Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  “Call me Katie. Though I do still love to hear ‘Mrs. Archer,’ I’ve always ever been Katie, and it’s what I prefer.”

  Katie. She would remember that.

  “Tavish is most at ease when he can laugh and tease,” Katie said. “Match him wit for wit, give him a reason to grin, and I’d wager he’ll be not so likely to prickle up.”

  Laughter. Wit. She nodded as each item on the list was cataloged in her mind. “What else?”

  “Nothing is so intriguing to him as a woman who’s both stubborn and clever,” Mrs. Claire said. “And though I’m not accustomed to speaking kindly of the English, I’ve my suspicions you’re quite clever.”

  Her birth was being made an issue again. Would it always? “I haven’t met many men who appreciate a woman for being intelligent.”

  “The ones worth knowing do.” Mrs. Claire spoke with the firmness of conviction. “And there’s not a man in the O’Connor family not worth knowing, young Finbarr included. Show him you’re smart and know what you’re about. And never, under any circumstances, let his stubbornness outlast your determination.”

  “Are we speaking of Finbarr now, or Tavish?”

  “Both.” Mrs. Claire and Katie spoke in near perfect unison.

  Cecily needed to be firm, but she also needed to lighten a bit. Perhaps Tavish would then cease questioning everything, and Finbarr would begin attempting something.

  “One last thing you could do,” Katie said.

  “I’ll take any suggestions you have.”

  “Come to the céilí.”

  “The what?” That was not a word with which she was at all familiar.

  “’Tis a party. We hold them every Saturday night at the elder O’Connors’ home until the weather turns. We’ve music and food and stories and neighborliness. There’s no one who isn’t happiest at a céilí.”

  A party. That was a promising thing. “Does Finbarr attend?”

  The sounds of hesitation answered her question in precisely the way she’d expected. Many of her students stopped doing the things they’d once loved, often because they knew the experience would be different from before. They were afraid to face the changes. Knowing what Finbarr was avoiding might help her understand better what he was feeling.

  “I look forward to the céilí.” She did her best to reproduce the word Katie had used.

  Kay-lee. Something in her inflection wasn’t quite correct, but she’d come close. “And I thank you both for the advice. I’ve been a little baffled. Now I will allow you to return to your cleaning, but with one request. Let me help. I’ve asked Mrs. Claire any number of times what I could do around here, but all she ever says is that ‘Everything’s—”

  “—grand altogether.’” Katie said before Cecily could. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who’d received that answer. Katie’s chair legs scraped along the floor. Her dress rustled. “Come along, then. I’ll put you to work no matter what our headstrong granny says about it.”

  “Excellent.” Cecily stood, feeling lighter than she had since arriving in Hope Springs, since before that, even. She felt hopeful about her student and his stubborn guardian. These women had offered her some much-needed advice and a greatly appreciated bit of friendliness.

  And she was going to a party. She had never in all her life been invited to a party. How she had longed to be. Had her vision not begun deteriorating while she was yet a child, she might have attended any number of them. But fate had taken her away from home and the friends she might have known there. Now her work pulled her from place to place, never allowing her to be a full part of anyone’s life.

  Here, in this tiny hamlet in a quiet corner of the West, she had been offered an unexpected hand of friendship. She had a chance at being included in this town’s socializing. At last she felt part of someone’s life, however small and brief that part might be. She meant to seize the unexpected but blessed offering.

  Chapter Ten

  Tavish helped Ma set out her famous scones, the last on a long list of chores he’d been given as the weekly céilí began. All of Hope Springs attended the parties now, though they’d once belonged exclusively to the Irish. People who’d been sworn enemies had found friendships under the influence of food and music and laughter. The gatherings were considered miracles by the once war-torn town.

  If only Finbarr would come. He’d loved the céilís.

  Ian wove through the thick crowd directly to him. In a tone of sharing secrets, he said, “Thought I’d drop a warning in your ear, brother. We’re to entertain royalty tonight.”

  Cecily. “Are we?” He looked about but didn’t see her. “’Tis a fortunate thing I’ve been practicing bowing deep at the waist.”

  “She’s lookin’ us all over, I’ll tell you that much.” Ian looked back over his shoulder. “I’ve half a mind to go over there and beg her pardon for our peasant attire.”

  Tavish gave his brother a friendly shove. “You’ll get us all beheaded, you will.”

  “So long as I’m faster on my feet than you are, I think m’ head’s safe.” Did Ian realize the way his ever-present, though subtle, grimace added weight to those words? His head hadn’t stopped aching since his beating. The doctor in St. Louis had warned that the pain might never entirely stop.

  Ma found them in the next moment. “Miss Attwater is here.” Worry, fear, something like panic, filled Ma’s expression. “There are few things so Irish as a céilí, and the English never have approved of anything Irish.”

  Ma wiped her hands repeatedly on her apron, a nervous habit Tavish had seen her employ more often of late. Ian watched her with his own look of pained concern.

  “Do not fret,” he told them both. “Even if she dislikes the céilí, ’tisn’t for her to be deciding if they’re held or not. We’ll not allow her to put an end to our gatherings.”

  “They’ve done too much good,” Ian said by way of both agreement and reassurance.

  “Precisely,” Tavish said.

  Ma didn’t look as convinced. “You’ll make certain of it?” she pressed.

  “As always.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “You brought this on us, you know. Joking as you did about finding a golden-haired Englishwoman to court. Now one’s here.”

  He set his hands on Ma’s arms. “Rest assured, I’ve no intention of courting her or anyone else. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m finding that bachelorhood suits me fine.”

  Ma pushed back, looking him in the eye. “Don’t say that. You’ll find your sweetheart. I know you will.”

  He already had, and she’d left him. Everyone always left him.

  He forced a lighter expression. “I’ll keep a weather eye out for any English storms. You set your mind to enjoying the evening, Ma. You, as well, Ian.”

  His brother moved away through the crowd.

  Ma pressed a kiss to his cheek. “What would we do without you, my Tavish?”

  “You’d have a lot fewer berry preserves in your cupboard, I’ll tell you that.”

  She pinched his chin as she’d done when he was a lad. “None of that. You’ve more worth than you ever give yourself credit for.”

  Tavish wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a close, adoring embrace. “You keep telling me that. Eventually I might believe it myself.”

  She squeezed him for one quick moment before hurrying off to see to more tasks.

  He milled about, nodding and smiling to the people he passed. The céilís truly had become a town gathering since the people had begun putting their differences behind them.

  He discovered Cecily sitting not far from the musicians, who’d already taken up a tune. Her back was straight as a ship’s mast. She held her chin at a defiant angle. She’d fastened her hair in its usual golden knot at the back of her head. As always, her green-tinted spectacles hid her eyes.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, then, Cecee?” He dropped into the seat next to hers.

  “Even if I didn’t recognize your voice,
Tavish O’Connor, I would know you were the one speaking. No one else has ever called me something so ridiculous as ‘Cecee.’”

  Oh, yes, this conversation was taking a familiar path. Katie had objected to the nickname he’d fashioned for her as well, which, of course, had made using it regularly all the more essential. “But are you enjoying yourself?” he asked. “A person’s not allowed at a céilí unless she’s enjoying herself.”

  “The way Emma Archer explained it, a person can’t help but be happy at a céilí.”

  Katie sat not far off, Joseph at her side and her girls gathered around her. “Did you come with the Archers?”

  “I did. Emma, sweet girl, tried to convince Finbarr to join us. He wouldn’t come down from the loft.”

  Not surprising. “Finbarr doesn’t come to the céilís any longer.”

  “That is a shame.” Cecily sounded sincere. “This is a lovely way to spend an evening.”

  For the first time since Cecily’s arrival, Tavish didn’t entirely want to throttle her. Perhaps teasing her a bit was a good strategy for keeping the peace. “We’ve a great deal of food. Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  What else? “There’s a lot of room and some fine music. Are you wanting to dance?”

  Did I just ask Her Majesty to dance?

  “No, thank you.” She wasn’t being very helpful.

  “Would you care to sit in with the musicians?” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “I don’t play any instruments.”

  “Do you care for storytelling?”

  “I do.” Her expression turned the tiniest bit eager. “When does that begin?”

  “Another hour or more.”

  “What sort of stories will we hear?” Her interest surprised him. He would have expected her to turn her nose up at something so common as telling tales.

  “We generally prefer stories that make us laugh or remind us of home. Those who aren’t Irish have begun sharing tales as well, and we’ve found their preferences are much the same.” He waited for her to dismiss the undertaking as a frivolous one. Instead she only grew more intrigued.

  “And you do this every week?” she asked.

  “Aye, while the weather holds.”

  Her brows pulled low, the tips tucking behind her green-hued spectacles. “Why is it you say, ‘Aye’? Isn't it more Scottish than Irish?”

  “For the same reason I’ve a Scottish given name. My ma’s family are Scottish. We also hail from Ulster, an area of the Emerald Isle that’s heavily influenced by Scotland.”

  “That does make sense.” Always so formal.

  “I’m pleased we meet with your approval,” he said dryly.

  She either didn’t hear the comment or simply chose to ignore it. “So many aromas. I’ve spent nearly every moment sorting through them, and I still haven’t identified them all.”

  “Are you saying we stink?”

  “No, Tavish. Food aromas. Food.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled lightly. “Well, that is fully relieving, that is.”

  She shook her head, but in an amused way. “I suspect you are a bit of a handful when you choose to be.”

  Tavish flashed her his most winning grin. “A charming handful,” he clarified.

  Her mouth pressed and twisted as if fighting a smile of its own. “That is the current rumor.”

  “Friends.” Seamus Kelly stood in front of the musicians, addressing the partygoers as he often did. “We’ve a tradition at these céilís when someone new joins us.” He turned and looked at Cecily. “We’ll not ask you to dance, Miss Attwater, knowing your situation, but we do always offer a song in honor of a new arrival.”

  “I would like that, thank you.” She spoke quietly, but confidently.

  “’Tis also part of our tradition to choose a song particularly suited to the one for whom we’re playing it.” Seamus turned to the musicians. “Do you know any tunes about England, lads?”

  Ah, begor. This could go wrong in a great many ways. Irish songs about the English were seldom polite.

  Cecily showed no signs of concern.

  The musicians struck up their selection without discussion or hesitation. This had been decided upon in advance, anticipating Cecily’s attendance. Tavish recognized the tune after a moment, a relatively new song that didn’t speak at all well of Ireland’s least favorite neighbor.

  It seemed Her Majesty was to be put in her place.

  O Paddy dear, an’ did ye hear the news that's goin’ round?

  The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;

  St. Patrick’s Day no more we’ll keep, his color can’t be seen,

  For there’s a cruel law against the wearin’ o’ the Green.

  The crowd listened, adding sounds of agreement, after a time joining in as the lyrics grew even more critical. Cecily’s concentration didn’t waver.

  Then since the color we must wear is England’s cruel red, Sure Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget the blood that they have shed . . .

  “This is clearly not a song celebrating England.” Cecily spoke so quietly Tavish wasn’t at all certain he was meant to overhear.

  The song continued, growing ever more disparaging of the land that had ruled Ireland for so long. If Cecily noticed the biting criticism, she didn’t let on. Her posture remained stiffly upright.

  The tune came to its conclusion. The Irish in the crowd applauded enthusiastically. Few things united Tavish’s countrymen like their feelings for the English. In general terms, he agreed with the sentiment, having experienced cruelty at their hands himself, but tossing those grievances at Cecily felt wrong.

  She stood slowly and regally. The crowd took note and held their breath, waiting.

  “I thank you for the song,” she said.

  Grins dotted the crowd. Tavish thought he heard a few snickers. There was no mistaking the look of satisfaction on the faces of the musicians, Seamus most especially. Tavish was rather glad Cecily couldn’t see them, and he hoped they wouldn’t speak. As she’d reminded him repeatedly on her first day at his house, she wasn’t deaf.

  The music began again, with many in the crowd stepping into the open space to dance.

  Cecily turned her head in his direction. “Thank you for explaining the céilí to me. I assure you, you needn’t explain the past few moments.” She set the tip of her cane on the ground in front of her. “Clearly I misunderstood the invitation that was offered.”

  “Cecee—”

  “Remind Finbarr that I will be expecting him to be ready at our usual time on Monday.” Head held high, she turned and walked toward the edge of the gathering. The crowd parted as she approached, clearing a path for her. No one attempted to stop her. No one said anything.

  Tavish watched her go. She passed through the crowd, who stood about watching the dancers, and made her way through those lingering around the edges. On she went, not stopping to chat or ask directions back to Granny’s. Did she mean to attempt the walk back entirely on her own? Had she been in Hope Springs long enough to make that remotely possible?

  He caught up to her just as Katie and Joseph did.

  “Please allow us to take you home,” Katie said.

  “I would appreciate that. I’m not entirely certain I could find my way.”

  Joseph’s eyes fell on Tavish. “The girls are with Biddy and Ian. Would you tell them Katie and I will be back in a few minutes?”

  Tavish nodded his agreement.

  “And if you feel so inclined,” Katie jumped in, “tell Seamus and the rest of them that they’re all a terrible bunch of hypocrites.”

  “Do not worry over it, Katie,” Cecily said. “Tonight was not the first time I’ve found myself unwelcome, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

  Her easy dismissal of the Irish townspeople’s pointed disapproval somehow only added to the weight of guilt Tavish felt. He didn’t care for her overly fine manners or her toplofty air, but he couldn’t help but feel they’d all
dealt her more of a blow than she was allowing them to see.

  She’d been happy before the song—friendly, at least. Seeing that disappear so quickly, and so entirely, proved unexpectedly disheartening.

  Cecily pushed open the door of Mrs. Claire’s house, then turned back to face Katie and Mr. Archer. “Thank you for accompanying me. I likely would have become terribly lost if I’d attempted it alone. I do not know this town very well yet.” Her heart thudded against her ribs at the memory of the song they had sung at her. In quieter tones, she added, “I clearly do not know this town at all.”

  “I am sorry for what happened,” Katie said from the porch.

  Cecily held up her hand to dismiss the necessity of an apology. “I know that, historically, my countrymen have not treated yours kindly. While I would, of course, rather not be made the whipping boy for seven centuries of animosity, you did warn me that I likely would be. I should have more closely heeded your warning.”

  “This is terribly unfair.”

  Cecily couldn’t argue with that. “I will not keep you both any longer. Your daughters will be anxious for your return. And I will be fine here on my own.”

  “Are you certain?” Katie pressed. “I would be happy to stay with you, at least light a lantern or two.”

  Cecily shook her head. “I am not afraid of the dark. Besides, I can use this time to formulate next week’s strategy for convincing Finbarr to not be afraid of it either.”

  That was, after all, the reason she was in Hope Springs. She’d been brought there to teach, not to attend parties or make friends. She would do well to remember that. Furthermore, while she enjoyed making friends wherever she taught, doing so wasn’t a requirement. Friendships would only make her inevitable departure that much harder.

  The Archers’ footsteps faded as they made their way back to the gathering. Cecily carefully, quietly closed the door. She stood there a long while, fighting her disappointment. She’d always longed to attend a party, having witnessed a good many from the top of the stairs in her home growing up, her parents having been very social people. How she’d dreamed of one day attending a party herself instead of merely listening from afar. She had allowed herself to be excited about finally being invited to one.