ Irish weddin’ any day!”

Moira’s eyes grew wide. “Truly?”

“Oh, aye! The wake is a celebration. O’course folk are sad and there are tears and all that. But they send their loved one off wit’ joy and gratitude for a life well lived. And we celebrate tha’ we got to be a part of it—even if it was over too soon.”

“And the wedding?” Moira couldn’t imagine a funeral being more joyful than a wedding.

“Oh, there’s love and happiness and all.” Sinead rolled her eyes. “But we take our marriage vows very serious, like. It’s a happy occasion but very somber.”

Moira nodded, then caught sight of Peg. She greeted her with a hug and offered her condolences once again.

Peg’s eyes were red and black shadows grew beneath them, but she bore a smile. “My Colm woulda loved this, ya know?” She looked around, tears pooling again.

“I know.” Moira took Peg’s hand in hers and squeezed.

Just then, the door to the room where Colm lay in repose opened. The three neighbor women emerged from the room and led the crowd outside. Peg stood next to the outside door, Moira next to her. With slow, even steps, Sean and the three men from the day before carried Colm’s body out of the house. Once outside, their pace quickened greatly. The musicians fell in line behind the men, Peg behind them, and the rest of the crowd followed.

The journey, though only to the next road over, was an arduous one. The crowd continued their songs and stories as they walked, but Moira struggled to keep pace. Why didn’t they use a cart to carry the body to the church and gravesite? Her breaths came in ragged puffs as she purposed to stay with the group.

Sinead glanced at her, a knowing smile on her lips. “If ye think this part’s bad,” Sinead spoke into Moira’s ear as though reading her thoughts, “wait ’til the walk to the reilig.” She gestured across the main road toward the ocean. The gray spires and Celtic crosses of the graveyard jutted into the air. How had Moira never noticed it before?

Not located next to the church where Moira had expected, the cemetery was on a hillock right by the ocean. Moira could see the narrow footpath that zigzagged around the bottom and wound its way upward. She couldn’t fathom having to carry a coffin on such a path.

When the party finally reached the church, they were greeted by the priest, his face solemn and his few wispy hairs flapping in the wind. He led the congregation inside, and the service began.

Though lasting only three quarters of an hour, the ceremony was lovelier than Moira had imagined—despite not being able to understand any of it because every word was in Irish. Moira was moved, once again, by the depth of care that surrounded Peg and the strength of heart Peg displayed. Though she knew the days and weeks to come would be the real test for Peg, Moira couldn’t help but feel with such a support system in place, her friend would be alright.

As they huffed along to the graveyard, Moira’s feet stepped over and around stones and roots that jutted out of the rutted pathway that was barely wide enough for three people across. No wonder they don’t use a horse and cart.

When they finally reached the top of the hillock, Moira sucked in a breath. Áedach stood by the open grave, his hair whipping wildly in the wind that had picked up during the service.

The congregation murmured and two men went around the back of two large gravestones and grabbed the lad, holding his arms behind his back. “What did ye know of yer uncle’s plans?” one of them growled.

“Nothing! Not until it was all over, anyway.”

“Lads.” The priest laid a hand on each of the men’s shoulders. “’Tis not the time.”

Both men scowled at Áedach but let him go with a shove, nearly knocking him into the grave. When he regained his balance, he backed out of sight.

The graveside service consisted of lowering the coffin into the ground and laying two spades in the shape of a cross on the lid.

“In case they’re wrong and Colm wakes up, he can dig himself out,” Sinead whispered. Moira shuddered at the thought.

More prayers were said and blessings spoken, before each of the parishioners, starting with Peg, dropped a handful of dirt into the chasm. The congregation then snaked its way back down the hill and the men headed for the pub, while most of the women went to their own homes. It was time now for the widow to have her privacy.

“Ye’ll come home with me, aye?” Peg looked at Moira and Sean in turn.

Privacy of her choosing. “Of course,” they agreed.

“And bring the lad.” Peg nodded to a tall cairn with a statue on top, behind which they could just see Áedach’s hair flapping in the wind.