Page 78 of Calling on the Matchmaker
A half sob escaped, the remorse of the past welling up once more. Would it never end?
From beside her on the bed, delicate, long fingers slid into hers and squeezed.
Finola released a yelp at the same time that she jerked upward. Who was in bed with her and holding her hand?
Her heart beating at triple the speed, she shifted and swept aside her long hair to find Enya lying on her side facing Finola. She was fully clothed, except for her cloak and shoes. Her stunning red hair was still fashionably coiled. But her face was splotchy, her eyes rimmed with red, and her cheeks damp with tears.
Finola squealed and threw herself against her sister, wrapping her arms around the young woman and drawing her into an embrace. Enya came to her willingly, hugging her in response, burying her face, and releasing deep, pain-filled sobs.
Finola didn’t care that she was sobbing aloud too. Sobbingfor Ava, for the immigrant baby, for all the little ones whose lives had been cut short. And she was sobbing for Enya and whatever had broken her spirit.
When finally their weeping quieted to sniffles, Enya was the first to whisper, “You were dreaming about Ava again, weren’t you?”
“Aye. How did you know?”
“I’ve known about your nightmares, heard your crying. And I know why you haven’t worked on your doily creations again.” Enya spoke as matter-of-factly as always but didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached up and stroked Finola’s hair. “I’m just sorry I was too selfish to comfort you before now, so I am.”
Tears stung Finola’s eyes. “I’m not sure I would have been ready for comfort.” It was the truth. Before today, she probably would have pushed Enya away and denied that she had any problems. But since Riley had come into her life, he’d challenged her to be more honest about how she was really feeling.
“Tell me more, Finola.” Enya continued to stroke her hair. “Tell me everything. I want to listen and be a better sister for you, the kind you’ve always been for me.”
Finola’s throat closed up at the offer. She swallowed and still struggled to speak. “First, tell me about you. I want to know where you’ve been and what’s brought you back home.”
Enya sniffled again, her voice layered with a new maturity and sadness. “I’ll tell you everything. But first, we need to talk about Ava. It’s a conversation that’s long overdue.”
Finola hesitated.
“Please?” Enya breathed out the single word. And as always, Finola couldn’t deny her sister anything.
She stuttered and stopped as she shared her sorrow over Ava’s death, blaming herself for it, then how the nightmares and crying had haunted her over the years.
“The crying became so troublesome, I finally vowed I wouldgo into the convent to do penance and there have peace,” she finished.
Enya had pulled back and rested her head on her pillow, watching Finola during the entire retelling, her usually vibrant green eyes filled with something Finola couldn’t name. “What if I tell you I’m at fault for Ava’s death?”
“You’re not. I was the one Mam assigned to watch Ava. I should have put aside my doilies and focused on Ava.”
Enya reached for Finola’s hand again. “Mam and I had an argument the morning Ava died. She told me I needed to help out more with the little ones instead of spending so much time on my music lessons.”
Finola rested her head on her pillow, her face only inches from Enya’s as they whispered just as they had when they’d been little girls. “You’re not at fault, Enya. You weren’t even present.”
“But I should have been present.” The words came out forcefully, passionately, in perfect Enya form. “I was selfish to focus on what I wanted and never allow you time to enjoy the things that give you pleasure.”
Finola couldn’t find words to respond. Maybe she’d taken on too much responsibility in caring for Ava on her own. And maybe she could have benefitted from having breaks from Ava once in a while. Whatever the case, was it time to stop carrying the heavy burden of Ava’s death entirely on her shoulders?
What had Riley told her? Her mind went back again to their conversation in the wagon last evening when he’d brought her home. He’d asked her if she’d ever stop punishing herself by not allowing herself to love him. Could she stop doing penance? She wasn’t sure. But maybe it was time to see if she could.
Enya lifted a hand and wiped Finola’s cheek and the tears that had escaped. “I overheard Mam once tell Da that she blames herself for Ava’s death.”
“What? How could she blame herself?”
“She said that she was tired after Ava’s birthing, never hadenough energy, and didn’t want to take care of the baby. She said that she should have tried harder and done more instead of leaving so much up to you.”
“She was busy with the other little ones.”
Enya shrugged. “I guess we can all find fault if we look hard enough.”
Finola wrapped her arms across her chest, suddenly chilled with the knowledge that both Enya and Mam harbored guilt the same way she had. How would her life have been different if she’d talked more about her grief and sorrows instead of keeping everything inside? Or using passive methods to express herself?
