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J.T. lifted his finger. “One more sales pitch. Think of all the good you could do with the money. Philanthropy is a beautiful thing. I know you have a great job here, but you’d be terrific at it.”
She would be, Liam thought, as more aligned energy swirled around them. Well, another thing for them to talk about when they got home.
“I’ll get back to you,” she said, “but you make a good argument. Now, we really should go inside. Arthur is probably already finished.”
Only he hadn’t even made it to his seat beside the podium, they discovered, since he was being cheered and praised by the entire town of Caisleán. Ghislaine finally took matters into her own hands, calling him up to the podium with a joke about hearing the pub was closing soon, which had everyone rushing for their seats.
Liam cast a glance at Donal, who was grinning and nudging Linc as they sat down in their chairs on the stage. Liam could almost hear Donal praising his wife for all the hard work she’d done. Taylor was excited to start taking up more of the reins as she went from being the lead story to writing up the stories.
Sorcha had done good there as well, he thought, seeing as both women had come to Ireland to help the arts center and meet their soulmates. He tucked his hand in his pocket to finger the piece of paper with one of Sorcha’s poems on it. He and Taylor had agreed they were going to take care of the last of things after they listened to Arthur’s speech.
They were going to make their plea on Sorcha’s behalf.
Arthur was laughing as he took the podium, the lights catching his clear spectacles as he surveyed the crowd. “You’re all too much. I’m just an old man—although not at old as your Eoghan O’Dwyer over there.” He pointed and the two shared a colossal grin. “Now, I should probably get serious as my beautiful wife told me to keep it short. I’m also a journalist, and I don’t have to tell you that I cut my teeth in a different age of journalism. It’s depressing as hell to watch people call themselves serious journalists and report outright lies and falsehoods in the sacred thing we call the news.”
Liam could see the light around Arthur expand as he talked, and he was aware of a great swell of gratitude rising inside him. He was witnessing a speech given by a great man, one who had done a lot of good in the world. Liam sent up a blessing that he would live many more years, and in his heart, he felt it would be granted. He and Clara would live long, full lives, doing more good wherever they went.
“We had a great victory,” Arthur continued, pointing his finger at the crowd, “and it all started here with you good people. I’m from a small town in the States, only a little bigger than yours, but I had a dream to build something that mattered, something that would help the community and the world. My contribution was a newspaper, and what you have here is an arts center. Both are important institutions of truth, and for that, we share a pact to fight off the darkness of censorship, falsehood, and a curtailing of our very expression. I can’t wait to see all that you do here, and I’m glad it’s easy to pop up from Kinsale to Caisleán when my wife and I come to Ireland. The truth is, we plan to visit often, but we also welcome you to come and see us in our Irish hood, as Clara likes to call it. I’m going to make sure Trevor puts up a sign that saysFáilte.”
Cheers rose to a high decibel as Arthur finished. To Liam’s mind, he couldn’t have ended it better than with the Gaelic callout for Welcome. Taylor was clapping and hollering at the top of her lungs when Liam caught Ghislaine’s nod as the Frenchwoman stepped to the podium.
He touched Taylor’s arm, and she turned to him with a beaming smile before saying, “Break a leg, babe.”
He felt full of love, for her and for the village, as he made his way onto the stage. The crowd quieted, and he gave them a smile as he leaned toward the microphone. “Hiya, everyone. I’m the last on this program of sorts before the party starts and the whiskey flows.”
Laughter crested through the crowd.
“We all were touched by the life of Sorcha Fitzgerald, who was taken from us too soon, and after whom this very arts center is named.”
He glanced over at Carrick, who was smiling softly as he held his new baby next to his wife. Sorcha had begun her matchmaking duties to bring them together. Now her calling would end with Liam and Taylor, and the circle would be complete.
“We all know she’s stayed around in true Irish form after her passing, matchmaking and helping as she could. And since we are honoring our good fortune as an arts center and town today, me and a few others thought it fitting to honor Sorcha. So if you’d follow me outside to her favorite tree, we’d like to do a little something along those lines.”
He and the other men Sorcha had helped in her matchmaking duties headed back to the room where they’d stored the offering that had come to Liam in meditation. No one said anything as they picked the baskets up. Somehow it was understood that nothingshouldbe said to interrupt the solemness of what they were doing.
The crowd was standing in a fan shape before Sorcha’s favorite oak tree, and Liam took his position in front as he felt its roots spread love and happiness. “Sorcha used to write her poetry here when the weather allowed—as it so kindly did today. I wanted to read one I thought was perfect for today after everything we have faced together.”
What will you do to bring me joy when I am sad?
What beauty will you offer me when my soul is hungry?
What word will you give me when the ebony Irish seas are against us?
I may not know, the wind answered, but I will try.
And if you need light, I will speak to fire to brighten your path.
Should you desire love, I will bring you a companion to fill your days.
For our roads should never be walked alone.
We have each other.
And in having each other, we have everything.
He had to clear his throat at the end. Theydidhave everything, and he was grateful for it. “She was wise, our Sorcha, and she was quick with a kind word when one of us needed it, almost as much as she was quick with a pot of cold soup when one of us stepped out of line. Right, Carrick?”
His friend had tears in his eyes as he gave a shaky laugh along with others in the crowd.
