Bruar's Rest

it clumsily and said, ‘I’d be honoured to be your mate, and thanks a million for this beautiful necklace.’
    The brown, leather-upholstered buggy with its handsome driver held her gaze until it disappeared up the road. She smiled and ran a finger over the lovely gift hanging around her neck, before going in and spending a long Christmas Day with her other friend, who was still sleeping soundly beneath the quilt. Night came, and with it a blizzard unlike any she’d encountered in her life before, even wilder than that night she had searched for help in the Angus Glens. She listened as Mother Foy snored in unison with a nagging wind blowing smoke down the chimney. She felt lonely, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Christmas Day, and look at me hunched over a reekie hearth. No family, saving this old gypsy and a bowdie wagon.’ In the gorse field the blizzard was laying walls of banked snow, choking trees and pathways. Mother Nature was giving midwinter his place.
    She closed her tired eyes and went back home in her thoughts. Home to stand over Annie’s grave. She visualised the secret spot; now also covered in a blanket of snow. Beneath that covering, sleeping snowdrops and wild crocuses would soon be pushing up through the ground and she so wished that her dear mother could reappear with them, if only for a minute. She remembered the last time she saw her before sickness stole on her, sitting at the campfire stirring tattie soup. ‘I miss you, Mammy, and Rachel,’ she whispered to her memory. ‘Can you see us, Mammy, from wherever you are? Or do you stay sleeping, forever? And what of Rachel, do you walk about America like a toff? Wee Nicholas will be getting big. I wonder what kind of Christmas you are both enjoying.’ Lost in a reverie of self-pity she rested her head on her narrow single bed. The wagon was rocking violently; she worried it might topple but knew enough of the wagons to understand they were of hardy structure. The wind must have changed direction, because the smoke ceased to blow down the chimney; instead it was sucked up and away leaving a red, glowing hearth. The rocking, coupled with the cosy hearth, soon found her eyelids heavy, and at long last she fell asleep. ‘What will come with the new day?’ she thought, as she drifted off.

T WELVE

     
    ‘O pen up those blasted curtains and let some of that bright winter sunshine fill the place.’ The old woman, having slept all night and half the day before, had awakened with a crabbit head and was shivering cold. ‘Hurry up and get the fire lit. What possessed you to let it out? No gypsy worth her salt would see cold ash in a hearth. Tells me there’s less of the gypsy in you than you think. And where did you put my baccy?’
    Megan rose to her feet, fists firmly on her hips. ‘Listen here, you moaning-faced old crab, I’m preparing the fire, and when I’ve rubbed some of this black ash off my hands I’ll make some tea. Pull open the curtains and fill your own pipe.’
    Both looked at each other and burst out laughing.
    ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better. For a while in the night you’d stop snoring and I thought the bucket was getting kicked.’
    The old woman, not having heard that saying, looked puzzled; but when Megan explained it, she laughed louder. This time, however, a strange crackle could be heard deep in her chest, prompting Megan to say, ‘I think you might have a chesty problem. Do you want me to fetch a doctor?’
    ‘Me with a doctor? What does a doctor know that I don’t?’
    ‘He spends his whole life studying ill folk. My doctor back in Kirriemor can heal every ailment, so I expect others can too.’
    ‘I know the herbs, the roots, the mushrooms. I also know me body is done. Now give us a fill of me pipe.’
    ‘But what if there’s something in your chest?’
    ‘The baccy will keep it company!’
    She could see that arguing with Mother Foy was pointless, so relented and brought the box of tobacco, pipe and matches from the small cupboard above the bed. The old lady was still feeling unwell, so decided to stay put in bed. Megan helped her outside to toilet behind a holly bush. This brought more laughter, as the old woman sat too close and felt the holly prick her bare bottom.
    Back inside, she washed in a small enamel basin while Megan dusted the two ornamental china dogs on a narrow shelf at the back window, then remade the bed.
    An hour or so later a warm fire heated the heart of the place. They’d