Call Home the Heart (35 page)

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

Day after day, Muireann laboriously kept track of all the finances,
tallying up the hours everyone worked, and how much each family owed
for rent and food. She had made it clear from the start that the
workers were not to consider themselves servants, but neither was
she running a charity. Not when her own finances were in such
desperate shape with the mortgage and other expenses every month.

 

 

Some people even worked two or three shifts in an effort to pay off
their arrears, and Muireann prayed they were all succeeding in
keeping the wolf from the door.

 

 

Her brother-in-law Neil continued to support her endeavors by buying
more timber, which they cut from the new forests she had bought from
the Colonel and from Malcolm Stephens. It was hard work clearing all
the trees, but Muireann wanted them all out to conserve her own
hardwoods for Lochlainn's carpentry enterprise, and in order to
consolidate the estates. With the trees gone and the stumps dug up,
she would have more pastureland for her expanding herds, and could
convert her current pastures into fields for crops.

 

 

As June matured into July, she began to feel more content with the
way things were going on the estate, and more at ease  that she
had done the right thing, despite the horror she had felt at her own
acts in Dublin in May.

 

 

Her only worry now was that she knew she had to mend fences with
Lochlainn, who had continued to avoid her, and never spent time
alone with her for more than a minute since they had exchanged
heated words soon after she had returned.

 

 

She had missed him desperately, but he was so good, so decent, as
were all the people at Barnakilla. She was almost afraid of
contaminating them, or being punished for what she had done, even
though she knew it had been for the best.

 

 

Lochlainn had immediately jumped to the conclusion that their
relationship was over.  He was certain that the trip to Dublin
had triggered her seeming depression, that she pined for her old
life.

 

 

His theory couldn't have been further from the truth, but Muireann
had no idea what he was thinking. She tried feebly to explain her
odd behavior to him without revealing everything. At the back of her
mind she knew perhaps one day he might find out the truth if he
quizzed Emma and Sam about their past life too deeply, but for the
moment they were following her orders and keeping to themselves,
teaching but not socializing with the tenantry except at meal times.

 

 

One evening toward the end of July, Muireann went to look for
Lochlainn in the carpentry workshop, and was relieved to find him
there.

 

 

"Please, Lochlainn, we need to talk to each other without arguing,"
she said quickly when she saw him moving to leave.

 

 

It crossed his mind to tell her he was busy, but over six weeks of
this impasse had certainly been long enough. He needed her. He only
prayed she was going to tell him something he would be glad to hear.

 

 

He laid down his tools. "All right."

 

 

She went ahead of him up the path to her office, and poured them
both a glass of the vile liquor Augustine had always drunk.
Lochlainn noticed her hands shook but said nothing, merely waited
for her to start.

 

 

"I wanted to speak to you about when I first came home, about how I
shouted at you. I'm terribly sorry if I upset you. It was the way
you grabbed me. It hurt. It made me feel helpless. I know you didn't
mean to hurt me, but on top of everything else, well, I just sort of
snapped."

 

 

"Everything else?" Lochlainn prompted softly.

 

 

 She came to sit down beside him.  "The bad dreams came
back as soon as I left here. I think it must have been because I
went back to Dublin, and had all sorts of terrible associations with
Augustine's death. I hope you can understand that I was distraught.
Forgive me if I upset you or seemed to reject you.

 

 

"It's just that so much has happened since January. I've been trying
to get things more settled, plan for our future. I'm not used to any
of this. I led a sheltered, protected life until I came here. I know
it's no excuse for the way I've acted, but I'm asking you to try to
be patient with a foolish young girl, and forgive me.

 

 

"I've missed you, Lochlainn. I want us to try to get things back to
the way they were between us before I went away. It may be wrong of
me to want you, to rely upon you so much, but I can't do this on my
own any more. I don't want to do it on my own any more, Lochlainn."

 

 

At her words, Lochlainn simply opened his arms wide and she ran into
them and hugged him tightly. He stroked his hands down her back
soothingly, but was unable to trust himself to speak at first.

 

 

He had grave misgivings as to the wisdom of resuming the affair, not
least because she was apparently admitting to him that she was still
completely distraught over Augustine's death.

 

 

"If that's what you really want, Muireann, of course we can try to
get back what we once had. But as you say, you're young. That isn't
a criticism. You've coped far better than people twice or even three
times your age. But what I'm saying is, you have your whole life
ahead of you. I'm so much older than you, Muireann. You might change
your mind about us one day.

 

 

"With so much having happened, I do think you need time to ponder
the situation a bit more first. You yourself said when we started
all this back in January that you wanted to be strong. I've been
here for you by your side since. But there may come a time when you
find you don't need me any longer."

 

 

"I do need you, Lochlainn, truly," Muireann said tearfully.

 

 

He shook his head. "No, you don't, Muireann, not really. You went to
Dublin on your own, and you coped. I'm sure it was hard, but you did
it on your own. You're strong, Muireann, but you don't have to be
strong all the time. You've worked so hard in the past few weeks
since you got back. Let me share the burden with you now. But if
there ever comes a time when you don't need me any longer, I'll
understand."

 

 

Muireann slumped back into her chair wearily, shattered by his
rejection of any future for them together. She sat there silently,
feeling utterly defeated.

 

 

He relented at once. "Please, my dear, I hate to see you looking so
wan and pale. It isn't like you."

 

 

Taking her by the arm gently, he helped her out of the chair and led
her to her room. He urged her to lie down on the bed, and sat on the
edge.

 

 

He held one hand tenderly and asked, "Where's the woman who drove
the coach like a professional, and had a snowball fight with me in
Dublin, or who used to climb trees with Tadhg?"

 

 

He reached down then and patted the pup fondly on the head as it
wrapped itself around its mistress' feet.

 

 

Muireann lay there silently. In her heart she was disappointed. If
she had expected any declaration of love from Lochlainn, certainly
none seemed to be forthcoming.

 

 

When Lochlainn got no response, he began to rise from the bed.
Muireann's hand shot out, and she clung to him. "Please don't go. We
haven't finished talking. You haven't told me you forgive me."

 

 

Lochlainn gave a bitter laugh. "There's nothing to forgive. Not
really. People can't help the way they feel, can they? I'm sorry I
upset you. I didn't understand. I pushed you too hard. But I don't
own you, my dear, any more than you own me.

 

 

"I must admit I don't always agree with your decisions about the
fields, the school, the trading. But I want you to have your own
thoughts and ideas, your own emotions and feelings, even when I hold
you in my arms like this." He kissed her forehead. "Sometimes caring
for someone means knowing when to let them go."

 

 

Muireann looked up into his steel-gray eyes, and saw no trace of the
light that had once shone in them. She could see that Lochlainn had
almost given up hope. It was hard for him to accept that Muireann
was sincere in wanting him back. Even if she were, how long would
they be able to go on like this?

 

 

He never seemed to know what she was thinking any more. Had he ever?
There were all sorts of hidden places within her that he didn't dare
explore for fear of losing her as he had once lost Tara. Now he
simply felt lonely and worn out, and unsure of his ability to ever
make her truly happy.

 

 

He pulled the covers up to her chin then and moved to snuff out the
candles.

 

 

"You're not going already, are you?" she asked, disappointment
evident in her tone. "We haven't had a chance to discuss anything
yet."

 

 

Lochlainn shook his head. "We don't have to decide about this right
now, do we? I have to get back to work, and you look exhausted,
Muireann."

 

 

"Don't leave me," Muireann pleaded tearfully.

 

 

Lochlainn hadn't seen her cry since the early days after she had
been widowed. He relented at the sight, and offered, "I'll sit with
you until you fall asleep, all right?"

 

 

Muireann stroked his cheek, and reached up to kiss him passionately
on the mouth.

 

 

Despite his best efforts to keep his hands off her, Lochlainn
couldn't resist her rousing kisses forever. Soon he found himself
naked, making love to her so gently he almost thought he was
dreaming. Muireann sighed and moaned under him, and after her long,
gasping climax, she suddenly began to weep.

 

 

Lochlainn asked her worriedly if he had hurt her, but she denied it,
eventually crying herself to sleep in his arms.

 

 

He lay sleepless for hours by her side, with her wrapped around him
like a clinging kitten.  His misgivings grew with every passing
second as the hours ticked by.

 

 

Finally he eased himself from her side as the early morning light
filtered through the curtains, got dressed, and let himself out
silently.

 

 

Lochlainn saw over the next few days that the resumption of their
relationship did not seem to do anything to improve Muireann's mood.
Gone was the joy he had seen on her face on the beach at Rossnowlagh
and when she had run about the estate on her birthday with Tadhg
skipping at her heels.

 

 

He was sure it was only a matter of time before Muireann returned to
Scotland, a suspicion which seemed to be confirmed as July made way
for August, and yet another crisis for Muireann at Barnakilla began
to loom on the horizon like a dark thundercloud.

 

 

Muireann had prayed that no more emergencies would arise, but rumors
began to spread in early August that the potato crops in Europe were
not doing well because of the unusually cool spring and very damp
summer weather.

 

 

Being quite far north, Muireann knew they couldn't start harvesting
their crops until the end of August, and their potatoes until the
end of October, and prayed for good weather. But a murky cold fog
seemed to settle on the entire country, accompanied by a strange
odor, not unlike rotting vegetables.

 

 

Muireann looked out of her window one gray August morning, and then
turned back into the warmth of Lochlainn's arms

 

 

"It certainly looks grim out there," she said sleepily, her breath
tickling his shoulder.

 

 

"Maybe you should have a day off for a change," Lochlainn suggested.
"It would do you the world of good, Muireann. You've been working
like a slave ever since you arrived here seven months ago. Go into
Enniskillen to do some shopping, or go visit Priscilla and the boys
at the Grange. I'm sure they would be delighted to see you."

 

 

She thought about his suggestion for a moment. "It is tempting, but
no. I have too much to do today. Besides, if I had one day off, I
would just lie in bed. Not that I ever really did that back home. I
always found things to occupy my time, but I would often sit in bed
reading, writing letters, and so on. So one day in bed would be
absolutely splendid. But not today."

 

 

"Why not?"

 

 

"Because I happen to know that you have a huge long list of things
to do as well."

 

 

Lochlainn frowned down at her.

 

 

"What, you didn't expect me to want to spend the whole day in bed by
myself, did you?" She smiled up at him. "Where would be the fun in
that?"

 

 

Lochlainn, overwhelmingly relieved that she had at last smiled
again, hugged her close.

 

 

Muireann planted a kiss on his mouth, and despite the nagging voice
at the back of his mind reminding him to get to work, that it was
daylight, that their special time together had to come to an end, he
made love to Muireann in the glowing sunlight that suddenly lit the
bed as a ray pierced through the gloomy clouds, until they both lay
exhausted.

 

 

With one last kiss he tore himself away from Muireann. Donning his
clothes hastily, he fled the room. He didn't want to linger long
enough to see the look of regret on her face at what they had done
in the bright light of day.

 

 

As she watched him go, Muireann felt anything but regretful. With
each passing day, she knew she loved Lochlainn more and more. But
how could she bring herself to tell him? All the secrets she had
kept from him weighed on her heart like lead.