Call Home the Heart (20 page)

 

 

"No, I just had a splendid idea, that's all. But I can't tell you.
It would spoil the surprise. When is your birthday?"

 

 

"My what?"

 

 

"Your birthday," Lochlainn repeated.

 

 

"At the end of April. Why?"

 

 

"Perfect." He grinned, and refused to say any more, even when she
threatened to make him take the cattle home, while she rode back
with Patrick.

 

 

Lochlainn smiled, flashing his even white teeth. "You wouldn't dream
of it. You need me to keep an eye on you."

 

 

Muireann marveled at how handsome he was, and shyly peeped at him
from under her long thick dark lashes and lapsed into silence.

 

 

They finished their impromptu dinner, and Lochlainn helped Muireann
dust the pastry flakes off herself before taking her arm.

 

 

"Patrick, you start walking the cattle back. We'll see you on the
road as soon as we've finished shopping," Lochlainn ordered him.

 

 

Muireann and Lochlainn hurried to complete their errands, since
darkness was already beginning to descend upon the town, and they
needed to get back to Barnakilla that night.

 

 

Once they had finished in the market, Muireann helped load up the
cart and mounted the box. She volunteered to drive, and to pass time
until they had to change their horses at Manorhamilton again,
Muireann suggested they sing.

 

 

"No, no, I couldn't," Lochlainn said, coloring with embarrassment.

 

 

"Nonsense, the Irish who used to work on our estate always sang."

 

 

"Well, I can't," he said moodily.

 

 

Lochlainn was surprised that she could even think of singing after
she had been so recently widowed. But then everything about this
young slip of a girl was astonishing. If it made her feel better,
passed the time, and kept their minds off the bitter cold now
setting in, then it was all right with him.

 

 

"You can sing, if you like."

 

 

"I'll sing one that I learnt from some of the workers," Muireann
offered.

 

 

"What's is called?"

 

 

"The Flower of Magherally."

 

 

Lochlainn thought for a moment. "Magherally, that's over in the
east."

 

 

"That's where they were from. County Down, isn't it?"

 

 

"Yes, you're right," Lochlainn confirmed, as he put his arm around
her to protect her against the cold.

 

 

"Anyway, just hope I can remember the words and carry the tune," she
said, and began to sing.

 

 

 

"One pleasant summer's morning, when all the flowers were springing
O!

 

Nature was adorning, and the wee birds sweetly singing O!

 

I met my love near Banbridge Town, my charming blue-eyed Sally O!

 

She's the queen of the county Down, and the flower of Magherally O!

 

 

With admiration did I gaze, upon this blue-eyed maiden O!

 

Adam wasn't half so much plazed, when he met Eve in Eden O!

 

Her skin was like the lily white that grows in yonder valley O!

 

She's my queen and my heart's delight, and the flower of Magherally
O!

 

 

Her yellow hair in ringlets clung, her shoes were Spanish leather O!

 

Her bonnet with blue ribbons strung, her scarlet cap and feather O!

 

Like Venus bright did she appear, my charming blue-eyed Sally O!

 

She's the girl that I love dear, the flower of Magherally O!

 

 

I hope the say will surely come, when we'll join hands together O!

 

It's then I'll bring my darling home, in spite of wind and weather
O!

 

And let them all say what they will, and let them reel and rally O!

 

For I shall wed the girl I love, she's the flower of Magherally O!

 

 

"That's a lovely song," Lochlainn praised when she had finished, and
he asked her to recite the words for him more slowly.

 

 

"It always reminds me of my sister Alice. She's blond-haired and
blue-eyed, and very beautiful."

 

 

"Tara was the same, like a Venus. But beauty is of course only
skin-deep, isn't it? A person could be lovely on the outside, but
spiteful and cruel on the inside," Lochlainn said, his face morose
once more.

 

 

 "I'm sorry. I seem to have remind you of her again."

 

 

"No, not really. You don't remind me of her in the least," Lochlainn
said candidly, his admiration of Muireann plain to be seen.

 

 

Muireann looked at him for a few seconds as the last rays of the sun
glowed along the horizon, and smiled.

 

 

"I'm relieved to hear it. Now, are you going to sing for me or not?"

 

 

Lochlainn wracked his brain, and in the end he said, "I do have one
song, but it's in Irish."

 

 

"It doesn't matter. I can still appreciate the tune, even if I don't
get the words. But Irish is very similar to Scots Gaelic, so I don't
think I should have too much trouble," she said encouragingly.

 

 

"It's called ‘Tá mé ‘mo shuí,' which you can
translate into ‘I am sitting up.'"

 

 

"I understood that. Go on."

 

 

 

Tá mé ‘mo shuí ó d'eirigh'n ghealach
aréir

 

Ag curteine síos go buan is á fadó go
géar

 

Tá bunadh a' tí ‘na luí is tá mise lion
féin

 

Tá na coiligh ag glaoch ‘san saol ‘na gcoladh ach mé.

 

 

‘Sheacht mh'anam déag do bhéal do mhala is do ghrua

 

Do shúil ghorm ghlé-gheal fár thréig
mé íonnach na lúb

 

Le cumha do diaidh ní léir dom an bealach a
shiúil

 

Is a charaid mo chléibh tá na slíbhte ‘dul idir
meís tú

 

 

Deiridh lucht léinn gur claoite an galar an grá

 

Char admaigh mé is é índiaidh mo chroí
istigh a chrá

 

Aicid ró-ghear, faraor nár sheachin mé ‘

 

Is go gcuireann s' arraing is Ciaraád go géar
trí cheart-lár mo chroí

 

 

Casadh bean-tsí dom th'os ag Lios Bhál an Átha

 

D'fiafraigh mé di an scaoilfeadh glas ar bith grá

 

Is é duirt sí gos iseal I mbriathra soineannta
sáimh

 

"An grá a théid fán chroí ní
scaoiltear as é go bráth.

 

 

"That was beautiful," Muireann admired at the end of the song. "I
understood most of that, but could you do it once more, so I can
translate it fully? Then you can check my translation?"

 

 

"All right. It's a good way to pass the time, and singing certainly
keeps you warm."

 

 

So Lochlainn sang it a second time, and Muireann translated each of
the verses.

 

 

 

I am sitting up since the moon arose last night

 

Putting down a fire again and again and keeping it lit,

 

The family is in bed and here am I by myself,

 

The cocks are crowing and the country is asleep but me.

 

 

I love your mouth, your eyebrows and your cheeks,

 

Your bright eyes for whose sake I stopped hunting the wily fox,

 

In longing for you I cannot see to walk the road

 

Deaest of my heart, the mountains lie between you and me.

 

 

Learned men say that love is a fatal sickness

 

I never admitted it until now that my heart is broken:

 

It's a very painful illness, alas, I have not avoided it,

 

It sends a hundred arrows through the core of my heart.

 

 

I met a fairy woman at the Rath of Beal an Atha,

 

I asked her would any key unlock the love in my heart

 

And she said in soft simple language

 

When love enters the heart it will never be driven from it.

 

 

"Very good," Lochlainn praised. "I had no idea you could speak
Gaelic."

 

 

"Why not?"

 

 

"Well, none of the landlords around here ever did. The aunt who
raised myself and Ciara spoke it, of course, but we were discouraged
from speaking it. People over here say it's an inferior language."

 

 

"But it's our language, one that has survived thousands of years, or
so the scholars tell us," Muireann defended her native tongue
vigorously. "I must admit my parents frowned on it, but we used to
have a summer home up on the Isle of Skye when I was young, and
that's where I learned it. I'm proud to be a Gaelic speaker."

 

 

"We should practice on each other. As you say, they don't seem to be
all that different."

 

 

The time passed even more quickly as they compared words and laughed
good-naturedly over their varying pronunciations, which sounded
quite strange to the other.

 

 

Soon they could see Patrick and the cows up ahead, and they told him
to hop on the cart. Lochlainn drove on to Manorhamilton, where they
changed back to their original set of horses, now well rested, and
had a tasty hot meal of soup and fresh bread with cheese and ham for
supper.

 

 

Muireann warmed herself by the fire of the inn with a steaming cup
of tea, before Lochlainn told her they had to go on.

 

 

"Why don't you lie down in the back of the wagon? We can wrap you up
in all the blankets and you can get some sleep. It's been a long
day, and you'll be done in tomorrow."

 

 

"No, I'm fine. Besides, you need someone to chat with to stay awake,
and Patrick has to sit at the back to keep an eye on the cows."

 

 

Thus they once more resumed their places in the cart, and again
passed the time singing and chatting. Muireann rested her head
wearily on Lochlainn's broad shoulder, and with his arm securely
around her, they gazed up at the stars.

 

 

"I had no idea it would be so, so lovely, stirring." She smiled
softly up at him as they neared Barnakilla. "Thank you for taking me
to Sligo today."

 

 

"You see, it's not all doom and gloom here, you know. "

 

 

"I never said it was. It will take time you know, Lochlainn, but I'm
willing to try. And I do like it here, even if things are so
difficult at times that we can't even be sure we where the next meal
is coming from."

 

 

"Don't worry, Muireann. We know that full well. We can keep going
for at least another month, thanks to your clever head for business.
Things will improve, I'm sure," he promised her.

 

 

He was still uneasy about her apparent calmness, however, so that he
commented by way of a test, "But I'm glad you're happy despite
everything."

 

 

"Well, it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but at the same
time, I haven't any choice, now have I?"

 

 

"You could always go back to Fintry," Lochlainn reminded her, with a
sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

"I don't think so." She shook her head. She looked up at the stars
for a moment, and then said, "We have a fairy tale in Scotland,
about a woman who was asked to choose whether she wished to have a
happy youth, a happy middle age, or a happy old age. I've already
had the happy youth, and while I'm not saying I think that my
allocation of happiness has now been used up, I just think a price
always has to be paid for it."

 

 

"Are you sure you were happy there?" Lochlainn asked suddenly. "I
mean, you didn't go back."

 

 

"Well, it wasn't perfect for me, but I can't complain. It was just
me who was at fault, not my parents."

 

 

Lochlainn grinned broadly. "Too wild and headstrong, weren't you, my
girl."

 

 

"Something like that," she admitted, trying to stifle a yawn. Her
eyes began to close, and soon she was fast asleep.

 

 

 

 

Lochlainn drove the cart up to the stable block at about midnight.
After helping Patrick move the cows into the stalls, he went back to
Muireann, still sleeping on the box, and lifted her down into his
arms. He swung her in through the kitchen door, and took the stairs
two at a time. He undid her cloak and the top buttons of her gown,
and pulled the blankets over her.

 

 

Returning to the kitchen, he drained off the rest of the water in
the boiler into a hot water bottle, and put it upstairs in her bed.

 

 

"Good night, my flower," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

 

 

Muireann's eyes opened briefly. "And you, Lochlainn. Don't be pacing
up and down all night pining for what you can't have."

 

 

Her words hit him like a dousing of cold water. Unable to help
himself, he kissed her on the lips one last time, and tiptoed out of
the room silently.

 

 

Once in the privacy of his own cottage, Lochlainn recalled her
words, and knew she was right. She was so far above him, it was
pointless ever dreaming of her in that way. But though he tried to
argue the point in his mind rationally, and logically, he could hear
the sound of his heart throbbing. Why did the steady double beat
suggest to him the name of the vibrant woman with dark hair and
amethyst eyes who had just come into his life?

 

 

Lochlainn knew he was being ridiculously fanciful, but all the same,
he sat by the fire and wondered at the keen pains he was
experiencing, like sharp arrows in his heart.

 

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN