Bruar's Rest

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    ‘Mother Foy...’ she began softly, ‘That horrible pain she suffered at your place has returned. I’m worried for her health. She thinks her knowledge is better at healing than a proper doctor, and so she refuses to get help.’
    Thinking it was the old woman’s welfare that caused her anxiety, Bridget reassured her, ‘Well, I for one felt the power of her healing hands. Don’t underestimate her wisdom—there’s many folk walking and talking today been sorted out by her.’
    She ran off to return another snowball to Stephen, who’d playfully thrown one, only to be pelted by little Nuala.
    For a moment their laughter and shared joy made her think of home, when she and Rachel would chase their men in the newly fallen snow.
    Bridget, with her green velvet coat trimmed with fur, her soft red hair bursting from a thick-brimmed woollen hat, was so alive. Stephen smothered her in a light covering of powdered snow, then stole a kiss.
    ‘Why can’t I have a share of that?’ Megan asked inwardly. ‘Instead I am far away from home, taking care of some stranger unrelated to me. Curses on the thief from Newcastle!’ This thought was dismissed from her mind as the wagon, vulnerable like its owner, came into view snuggled in the far end of the gorse field.
    They arrived at the wagon with its welcome spiral of blue smoke rising into the mist. Nuala sighed deeply. ‘Daddy has pelted me sore,’ she told her mother, annoyed because her efforts to hit him had failed.
    ‘Next year, when the snow returns, you’ll be taller and won’t miss. Now remember your manners, and be gentle with Mother because she’s not very well.’
    Stephen dusted most of the powdered snow from his daughter’s coat, and soon they were walking up the steps into the wagon.
    Mother Foy was spruced up and sitting at her fire, warmed by a rug draped over her lap. She greeted her guests like royalty. ‘Hello, hello, and a special big cuddly hello to the world’s most beautiful girl.’
    She lowered her eyelids in a sign to Megan that their unwanted guest had failed to appear.
    ‘Sit here by me, Nuala, and after Megan fills us a warm cup of tea, I’ll tell a few tales, you’d like that.’
    So, as the old woman told mystic stories from days of old, her visitors munched on biscuits and drank tea. Having the wagon full of bodies created a sense of security, but when Stephen reminded his family they’d not got the horse to get them home quickly, Megan and Mother Foy felt the uncanny fear of the previous night crawl back over them.
    ‘I shall pelt you to bits, Daddy, and then I’ll feed you to the monsters from the green valley in Mother’s tale.’
    Megan had not intended to ignore her friend’s stories, but her fear of Buckley kept the back of her mind filled with terror. Soon the Irish folks would be gone, and once more they’d be at his mercy. While Nuala and her father had slipped outside to play once more among the soft snow, Megan asked if they might come up for New Year.
    With Stephen and his hound at the farm to chase off intruders, both would be a lot safer. Bridget however put a stop to that possibility. ‘We’re off for the holidays, but don’t worry about Beth. She’ll be in the capable hands of a young lad that Stephen hired yesterday to see to the horses while we are gone.’
    Megan’s heart began pounding when Bridget continued, ‘We have received a letter from Michael, he wants us to join him in the old home. Oh, and one more thing, I nearly forgot,’ she lifted her basket and emptied its contents onto Megan’s bed. There were sweeties, eggs, cold beef, Christmas cake and lots more. ‘Goodies to see you over, in case the weather deteriorates again.’
    She thanked her host, but it was late and they had to make tracks for home, ‘Nuala, Stephen, come in here from the snow and say your goodbyes.’
    Megan and Mother Foy sat close, listening intently until little Nuala’s laughter and her parents’ chatter faded away in the distance. Once more they were at the mercy of a cold midwinter’s night and those who inhabited it, what or whoever they may be.
    Like soldiers preparing for war, they weaponed up: forks, knives and any sharp object that came to hand went beneath the old woman’s pillow. Megan positioned the poker and carving knife by the door.
    ‘Were you frightened while I was away?’ she asked
    ‘To tell the truth, I busied myself and did a little rummaging in my old clothes for buttons. I found