Bruar's Rest

boys, a red waistcoated father and a sad-eyed mother. He’d not be aware that, sleeping beneath a small mound of earth nearby, was the result of a night of lovemaking followed by months of uncertainty and wishful dreams that the child just might be another boy.
    Her bedroom offered sanctuary. Her heart grew heavy at what she’d been forced to do. Still, if she hadn’t done it, what was the alternative? Two sharp-toothed terriers ripping legs and liver from a human being who’d not yet sinned? Her day’s burden, hard as it was, was one she was grateful to have undertaken.
    Neither Michael nor the men came back, and by early evening she and Mrs Sullivan had stabled the horses and locked the buildings securely. Before retiring, Megan asked where Fiddler’s Fancy was stabled. Her companion showed her quickly to another part of the stables, a place fit for a queen, never mind a horse. A plush room with a carpet of hay, walls half-lined with sheep skins, just enough food and water to keep her healthy and shining. Megan could well understand why everyone said what a beauty she was. ‘She’s an Arab, doesn’t like the cold. Michael treats her like a princess.’
    Mrs Sullivan’s constant yawning signified she sorely yearned for bed. The day’s events had opened wounds. Linking an arm through Megan’s, she said softly, ‘let’s have a nice cup of milky cocoa before going to bed. Now, do you want to speak of today’s sadness, or will we settle for the hot chocolate?’
    Megan did have questions, but they would be better kept for another day. And maybe this kind lady would share the memory of her lost sons.
    Cocoa cupped between hands, they both retired to bed. It was hard finding sleep, as those blue fingers and that tiny bundle kept flashing in her mind.
    It was about four in the morning, the darkest hour, when her new-found sleep was disturbed by the sound of a car engine coupled with whispering voices. The men had come home.
    Morning found a happy-faced Michael wakening her with a broad smile. ‘Come on, lazy bones, I have news for you.’
    She was grateful for the presence of his manliness, and his smile beamed warmth into her body. ‘Whatever it is, that smile on your face tells me it’s mighty good,’ she said, running a hand through his wavy hair.
    He took from his pocket a letter. ‘Now, darling girl of mine, I want you to listen. I never told you because I didn’t want to raise your hopes, but before I left England I sent a letter to the war office.’
    ‘You did, and what about?’
    ‘I contacted the body concerned with displaced soldiers, injured ones that is, and asked for a list of hospitals in the south. They sent me a list. I wrote to them again, and this is the reply. I would have had this news sooner, but if I’d written from an Irish address I hardly think they’d have answered. No, I used Bridget’s home address, and this is why a reply has taken so long in coming.’
    ‘What is it, Michael?’ she asked sternly, then added, ‘That piece of paper has an official look about it. Does it hold news of Bruar?’
    He sat on her bed, laid a hand on her shoulder and opened the brown envelope.
    ‘ “Dear Sir,
    Regarding your enquiry as to the whereabouts of Private Bruar Stewart who served with His Majesty’s forces during the recent war: it is with regret that I have to inform you that Private Stewart, having sustained severe shell-shock while in action, was hospitalised in France before being transferred to Kingsland House in Sussex. He never regained any form of normal mental state. It is my sad duty to tell you that he was found dead at the foot of fire-stairs adjacent to the building. It is believed he fell while walking in his sleep. This is a common symptom with shell-shocked soldiers.”
    There, at long last we can put Bruar to rest. Now, say you’ll marry me!’
    She hit him hard on the jaw. If he had any regard for her feelings, he never would have spoken of Bruar’s demise in such a selfish fashion. Visions flashed into being behind her wet eyes. Questions filled her shocked mind. ‘My man gone! Why did the Seer tell me he was not dead? Why have I felt such pain at the distance between us, why did I think my life could be fulfilled with finding him, regardless of his state?’
    Questions without answers fell like a deadly shower around her ears. With not a single glance at Michael she dressed. He stood awkwardly against the dressing table, waiting for a clear answer. He