Bruar's Rest

system of war, even though it had nothing to do with their kind. He and Jimmy simply did what every other tinker laddie did in 1914—they took the path of destruction, and made, if need be, the final sacrifice.

S IX

     
    M egan, Rachel and her baby, big Rory and their faithful companion O’Connor, continued to fend for themselves in the now tiny circle of nomads. Two months had slipped by since the boys set off to fight. Apart from letters which had been written at their request by an army priest to each of the girls, not much news had reached them. They described France as flat, and before the shelling, a fertile land. Jimmy was in the Cameronians and Bruar the Black Watch. This meant that the brothers could no longer look out for each other, and now they were miles apart.
    Rachel became increasingly worried about her man, and was convinced he’d never see his wee boy again. Many times Megan found her lost in her thoughts within her small tent, cuddling and chanting to Nicholas. Each day Megan would watch from high upon the braeside for signs of old Doctor Mackenzie bringing news of the war’s progress, or better still some words of comfort, if not from Bruar, then from Jimmy, to make Rachel’s burden less.
    She did not have long to wait!
    February froze. Blizzards were more frequent and ferocious than they’d seen before. Layers of hard-packed snow covered every visible dyke, tree and field; although the cold hardened the heather roots and slowed her pace, she still insisted on climbing the hill and watching for the familiar horse and buggy. No sooner had she reached her summit perch one day, when she heard Mackenzie coming up the old road. Unable to hold back her emotions she ran, stumbling and rolling down a good stretch of hillside.
    She’d meant to catch him before Rachel did just in case his news was, heaven forbid, bad. But the sudden fall slowed her down long enough for the man and his horse to be met by Rachel and big Rory.
    Screams of torment announced that the nightmare had come, the dreaded news which halted her dead in her snow-covered tracks. Big Rory fell against a tree as Rachel threw herself inside the tent. O’Connor, shaking his head from side to side, walked off into the forest.
    She grabbed at the doctor’s coat sleeve and was met with deeply pained eyes. ‘He fought well, it says so here in the telegram, lassie. Oh, this blasted war! Just this very morning I had to tell two mothers their laddies were not coming home!’
    ‘Who’s gone?’
    ‘Jimmy!’
    She heard herself say in her heart, before darting off to comfort her sister, ‘It’s not my Bruar, not him!’
    Doctor Mackenzie went into a tent, at first not sure whose, but the smell of stale, unwashed clothes told him it must be O’Connor’s. The kettle simmered, a single cup lay on the ground, and into the cracked receptacle he poured tea, steaming hot, wondering how many more times he would take the news of lost sons to worried relatives. It all seemed to fall at his door since the minister of Kirriemor’s church had long ago left his flock to bring comfort to the many thousands of young men on the far-off battlefield. Young Father Brennan, the priest of St Bridget’s Chapel, was also overseas. The doctor hated this forced coat he wore and cursed all wars because of it.
    He could hear Rachel now sobbing deeply. Once more the sound of hearts breaking filled his head. How long before the next heart would break? But life, as awful as it was, had to go on, and without a word he silently walked the horse up the narrow road, leaving the tinker folks to their grief.
    For a short distance O’Connor joined him. ‘Man, this must leave a bad taste in your mouth, you being a saver o’ life?’
    ‘That it does, friend, but what pains me more is that this blasted fight has hardly begun.’
    When Rachel and big Rory had mourned a week, they did what is traditionally expected, buried Jimmy without his presence. All the procedure, from digging a grave to building a coffin was done. While Rory took a whole morning to break through the frozen earth, O’Connor built a full-sized wooden box. The girls gathered Jimmy’s belongings: a sharp basket-making knife, tools, a coil of snare wire, some twine for tying braces of pheasant and his fingerless gloves. Before he left he’d been whittling a toy soldier for his son, which was almost finished, but that Rachel kept.
    At the foot of the forest, beside Annie’s remains, they lowered