Page 12 of The Splendor of Fire
Moira gripped the table, sucking in deep breaths against the fright of being swept away. Alone. Isolated. Forgotten.
But she wasn’t forgotten. God in his mercy had carried her to safety. Refusing to feel sorry for herself, she scaled the fish, removing the head, tail, and guts as she refocused on supper, nestling her catch in the cauldron. She picked up a carrot and palmed the knife, slicing it into thepot. She splashed the fish with wine and scooped butter into the pot, then sprinkled a pinch of dried dill over it, just as Maw had taught her.
Maw.Her natural mother was lost to her memory but never could she forget the mother of her heart. Hugs within her ample bosom. Fingers that bound scraped knees. Hands that hung the dyed net and ears that listened to whistled and motioned stories of how she’d found her treasures. Thin lips that kissed her cheeks before bed and told her she was a gift. Salt and pepper hair that she’d let her little Birdy twirl between her fingers until she fell asleep.
God had known she’d need a family. He’d placed her in the sea in front of Father’s boat and she became their daughter, a longed-for child it wasn’t possible for them to have. TheirMoira?1,daughterfrom the sea.
Moira wasn’t even her true name. But by the time she could spell and signAileen,she’d been Moira for years. For a few years she had almost told them what her name was, but something inside kept her from revealing her true identity. At seven years old she feared that once they knew she was Aileen, things would never be the same. That perhaps they’d take her back to the sea, that things would be different, or that they would die of the hurt she’d caused them. Father said it all the time—God giveth, and God taketh away. He had taken away her voice; if she displeased him would he take away her parents again?
The childish fear had never quite left her heart. This was her new life, and she would make the best of it.Aileen, Moira, Birdy. All that mattered was whom she belonged to, not what she was called. As long as she wasn’t called Morag.
All right. Perhaps it did matter. In the deep of her heart, she wanted to hear her true name said aloud by someone she loved. To be the woman God made her to be.
Father looked at her over the edge of his Psalter. “You care for him, don’t you?”
The sudden question made her mouth drop open, and her eyes flew to the bag containing the drawing, still sitting undisturbed on the table.
“I can tell,m’eudail?2. You’re so quiet.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“You know what I mean. You’re not whistling or signing, telling meabout your day. You’ve been called some terrible things over the years, but it always bounced off you. Not this. You’ve not been yourself in weeks.”
Moving her fingers slowly so he could understand, she signed.No. I don’t care for him.
“All right. If you say so.”
He lifted his book and she brushed her sweating palms together. It was a lie. The Lord would punish her. Fire and flames. No voiceandno eyesight. She shivered and tapped rapidly on Father’s shoe stretched before her on the stool.
Fingers flying and cheeks burning, she confessed the lie.Yes. I admit, I care.
“I thought so. You never have been able to tell a lie.”
Massaging her temples, she tried to rub away the embarrassment for fancying someone so horrible. Father looked at her with an amused look on his face.
She ran one index finger along the other.Can’t.
“I think you already do, lass. Though I see what you mean. Not much of a bright future there.”
She nodded with enthusiasm. He was a prisoner.
“On the other hand, what logical sense did it make that a priest fell in love with a spinster? We were past our childbearing years. We could love, but not be fruitful and multiply.”
She scrunched up her nose.Yuck.
He chuckled. “Well it’s true. I’ll never regret marrying my Joan. For twenty-five years we were happy, and life was good. We never know what the Lord has planned. What we would settle for is far less than the good gifts God can give. On the other hand, what we turn our nose up at is sometimes what’s best for us.”
Moira’s fingers froze in the air and she scrunched her face in annoyed defeat.
“Ah. I got you there, didn’t I?”
Yes.
“And what if one day he gets out? What if he is able to fight back against Niall? What if he is the one we’ve been praying for—the one who could avenge my beloved…”
Father’s voice trailed off and she knelt beside him, slipping her hand into his. When tears rolled over his cheeks, she shook her head and wrapped her arms around him squeezing him tight. The terrible shaking sobs that overtook him so frequently in the last months returned, and in fright she held him close.
“Niall must pay for what he’s done. It—it isn’t right. She never stood a chance…not a chance in that dark ocean.”
