Love Remains

by Sarah M. Eden

  “We are,” Cecily said.

  “Well, then, allow me to offer the both of you a ride back home.” He tossed her his most winning smile before remembering she likely couldn’t see it. Though the day was bright, and they were out of doors, he didn’t think her sight was that acute.

  “You’ve only just arrived,” Katie objected. “We’ve no wish to keep you from your own errand.”

  “I came with no other goal but to fetch a couple of sweet colleens back to their homes.”

  Katie leveled him a dry look. “You’ve known me going on two years, Tavish O’Connor. When are you going to get it into your head that, though I am a lot of things, ‘sweet’ is not one of them?” The old argument between them had begun in earnest on her side and in jest on his, but had long since become a welcome reason to laugh.

  “My apologies,” he said in a tone of exaggerated regret. “I should have said one sweet colleen and one rather difficult one.”

  “Why can’t I be ‘rather difficult’?” Cecily asked, a dramatic air of offense heavy in her demeanor and words.

  “The two of you together are trouble,” he said with a laugh. “Hop in the buggy before I change m’ mind.”

  Katie managed the thing on her own, something she’d always preferred while they were courting, something that used to bother him, especially as she’d allowed Joseph the privilege of assisting her. Looking back, that ought to have served as a clue as to where her deepest affections had been, but now he found he didn’t particularly care one way or the other any longer if Katie didn’t want his assistance.

  He set his attention, instead, on Cecily. “This is a new vehicle for you,” he warned. “Let me know how I can best help you climb up safely.”

  She considered. “How high does it sit? Would it be a simple matter of stepping up, or would I need to use the wheel hub?”

  He eyed the buggy, never having given much thought to the mechanics of getting in. “’Tisn’t so high as a proper wagon. You’ll find a step on the side bridging the gap between the ground and the floor of the buggy.”

  She nodded. “If you’ll lend me a hand and talk me through where to put my foot, and perhaps put a hand on my back for stability, I think I can manage it.”

  “And if you think wrong? Ought I to have the preacher prepare a eulogy?”

  She grinned. “Only if the preacher promises to say nice things about me. They needn’t be true, only very, very flattering.”

  “What do you say we focus on safely navigating the treacherous ascent, and not bother Reverend Ford with concocting such a pack of lies?”

  She nodded solemnly. “A very wise course of action.”

  In the end, she needed only a bit of assistance to find the step, and the lightest, steadying touch on her back to get up and settle on the front bench. Katie sat in back, and Tavish took his place beside Cecily.

  Applying his heaviest accent, he said, “Tavish’s hackney at your service, ladies. We’ll be on our way presently.”

  He saw Katie safely to her door, and soon the buggy was rolling over the wooden bridge.

  “The river is running,” Cecily said in surprise. “Do you hear it?”

  “Honestly, I don’t,” he admitted. “But now that you said so, looks like a bit in the middle has thawed.”

  “Does the river usually thaw in January?” she asked.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “when the winter has turned unseasonably warm as this one has, though it usually freezes over again and won’t entirely thaw until April or so.”

  They talked about winter and freezes and more about the weather. Even the most mundane of topics was interesting when the two of them were discussing it.

  He guided the buggy off the road to the path leading past his house.

  “Why are we going to your home?” she asked.

  “How did you—? Do you know how far it is from the bridge to my—”

  “I can see your house right there.” She pointed directly at it.

  That seemed an encouraging thing. “Then your vision isn’t entirely gone yet.”

  “The day is bright. We’re outdoors. A house is large, which helps. I can’t see many details, but I can see the outline well enough to know it’s yours.”

  “That bodes very well for the rest of our afternoon, a chara,” he said. “You see, I am kidnapping you and taking you on an adventure. And if you can see my house, you’ll likely be able to see what it is I’m taking you to see.”

  “What are you taking me to see?” she said, with not so much as a moment’s uncertainty over spending the day with him or the unplanned excursion. Perhaps she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers.

  “It is a surprise, love.” The love slipped out naturally. Cecily didn’t seem at all struck by it. That could either be good or bad.

  They continued up the path that bordered his fields, past the rows and rows of dormant berry bushes and vines. On and on. Farther and farther back until they reached their destination.

  “Stay put for just a moment,” he instructed. “I’ll come around and help you down. ’Tis a bit icy.”

  She didn’t argue or object. He hurried to her side of the buggy and reached up for her hand, talking her through the descent and seeing her safely on her feet once more.

  “Will I need my cane?” she asked.

  “I’ll happily walk you about,” he said. “But if you’d like your cane, you’re welcome to it.” He knew using her cane represented freedom to her, and he’d no desire to take that away.

  “I suppose you’re trustworthy.” She set the cane on the buggy seat.

  “I’ll fetch it for you if you change your mind.”

  Her smile was sweet and light. “Thank you.”

  He pulled a blanket from the basket in the back of the buggy and set it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you, again.”

  He snatched two more blankets and tucked them under one arm, then held out his other arm for her to take hold of. “Just this way.”

  As they walked together, he kept a slow pace so she could be certain of her footing. They hadn’t far to go.

  Having reached the area he wanted, he pulled his arm away and flicked open one of the blankets, laying it across a bench he’d made from a log many years earlier. This was a spot he’d frequented, and he’d quickly discovered the importance of having a place to sit that wasn’t muddy.

  He guided Cecily and saw her situated on the bench, then sat beside her. He set the third blanket across their laps. The winter was warmer than usual, but the air was still quite frigid.

  “I am entirely turned around,” she said. “I haven’t the slightest idea where we are.”

  “This is the far end of my property,” he said, “and quite possibly my favorite place in all the world, excepting Ireland.”

  She set her head against the side of his shoulder. “The pull of home is a strong one, isn’t it?”

  ’Twas a gift from above to have another person understand him the way she did. To be able to turn to her with thoughts and worries without any need to defend those feelings, nor even to explain them.

  “You told me many weeks ago that you’d dreamed of seeing the Rocky Mountains before your sight was gone entirely. Our mountains, those just off in the distance, are a branch of the Rockies. They aren’t the majestic ones you were likely hoping for, but they are the Rockies.” He glanced at her face, hoping to gauge her reaction. He’d grown more adept at determining her thoughts without seeing her eyes. In that moment, she looked thoughtful.

  “I wasn’t certain you’d be able to see them from this distance, but ’tisn’t safe yet to travel much closer. Even when we take sleighs out to gather firewood, we don’t go that direction.”

  “I can see their outline—not sharply, but I can see them.” She didn’t lift her head from his shoulder.

  Did she need comfort, or was she simply weary? He couldn’t say with any degree of certainty.

  “It is lovely the way the view is fram
ed by the trees,” she said. She could see that much, then. He’d hoped she would.

  “This pond in front of us is mine. A larger one is farther, outside of town. The ranchers water their cattle there. But this one is mine.”

  “We had a lake at my home in England.” Emotion touched her words. “This is almost like being there again.”

  He’d struggled to think of a means of giving her back a glimpse of her homeland. Had he accidentally managed it?

  “I hoped the lake would serve as an almost-acceptable substitute for the Pacific Ocean, which I realize is giving it a great deal too much credit. But I cannot get you to the ocean, sweetheart, and I cannot get you back to England. This is all I have to offer.”

  She pulled her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “I’ve spent so much time over the last years looking after myself, by myself. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have someone care about me. But this . . . This is wonderful, Tavish.”

  Relief and joy and the welcome whisper of peace he always felt with her settled over him once more. “Do you like it, then?”

  “It is beautiful.”

  He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close, both of their gazes resting on the horizon ahead. “It truly is. I knew the moment I saw the view that I wanted this farm. ’Tis a fine thing to have m’ own pond, as well.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  “I do, but only ever by myself. I’ve only ever shown it to one other person.”

  “Bridget,” she guessed.

  “She loved it as well, though she hardly held still long enough to truly see it.” He found he could laugh lightly at the memory. “She overflowed with energy, never able to entirely stop moving.”

  “You must find me unbearably sedate,” she said. “I tend to be quite still.”

  “I have gained an appreciation for stillness,” he said.

  Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “I don’t think anyone could help but be peaceful in this place. I can imagine the sound of the pond in the warmer months. It must be very soothing.”

  “When the thaw’s complete and it’s safe to do so, I’ll take you nearer the mountains,” he offered. “Then you can see them more clearly.”

  She didn’t immediately answer, which wasn’t like her.

  “Cecee?”

  “My eyes have been hurting again,” she said quietly.

  He knew what that meant. She was losing more of her vision. He hadn’t the first idea what to say to ease her heartache.

  “What if this time, I lose what little sight I have left?”

  “Oh, darling.”

  She pulled off her spectacles and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her blanket. “I’ve known this was coming for years, but I’m not at all ready.”

  She had helped him face so many of his burdens. Yet he couldn’t take this pain from her. He couldn’t do a thing to make it better. He simply held her closer, struggling for words in the midst of frustrating helplessness.

  “I keep telling myself that while some of the things I wanted to do won’t happen, the things I want most—helping others who have lost their sight, making their lives better—I can still do. I can look after myself. I can work at the school where I was educated. Though I will need to find someone to dictate the books for me to transcribe, I can still work on my Braille library. I can still do all of those things. So there’s no reason for me to be upset.”

  Her emotion grew thicker with each word. “It isn’t as if I wasn’t forewarned. It isn’t as if my entire world is crumbling unexpectedly. I—I shouldn’t be crying over this. I should be stronger.”

  “It isn’t weakness to cry or to struggle,” Tavish said. She herself had told him so. “And leaning on someone when you’re burdened doesn’t mean you’re not strong.”

  She trembled with her next difficult, shaking breath. “I feel like I’m falling apart, Tavish.”

  He rested his head against hers and rubbed her arm with his hand. “You’re facing a loss. I think, a mhuirnín, you need to let yourself grieve.”

  “I’m not certain I can.” She held tight to her spectacles. “I’ve leaned so long on the hope that somehow this would not be the end result. Grieving would make it real.”

  He’d finally faced that same daunting part of acceptance, but thanks to her, he hadn’t done so alone. He would not abandon her to her own mourning now.

  “You needn’t face this alone,” he told her. “This place is magical. We can visit here as long and as often as you need. I’ll sit here with you and hold you while you grieve, just as you’ve done for me.”

  “You’re offering to carry this burden with me for a time?”

  Oh, Cecily. I am offering so much more than that. If only . . .

  If only.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Cecily knocked hard on Tavish’s front door. The hour was yet early. Surely he’d awoken by now. But the knock went unanswered. A second one received no response either.

  “Where are you?” she called. She forced herself to think. When she’d come daily for Finbarr’s lessons, he’d been in the barn before breakfast.

  The barn. Of course.

  Cecily set one hand on the side of the house and held her cane out with the other. She carefully made her way to the back of the house. The dim morning light made the distant structure almost impossible to make out, but she could see just enough to know which direction to go. Even so, if not for her cane, the short journey would have resulted in a number of stumbles and stubbed toes. Tavish’s gift meant more than he likely realized.

  When she reached the barn, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was too dark for her to make out anything.

  “Tavish?” she called out. “Tavish?”

  “Cecee?” His confused voice echoed from some distance away. “What in the name of the saints has you here so early?”

  “Granny is ill.”

  He was at her side in but an instant. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s feverish, and she’s been moaning. I can’t see if her coloring is bad or much of anything else. I need your help.”

  “Of course. Finbarr, can you finish up in here?”

  “I can.”

  Tavish pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her outside. “How feverish?”

  “Quite warm to the touch but not the least bit clammy.” Had she been sweating, Cecily might not have been so worried. A breaking fever was reason for relief.

  “And the moans. Are they of pain, or discomfort or . . . ?”

  “Discomfort, I would guess. I can’t say for certain.” How she wished she could. “It’s her cough that has me most concerned. It’s worse than before. Tavish, I’m worried.”

  They moved at a swift clip. She held her cane high enough in her hand to clear the ground. With Tavish guiding her, she didn’t worry about losing her footing. She was anxious to return to Granny. The dear woman had offered her kindness when the rest of the Irish had treated her with suspicion and disdain. She and Granny had begun on something of an awkward footing, but in the end, they’d found a friendship, one Cecily deeply cherished.

  Tavish didn’t say much as they made their short journey. His mind was no doubt too heavy for conversation. They went through the door, across the house, and into Granny’s room. The path didn’t deviate in the least.

  “Now what’s this I hear about you being under the weather, Granny?” Tavish had somehow summoned a chipper tone. “Were you wanting a bit of attention, is that it?”

  Granny’s response consisted of a chest-rattling cough, not one brought on by a laugh or an attempt at speech, but by the simple act of breathing.

  “Sit with her,” Cecily whispered. “You are always a comfort to her.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped his arm free of hers, and his distinctive footfalls took him to Granny’s bedside.

  “You feel terrible warm, Granny,” he said. “I think we’d best lay a cool c
loth across your forehead, see if we can’t bring your fever down a bit.”

  “That might help.” Though feeble, her response was encouraging; it was complete, coherent, and spoken aloud.

  “And perhaps a bit of broth to keep your strength up.” Tavish’s tenderness with his adoptive grandmother couldn’t help but touch the heart of all who witnessed it.

  “I . . . will try,” Granny said.

  “Tend to her fever,” Cecily told Tavish. “I’ll make some broth.”

  She left them there as she set her mind on her task. Granny had seemed frailer of late, even before this alarming turn for the worse. Cecily hadn’t been sure if the change was simply the result of winter taking its toll on an aged body or if Granny was truly growing weaker.

  Tavish cannot endure another loss. He is only now beginning to face Bridget’s passing.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to think in such terms. Granny might simply be tired and a bit under the weather. And the cough might be nothing more than . . .

  Cecily could find no satisfactory answer.

  She had a pot of water and vegetables simmering when Tavish joined her in the kitchen. “How is she?” she asked.

  His slow, lung-emptying breath told its own story. “I’d best fetch Ma.”

  “Granny is that ill?” She’d so hoped that wasn’t the case.

  “It isn’t so much that this illness is severe, I don’t think. She’s simply so frail. I don’t know if she has the strength to fight even the most minor of sicknesses.”

  Pain stabbed deep at those truthful, difficult words. “Oh, Tavish.”

  “Don’t you start crying, or I will. And I’m not ready for that yet.”

  She brushed away a hair tickling her nose and blinked back the threat of tears.

  “Although,” Tavish said, “I could use a hug if you’ve one to spare.”

  She had no need to think. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He held her fast in return. She felt every breath he took, the strength of his embrace, the firm, stalwartness of this man who’d remained standing through so much tragedy and struggle, who’d shown her that she could admit to her limitations and not be weaker for them.