Sarah worked the knots out of the small of her back with her fingers. The morning was cold and she needed to start the tea. Dierdre snored loudly on the couch, bundled up in two wool rugs with one of John’s dogs. The fire was long gone cold.
Her arrival last night had been their Christmas miracle. Just the feeling of welcoming someone to their hearth on such a special night reminded her of Christmases past. And the dear woman had brought dinner. A cold roast chicken with potatoes and even gravy. It truly was a feast, as John kept saying all night.
Sarah walked softly to the stove to light it without disturbing them. She took a moment to warm her hands around the flame and then closed the stove door and began measuring out tea into a pot and pulling cold biscuits from the breadbox.
What Dierdre had not brought with her was Seamus.
Sarah eyed the grey clouds from her kitchen window. It was cold but it didn’t look like more snow on the way. She put a pan of water on the hot stove. As if I’d know snow clouds from any other kind, she thought to herself. And then she stopped. The fact was, after weeks of observing them, she did know which clouds spelled snow and which ones didn’t. The thought surprised her. But snow or not, she would need to leave their snug little cottage today. Now that Dierdre could stay with John, Sarah could finally go to Balinagh to see if there was any word on David. In fact, that was the first thought out of John’s mouth when he realized that Dierdre had come to stay for a while. He’d blurted it out over dinner and his words brought tears to Dierdre’s eyes.
“Sure, I knew there must be a reason why we hadn’t seen him in so long,” she said. “I told Seamus something awful bad must’ve happened.” Dierdre looked meaningfully at Sarah and Sarah knew it was because she needed her to go back to the farm and find Seamus. He’d walked away, “wandered off, as he’s wont to,” two days earlier. Given the weather, Dierdre wasn’t optimistic, but neither could she rest until he was found.
“But, there’s no hope for Seamus,” John had blurted out, looking from Sarah to Dierdre. “Dad might still be alive.”
“Of course, of course,” Dierdre had patted his hand. “Your mother must go and find your Da. Seamus can wait, sure he can.” But her eyes were sorrowful and belied her words.
Sarah poured the tea and mixed milk and sugar into two mugs. John would sleep a little longer but she could see that Dierdre was awake now. She realized how good it felt to have an extra person in the cottage. Dierdre was a strong countrywoman and a veritable font of useful information and skills. Having her stay with them would make everything so much easier—for all of them.
“Sure, you don’t have to be waitin’ on me, darlin’,” Dierdre said as she shuffled into the kitchen.
“I like to,” Sarah said, handing the woman a mug of tea.
“Needing to feel useful, are you?” Dierdre laughed and sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs.
Sarah turned to slice the biscuits open and lay them face down on the hot stove.
“I probably will never need to ‘feel useful’ again in my whole life,” she admitted. “I’ve never felt more essential and at the same time more irrelevant to our survival than I do here.”
“Ahhhh.” Dierde smiled and sipped her tea. “As soon as life gets too much for us, we finally let go and allow the Almighty his turn.”
“I guess it takes a world crisis to make us realize we’re not in control.”
“Nor were we ever.”
Sarah placed the toasted biscuits on a plate with a dish of jam and goat butter and set them between them. She sat down and cupped her own mug of tea.
“I’ll go find Seamus today,” she said quietly.
Dierdre looked at her over her mug. “And then you intend to go on to Balinagh afterwards.” It wasn’t a question.
Sarah looked again at the snow clouds outside the kitchen window. “I can do both.”
“Sure, the needin’ to know is a powerful thing,” Dierdre said, watching her. “I’ll not talk you out of it. I know he’s gone, my Seamus.” She put her mug down and stared out the window. “It’s just that…”
“I know.” Sarah reached out and touched the old woman’s hand.
“I wish you could’ve know him,” Dierdre said. She shook her head. “Sure, I see what you see…an addled old man who can’t remember his way home from the woodshed, but my God he was a force in his day.”
“Mike Donovan said he was the village school teacher.”
“Did he?” Dierde made a face. “Well, that’s true and all but I’ll be surprised if that’s really what people will remember Seamus for.”
“What do you mean?”
Dierde took a deep breath and Sarah could see she was fighting her emotions.
“Seamus was the handsomest lad in the village, many years ago. The glint in his eye was matched by the brightness of his wit. Oh, he had a tongue. Every lass in Balinagh was in love with him, sure.”
“But you got him,” Sarah said, her eyes moving to John’s form in bed wondering if he were asleep or listening.
Dierdre shook her head again. “If you could’ve known him,” she said to Sarah. “As alive and bright as any could be… that he chose me was mystery enough. To end up… to end up…”
Sarah touched her hand again. “I’ll find him, Dierdre,” she said. “I promise I’ll find him.”
Dierdre nodded, her tears falling now. “Please, God,” she said.
Betta stood by David’s bed and wrung her hands. Her face was florid as if she’d just run a race, her hands were grey with grime. She was looking at him as if she expected him to levitate or spontaneously combust at the very least.
David’s stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time she had brought food to him. His head was aching and he felt so weak. It was all he could do to speak.
“I need water, Betta,” he said, hearing his voice resemble more of a croak. “I can’t do anything. I can’t help you unless you give me water.”
Betta appeared not to hear him.
“What could I do?” she repeated to him. “I did what I thought was best. Did I do right, Danny? Did I?”
David tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying to him but she been nonsensically rambling or ranting for weeks now and the effort to understand her usually mattered little in the end. He closed his eyes.
“You did right,” he whispered. “Water, Betta. Please, water.”
She pulled up a chair to the bed and leaned in close.
“Margie and Jamie came this morning, did you know? Did you hear? Sure, you must’ve heard them.”
David tried to remember who they were. His brain seemed to have stopped working. He licked his dry lips.
“You heard them, Danny, didn’t you? They asked about you. Did you hear that?”
David opened his eyes.
“They were… people were… here?” he managed.
“Margie and Jamie, I told you,” she said with impatience. “They just left. I know you saw them.” She stood up and jerked open the curtain across the window in the room which looked out over the front yard and the entrance to the house. “You saw them and you heard me tell them you’d gone.” She sounded like she had caught him in a terrible crime.
“My… my horse…” he stuttered as he realized rescue had been minutes from his front door and he had slept through it.
“Your horse is in the barn. Do you think that stupid get my daughter married was going to go looking for your horse? They believed me when I told them you’d left weeks ago.”
She sat and watched as a single tear escaped his eye and found its way down his face.