Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  He turned around and stepped far enough away to grow quite blurry. She really was having more trouble indoors. She pushed down the recurring worry that had accompanied the realization over the past few days. There were so many things she wanted to see before her vision deteriorated entirely, and she was running out of time.

  “Are you injured, Cecily?” Katie asked, having joined her at the counter.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “You’re purchasing Dover Powder.”

  “It is for my eyes.” She didn’t care to discuss the situation more than that. Generally, if people heard her explanation, they treated her with either pity or dismissal. Far easier and more comfortable to keep her conversation simple.

  “Do you think Finbarr’s eyes hurt as well?” Katie sounded immediately concerned. “Oh, heavens, I hope not.”

  Did Finbarr have the least idea how much he was loved by this town?

  “Now that his face and eyes are healed, I don’t believe so.” But she meant to ask him, to be certain.

  Mr. Johnson returned to the counter. The sound of glass clinking against wood said he’d found the bottle. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Attwater?”

  Only three people in town called her Cecily rather than the more formal Miss Attwater: Katie, Joseph, and Tavish. Finbarr had returned to “Miss Attwater.” Only a moment ago, Anne Scott had called Katie by her given name. Biddy O’Connor was always called “Biddy.” Tavish’s sisters were addressed more personally by the other women in town. But not Cecily. The contrast stood as a recurrent reminder that she was an outsider.

  “I am in sore need of a cane, as mine was broken beyond repair,” she answered, “but Tavish tells me you do not carry any.”

  Silence followed. Instinct filled in the blank.

  “I imagine you are either shaking or nodding your head,” Cecily said. “I am afraid my vision is not sharp enough for me to know.”

  “My apologies. I can order a cane, but I won’t receive any new goods until spring,” Mr. Johnson said. “Will Finbarr need a cane as well?”

  “He will.” Though how she was to teach him to use a cane when she didn’t have one was beyond her.

  “I’ll order one for him come spring.” Mr. Johnson said. “Tell me precisely what he needs, and I will find it.”

  Such support. Such kindness. Not everyone was so blessed. “How much for the powder?”

  He quoted her the price, and she carefully counted out the correct coins. Something else she needed to teach Finbarr: recognizing, by touch, which coin was which.

  She carefully reached for the bottle, not entirely trusting herself to have correctly judged its location. Her fingers brushed against it. She wrapped her hand around the familiar square glass bottle. It fit almost perfectly in her fist.

  Ivy Archer’s skipping steps gave away her arrival. The girls had followed them.

  “What is in your bottle?” Ivy asked.

  “Medicine for my eyes,” Cecily answered, stepping back from the counter, bottle in hand.

  “Pompah said I could have a butterscotch,” she said. “It is my most, most favorite. Mr. Tavish always gives me a butterscotch when I see him.”

  Though he was often grumpy and grumbly with her, Cecily had seen enough evidence of Tavish’s kind and gentle nature to fully believe he treated the children of Hope Springs with tenderness.

  “Skip up to Katie, Ivy. You as well, Emma.” Joseph spoke from just behind Cecily. “She’ll pay for your sweets.”

  Two sets of small footsteps moved in the direction of the counter, followed by Joseph’s lowered voice in Cecily’s ear. “I believe I’ve thought of something I might ask Finbarr to help me with.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. He has only grown more distant and despondent. Something must pull him from it before he is mired beyond rescue.” She’d seen that happen to others, and it was always a tragedy.

  “Katie and I were hoping to drop in at Tavish’s place to speak with Finbarr before taking you on to Granny Claire’s.”

  Cecily nodded approval. It was a good plan. “I would, however, suggest extending the invitation for next week sometime, so he has the weekend to think on it, and, if he wishes, he’ll have time to consult with me about the best way to prepare.”

  “I will do that.”

  In very little time, the lot of them arrived at Tavish’s home. Katie was careful to guide Cecily around snowdrifts. Emma, sweet girl that she was, took Cecily’s hand and led her with utmost care to the door.

  It opened, and Tavish’s voice greeted them all. Though he jested and laughed as he ushered them inside, Cecily heard a strain under his cheerful tone.

  “What’s happened?” she asked quietly.

  “He broke a plate this morning, and it’s sent him into the worst state of blue-devilment I’ve seen in ages.”

  Setbacks were to be expected, but the timing could not have been worse. “This visit, then, will either be very helpful or an utter disaster.”

  “Care to place a wager?” Tavish’s dry whisper lifted a weight from her heart. He’d keep an eye on things and do his best to prevent a catastrophe. “What’s brought everyone around?”

  “Joseph has come to make his request of Finbarr.”

  Tavish pushed out an audible breath. “Are you a praying woman, Cecee?”

  “I’ve been known to petition the heavens.”

  He rested a hand on her back and gently guided her farther inside. “Then do your best petitioning, lass. This could get messy.”

  Tavish was exhausted and quickly losing patience. Finbarr had been difficult all day. All week. Honestly, all year.

  “Finbarr!” Ivy cried with absolute glee and ran across the room, throwing herself against Finbarr, holding fast to his legs. “I haven’t seen you since I was little.”

  For a moment, Finbarr stood frozen, his brows pulled in worry and uncertainty. He slowly, painstakingly, moved one hand and laid it gently on the top of her head. His lips pressed together. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

  “You’ve grown taller,” he said quietly.

  “Katie says it was the Irish air. It made me get bigger and bigger.”

  Cecily leaned in close to Tavish and whispered, “Is he pushing her away?”

  “No,” he answered as quietly. “But he’s not comfortable, either.”

  The lad had avoided the Archer girls for nearly a year. Would he accept their desperately offered adoration, or push them away again?

  “Has—has Emma grown as well?” Heavy hesitation hung in Finbarr’s question.

  “Not as much as me. Katie’s mother said Emma was a ‘pretty pea.’ Katie said that meant she’s little. Pompah said it meant she’s pretty. Which do you think it is?”

  Emma had chosen a seat near the window and was decidedly not looking at Finbarr. But Tavish wagered she was listening. Did Finbarr know she was there?

  “Well, sweet Ivy.” Finbarr’s hand slid from the top of her head, down her long braid, and settled on her shoulder—as near to an embrace as Finbarr’d given anyone in the past year. He was reaching out, with however small a gesture. “Compared to an adult, Emma would be little. But she’s also always been pretty. So I would wager Katie’s mother meant both.”

  Well done, brother.

  “Uncle Brennan said I was a regular handful.” Ivy took pride in the description. “And he said Emma is the sweetest girl he’d ever met in all his life. That made her ears turn red.”

  “How is Emma?” Finbarr asked.

  Though Tavish couldn’t see her face, he was certain Ivy rolled her eyes. “She’s sitting by the window.” Ivy pulled away from Finbarr and crossed to Joseph sitting near the fire. She climbed onto her father’s lap.

  Every eye in the room moved from Finbarr to Emma and back. Tavish didn’t think Finbarr could see her from where he stood. Emma didn’t turn to look at him. Both were as stiff as boards, and the room had gone utterly still.

  Finbarr, say something to the lass.


  Silence hung over the room a moment longer before Finbarr muttered, “I’m supposed to be making lunch.” He turned about, and, hands outstretched to warn him of anything in his path, returned to the stove at the far side of the room.

  “That wound is still raw,” Cecily whispered.

  The impulse to jump in and save his brother from further pain was almost too strong for Tavish to ignore. “Remind me that I must let him fix this.”

  “You must let him fix this.” She spoke with just enough teasing to bring a little smile to his face.

  He set his arm around her shoulders and tugged her into a friendly side embrace. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Cecee.”

  “Come spring, you’ll get to find out.”

  ’Twas a splash of icy water. How easy it was to forget that her stay in Hope Springs was a temporary one. He was growing attached, and that, history had taught him, was a dangerous thing. Tavish let his arm drop away. Distance was best.

  Joseph set Ivy on her feet and rose from his chair. “Could I talk with you a minute, Finbarr?”

  Tavish followed to the kitchen side of the room, where Finbarr stood, not doing much of anything. He wore such a look of hurt it pulled painfully at Tavish’s heart.

  Joseph wasted not a moment. “If you think your brother could spare you, I have an unexpected bit of extra work this week, and I could use another set of hands.”

  “This set of hands doesn’t come with a working pair of eyes,” Finbarr muttered.

  “The two tasks I need you for are ones I think can be managed without sight,” Joseph said. “First, milking the cow—just sitting in one place. I’m so busy of late that I don’t always get to the milking before the poor beast is miserable. This week is going to be even busier than usual. You taking on that chore for me would be a great help.”

  Finbarr’s brow drew low in thought. His scars pulled unevenly, adding a foreboding quality to the expression. Tavish hadn’t yet learned to recognize when the added flavor was intentional, and when it was simply an accident of healing.

  “I haven’t tried milking a cow yet.” Finbarr sounded curious, a far cry from his common angry retorts when a new task was suggested.

  “I’d wager you could sort it out with a bit of strategizing,” Tavish said, trying to keep his tone light. If Finbarr sensed the slightest hint of pity, he’d likely retreat.

  “I’d probably knock over the milk pail.” Finbarr phrased it almost as a question, as if he was hoping to be reassured.

  Joseph took the cue. “I’ve done that myself on occasion. I wouldn’t hold it against you. Much.”

  A single corner of Finbarr’s mouth twitched. “I suppose I would just have to learn to be careful.”

  Was he considering it, then? Tavish hoped so.

  “What’s the other task?” Finbarr asked.

  Joseph lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ve been making a rocking chair for Katie, and it needs to be sanded. It’s meant to be a Christmas gift, but I won’t have time to sand it smooth and still see to all of my other chores.”

  “I’d probably be slow, and likely miss spots.” The hint of hope mingled with pain in Finbarr’s warning pierced Tavish straight through.

  The lad needed this victory. And, Tavish realized, he needed it as well. After a year of watching his brother wander about, lost in darkness, he needed to see Finbarr take a step back into the light.

  “No matter how slow, you would still be helpful,” Joseph said.

  Tavish joined his voice to Joseph’s. “And using touch to search for spots you’ve missed, as you’d be doing, would likely mean you’d find rough patches that might be missed if one were relying on sight.”

  Finbarr hesitated only a moment longer. “I suppose I could try.”

  Tavish held back the surge of triumph that immediately surfaced. Finbarr would hear it and likely interpret it as pity. If only he could share a silent expression of victory with Cecily.

  Joseph, ever calm and focused, moved ahead without hesitation. “When can you come?”

  “Monday morning.” An unmistakable eagerness hid in Finbarr’s hesitant tone. “That is, if Tavish doesn’t mind, and if Miss Attwater says I can miss my lessons.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Tavish suggested. “She’s sitting over by the fire.”

  Finbarr nodded. With a determination too often missing in him, the lad carefully moved that direction. “Miss Attwater?”

  “Yes?”

  Nervousness filled Finbarr’s next breath. “Mr. Archer says he needs some help next week. May I be excused from our lessons for a day or two to go work with him?”

  “Of course. I’ll come by in the evenings so you can tell me what you’ve been doing, and we can discuss any adjustments that might be made in your approach to the chores you’ve taken on.”

  Finbarr nodded. “I can do that.”

  Ivy, seated on the floor near Katie’s feet, looked up at Finbarr. “You are coming to our house again?”

  Finbarr shrugged a little. “I suppose I am.”

  She squealed, hopped up, and rushed to Finbarr, throwing herself against him with such force she nearly knocked him over. “You’re coming back!”

  Emma didn’t speak a word, but she had turned a little toward them all, a whisper of interest pulling at her features. Joseph and Katie looked as relieved as Tavish felt. And Cecily, who had seemed so unfeeling and indifferent when she’d first arrived in Hope Springs, looked happier than all of them.

  A weight had lifted from Tavish’s shoulders. For the first time in a year, he truly felt his brother was coming back to him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Sundays were generally quiet at Mrs. Claire’s house. Cecily chose not to attend church with her hostess, knowing her presence would likely not be appreciated. Mrs. Claire usually spent the rest of the day at Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor’s home. That left Cecily with hours on her own, hours she put to good use working on her Braille transcription of The Light Princess.

  This Sunday, however, hadn’t gone according to plan.

  Even at the desk she had placed under one of Granny’s front windows, the room was too dim. The day must have been very overcast for so little light to be coming in the large window.

  She still hadn’t chosen an alternate activity when Mrs. Claire returned home, Tavish at her side.

  “Don’t mind us,” Mrs. Claire said. “Tavish has come to see to the rocking chair, is all.”

  Cecily assured them she was not the least put out by their return, yet she found herself focusing closely on their figures. They stood near Granny’s chair, which was only on the other side of the door, a mere fifteen feet away at most. She could hardly make out their blurred shapes.

  “I couldn’t be certain I wouldn’t simply fall out m’ seat with the state this is in,” Mrs. Claire said. “A shame. A right shame.”

  Was this why Mrs. Claire hadn’t sat in her usual place the past few days—something had happened to her rocker?

  The runners squeaked. “’Tis but one cracked slat,” Tavish said. “You’d not tumble out on account of that.”

  “Are you certain? I’d hate for you to come visit next week, only to find me lying in a heap on the floor.”

  “I’d hate that as well,” Tavish said.

  Cecily could hear movement, but couldn’t make out any change in their vague shapes.

  “You’d miss me, would you?” Mrs. Claire asked.

  “More than I’ve words to say.”

  Such a fondness between them. Cecily had noticed it from the first and had grown ever more sure with each interaction she’d witnessed. For all his lack of cooperation with her personally when she’d first arrived, he had certainly shown himself to be goodhearted and kind.

  “Now, have a sit down before you have a fall,” Tavish instructed. “The rocker is sound enough to hold you safely, though I’ll whittle you a replacement for the split slat.”

  “I’ve a fine grandson, do I not, Mr. At
twater?” She still called Cecily that when she was in good spirits.

  “I believe he is,” she answered. “Though is he as adept at stopping drafts coming in a window as he is at whittling rocking chair slats? That would be a truly fine thing.”

  “Have you a drafty window?” Immediate concern filled his words, without a hint of annoyance.

  “The one there by the rocker,” Cecily said. “Anytime the wind picks up, Mrs. Claire’s hit with an icy blast.”

  “Granny.” A hint of scold entered Tavish’s tone. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’d’ve come and seen to this first thing.”

  “You’re already supporting your ma, lifting your da’s worries, tending Ian’s animals during his latest setback. You spent most of yesterday helping Ciara and Keefe mend a length of fallen fence, though what your sister has done to earn your devotion of late, I’ll never know. And last evening, you looked after Mary’s older children while she and Thomas nursed the youngest through his cough. Not to mention the year you’ve spent shouldering the responsibility of taking care of Finbarr. You’ve troubles enough without me adding to them.”

  “My dear Granny.” He’d moved. Cecily could hear it; she simply couldn’t see it. “You are my family. There is nothin’ in all this world I wouldn’t do for my family. And ’tisn’t a burden in the least, but a privilege.”

  An ache of envy surged through Cecily. She had to turn away, back to her book and her stencil and the lanterns attempting to fight back the darkness. She’d not been a part of anyone’s family for so very long. She spent months amongst families, interacting with them, coming to care for them, but in the end, she always moved on, leaving those connections behind. In the end, she was always alone.

  How she wanted what the O’Connors had. She longed to have someone love her the way Tavish loved them. The way her father had loved her. More than that, she wanted to belong, to be loved, and wanted, and needed.

  She forced her thoughts to empty of such things. Her eyes hurt enough without adding the sting of tears. The powders she’d taken that morning were wearing thin, but she could not take more until her midday meal. The familiarity of these bouts of pain and encroaching darkness did not make them any less difficult to endure.