Bruar's Rest

Jimmy’s coffin down. Along with his box of tools went clothes; what little he owned was laid neatly in the coffin and buried. Prayers and chants of olden days were offered up, hoping that wherever he was he would find rest. This was the only way travelling folk could cope with the death of a loved one who had failed to come home to them. As far as they were concerned, by this simple act they’d brought their dead back. And it was sufficient to part-mend their broken hearts. This ritual helped Rachel, but Rory only went through with it for his lassie’s sake. She’d want her boy dealt with as tradition dictated. When alone, throwing a handful of soil upon the coffin, he whispered, ‘No matter where you are, my son, you will find your resting. God rest you, my laddie.’
    Rachel later came to say her own farewell, kissed a single sprig of mistletoe and softly tossed it on her husband’s bodyless grave. ‘Wherever you lie, my fallen soldier, part of me shares the cold earth with you. We only knew each other a short while, but from us came a healthy boy. I promise he will not suffer hardship. Rest until we meet again.’ Gently she lowered tiny Nicholas to touch with innocent lips the earth covering his father’s chosen place—the father he would never know, save in the telling of a tale.
    Megan stood away from the grave. It frightened her. Thoughts that maybe her own man lay rotting in some rat-infested trench filled her with dread, her heart beat loudly in her breast until she could not bear it. Covering her tousled hair with a grey woollen shawl, she slunk away from the sight of Big Rory, O’Connor, Rachel and little Nicholas, and was soon hidden from view. Leaning her back against the old twisted oak she looked up at the heavens and cried until the salt from her tears stung the skin around her throat. ‘Oh Bruar, please tell me you are still fighting. Show me a sign that a heart beats in your chest as one does in mine. Come home safe, my love. Forgive my selfish relief that Jimmy and not you died, but Rachel doesn’t love with the same passion as I do. She needed Jimmy, but not the way I need you. You are my desire, my whole being, nothing matters to me but you.’
    She pulled the shawl round her cold body and tightened it like a vice. ‘Come home, Bruar, else I will not live without you!’ She stayed there, freezing, on that cold spot, and probably would have remained there, had it not been for O’Connor who was, in his own way, trying to help his friends.
    ‘Come you back, colleen, and see to your sister’s baby, for the poor lass has collapsed in her grief. I’ll take Rory down to Kirriemor to drink the passing o’ his son. The fire is all right for the cooking and heat. I’ve seen to the kettle, so begone home with you.’
    Sudden fear and anger gripped her, and a shiver ran the length of her spine. Fine she knew what it would mean. Big Rory hadn’t touched a drop of liquor in ages. If he put it to his grief-stricken mouth, then he’d be unable to stop. He’d be wicked again. She had to have her say. ‘Och man, you mustn’t do this awful thing. Please don’t take him to Kirriemor. You know as I do, he’ll take the devil on himself if the demon drink runs through his veins while he is mourning. I beg you, don’t take that horse to the well, for with the state of him he’ll drink it dry and then kill somebody!’
    O’Connor told her to see to things and not interfere in a man’s grief. It was not for women to have a say in such matters, Rory had to get it out, and a bottle was the only way. She tried again to reason with him but the Irishman told her not to be so selfish. Her father-in-law had lost one son, and for all they knew, maybe Bruar was lying in a trench somewhere feeding worms as well.
    Megan screamed at him before lunging at his throat, vainly trying to wrench those horrendous words from it. ‘You listen to me, rat of a drunken coward, my man is safe and well. If he were hurt, never mind dead, I’d feel it in here.’ She threw off her shawl, ripped buttons from her cardigan and punched the exposed flesh. ‘Here beats a heart filled with devotion for Bruar Stewart. If so much as a wasp were to sting my man I’d feel it in here!’
    O’Connor lifted the crumpled shawl and gave it back to her. He said nothing as he set off down to Kirriemor, big Rory at his side.
    Megan’s adrenaline surge left her cold and angry. She wanted to scream at her father-in-law and remind