Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  “At times, I wish life had allowed me to remain quiet and bookish.” She smiled a touch ruefully. “I used to be terribly shy, you know.”

  He could almost picture Cecily as a shy, keep-to-herself type. “Well if you’re ever wanting to be quiet and bookish again for a spell, you say the word. I’ll keep an eye on everything while you hide away.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  ’Twas hardly a question worth asking. “I do that for everyone.”

  Her brow pulled low and worried, her mouth following suit.

  “What’s brought on this sudden look of sadness?” He didn’t like seeing it.

  She quickly pulled herself together, waving off his question. “Point me in the direction of the door.”

  “If you’ll make a quarter turn to your right, you’ll be facing the door just a few steps ahead of you.”

  She turned, then lifted her hand, holding it out in front of her as a barrier as she stepped cautiously forward. “This is far less embarrassing with my cane,” she said. “It taps the side of buildings before my face does.”

  Her fingers brushed the door. She knocked firmly. Mrs. Smith answered, then ushered them inside. Tavish held his breath. This was Katie’s domain. He wasn’t certain he could enter it without jumping clean out of his skin.

  They stepped into the parlor, and there Katie was with little Ivy asleep in her arms and Emma napping on the sofa beside her. She rocked the small girl gently, a contentment in her face that Tavish had seldom seen before she’d become a permanent part of the Archer family. She belonged here. He knew it. But it still hurt.

  “Come in, both of you,” she quietly invited. “What brings you around?”

  “I need to speak with you and your husband about Finbarr,” Cecily said. She had a way of moving from jesting to sober so quickly and efficiently that Tavish wondered how anyone kept pace with her.

  “Joseph’s just out in the barn. Please have a seat; he’ll return shortly.”

  Cecily turned her head a bit toward him and whispered, “Is that a chair directly in front of me?”

  “Perhaps you could tap it with your face and find out.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t make me tap your face, Tavish O’Connor.”

  “I’m quaking in m’ boots.” He set his hand on her back and guided her to the chair.

  “How is Finbarr?” Katie asked. “I saw him leave the ceremony yesterday. I’ve been terrible worried ever since.”

  “He’s made progress learning how to function in his new state,” Cecily said, carefully lowering herself into the chair. “But he hasn’t yet learned how to live. That is why I’m here.”

  “You think we can help with that?” Katie kept her voice low, still rocking her little girl, but her tone and expression had turned earnest.

  “I believe so,” Cecily answered. “I hope so.”

  “We will do whatever we can.” Joseph’s voice reached them from the doorway to the dining room. He’d come in so quietly no one had realized he was there. He sat on the sofa and set his arm around Katie.

  Seeing the two of them together still wasn’t at all comfortable. Tavish felt it best to wander a little toward the door once more.

  “Before we begin in earnest,” Cecily said, “I do want to make certain your little Emma is not in the room. I know Finbarr is a difficult topic for her, and I don’t want to make her unhappy.”

  “She is here, but she is sleeping. She and Ivy both. Yesterday was a difficult one.”

  “Until yesterday, I did not know the exact circumstances under which Finbarr lost his sight,” Cecily said. “Now I recognize that beneath Finbarr’s anger and stubbornness is a tremendous amount of guilt. I am hopeful that in your efforts to see your daughters through their own struggles with all that’s happened, you might have some idea about what could help Finbarr.”

  Joseph and Katie exchanged looks, whispering between themselves. Tavish paced farther away. He still found their connection and contentment uncomfortable, which made him feel guilty. If there was one thing the Irish were good at, it was guilt.

  “I think what has helped her most,” Joseph said, “was making life as normal again as we could.”

  “Normal.” Tavish shook his head. “Nothing about Finbarr’s life is normal any longer.”

  “I am well aware of that.” Joseph clearly didn’t appreciate the correction. “Despite appearances, life isn’t normal for our girls, either. Ivy is plagued with nightmares. Emma is sent into a panic at the slightest thing. She cries often. Some days she won’t leave her room. Believe me, Tavish O’Connor, I am fully aware that life will never be the same for anyone who passed through the events of that night.”

  Katie jumped in. “We’re all worried, but picking at one another will help no one.”

  “Tavish did toss me from the wagon into a pack of rabid dogs,” Cecily said. “I think that has earned him a little picking.”

  “Traitor,” Tavish chuckled.

  She turned a bit to face him. “Before the fire, what was Finbarr’s daily routine?”

  Tavish pulled the chair from the writing desk and placed it next to hers. “He lived with our parents.” He sat as he answered her question. “He came here every day to work for the Archers. In the evenings, he helped Da or sometimes Ian or me with our chores, or he spent time with our nieces and nephews. Now and then, he’d have a lark with other young men in town.”

  “Could he return to living at your parents’ house?” Katie asked.

  “Ma struggles too much with all of this.” ’Twas the reason Finbarr had come to live with Tavish in the first place.

  “So that aspect of his previous life cannot be restored.” Cecily sat quietly a moment, thinking. “Could he have his job back?”

  “I have offered it to him many times,” Joseph said. “He has refused.”

  “Has his refusal been due to disinterest, do you think?” she asked.

  Joseph shook his head no.

  “You’ll have to answer out loud,” Tavish said. “She can’t see you movin’ your head.”

  “My apologies, Miss Attwater. It is easy to forget that your sight is diminished when you move about with such ease and look unfailingly in the direction of the people you speak to.”

  Cecily leaned a touch closer to Tavish. “He would be singing a different tune if he’d seen me turned about in that snow storm, now, wouldn’t he?”

  “That he would,” Tavish answered. “Why, he’d’ve stood there amidst the tugging and tossing of the wind, pondering nothing but how very unseeing you seemed to be. It would’ve been a grand bit of pondering, it would.”

  “You’ll have to interpret for me, Katie,” Cecily said. “With that accent of his, I didn’t understand a word he just said.”

  Katie didn’t join in the jest. Her gaze narrowed as she looked from Tavish to Cecily and back several times in succession. Hers was very much the look Da had given him while warning that the Irish would never be comfortable with an Englishwoman in their midst. Katie was one of the local Irish.

  Cecily faced the sofa once more. Joseph was right on one score; she made it easy to forget she was nearly blind.

  “What chores did Finbarr do when he worked here?” she asked.

  “A little of everything,” Joseph said. “He tended to the animals, mended equipment, helped plant and harvest.”

  Cecily folded her arms. “He won’t be able to do most of those things, at least not yet.” Her brow drew with thought. “But he needs to feel he has a purpose, that he is working toward something. This would be the right first step, I think. I can help you identify chores he could be taught to do blind.”

  Joseph nodded, but then seemed to catch himself. “I will do whatever I can for the boy. I’ve worried about him this past year, and we’ve all missed him.”

  “Tavish?” Cecily turned her head in his direction once more. “I would value your input on this as well.”

  He set his hand on Cecily’s, hoping to
convey through the gesture his support of her efforts, since he couldn’t do so with a look. “Finbarr hasn’t undertaken any chores at my place, so I can’t say what he’s able to do. We’ve talked a little about the woodpile, and he listened intently, but I’d not trust him to manage it on his own.”

  Cecily nodded. “We would do well to begin with chores that aren’t inherently dangerous.”

  They spent the next hour discussing chores Finbarr had done before his accident, what he’d done since. Cecily asked a lot of questions, delving into the smallest details. Katie offered some insights as well. They decided, in the end, that Joseph had enough tasks Finbarr could quickly relearn to keep him busy at least one day per week. Through it all, Cecily kept her hand in his. The gesture wasn’t flirtatious or lovey-dovey, but more friendly and comfortable.

  “Finbarr has turned down any number of Joseph’s requests to return to work,” Katie said. Ivy began to stir, and Katie again soothed the girl. “How do we convince him to come?”

  “Suppose,” Tavish said, “rather than offer him his job back, Joseph were to come by asking Finbarr to help him with something small that wouldn’t likely take more than a few hours or a single day?”

  “He’d feel less overwhelmed.” Cecily nodded. “It would work, provided the request is sincere, something that does, in fact, need to be done, and something Joseph truly does need help accomplishing.”

  “A great many things need attention around here,” Joseph said.

  Cecily looked noticeably relieved. “I believe this will be a good start.”

  “I do hope so,” Joseph said.

  Cecily turned to Tavish. “Shall we be on our way?”

  He helped her to her feet. They’d only reached the front entryway when Katie’s voice stopped them.

  “Tavish, might I bend your ear a minute?”

  He tossed her a grin. “That’d be a mighty short conversation.”

  She still held Ivy. Katie’s arms must have been terribly tired.

  Cecily slipped her hand from his. “I’ll wait on the front porch.”

  “It may be a bit icy,” Tavish warned.

  “I’ll be careful.” With that she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  “What have you on your mind, Katie?” He’d finally broken himself of the habit of calling her “Sweet Katie.” The nickname belonged to another time when things had been different between them.

  “Why do you call her ‘Cecee’?”

  “Because she objects to ‘Your Majesty.’”

  Far from laughing at the teasing tone Tavish had employed, Katie only eyed him more closely. “I objected to ‘Sweet Katie,’ but you never stopped using it.”

  “You objected because you didn’t think it fit you. She objected because she thought it was unkind.”

  “Was it?”

  Tavish felt as if he were on trial. “In all honesty, yes. I meant it to mock her.”

  She lightly rubbed Ivy’s back. “You changed your name for her out of consideration for her feelings?”

  Tavish buttoned up his coat. “Turns out I’m a decent human being.”

  “You’ve always been far better than ‘decent.’” She eyed him too closely for comfort. “You’re quite fond of her, I’d wager.”

  “I am that. You, yourself, seem to have been getting along with her well enough.”

  Katie shook her head. “You know perfectly well ’tisn’t what I meant at all. She’s touched your heart.”

  He held his hand up in a show of surrender. “She’s Finbarr’s teacher.”

  “She’s more than that.”

  He stepped over to the door. “No woman’ll ever be more than that.”

  “Please, Tavish, don’t let old hurts—”

  “Good day to you, Katie.” ’Twasn’t the most gracious of exits, but he’d not stand about talking with Katie about “old hurts.”

  As promised, Cecily was waiting on the porch. She didn’t turn as he approached, though he was certain she heard him. She looked ponderous, no doubt worrying over Finbarr.

  “Do you think this’ll work?” he asked her.

  “No,” she said.

  “No?”

  “Hiding from pain and regrets never truly works.”

  He set his hand on her arm to help guide her back to the wagon. “Finbarr’ll be coming here soon enough. He’ll not be hiding.”

  “Finbarr isn’t the only one at your house hiding from his past.”

  Now that was a pointed remark. “Why is it you think I am?”

  She tipped her head. Her mouth twisted in disbelief. “Can you honestly tell me you aren’t?”

  Tension in his jaw clenched his teeth. He forced himself to relax. “I can ‘honestly tell you’ that I’m ready to go home.”

  Cecily clasped her hands in front of her, but not in a posture of defeat. “Hiding from pain does not heal it.”

  He slipped his hat on his head. “Leave it be, Cecee. Leave it be.”

  She nodded. Tavish, however, firmly suspected she didn’t intend to let anything be.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Tavish O’Connor is, quite possibly, the most frustrating man I have ever known, and I include in that evaluation an eighty-year-old former pugilist who refused to speak directly to me for the first two months I worked with him.”

  Cecily hadn’t intended to air her frustrations, but they had all spilled out as she and Katie had stepped inside the mercantile. Katie had come to gather supplies for Mrs. Claire, and Joseph had graciously offered to bring Cecily along so she could obtain a few things herself.

  “One moment Tavish is sharing his concerns and thoughts,” Cecily continued, “and the very next, he is telling me to keep myself out of his affairs. He’ll speak kindly to me for hours and then, without so much as a moment’s warning, he’ll call me ‘Your Majesty’ in that mocking tone of his.”

  “Has you a bit ruffled, does he?” Katie asked.

  “I’m not a bit ruffled. I’m downright miffed.”

  “Isn’t that turn of phrase a bit unrefined for an Englishwoman?” Katie managed to ask the question without adding any censure to her words. Few of her countrymen accomplished that when referencing Cecily’s roots.

  “Believe me,” she said, “there are a number of even less-refined turns of phrase I’ve been biting back of late.”

  Katie laughed. “I like you, Cecily.”

  “Because I’m frustrated with your friend?”

  “Because he is frustrated with you.”

  Cecily stopped near to what she was relatively certain was the mercantile counter. “He is decidedly frustrated with me.”

  Katie didn’t follow her to the counter, but stopped to speak with someone. Cecily could hardly make out her outline and couldn’t say with any certainty to whom she spoke. The store was dim, yes, but it was more than that. Cecily saw less and less detail of late. The customer waiting at the counter had the build of a man, tall with broad shoulders, but she couldn’t see well enough to identify him.

  “You’ve grown rather friendly with her, Katie.” The woman who made the hushed observation was Irish, but Cecily couldn’t identify her beyond that. Had the speaker been one of the O’Connors, she would have recognized the voice. “Does she not make you nervous?”

  “Why would Miss Attwater make me nervous?” Katie replied, her voice equally soft. People often forgot that Cecily had very acute hearing developed out of necessity in a world she could not see.

  “Have you not forgotten ’twas an English landlord who threw you out of your home when you were only a child?”

  A chill crept over Cecily. She knew full well her countrymen had done some terrible things to the people of Ireland. She didn’t imagine anything could bridge the chasm that their shared history put between her and the Irish in Hope Springs.

  “I’ve also not forgotten that the man who burned our home to the ground all those years ago was, in fact, Irish,” Katie said. “But don’t fret, Anne. I’ll not hold
that against you.”

  Cecily held back the smile she felt forming. If she was caught out listening in on their conversation, that would simply be one more thing this town held against her.

  “Does she not make you nervous, then?” Anne pressed, her voice almost a whisper now.

  “A small part of me—I’d imagine the part that is still the terrified little girl who lost her home—feels a bit chilled when I hear her very English style of speaking.” Katie’s admission pained Cecily. “But the rest of me, the part that is thinking and feeling and strong and fair reminds the rest of me that Miss Attwater was not the author of my suffering, nor is she responsible for all that her countrymen have done, and she deserves to be judged for who she is and not merely where she came from.”

  “That is easier said than done,” Anne said.

  “I know it.”

  Cecily knew it as well.

  A man arrived on the other side of the counter—Mr. Johnson, the mercantile owner, no doubt. “Here you are, Mr. Scott.” Something was set on the counter with a clank. “Can I get you anything else?” He, judging from the sound of his voice, hailed from America’s South. Cecily had worked with more than one student who sounded very much like he did.

  Mr. Scott, who had checked in on Mrs. Claire earlier that week, answered that he didn’t need anything more. He spoke little as his purchase was calculated. When Mr. Scott visited, Cecily had been in her room. In his brief conversation with Mrs. Claire, he’d shown himself a kindhearted person, but he, too, had asked after “the Englishwoman” in tones of distrust and uncertainty.

  Cecily smiled in his direction as he stepped away from the counter. She didn’t know if he saw the gesture, but she hoped so, and that it did some good.

  “May I help you?” Mr. Johnson asked her.

  “I need Dover Powder, a small jar, please.” She hadn’t used the pain-relieving remedy in some time, but her eyes had begun aching something awful. She knew how this would play out: soon the pain would be nearly unbearable without something to ease it. Then everything would grow darker.