Seacliff

Chapter twenty-two: Rumours and mysteries

1919

Saoirse had planned to enlist the doctor's help and comb through Aoife's diaries for clues about Sorley's identity. But they had to attend to an unexpected birth in the village, raising some eyebrows as they did so, since the doctor had been found at her residence, rather than his own.

Although the war had dulled the villagers' vitriol, James and Saoirse still had to tiptoe around inappropriate rumours as they spent the next two days caring for the young mother and her baby. It wore them down more than their actual work – the pointed stares, the hushed whispers, the downright disdain in some of the faces...

James refused to leave the Lodge at tea-time on the third day, after bringing Saoirse home from an appointment in the town. "Unless someone is dying, or giving birth again, I don't want to see any of those... villainous peasants for the rest of the day! God!"

Saoirse brought out the tea tray and sat beside him on the settee. "Dear me, James! I was not aware you had such a flair for dramatics. Villainous peasants?"

The doctor sighed. "I suppose we ought to be grateful it's nowhere near as bad as what your poor aunt had to endure thirty years ago."

Saoirse opened her mouth to agree when noises from upstairs startled them down in the front room. She listened intently. Reluctant steps down the stairs. Grumbling.

"Is he awake?" James wondered.

Saoirse inched towards the staircase. "I think so."

And sure enough, Sorley soon emerged, lost in space, muttering to himself. He caught sight of Saoirse and that seemed to restore some clarity to his mind. He made straight for her.

"My Saoirse... 'tis you... it was not a dream..." He reached for her face as he approached her. "It was not a dream..." He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. "It was not a dream... Tá mé i ngrá leat."

She shuddered. He raised her right hand to his mouth and kissed the ring on her finger. But as he looked up around him, his expression gradually changed.

"If it was not a dream..."

He touched the back of his head, then examined his torso. A shiver ran through him that made his every fibre tighten. Briefly, he was tense and immovable like a statue, until a wave of agitation washed over him, radiating in the heat off his flesh, and he broke into a frenzied panic.

"I must go... I must go!"

"Sorley!"

Saoirse tried to grab hold of him, yet too late. He bolted like an arrow from a bow, right through the back door into the wood.

"Sorley!"

They chased after him, except he was too fast. Saoirse altered her trajectory and rushed into the stables instead. Faithful, obedient Danny knelt on the ground at her command, so she could mount him even without a saddle. Holding onto fistfuls of his mane, she spurred him on and ducked as they galloped through the trees.

Sorley had already walked into the waves once the sea came into view.

"Sorley!" Saoirse yelled. "Sorley, wait, please!"

She brought Danny to a stop in the shallow waters on the beach, hopped off and ran into Sorley's arms.

"Don't go," she begged him, "please don't go like this!"

"I have to... My Saoirse, I have to."

"Why?" She dug her fingers into his shoulders, as if that could stop him running. "Talk to me, please."

"You'd never understand – "

"Try me!"

A smile on his lips that felt foreign to her eyes. A sorrowful smile, like that of a parent pitying their child for its naïve worldview.

"My daughters need me," he said in the end, "they're calling to me. I don't know what happened to their mother, whether she – "

He squeezed his eyes shut. She stretched to kiss him. The cold had begun to seep into her feet, her calves. Her legs went numb below the knee. His warm lips gave her a jolt of renewed feeling and their foreheads rested against each other once they pulled apart.

"I will come back to you," he said, flattening a palm on her stomach. Saoirse put her hand over it. "I made a promise to your aunt and I do intend to keep it."

"I made a promise, too. Tusa atá gcuid Saoirse." Her hand went around his nape to keep him close. "I am your freedom, always. But this is more than that now." She brought his palm from her stomach to her heart. "This is so much more, Sorley, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I have to go," he repeated. "I must go." He pecked her forehead again and shoved her so hard, that she fell backwards into the sea.

"Saoirse!"

Water splashed behind her. James helped her up and held her to him, while Sorley advanced into the waves.

"What kind of a man are you?!" the young doctor demanded, outraged.

Sorley glanced over his shoulder, his answer colder than the wind and the sea at sundown.

"I am not a man."