Finbarr kicked the wall in frustration. He kicked it again and again, cursing his stupidity from the very beginning. Life was just so unfair. It had taken so much from him already, and it threatened to take even more.

Once more, he kicked at the wall, but his foot hit something other than the wall, and in the next moment, he heard bits of metal spilling across the floor.

"Aw, bosh," he muttered under his breath, carefully kneeling down to pick up the spilled nails. A particularly sharp nail that jutted from the bucket cut his arm, and he hissed between his teeth at the stinging pain. Something warm trickled down his arm, and he sighed wearily. He touched his hand to his arm, only for his fingers to become covered in the sticky blood. Any bandages he had, he used them on his leg when he had accidentally cut himself with the sickle a couple months ago.

"This day can't get any worse," he muttered, but when he tried to stand up, he smacked his head on the doorknob, not realizing he hadn't closed the door after Emma had stormed away.

He sucked in a breath, staying crouched as he fought off the wave of pain that pulsed through his head, which then brought on another wave of pain that pulsed through his eyes.

Finally when the pulsing pain died down, he left the remaining nails on the floor, wondering why on earth he had brought them inside in the first place.

Oh, that was right. The door needed fixing. His pounding head attested to that.

He stormed moodily outside, Grady barking and taking his place in front of him to guide him, but he didn't need guiding. Not when the roaring stream was easy to pick out amongst the chirping crickets and rustling grass.

A nervous sweat pricked at his forehead as he neared the stream. He remembered what the stream looked like in the summer, roaring water hitting the rocks with immense force. Now blind, he feared getting too close to the water lest it snag him into its depths and drag him miles downstream. Although he didn't want to be within ten feet of the stream, he needed to wash his arm.

"Finbarr?" a voice called out to him, and he instantly recognized it as Tavish. "Heavens, Finbarr! Look at the state o' you!"

"I'm fine," he growled, veering off in the other direction, but Tavish reached him quicker than he could flee. His brother wrapped an arm around his shoulders and forcibly led him in the direction of his own house. The last thing he wanted was for someone to fuss over him. It was just a nick.

To his dismay, when they entered Tavish's home, women's chatter ceased immediately, replaced by growing concern for Finbarr. Just his luck to walk in on the O'Connor sewing circle on one of his worst days.

"I'm leaving," he muttered, but when he attempted to walk out the door, he walked straight into a pair of arms that prevented his escape.

"Now where do you think you're going, Finbarr O'Connor?" Biddy said sternly, pushing him down into a chair. "What happened to your arm?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have the heart. He feared he would either start tearing up in frustration or make a cutting remark he didn't mean. Heaven knew he had done that already, and it had ruined his friendship with Emma.

He winced when Biddy pressed a damp cloth to his arm, and suddenly he wondered if the nick was worse than he had thought. It wasn't easy to tell when he couldn't see it. Then again, everyone liked to make everything that happened to him a big deal. That was the O'Connor way.

"I don't think it needs stitches," Biddy said, and he heard another set of footsteps approach. "Maura, what do you think?"

Maura didn't say anything for a few moments, and in that time, he attempted to pull his arm out of Biddy's grasp, but she only held on tighter.

"If you just wrap it up, that oughta do it some good," she finally said, and he suffered through more fussing as several women helped bind his arm. The nick wasn't a big deal. Truly, it wasn't. He could've handled this himself.

And honestly, what he wanted was to be alone right now.

"Lad, what happened?" Tavish asked, and his voice dropped closer, which likely meant he had stooped to Finbarr's level. "Was it a sickle again?"

"No," he muttered. He stood, but Tavish still blocked his way. Why wouldn't they just leave him be?

"Let me handle this," Cecily said quietly to Tavish, and his emotions crashed over him all over again. How he envied Cecily right then. She's had it so easy. Within months of her arrival in Hope Springs, she and Tavish had already been bearing their hearts and souls to one another. Finbarr wanted that so desperately.

His heart ached fiercely, his mouth turning downward into a frown.

Cecily's hand lightly touched his arm, and when her sisterly affection usually would have brightened his spirits, it did quite the opposite this time around. "Why don't you come to the ceílí with us this week, Finbarr?" she asked. "I'm sure there are plenty of pretty girls you can dance with." A murmur of assent ran around the sewing circle, but it only served to frustrate him even more.

"A few dances ought to do you some good," Biddy said.

Cecily agreed. "Perhaps a special little lady—"

His frustration took a wrong turn at the mention of Emma. His heart hurt. So very much.

"Look at me, Cecily!" he cried. He reached for her hands and placed them on his face. "No women are lining up to dance with me. No one understands. No one thinks..." His voice cracked as emotion washed over him. "No one thinks I'm worth the effort. At least you have Tavish. No one will see me the way Tavish sees you."

He dropped Cecily's hands, and stunned silence followed him to the door, at least until his ma called after him.

"Finbarr, wait. Finbarr!"

He slammed the door behind him, and although he avoiding running as much as possible in his condition, he ran now as he tried to escape all the voices and the pity and the concern. Grady ran several feet in front of him, always keeping pace as he guided him to who knew where. It wasn't until his lungs threatened to give out on him that he sunk to his knees, his head in his hands. The familiar brush of his wheat against his skin brought little comfort.

Grady barked and began wagging his tail, which brushed against the wheat as it moved. Finbarr's heart immediately sunk as he realized he had an unwanted visitor. Who was it this time? Tavish? Biddy? Ma?

"Thought I'd find you here," someone said, and his eyebrows furrowed as he realized that his nephew and friend, Aiden Callaghan, stood in his wheat field.

"I just want to be alone," he said, lifting his head toward Aiden. "Please."

Aiden paused for a few moments before he continued to approach. To his surprise, Aiden sat down next to him and didn't say anything at all. He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't ask why his arm was bound. He just sat in silence. It was a comforting feeling, this silence. He was alone without actually being alone. Aiden was one of the few people Finbarr could truly be himself around. Despite their four-year difference in age, they were the best of friends.

"She's always mad at me," Finbarr finally said after several minutes of silence had passed. He released a frustrated sigh and rubbed at his aching, tired eyes. "No matter what I do, Emma is always mad at me. I can't fix this, Aiden. I can't do it. She won't let me."

"She's a stubborn woman," Aiden said. He had a quiet demeanor that Finbarr had always appreciated. He was kind and thoughtful. But he was also...real. He accepted Finbarr for who he was, and unlike so many other people, he never tried to get him to become that same person he had been before the fire. That person didn't exist anymore. Why did no one understand that?

He sighed and turned his attention toward Aiden. It wasn't easy guessing where his friend's eyes were, making maintaining eye contact very difficult. Some people found his slipping eye contact rude, so he tried not to attempt it at all. "You courted Emma. You could help me out."

Aiden chuckled and nudged him with his elbow. "I courted her for literally five days. I think she quickly realized I wasn't the man she wanted to sweep her off her feet. That man was blind, and probably wouldn't be able to do any sweeping anyway."

"Me?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I doubt it. After all, if love isn't enough to fix this, then perhaps nothing can fix it."

He quoted her words that had stung him to the core. If two people loved each other, shouldn't it be enough? What did Emma want from him? He had already apologized. He had already confessed his love. What more was there that he could do? She was simply determined to be angry with him for the rest of her life.

"I don't know what happened between you and Emma..." Aiden said slowly. "But I believe her heart has always belonged to you. Whatever is worth keeping is worth fighting for."

The only thing was that Finbarr didn't know how to fight for her. She rebuffed his efforts time and again, even when he had tried regaining the friendship they once had. But if he couldn't regain that friendship, could he really reach courtship?

It felt as if his chest squeezed his heart so tightly, such was his heartache. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, afraid his heart would burst with the pressure.

As if sensing his thoughts, Aiden grasped onto his hand to help him up. "Need any help around here before the sun goes down?"

He smiled gratefully. "I have a door that needs fixing. As it is, I've spilled the bucket of nails."

"Say no more," Aiden chuckled. "Lead the way."

***

The wagon jostled Finbarr back and forth as he moodily crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the darkness that surrounded him. He didn't know how Tavish and Cecily convinced him to go to the ceílí, but he wasn't at all eager to go. Emma would likely be there. Although she hadn't slapped him for lying to her about his feelings, she might as well have. Her words had cut him just as much.

"Uncle Finbarr," Matthew said, tugging on his sleeve. "Why do you look sad?"

He released a long breath and forced himself to smile. A wise blind woman once told him that trials could either make someone better or bitter. He had lived his life by those wise words, and no matter how much he wanted to slip into that easy bitterness, he knew his survival depended on being better.

Unfortunately, it wasn't easy.

"I was just thinking about how you'll eat all the biscuits before I'll get one."

Matthew laughed. "I'll save you one, Uncle Finbarr. I promise!"

The little boy's laughter helped lift the cloud of sadness that hovered over his head. Ceílís were supposed to be a happy time full of laughter and music. Although he might not be able to provide the laughter tonight, he could certainly provide a little music.

Besides, Emma hadn't outright rejected him. That meant there still was a little hope, right?

The wagon pulled to a stop, and his heart started beating furiously as nervousness pricked at him. Was Emma here? Was she still angry with him? Although he had promised her a dance last week, he wasn't sure it would be welcome. Would it?

After jumping down from the wagon bed, someone placed a strong hand on his shoulder. Tavish.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked. "Or Ma and Da are talking to the Johnsons. Maybe you want to go over there? Or you can always keep Matthew in line."

He couldn't fault his older brother for trying to look out for him, but it wasn't helping. He could find his way around just fine. Most of the time. Besides, he had to talk to Emma. Surely she couldn't avoid him at a ceílí of all places.

"Where are the Archers?" Finbarr asked. "More specifically, Emma."

"Ah, she's over there—" Tavish's words cut off, and he couldn't help but look in the same direction despite not being able to see a thing.

"What?"

Tavish cleared his throat, sounding more uncomfortable than he had in a long while. However, the discomfort was gone in a flash, replaced by his usual joking tone. "You know what? Who needs women when there's dancing to be had? I think you've kept the musicians waiting long enough. They look eager to get started."

But Finbarr couldn't tear his attention away from the Archers, a pit forming in his stomach. What did Tavish see? What was Finbarr missing? Was Emma glaring at him? Was that it? He could handle the glaring. He'd handled it before and he'd handle it now if that was the case.

"I need to talk to her," he insisted as he tried to walk in that direction, but Tavish stepped in his way.

"Later, perhaps. You can't start a ceílí without a penny whistler, after all."

He pushed his way past Tavish, trepidation in each step he took. Something was wrong. He could feel it. And he needed to know what. If Tavish wouldn't tell him, then he needed to find out for himself.

"Grady!" Ivy gasped, and he heard the dog give her big, wet, slobbery kisses. It normally would have made him laugh, but something was still wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

"It's good to see you, Finbarr," Joseph said, lightly touching his elbow, which helped orient him.

"How have you been?" Katie asked. "I miss you working with Joseph. We love Michael working in the fields, but you feel more like family."

Michael was Ian's oldest son, and he was Emma's age. Ivy fancied the lad, though Finbarr suspected she would likely fancy someone new next week. Likely Aiden again. The unmarried women in Hope Springs always fancied Aiden.

"Joseph, Katie," he said with a nod of his head. "I've been well, thank you." He turned his head to the sound of another set of rustling skirts. Emma was quiet like usual, but he felt the tension between them like he had never felt it before. It wasn't a good tension. Something was wrong. "Hi, Emma." He gave her a smile despite their fight the other day.

"Hello, Finbarr," she replied with a hint of nervousness in her tone. She was uncomfortable. But why?

Another deep male voice cut in beside her, one he didn't recognize. "I insist you introduce me to this man who is 'like family'," he said teasingly.

"My apologies," Joseph said, and tension lingered even in his voice. What was going on? "Peter, this is Finbarr O'Connor. Finbarr, this is Peter Kent. A business associate of mine."

"It's good to meet you, Finbarr," Mr. Kent said, though Finbarr cocked his head slightly to the side in confusion. Joseph had never brought a business associate to Hope Springs before. He usually met them somewhere else other than this small town. Mr. Kent sounded like he was around the same age as Finbarr, though he had a sophisticated air about him, which made it a little difficult to be sure.

"Finbarr," Emma said, nervousness still leaking from her voice. "Peter is holding his hand out for you to shake."

"Oh!" he started, hastily reaching out to grab Mr. Kent's hand. The man's grasp was firm and confident. A handshake told a lot about a man. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Kent. I apologize. It's so dark out here that I can't see a thing." He grinned teasingly, but Mr. Kent obviously didn't get the joke. However, Katie did, and she laughed at his attempt at humor.

She went along with his jest, "I would shake your hand, Finbarr, but I'm afraid I haven't the fingers for you to grasp."

He chuckled, glad that Katie could joke about having lost her fingers to the same fire that took his eyesight.

Turning to Emma, he tried to sound more confident than he felt. "You made me promise you something at the last ceílí—"

"I have to go check on the treats I brought," she blurted suddenly, and moments later, her footsteps disappeared in the opposite direction. His smile fell into a look of frustration. So she was avoiding him now? Had she truly meant it when she had said she loved him? Because this was not what he imagined love to look like. She didn't even want to be near him.

"I'm sorry," Katie said apologetically.

"Don't be," he replied as he fished his penny whistle from his pocket. Without another word, he started toward where he heard the musicians tuning their instruments. Grady leaned heavily on his legs as he walked, steering him around the crowds of people. He had forgotten his cane at home, which was quite an inconvenience. But it seemed as if he wasn't going to be dancing or moving about the yard. Besides, he had Grady to help him.

Ryan met him partway and led him to a chair. "You've arrived at last! We can't play a reel without a penny whistle."

"Yes, you can," Finbarr chuckled with a roll of his eyes, trying not to dwell on the pain of Emma's rejection.

"Alright, I admit I just wanted to play with you," Ryan laughed. "You can definitely give me a run for my money. See if you can keep up." His tone was jesting, and Finbarr was grateful for it. That was exactly what he needed right now.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Seamus's voice rang out over the crowd, and everyone instantly became silent. "As you all know, we have a tradition here in Hope Springs. A newcomer, if you will. What's your name?"

All bodies shifted, and Finbarr assumed they were looking in the Archers' direction. "Peter Kent. I'm in town for a short while on business."

"Well, Peter Kent, visitors are to start the first dance! Find yourself a partner."

Finbarr busied himself with making sure his penny whistle was ready to play, but his fingers froze when he heard Mr. Kent's voice again. "Miss Emma Archer, will you oblige me with a dance?"

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. It felt as if all the air had been knocked right out of him, and he couldn't draw breath for the life of him. Surely, he'd heard wrong. This newcomer was asking his Emma to dance? There couldn't possibly be two Emma Archers in Hope Springs.

"I will gladly dance with you, Peter," Emma replied with a giggle.

Being kicked in the stomach by a horse would have hurt less than hearing the pure delight in her voice. That's when everything suddenly made sense. Tavish's hesitance. Emma's nervousness. There was someone else. Emma was courting someone else. And this someone else was named Mr. Peter Kent.

The music began, but he didn't join in. He couldn't join in, such was his shock. He held his penny whistle limply in his lap as others joined in the dance, and he came to one simple heartbreaking realization.

He was too late.