Bruar's Rest

with herself; Bull Buckley or not, she’d be taking the journey home if things didn’t change.
    ‘After me chores I’ll be taking the road to Runny Brook to visit the Fureys; do you want to come?’
    No need for the housekeeper to ask twice; soon the pair were sauntering along a long narrow lane on the way to visit the tinker family. ‘Well, would you look at that,’ said Mrs Sullivan, pointing to the grass verge, ‘The earth is giving birth to a purple crocus. On our way home that will be in bloom,’ she added.
    Robin sat outside the tent, tending the open fire while the children played around him.
    ‘Lovely little boys. The eldest reminds me of someone.’ The housekeeper wiped tears from her eyes as she greeted the tinker children who rushed around.
    ‘Tis a happy man I am to see you come and sit by me fire,’ said Robin, who had the charms of a prince stepped from the pages of a fairy tale book.
    Mrs Sullivan took a bag of freshly baked biscuits and shared them amongst the little boys, all jostling for the biggest ones. ‘Good day to you, Robin. Lord, I’m feeling the legs sore, it’s easy seen I’ve done little walking since last you were here. Tell me now, how is Kathleen?’
    ‘If you take a squint into the tent, sure she’s started her labour and won’t want to be a-talking. I wonder if you’d do me a favour and keep yer eye on me boys until I get back?’ he asked, slipping some snare wire into a bag slung over his shoulder. ‘You see, I need to catch some rabbit for to feed the family.’
    Megan thought his snares were far too thick; not at all like hers. When she snared dinner she used thin wire, and she never left the snares unchecked more than three hours. ‘How often do you check them?’ she asked, unable to hold back. The natural ways returning to her mind, she could almost smell the rabbit, both raw and cooked. ‘It’s just that no good comes of long-snared rabbits, they lose a lot of flavour. But my ways are not yours.’
    ‘I see that the way is in you. Well, that’s good, so it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off.’ He didn’t share his ways with her and left her question unanswered, which is just what she expected, because a tinker never shares his ways with anybody. Before setting off, he warned the boys to behave and turned to Mrs Sullivan, repeating his request. She assured him his children would be in safe hands, but that he shouldn’t be too long. Then she tiptoed over to the tent mouth and very gently peeped inside. She didn’t like the colour of the pregnant woman, and asked if she needed assistance.
    Vigorously she shook her head.
    ‘I see things are in hand, then. But how long do you think it will be?’
    Kathleen went blood-red as another push of labour forced her face into a contorted grin of pain. She screamed out an answer, ‘I think it’s another one of those curses, because my agony is terrible.’
    Megan didn’t understand, and said quietly, ‘Poor woman, what’s wrong with her?’
    Mrs Sullivan moved away from the tent, not wishing Kathleen to hear and said, ‘She feels this is another one that will die, a girl. Look I’ll take the little ones down to Ballyshan just in case Michael comes home and wonders where I am; the men might be hungry, having left early without a breakfast. Why don’t you stay and help Kathleen? She’s never needed it before, but I always feel another pair of hands won’t go wrong.’
    Reluctantly Megan agreed. She watched her friend hurry away with three little boys in tow, then sat by the fire and waited. Several times Kathleen screamed and cursed, before at last she let out one frenzied screech, then everything went deathly silent.
    Although Mrs Sullivan told her not to bother the pregnant woman, she just had to see how mother and baby were. She peered inside, and what met her eyes was the most awful sight. Kathleen was cleaning herself in a basin of water she’d prepared for when her labour took hold, but there was no sign of a fresh new life. Instinctively Megan searched the tent bed for the baby, expecting to see its bonny wee face snuggled inside a cosy woollen shawl, but only a blood-soaked sheet lay crumpled at the foot of the thin mattress. Her eyes searched every wrinkled inch of the bed, but there was no infant. ‘What did you have?’ she asked, with increasing concern as there was no sign of the newborn.
    Kathleen turned with obvious discomfort and said; ‘Another one, it’s lying over