Call Home the Heart (13 page)

 

 

Muireann also wrote to her brother-in-law Neil, telling him of the
dreadful state of affairs at Barnakilla, but making him swear not to
tell another living soul, especially not her sister Alice.

 

 

She knew she was taking a risk, but someone had to know how bad
things really were. She found this unbridled outpouring of her heart
cathartic, as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Neil would help her keep the place afloat, she was certain.

 

 

But though she longed to confide everything in him, she knew she
simply couldn't. If she did, Neil would be over in an instant,
insisting on her coming home. No, Muireann could never tell another
living soul the sorry truth about her dreadful marriage, and the
terrifying events which had taken place behind the closed doors of
the Gresham until that one pistol ball had at last ended the
nightmare. Muireann herself certainly never wanted to think about
any of it ever again.

 

 

In a final paragraph, she asked about the stocks and shares, and any
financial investments in her name, then signed off the letter with a
cheerful message to take care of himself and Alice and reply
quickly.

 

 

She was just sealing this letter when Lochlainn came out of his
room.

 

 

She glanced up at him nervously as he loomed over her.

 

 

"It's very late."

 

 

She answered tensely, "I'm just off to bed. Will you show me the
house tomorrow? Afterwards we can go into town and see the
accountant and the lawyer."

 

 

"Of course. But are you sure . . ."

 

 

"There's no sense in postponing the inevitable. I'm not a fool,
Lochlainn. I've seen Barnakilla in the moonlight, and that was bad
enough. Now I need to face up to it in the cold light of day.
Besides, you're the one who just finished telling me time was of the
essence."

 

 

"You're very brave," he said, stroking one curl which tumbled down
over her brow.

 

 

Muireann stepped away, terrified at the nearness of him, the way she
seemed to melt every time he touched her, however gently.

 

 

"Not so brave, Lochlainn. I admit I'm frightened at times. But I
can't afford to be weak. I can't allow myself to lean too heavily on
you. Do you understand?"

 

 

Lochlainn stiffened and dropped his hand.

 

 

"Yes, Muireann, I do. But you know where to find me if you need me."

 

 

She smiled tentatively. "Good night, Lochlainn."

 

 

"Good night." He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face until at
last he shut his door.

 

 

Muireann went into Ciara's room. After unbuttoning the top of her
gown, she lay down on the pallet, and forced herself to relax by
taking deep breaths. She had wanted Lochlainn to hold her, kiss her.
Was it so wrong?

 

 

But she sensed Ciara's disapproval of her friendship with Lochlainn,
which was obviously growing closer. Lochlainn had touched her hand,
arm, or shoulder, sat next to her closely on the bench, indeed,
barely ever taken his eyes off her at the meal. Sooner or later
people were bound to notice, to gossip.

 

 

Muireann could also see how embarrassed he had felt about his poor
home, how desperate he had been to make a good impression upon her.
The worst of it was, she didn't care about any of those things. But
of course to even mention his unease openly would be to risk
offending him. She could see he was very proud.

 

 

Sadly, Muireann reflected that Lochlainn seemed to assume his
accommodations and food weren't good enough. But there were plenty
of worse things than a small thatched cottage and rabbit stew, such
as being homeless and starving, which was what they would all be if
she didn't pull everything together soon.

 

 

Muireann rolled over onto her side, and forced herself to think of
all the lovely scenery she had passed though on the way from Dublin.
All the blue and green of the Fermanagh lakelands. Surely there
could be a lot worse places to live. She had seen far bleaker spots
in her travels in Scotland over the years. She would succeed. She
had to.

 

 

Though she tried to block Lochlainn out of her mind, her last waking
thoughts were of the torrid kiss they had shared in the coach, and
Lochlainn's glimmering gray eyes melding intimately with her own.

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

After a restless night, during which it seemed she did nothing but
toss and turn, Muireann rose early in the morning. After dressing,
she went to the pump for water, and built up the fire with turf from
the stack outside the cottage.

 

 

She busied herself making porridge for the three of them, and also
washed her face and hands once the water was hot.

 

 

Lochlainn came out of his room first and scolded Muireann for not
staying in bed longer.

 

 

"I'm fine, really. I had a very good night," she lied. She was sure
if she admitted she hadn't had a good rest that Lochlainn would
think it was because she had been sleeping on the floor.

 

 

Ciara overheard the conversation through her bedroom door, however.
When Muireann had gone to fill another creel of turf, she came out
of her room and remarked, "She had a terrible night last night,
tossing and turning, moaning in her sleep."

 

 

"I know, I heard," Lochlainn admitted, his expression one of deep
concern. "But she seems calm enough this morning, and not at all
tearful."

 

 

"I suppose it must be because it's all so strange for her, being
here, so far away from home."

 

 

"It's odd, though. She didn't have any nightmares at all the last
two nights," Lochlainn remarked absent-mindedly as he ate his
porridge.

 

 

He only looked up to see his sister's disconcerted face when she
exclaimed, "What did you say?"

 

 

"After Augustine died, we shared a room so I could keep an eye on
her. Besides, it was cheaper, and you know how bad our finances are.
It just seemed to make sense at the time," he answered quickly and
seemingly innocently, though he could feel an uncharacteristic blush
rising to his cheeks. "Muireann appeared fine, but perhaps she was
too fine."

 

 

Ciara frowned. "What do you mean?"

 

 

"I saw Father Brennan while I was in Dublin. He was kind enough to
take care of the funeral even though Augustine had died under
peculiar circumstances. After the ceremony he warned me that
Muireann might try to block things out, overdo things. Make every
effort to try to appear normal. He was afraid she might get in over
her head here at Barnakilla once she found out the appalling state
of affairs, and asked me to be extra vigilant.

 

 

"So now I'm asking you the same thing. Will you keep an eye on her,
try to befriend her? After all, if Muireann crumbles, we'll be
walking the roads with only the clothes on our backs, every single
one of us."

 

 

Ciara looked gloomier than ever, but she promised her brother she
would try. "Poor thing. How she ever married Augustine Caldwell I
have no idea." She shuddered, then rose from the table and began
scrubbing the dishes frenetically.

 

 

"It would be better for her if she had never come here. This is an
unhappy place, Barnakilla," she remarked, looking appraisingly at
her brother for a few more seconds.

 

 

Lochlainn rose from his chair and went into his chamber to wash and
shave, wondering what on earth had got into Ciara now.

 

 

He came out dressed in a clean shirt, waistcoat and trousers a few
moments later, and put his used linens in the laundry pile.

 

 

Muireann at last came in with the turf.

 

 

He didn't approve of her hauling the creel, but he decided to hold
his tongue, and simply took one end to help her carry it across to
the hearth.

 

 

She sat down to eat her porridge in silence. He could see her face
was clouded over. She had no doubt walked around some of the
cottages and seen for herself the poverty and squalor many had to
endure.

 

 

He tried to cheer her by declaring, "Well, we'll have lots to do
today, won't we? And Ciara here is going to help you get the big
house in order once again. After all, she was housekeeper there for
many years." Lochlainn smiled at his sister.

 

 

The bowl Ciara had been washing flew from her hands and smashed into
pieces on the floor. Ciara began to weep then, and ran into her room
and slammed the door.

 

 

Muireann and Lochlainn both stared at each other across the table.

 

 

Lochlainn made to rise from his seat.

 

 

"No, don't! Just leave her," Muireann said, her hand shooting out to
grab his wrist.

 

 

"But she's..."

 

 

"Yes, of course she's upset. We all are. I know it's bad enough for
me, having to come here like this and confront the reality of
poverty, poverty such as I have never known, and which will get much
worse for you all if I can't do something to improve matters here.
How much more terrible it must be for you, Lochlainn, remembering
this estate when it was once prosperous.

 

 

"So consider how difficult it must be for Ciara, who stayed behind
and watched Barnakilla decline while you were away in Australia.
Everyone here has suffered. Surely you can see that? So please be
patient with her. You probably just reminded her of all she has
lost."

 

 

His eyes narrowed. "You never got upset yesterday when you sold
everything you owned."

 

 

She shrugged one shoulder. "All people are different, and respond in
different ways to a crisis. After I buried Augustine yesterday, I
determined to force myself to let go of the past. There's no sense
in regretting mistakes, or things we can't change.

 

 

"You mentioned the things I sold, the gowns, the carriage. In a
sense, Lochlainn, none of those things were really mine. They were
all new, for one thing. And in another sense, they belonged to
Muireann Graham, feted new bride. Now I'm Muireann Graham Caldwell,
poor widow. I have to learn how to fit this new role somehow. So
those things don't matter, except for the money they have given us
to start again. I'll do my best to wipe the slate clean and rebuild
my life as well as Barnakilla."

 

 

Lochlainn silently fed the fire again while Muireann cleaned up the
broken shards of pottery and finished the last of the washing up.
Then she called to Ciara through the door, "I'm going up to the
house now. I'll see you there whenever you're ready."

 

 

Lochlainn looked down at Muireann, his gray gaze mingling intimately
with her own. "Thank you for being kind to her."

 

 

"Not at all. She looks like she could use a friend, and so can I."

 

 

The sun shone brightly as she stepped out into the lane which led
from the cluster of cottages to the mansion. Lochlainn followed
along behind, and Muireann commented fairly enthusiastically about
all she saw.

 

 

"There are some very old trees here, and the land looks quite
fertile. There aren't nearly as many rocks and not as much bracken
as we would have around our way. How's the pasture land?"

 

 

"Good, if we had any livestock, but all of it went. There isn't so
much as a chicken around the place."

 

 

"But we will need milk, butter, eggs. Do we at least have any
horses?"

 

 

"Now that you've sold the carriage team, just two cart horses."

 

 

"That means we can get into town at least," Muireann said with
evident relief.

 

 

Lochlainn took her around to the front of the house and let her in
through the huge creaking wooden portal with a massive key.

 

 

A scurry of mice and evidence of various nests were the first things
to greet her in the foyer. She stared in the semi-darkness at the
cobwebs, which were about the only furnishings in the place. Going
from room to empty room, her heart sank into her boots.

 

 

There was nothing left of the once great Barnakilla except filth and
squalor, as though Augustine had simply left his rubbish wherever it
had landed.

 

 

The only rooms which were distinguishable were the small office,
which had a sofa with some grimy blankets on it, indicating to
Muireann where Augustine had slept during his occasional visits to
Barnakilla. The library was crammed full of books, but there were
only one or two rickety chairs and a very old sofa remaining. Other
than that, all of the reception rooms downstairs were completely
empty. Every stick of furniture had been sold.

 

 

The kitchen was full of mice and rats as well, but Muireann saw some
distinct possibilities for it. It was huge, and in Barnakilla's
better days had been bustling. It had several ovens for baking and
roasting, a bread oven, and even one for smoking attached to the far
end of it. There was a huge copper cauldron with a spigot which hung
suspended above a grate and a large tub. Muireann saw it was a water
boiler for doing the laundry, with several large sinks nearby, no
doubt for the same purpose. Best of all, there were two water pumps
close by.

 

 

The larders were exceptionally large, stretching from floor to
ceiling, and there were some baskets of vegetables and canisters of
flour, oats and sugar on the shelves.