Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  She nodded and smiled. “I would like that.”

  “And if we are very fortunate, Mary and Thomas’ll be around long enough to join the party.”

  “I hope so.” She turned her head in the direction of the fireplace. “And Finbarr?”

  “We’ll find his song as well.” Tavish made the declaration as much to himself as to her. “We’ll find it.”

  Keefe, Ciara’s husband, approached in the next moment. “Might I steal this sweet lass away from you?”

  “If you promise you’ll keep bringing her back.”

  Keefe slipped his arm around his wife, even as he reached out and dropped a hand on Tavish’s shoulder. “You’ve my word on that.”

  Tavish watched the couple return to the other O’Connors. His family was healing, slowly but surely. He didn’t know the most personal aspects of everyone’s struggles, but he knew enough to have worried and fought on their behalf. Seeing his family tiptoeing closer to whole once more lifted a weight from his heart.

  Biddy approached. She hugged him fiercely. The women in the family really were determined to see to it he was embraced all the evening long. Tavish simply shook his head and chose to appreciate the shows of support and love.

  “Cecee told me today’s undertaking would do my soul a lot of good,” Tavish said, hugging her in return, “but I didn’t realize it’d earn me so much attention tonight.”

  “It did us all good,” Biddy said. “Every last one of us.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Cecily’s day was not going according to plan. Finbarr was working at the Archers’, and Granny was spending the day with Mrs. O’Connor, so Cecily had the day to herself. Rather than transcribe more of The Light Princess, as she'd planned, Cecily paced in front of the fireplace, frustrated by how quickly her sight was deteriorating.

  The afternoon had not entirely passed when a knock sounded. She opened the door but could see nothing but a slightly darker form against the dim background of the shadowed porch. Her vision was too poor to know how many people might be standing there, let alone identify anyone.

  “Good afternoon to you, Cecily.”

  She knew the voice. “Katie.”

  “I’ve come with Biddy O’Connor and her littlest one, as well as my Emma.”

  Biddy had come to call? Biddy, who avoided her as one would a carrier of an infectious disease? Who left the room every single time Cecily entered it? To say her arrival was unexpected didn’t come close to the whole of it. She only hoped her shock had not been obvious.

  Cecily motioned them inside. She listened to their footsteps and the sounds of their rustling dresses, attempting to place them in the room. They had all come inside. Beyond that, she could not say. Her thoughts were too distracted.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked.

  “Actually, yes,” Biddy said. She was not too far away and likely standing. “Something is the matter with me, with how I have been.”

  Cecily didn’t fully understand, but she knew the sound of someone desperately pushing through an uncomfortable con-versation.

  “I don’t know if anyone has told you what that moment at the graveyard yesterday meant to all of us.” Of all the topics Biddy might have chosen to pursue, Cecily would not have guessed at this one. “The fever that took Bridget Claire claimed many lives. Not a single family was spared at least one loss.” Not a single person moved. Biddy took an audible breath. “Ian and I lost a child.”

  Was there a soul amongst the O’Connors who was not deeply grieving?

  “Though Tavish has struggled more than most to make his peace with that dark time,” Biddy continued, “we’ve all carried the pain of it these years. Singing as we did yesterday helped heal some of that. We were singing for Tavish and Bridget, yes, but for so many others as well. For ourselves. For the hopes and dreams and loved ones we’ve buried over the years.”

  “I know you couldn’t see it,” Katie jumped in, “but Finbarr was standing along the fence with all of us.”

  “Truly?” Cecily tried not to let her hopes soar too high. “He stood with you?”

  “The family can speak of nothing else,” Biddy said. “Tavish visiting the graveyard at long last, and singing his pain and his grief—he always used to be a singer, you know, but he stopped after Bridget’s passing. But seeing him singing again. And Ciara joining the undertaking. Then Finbarr witnessing and partaking of that small bit of healing. ’Twas all a miracle unfolding right there before our eyes. A full miracle.”

  “Did Finbarr sing?” How she hoped he had.

  “No,” Biddy said, “but he was there. He was there.”

  Amazement filled every inch of Cecily’s heart. “Oh, thank the heavens. They need this healing so desperately. I’ve worried over them.”

  “You’ve worked miracles for this family,” Biddy said. “’Tis time I acknowledged that.”

  This was a change, indeed.

  “I cannot promise I’ll never again think of you unfairly,” Biddy said, “but I mean to try.”

  Cecily offered her hand. “That is good enough for me.”

  Biddy shook it firmly and enthusiastically.

  “Miss Attwater?” That was Emma. “What are all these things on the desk?”

  The current banes of my existence.

  “Those are instruments for writing words that can be read by fingers instead of eyes. I had planned to spend today continuing to work on transcribing this book into words for the blind, but my efforts are proving futile.”

  “Why is that?” Katie asked.

  Cecily hadn’t much discussed this aspect of her life’s work since coming to Hope Springs. She struggled to admit when she was incapable of doing something she’d put her mind to. But today, she was overwhelmed and frustrated. Perhaps talking about it would help. How often had she told her students that?

  “My sight has diminished further,” she said. “I can no longer read printed words even with my face all but touching the lantern.”

  “What will you do?” Katie asked.

  “I don’t know.” Cecily crossed back to the desk. “I had hoped to finish many more books before I was rendered entirely blind.” She ran her fingers over the leather cover of The Light Princess. “I was going to create an entire library.”

  “On your own?” Katie asked, clearly shocked at the idea. “By hand?”

  “It is tedious and slow work, but I love it.” She pushed the book a little away.

  “Reverend Ford says I am a very good reader,” Emma said. “He asks me to help teach the younger children. I’m teaching Katie.” The sweet child had a teacher’s heart, something Cecily understood well.

  “I could read the words to you,” Emma continued. “If I read them, you could write them in dots, couldn’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but . . . This takes hours and hours, over many, many weeks. Years, if the book is long.”

  “Or forever, if you never work on it again,” Emma declared.

  Cecily couldn’t argue with the truth of that.

  “Her father says our Emma is a force to be reckoned with,” Katie said. “I tend to believe him.”

  “I, for one, applaud a bit of fierceness in a woman, however young,” Cecily said. “This is a difficult world with strength of character, and an impossible one without it.”

  “That is the truth, and no denying it,” Biddy said.

  “I also advocate for humility enough to accept help when it is needed and offered.” Cecily sometimes struggled to admit when she was out of her depth. She did try, though. Here was an opportunity to do so again. “If you have a few moments to spare, Emma, I would appreciate you lending me your vision and your literacy.”

  “You speak like my grandmother,” Emma said. “She’s not from England, like you are, but she uses fancy words like you do.”

  Cecily had noticed Joseph Archer’s tendency to speak more formally as well. He likely hailed from America’s east coast and from a family of some means. Sorting the complicat
ed puzzle of all their lives was endlessly intriguing, yet she needed to focus on the matter at hand.

  “Katie?” Somehow Cecily had lost track of where everyone was standing.

  “Over here.”

  “Are you pressed for time, or may Emma help me for a little while?”

  “She is welcome to help you. I came hoping to do a bit of baking for Granny,” Katie said. “I won’t be done for a couple of hours.”

  “Well, then. Let’s begin. We’ll need to move my tools from the desk to the table, where we’ll have more room.”

  They managed the task quickly then settled in. Cecily found the ribbon marking the page she was on. She opened the book with a small thud against the tabletop and slid it closer to Emma. Cecily ran her fingertips over the last couple of lines on her parchment and read the words aloud.

  “‘So he went the next morning to the house of the princess, and, making a very humble apology, begged her to undo the spell.’ That’s where I left off.”

  After a moment, Emma piped up. “I found it.”

  “Read me one sentence at a time,” Cecily instructed. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready for more. This process is very slow.”

  “I am very patient,” Emma assured her.

  She was as good as her word. They worked for an entire hour without Emma giving any indication of being anything but perfectly pleased with her task. Cecily would need time to adjust to the necessity of this new method. So much of what she’d done for her students was meant to give them back their lives, but as her vision continued to fail, she felt as though she continually lost bits of her own.

  Just as sweet Emma’s voice was beginning to show signs of fatigue, the door opened—Tavish. She knew his walk straight off. A moment more, and she recognized Finbarr’s footsteps as well. He’d come for his Braille lesson, no doubt.

  “Finbarr is here.” Emma spoke no louder than a whisper.

  “I thought I recognized his footsteps.”

  The book closed softly. “I would like to go home now.”

  “Because Finbarr is here?” Cecily asked gently.

  Emma didn’t answer. Tension and distrust filled her silence.

  Cecily wasn’t sure how that friendship would be mended, or if it would be. The two would have to work it out between themselves.

  “Why, Miss Emma,” Tavish greeted. “What a delight. I’ve a butterscotch for you, your favorite.”

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course I did.” His footsteps brought him to where they sat. He set something, the butterscotch, no doubt, on the table.

  “I hope you’ve brought some for the whole class, young man,” Cecily said.

  “A class, is this?”

  She nodded regally. “I believe this gathering could be described as having a great deal of class, in fact.”

  He chuckled. “That bit of wordplay deserves a butterscotch.”

  She held her palm up. He set a candy in her hand, then folded her fingers around it. The gesture, though seemingly nothing of significance, felt surprisingly intimate. How she hoped the heat she felt steeling over her face wasn’t obvious to everyone.

  “She’s nearly as good at turning a phrase as you are, Tavish O’Connor,” Katie said.

  “Nearly as good?” Biddy countered. “I’d say she’s even better.”

  “Either way, they’re quite two peas in a pod.”

  That caused more of a blush. The subject would have to be turned before she was rendered red as a rose. “Do you need a bite to eat before we get to work, Finbarr?” she asked. “If so, Tavish, apparently, carries about a large supply of butterscotch.”

  “I’m not hungry just now,” Finbarr said. He’d come closer than she’d realized and likely stood just on the other side of Emma. The girl hadn’t fled at his approach. That seemed like a good sign. “Here is this, Miss Emma.” He set something on the table.

  “My wooden horse.” Her tone was full of amazement. “However did you find it? We looked and looked.”

  “You like to play with it in the back corner of the barn,” he said. “I thought perhaps it had fallen behind something.”

  “And you stumbled upon it?”

  “Not—not exactly.”

  “You searched for it?” She didn’t sound as though she fully believed him. “You did that . . . for me?”

  “I wished for you to have your horse back.” Finbarr left the explanation at that. His heavy but careful footfall came around the table. The chair legs scraped. “I’ve managed to write and can read my name in dots.” He was now talking to Cecily. “I’m slow, but I’m getting better.”

  “The ‘dots’ are known as Braille,” she reminded him. “Referring to the system by its true name makes it more real. This needs to be real to you. A real method, a real way of writing and reading. If you treat Braille as a second-class method, using it will always feel like something of a failure.”

  “But I’m so slow.”

  “Give it time,” she told him. “If you can summon the patience and wherewithal to search out a small, wooden horse in an enormous, dark barn, you can certainly give yourself time to master Braille. The two are not so different, you know. You didn’t give up on the horse because it was important to Emma. You won’t give up on Braille because it is important to you.”

  “I feel stupid,” he muttered.

  She quickly pressed a sentence into a fresh sheet of parchment. “Do you think you can read this?”

  “Probably not.”

  She pushed the paper over to him. “Try, Finbarr.”

  Emma still hadn’t left the table, and no one else had joined them, though she could hear Tavish, Biddy, and Katie in low conversation behind her.

  In the next moment, Finbarr burst out laughing. Deep, belly-shaking laughter. The rest of the room went silent.

  “The question is, Finbarr,” Cecily said, “do you agree?”

  He only laughed more.

  “What did you write?” Emma asked.

  Cecily remained as solemn as she could. “A secret . . . about Tavish.”

  “About me?” Tavish moved closer. “Cecee, what mischief is this?”

  She stood and held her hands up in a show of innocence. “Braille lessons, Tav.”

  “Tav?” He was there beside her, his tantalizing scent filling the air, and his nearness warming her.

  “Why should you be the only one handing out nicknames?”

  He ran his hand down her arm. She loved that rare gesture from him. “Could you not think of something better than ‘Tav’?”

  “What do you think, Finbarr? Am I capable of thinking of something better than ‘Tav’?”

  That started the laughing again.

  “What did you write, Cecee?”

  She wiggled her brows saucily.

  “You don’t mean to tell me?” He pulled her a touch closer.

  “Not even if you torture me.”

  “I’d not be so sure if I were you, miss. I’m a dab hand at torture.”

  She had missed this light, teasing banter. So much of their interactions of late had been heavy and mournful. Did he need this return to playfulness as much as she did? “Finbarr would stand with me. We are co-conspirators in this.”

  “We could defeat him with our eyes closed,” Finbarr declared.

  She almost could not hold back her grin, though she tried valiantly. “Especially since Tavish is so very old.”

  “The two of you joining forces against me is entirely unfair.” Tavish’s words were filled with his deep, rumbling laughter, belying his words.

  “I can’t deny it, brother.” Paper rustling followed Finbarr’s words. “I have it in writing.”

  “That’s what you put in your secret note?”

  She leaned her forehead against his shoulder and just let herself laugh. Feeling his arms around her and the joy of his teasing, she could breathe again. Her burdens lifted and lightened. She didn’t feel alone. He was a miracle in her life.

  “What’s th
at look for, Katie?” Tavish asked, still as jovial and amused. “Is this a conspiracy you’re part of as well?”

  “Oh, Tavish. ’Tis a grand thing to hear you laugh again.”

  “Come now, Katie. I laugh all the time.” He pulled Cecily fully into his arms once more and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Lately.”

  Lately. Cecily had been happier and more buoyant lately as well. She leaned into his embrace and let herself imagine what it would be like if she never had to let go.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  You won’t give up on this because it is important to you.

  Cecily’s words wouldn’t leave Tavish’s mind. She was helping Finbarr hold on to things that mattered to him, but who would help her claim the things she longed for? She’d spoken of wanting to see the ocean, the Rocky Mountains. She wanted to go home.

  Every time he held her, he sensed in her another wish, another hope, she’d left unspoken. She wanted to be happy, to be loved, to not be alone. He recognized the need because he longed for the same thing.

  He didn’t know how to give it to her. His own attempts at happiness and love and companionship never ended well. The people he cared about had left him, over and over again. He could, however, help her with the rest: the oceans and the mountains.

  On the next sunny day, Tavish borrowed the buggy from Ian and set off to find Cecily, a plan in mind that he hoped would bring her a bit of joy. The fates were smiling on him; he happened upon her just as she and Katie stepped out of the mercantile, where he’d decided to begin his search.

  She used her cane as she walked. He was glad it was helpful, but more than that, he was infinitely pleased to know that something he’d done for her mattered. ’Twas as if he’d given her a bit of himself to carry about, to offer support and strength.

  “A good afternoon to you, ladies,” he said, hopping down from the buggy. “Are you done with your business here?”