Bruar's Rest

be in as night came.’ She did not tell Mother Foy how Rory had changed at the end, nor about the vision she’d seen in a setting sun.
    ‘Don’t blame the drink, child. It was the war that changed things. We lost a few good men here too. Take Maggie Gaskins, over there by that palomino pony; she lost her eldest boy and her man. Georgina Boswell over by the stream, her with bright red hair, was washing her clothes in a field outsides Lincoln when her daughter saw a policeman cycling down the lane. They thought he was coming to move them on, so ran and hid. But it was news that her Freddie, one of a twin, had got killed by a sniper. The lad didn’t even know what a sniper was. His brother’s never been the same these whiles back. He thought at first it was a bird that killed him, you know, the snipe, so he never fails to throw stones at any he sees. No, my girl, if you need blame, then blame that blasted war.’
    Ruth came over holding out a red dress, while Anna asked what size of foot she had; two light brown sandals dangled from her hand.
    ‘I think my feet are the same size as those,’ she said, ‘at least I hope they are, they’re right bonny.’
    ‘If they fit,’ said Anna, ‘you keep them. None of us girls have such narrow feet as would fit them; see if you have.’
    Like gloves her feet fitted the pretty shoes.
    Old Mother Foy said, ‘You pop into my varda and try on that dress, and let’s see if you have a figure under those dowdy tugs. But first, why don’t the girls here take you down the pool water for a dip?’ Her friends were eager to wash the late summer’s sweat from their bodies, so decided to join her.
    The pool was a walk away from the gypsy campsite. And in no time, the happy threesome were splashing about in soapy bubbles, swirling within the deep water hole dug out by the gypsies themselves for such a purpose. Megan felt so good that twinges of guilt dimmed her joy, ‘This is heaven, and I never imagined I’d smile again, but I’m having fun and I pray my Bruar will understand when I tell him.’
    An hour later, out, dried and dressed, she was certainly a beauty in the red frock and tan shoes. In a strange and absurd way, she was glad she’d been robbed. Mother Foy, who complimented her on how lovely she looked, all fresh and shiny-skinned, was a blessing, and the girls were as sister-like as she could have wished. In the space of a day she’d found a new family, one that cared for her. Light and carefree thoughts lifted her feet to skip and dance arm in arm with Ruth and Anna. It was then she remembered old Mr Thrower saying something about an Egyptian blessing, so she enquired as to what he meant.
    ‘We are descendants of slaves brought here by Romans. When they left this country to defend a falling Rome they abandoned our ancestors. Left at the mercy of people sickened by tyrannical rulers, the slaves were threatened by the locals, and to avoid harm took to moving from place to place. Our ancestors’ survival depended on many ploys. Telling fortunes and giving blessings was one way. Many gypsies fled north. Another wave of gypsies came to Britain in the fifteenth century. They were from India, it’s believed, and they changed many of the older ways.’
    Megan soaked up the stories of these dark-skinned people. She believed they were separated from her kind only by time and borders.
    Back within the circle of wagons she was introduced to everyone, and while eating the tasty meat stew, chatted and exchanged travellers’ stories of roads and byways. Not many English gypsies go as far up as Scotland these days, she was informed, but there were one or two who had and who had failed to return, having fallen in love with the people and landscape. That night she joined in with songsters and danced for her hosts, astonished that life felt so different. Yes, she and Bruar would find each other, the Seer had told her so, but it seemed as if her journey south would be a joyous, fun-filled road. As she watched and listened to stories and songs she thought on her man. Was he sleeping with a sickness of the mind? Would he remember her or his life as a travelling man? Were caring arms holding him in the night? So many questions swirled in her head, none she had answers to. But deep within she knew they would meet again. Nothing could prevent that, she felt it so strongly.

     
    ‘What was that?’ A sound from outside the varda had her sit upright in the narrow bed. She whispered