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Grace suspected riding a bike in a dress would be a bit wobbly and immodest, but since she woke up early and the sun was beaming, she layered two shirts under a nice sweater and pulled on a black flowy skirt that hung to her calves. The village church was a handsome, steepled edifice with whitewashed ancient walls. She slipped through red, arched doors and felt a lightness lift her shoulders as the chords of a creaky organ piped through the old sanctuary. Rounded windows led up to the pulpit, and polished oak pews reached from wall to wall across a thin layer of outdated dark green carpet. The room smelled faintly of candle wax mingled with the distant memories of socials and dinners that the walls had absorbed and never let go.
She slipped into the back. Mr. Walsh turned his head like a hunting dog on the alert when he spotted her. He dipped his chin in a polite nod of recognition and turned to face the front again. Beside him sat a woman in a polyester dress, steel hair curled tightly and face framed by large glasses. Grace took a quiet breath and relaxed. Two pews up, Moira noticed her, and her cheeks rounded into a grin. Come, she mouthed, beckoning wildly. The congregation turned to look, and Grace flushed to her toes at the ogling attention. Like a kid being called to the front of the class, she stood and moved two rows up, bumping and nudging into people to sit by Moira. A tall, burly man with a beard sat on Moira’s other side, and he leaned over and grinned at her with tobacco-stained teeth. “We heard about you,” he said in a kind tone. He introduced himself as Matty, Moira’s husband, and pointed out his granddaughters and their mother, Desiree, whom Grace recognized from the pub.
Murmuring around her softened as Father McCarthy strode into the sanctuary and then up a side aisle, his black cloak flowing behind him. He opened with a prayer before a traditional hymn was sung in accents Grace hardly understood then he preached a wonderful sermon about the Samaritan woman at the well. It was hard for Grace not to reflect on the time in her own life when she’d finally sought out the Savior. She’d always told herself she was too busy for organized religion or scripture study; so intent on her life’s tasks as wife, mother, and homemaker, that it wasn’t until she was betrayed by her ex she realized there was still someone who would always be there for her—who had something to offer she could not live without. God. And He’d brought her through the excruciating divorce by providing an opportunity for an education with a miraculous scholarship for women in her situation. One window after another had opened for her after what she thought was the only door had been shut. The time spent in Texas away from the drama had been the most valuable gift of all. She’d healed. She’d learned to believe in herself more although she had a ways to go.
It was kind of like the cottage. If Laura hadn’t suggested they swap vacations, Grace would have never tried to visit Ireland by herself. She would have stayed safe in her apartment and old job. Traveling overseas had always been a daydream, but she hadn’t realized that little wishes could come true when you least expected it. God loved her and knew her, even if she’d often been too distracted to remember Him. Surely, the disaster Clover Cottage had appeared to be on her first day here had been a misconception, another small litmus test of her growing faith. Everything had worked out after all. She was having the time of her life in a little village in the Wicklow Mountains with no extra amenities and a steady diet of bread, cheese and tea.
Grace sat back, her throat tight with emotion. She searched the sanctuary for Dean. A part of her had expected to see him there. He’d mentioned he wouldn’t be working on the Sabbath. Thunder rumbled, and she glanced toward the windows to see the sunlight had disappeared. Rolling in as speedily as the weather on the Gulf Coast, rain showers had erupted overhead. By the coats and umbrellas in the lobby, everyone had come prepared, but Grace had believed too much in the sun. She shrugged. Sometimes faith was blind. She’d ride home wet today. After the closing hymn, she stood up and stretched with an appreciative smile at her new friend beside her. “Thank you for letting me sit with you today,” she told Moira.
“Tá fáilte romhat—you’re welcome. I hope you’ll come every week.”
Grace smiled sheepishly. “I missed last Sunday, but I don’t see why not. Father McCarthy is a good teacher.”
“He’s been orating since he could grow facial hair. Not that he has much now,” joked Moira.
Grace chuckled. “I’m sure my day is coming.”
“Oh, you’re still young, lass.” Moira looked around as if searching for someone. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?”
“I have soup but maybe tomorrow.”
“We’ll miss you then,” said Moira. “There’s lamb shanks and roasted parsnips on the menu.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’m sorry to miss it.”
“Me, too.” Moira looked out the closest window at the drizzle. “It’s poxy outside, or I’d have you for tae. I’ve never seen it rain so long so many days in a row.”
“I noticed the stream was high.”
“Yes, and it’s making us old culchies nervous. If the mountain rivers overflow, the stream climbs the banks. You stay out of this weather so you don’t catch a chill.”
Grace watched the crowd trickle out and kept the fact she’d arrived on a bicycle to herself. “I thought Dean would be here,” she admitted.
“Oh, yes, our Deanie boy,” sighed Moira. “He used to come around quite regularly with his wife before she got sick.”
“Maybe he’ll come next week.” Grace wondered why she sounded hopeful. His Sunday activities weren’t any of her business. Besides, after their talk at the lake, she had the feeling he was short on faith if he’d had any at all. She could understand the struggle, but not the blame.
“I doubt we’ll see him.” Sadness tinged Moira’s voice. “Even when we badger him into it, he acts fretful. He’s a bit resentful still, you see. Still angry at God.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
Moira winced. “Yes, life is hard sometimes. But it’s not meant to be fair. We’d never learn anything if it was.”
“I know that for sure,” murmured Grace.
“He just needs a little love in his life,” Moira continued. “Something or someone new. I think he’s made up his mind that it’s not going to happen again for him, and that’s why he’s selling, but I don’t believe it.” As if an idea had just struck her, Moira slanted her head and eyed Grace. “How about you love? Are you single?”
“Yes, divorced,” said Grace, cheeks warming. When Moira’s eyes glistened with pity, Grace added, “God’s love is enough for me. I’m not angry at Him or anyone else. I tried. I invested half of my life into marriage, and I have a beautiful daughter to show for it. She’s grown now so it’s time to take another look at myself and figure out what I want to do and learn to enjoy my own company.”
Moira pulled back in surprise. “Are you now?”
“Yes, I’m a teacher’s aide, and I have a chance for a fulltime job after the holidays. I’ll have my own classroom.”
“Well, that’s something,” Moira approved. “You do have some love left to give if you can handle those wee ones.”
Her praise made Grace glow inside. “I do, and I’d rather give it to my students than anyone else. I don’t want to be in love again.”
“Why not?” Moira cast a look at her husband who’d toddled up to the front of the sanctuary to speak with Father McCarthy. He motioned for her to join him. Grace waved goodbye as the woman scooted out of the pew and plowed up to the front of the room. The peace Grace felt during the service hadn’t dissipated. She leaned back and let it soak into her soul, watching the way the loving couple finished each other’s sentences, laughed, and stood close enough so that their hands touched. She would guess they’d been together for around forty years. That seemed like a long time, and imagining the trust and security in a relationship like that made her wistful. But she had her parents, her sister, two brothers, and her daughter. They’d always been there for her, and she knew they always would be. She had much to be thankful for. Why risk her heart all over again for someone who might put his passions and interests before everyone else? At that moment, Matty snaked his hairy arm around Moira’s waist and pulled her close to him until they were one. Sweet warmth descended onto Grace’s shoulders. Because no one is meant to be alone, her heart reminded her.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away. Ireland. Why had she really come? She didn’t need to let go of all of her memories. She needed to let go of the idea that no one would ever love her again. If she admitted it, becoming a teacher had been a means to an end; if she turned the job down her life would still go on.
With a toss of her head, Grace slipped out of church to fetch her bike. The rain spit down making the air feel more cold than it was, but she was determined to enjoy her way home despite the weather. She considered the new possibilities she could imagine now as she pedaled her way back across the bridge and up the hill. When Clover Cottage came into view, her spirits rose at the sight of it. It was not old, empty, and useless as Dean has said. Neither was she. The house was warm and friendly, a kindred spirit, welcoming her with open arms just in time for the kissing rain to turn into a deluge.