Bruar's Rest

ourselves.’
    ‘Put me coat on, girl, and mind the prickly holly.’
    It had been a horrible night, Buckley had seen to that, and showing flames of anger would not deter him. The old woman was aware of this, and when Megan cooled down, she knew it too.
    Breakfast was a solemn affair, as the wooden mantel clock standing over the stove on a narrow shelf ticked louder than it had ever done.
    ‘Listen, Megan,’ said Mother Foy in her sternest voice, ‘without argument or protest go to the farmhouse and invite my friends. Ask them to come for the day. Tell them I’m well and want to see them. If he’s lurking nearby, maybe the sound of others will send a message that we’re not as alone as he thinks.’
    ‘Better I tell them of what he’s done.’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t put it past the beast to terrify the child. He’s got no soul. It’s our problem. We’ll wear it out. But I’ll tell you one thing, my pain is back today, and its worse than ever.’
    ‘The pain you suffered on Christmas Day?’
    ‘Yes, blast it.’
    Mid-morning saw her running the mile to the stud-farm, but not before she had checked and rechecked every nook and cranny before securing the wagon door, locking it from the outside. Clear skies and no wind made it a fine pleasant journey, yet every step found her darting frightened eyes in and out of the bushes that from time to time lined the way. Her new-found courage, like a spurt of steam from a boiling kettle, had gone, vaporised. If he did return, how could she defend them both? This thought, coupled with her concern for the old woman’s deteriorating health, slowed her pace. In time, though, the farm outhouses appeared and she felt safe. One short visit to Beth in her barn, and then she was knocking on the doorstep, jumping nervously.
    Nuala bounced around. ‘Can we go visit Mamma Foy?’ She was all over Megan, pulling her excitedly into the house. Bridget opened the door further, smiling a welcome. ‘Come in. What a pleasant surprise.’
    ‘Mother Foy invites you to her wagon for the day,’ she said, her tone formal but anxious.
    Stephen, who’d been grooming his horse, sauntered in through the back door. Bridget and Nuala told him they were going out to see the old woman.
    ‘Well, I’d best change my breeches, these are filthy.’
    ‘No need, come as you are, we don’t mind, come now quickly.’
    Bridget, taken aback by Megan’s insistent manner, asked, ‘Are you all right? You have the eyes in your head of a hunted fox. Sit for a moment and give us time to gather our boots and coats. And as I never visit without a basket, I’ll be filling one. Stephen, find out what’s the matter with her while I pack some food.’
    The house was a hive of activity, Bridget singing from the kitchen, Nuala rummaging in cupboards for her outdoor wear.
    Stephen also noticed how anxious Megan was and said, ‘You’ve not been followed again by that shadow figure?’ When no answer came, he tried another approach, ‘How’s the hand?’
    Megan wasn’t listening; the bright blue sky was once more filling with that dreaded mist. Buckley may have already crept back and be hidden in the gorse; lying in wait until night came. He’d see the Irish folks come and he’d hear them go, leaving her and Mother Foy at his mercy. ‘Let him try,’ she told herself. ‘Just let the beast try. I’ll give him the bloody poker!’ Her fist came hard down upon a cushion.
    Stephen turned her to face him, ‘There is something the matter?’
    ‘Och, not at all, I was away in another world. What do want?’
    ‘Well, I’d not fancy being the person in that world. Look—’ He pointed to the crushed cushion lying on the floor, before slipping on his coat and going outside to harness the buggy. But Bridget told him not to bother, she was in a mood to walk.
    Megan was horrified by this decision and said, ‘Mother Foy wants you to spend all day with her.’
    A good brisk walk to disperse the aftermath of Christmas indulgence was sorely needed, so Bridget insisted. Stephen ran on ahead, making little snowballs, which he gently threw at his excited daughter. She squealed and laughed, and did the same.
    Megan was rushing through the snow ahead of the others, when Bridget caught up and threaded an arm through hers. ‘Want to share it with me?’
    Should she tell her that Bull Buckley, wild man and beast, was stalking and terrifying them, or like all gypsies, should she say nothing outside their own