THE LISTENER

A MOTHER AND A SWAN

When one is young, you look at your parents and wonder at their foolish decisions. Why did she marry that oaf? Why have they chosen to stay in this conservative village? Why is he doing a job that he hates? The young look at the old, shaking their heads in disbelief. Surely, this new generation will never make such silly mistakes. How wonderful to be beginning your life and think that you will actually have control over where destiny will take you.

Eala woke Fiona with a tickle and Fiona pulled the quilt higher over her head muttering at her mother to go away. It was too cold to get up this morning. The air was frigid and when she finally poked her head out her breath made a cloud of fog. However, she could smell porridge and Eala whispered that there might be some honey left. Fiona’s stomach growled in anticipation, motivating her to crawl out of her nest and hop over to the chair nearest the fire. Fiona’s grandmother, Nan, must have risen much earlier to stir the embers and put some oats on as she was already out with her goats, doing the milking. Eala placed a bowl of porridge on the table and doled out some of the precious honey. She also offered Fiona a cup of goat’s milk from the pitcher on the shelf. Hunger drove the child to eat quickly while Eala ran a comb through Fiona’s chestnut hair, plaiting it out of the child’s way.

“How come my hair isn’t like yours or Nan’s?” Fiona asked, taking hold of the dark plait that hung over her shoulder.

Her mother smiled, “You know that love. You haven’t bonded with your creature yet. Your nan and I both have white acolytes, so we have white-blond hair. You will too if you bond with a white animal.”

“I want to be like you!” the child insisted, tugging at her plait in dislike.

“Soon, Fiona. Your nan and I have been talking. She thinks it might be easier for you to bond strongly with something we can keep a little bit closer to home than my Ban.”

“Don’t you have a strong bond with your swan?” Fiona asked frowning. It would be horrible to have an acolyte and not be able to be with it every day.

Her mother looked out the small window towards the loch. “Our bond is very strong,” she sighed. “That’s why it’s so hard, so very hard to be apart so much.”

“I guess that’s why we have to go to the loch all the time,” Fiona said glumly.

It was a grey day, no rain yet but the wind was biting and coming from the north, definitely not the weather for a visit to the water. Yet, Eala had to go, and Fiona had to go with her, so Fiona walked obediently behind her mother, though as slowly as she dared, to let her mother know her reluctance. Eala visited the loch daily once the swans had made their migration from farther north. Sometimes Eala’s friend Ban stayed through migration, if there was food enough to share but often, he had to make the flight.

Eala had her way of talking with Ban and sometimes he came ashore and sat with them, Eala would stroke the feathers along his back and he, in turn would lean his long neck across her shoulders. On warmer days, Eala stepped through the reeds and her swan would glide up to her. She would rest her hand on his wing and listen. Fiona had seen the swan dip his head to the side and lean into Eala as if he was whispering into her ear, and she would smile and stroke his long neck. When Eala finally left the loch, she would turn slowly towards the shore, as if unwilling; always stopping to look back, seeking contact once more with her swan.

Fiona’s nan had a billy goat that followed her about. Fiona thought Billy was a much better friend because you didn’t have to get wet and cold to play with him. She liked Billy and occasionally he would play a bit of a chase game with her. Once Eala had bought her a toy ball and she had tossed it to Billy, who kicked it back repeatedly, until the ball popped and was no more a plaything. Eala’s friend, Ban, didn’t like playing though. Mostly, he ignored Fiona and once or twice had even hissed at her, as if she were a nuisance.

No, Fiona definitely did not care for Ban and was not over enthusiastic about these frequent visits to the loch. She didn’t even like water that much; she felt she had enough of being wet with all the rain. Eala had tried to make the visits pleasurable. She had taught Fiona to swim, a rare skill in a young Irish lass but essential, especially for a child who spent so much of her free time at the water’s edge. Unfortunately, Ban always seemed to visit at the coldest time of the year when it would have been far more enjoyable to be sitting by the fire in the cabin, or at least running through the fields with the goats. Running kept you warm. Swimming was well enough in the summer but wading about on a muddy shore in the winter just seemed like some sort of punishment.

When they arrived at the loch, Eala let out a flat ‘hoo’ sound to call Ban to her. He streamed towards them, around a bed of reeds, and Eala waded out to him, reaching for him, as he craned his long neck towards her. There was an embrace between the swan and the woman, almost embarrassing to witness in its intimacy, and then Eala turned to Fiona.

“Come a leandh, say hello to Ban!” Fiona stood on the shore, staring. She wrapped her shawl tightly around herself and with her toes, prodded at a stone in the mud. Her feet were already freezing, and she didn’t want to say hello to Ban. If it weren’t for him, they could be home now in the warm, sorting the herbs or helping Nan with the goats. Why did Ban mostly visit in the winter, and why could he never come up to the cabin? Why did they always have to trudge down to the freezing loch and visit him? He always got his way. It wasn’t fair Fiona decided. Her mam should pay more attention to her, not some big bird. Fiona pushed out her bottom lip and shook her head defiantly. No to Ban. If Eala wanted her, she could come back and get her.

Eala sighed and lifting her skirts, stepped along the banks of the loch to Fiona.

“Please little one, I want you to be friends with him. It’s important Fiona,” but Fiona sat down solidly on the ground. Eala shrugged and then scooped up her daughter. Resting her on one hip, she strode out to the swan on the loch. The child and the swan eyed each other. They both wanted the same thing and one of them was going to lose.

Struggling to be let down, Fiona was taken to the shore where her mother placed her gently on the ground. For the rest of her life, Fiona would remember standing on the edge of the loch watching her mother drift away.

She would remember her throat, torn sore from calling and calling but Eala never turned back, and then the screaming sobs, subsiding into hopelessness as she realised that Ban had won.

It was drawing on towards evening and Eala had not returned with the child. Nanny sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. She had just finished corralling the goats for the night and was thinking about what she could prepare for supper but first, she would have to go look for the pair. Eala spent far too much time down at the loch. Nan understood that it was difficult with Eala’s acolyte being a water bird but a bit of extra help with the goats and the cheese would not be unappreciated. Besides, it was clear that the child would not be linked with a bird. Fiona was comfortable with the goats but had shown an obvious dislike to the swan. It was probably going to be some domestic animal. Nan thought it would be wise to choose something that would be easy for the child to bond with and stay nearer home. It was regrettable that Eala had bonded with a swan, if not downright inconvenient. Something that could live indoors would be much less complicated. Maybe Fiona would bond with a dog or a cat, even a songbird could spend some time indoors. No, not a bird. The child would forever be up trees and again be of no use around the small holding, and ideally not a cat, as she’d be slipping out every night and getting up to all sorts of trouble. Let it be a dog. Yes, a dog would fit nicely. Nan would start watching the local bitches, looking for a pup to bond with Fiona.

After putting away the milk, Nan threw a shawl over her shoulders and trudged down to the lake. It was nearly dark, and the child would be starving. By the time she got to the loch, the moon was beginning to rise, illuminating the lake with a rare beam of moonlight – there were so few clear nights at this time of year. Close to the shore, Nan could make out a swan gliding past, no, not one, but a pair. Nan’s heart stopped cold. A pair. She began to run, shouting out, “Eala!!” One of the swans paused, turning its expressive neck to look at her. Then both swans took wing and flew away.

Nan found Fiona curled up at the edge of the loch, shaking from the cold and weeping weakly. The child was limp from hysterical crying and had screamed herself hoarse. Nan sunk to her knees beside Fiona and stroked her back.

“I’m ever so sorry girseach, I’m ever so sorry,” and taking the little girl into her lap, she rocked her, and they wept together.

Fiona has been quiet since her mother’s departure, rarely prattling as she had done previously and often gazing off towards the loch. Nan worried that she might be rushing things but felt it would be best if she found an acolyte for Fiona sooner rather than later. There was a litter of pups down at the Nugent cottage. Nan wrapped some cheese in a piece of muslin and took Fiona by the hand, explaining that they were going to look at some pups. Nan tugged gently on the child’s hand, and they walked out of the cottage, settling the door on the latch. Passing the goat pen, Nan went up to one of the nanny’s and laid her hand on the goat’s neck, letting her know that they were going out but would be back soon. Raising her other hand towards the rocks above the holding she signalled to Billy to look out for the nannies. He dipped his head in assent and began leap frogging down the rocks towards the pens.

Nan looked sideways at the mute child walking beside her. “Do you think you like dogs?”

Fiona looked up and shrugged, then bitterly,

“Better than swans.” Nan snorted at the reply.

“I’d have to agree with you there. Swans are too much in the wet and cold. Now, a nice pup will curl up by the fire and keep your feet warm. Dogs are a good sort of creature. They can follow you anywhere. You know I love Billy dearly, but I could never have him in the house, all those hooves and horns destroying the place. No, there’s nothing quite so good company as a dog. Better even than a cat, though that’s quite a useful creature as well.” Fiona stared at her grandmother. She rarely extended herself to such a monologue. Why was Nan trying to convince her? Sure, a dog would be fine, or not. Nothing really seemed to matter that much right now. She stamped her foot into a puddle in the road and relished the mud slapping up around her leg. She should have regretted her naughty behaviour, muddying her dress, the only one she had, but she decided she didn’t regret it, she just didn’t care. Nan pursed her lips but said nothing.

Fiona wondered what it would feel like to wear shoes. When they’d gone to market in Ardara, she’d seen some well-off people wearing shoes. It looked terribly uncomfortable to have one’s foot all squished up in a bag of leather. Perhaps they made your feet warmer though. Maybe that is why people put up with them. Well, she’d never know. Nan and her, had calloused feet, that were hard from walking barefoot in all weathers. It would just be a waste to spend money on shoes when it could be spent on food.

The Nugent holding was down the hill, closer to the village and the sea. Fiona though she could hear the waves. She’d been to the sea to collect seaweed when they’d run out of cabbage. She liked playing in the sand and listening to the crash of the waves. Her mother had found her a beautiful seashell which Fiona had safe on the shelf above the stove. She wished they lived closer to the sea, but the goats were happier up in the hills and the goats were their livelihood, that, and Nan’s healings.

As they approached the Nugent place, a dog came racing out barking furiously. They stopped until Mr. Nugent came out, shouting,

“Bloody cur, get yourself inside, you feckin,” he stopped himself when he spotted Nan and Fiona. “Pardon ladies,” he aimed a kick at the dog, which jumped away avoiding the foot.

“I heard you had some pups Mr. Nugent,” Nan began the negotiations.

Mr Nugent eyed them speculatively,

“So, the child’s mam’s gone missing. I’m sorry for that.”

Fiona looked up sharply. How did he know? It was her private business! It was awful to think of the village all knowing her mother had left her. The shame – as if she wasn’t worth staying for. She turned angrily to Nan; had she been gossiping?

Nan sighed.

“Word gets around.”

“You’s looking for a wee pup to cheer the lassie up then? Sure, why not. Children love dogs, don’t they.” He smiled greedily at Nan. Damn, he was going to strike a hard bargain now. Sometimes a farmer meant to drown the litter and were happy to give away a pup, but she had brought the cheese just in case. She should have remembered the mean nature of the Nugents. The number of times they’d given her an egg, or nothing, for a remedy she’d passed on to them. Well, she could play the game just as well.

“I hear your lad has had a cough this long time. I could drop by some tea and perhaps some leaves for a poultice. I am sure your wife would be glad to see the young one recover. He’s your only boy, isn’t he?” She didn’t add, ‘living,’ but she knew the Nugents had buried three little ones in as many years. She saw she had hit the mark when Nugent nodded grimly.

“That would be grand and much appreciated.” He indicated towards a topple-down shed near the cottage. “The pups are this way.”

The stench of urine and faeces was strong in the shed and Fiona wrinkled her nose. They never left their goats to sleep in their own mess. Mr. Nugent obviously wasn’t over fond of his dogs. In the dim light she could just make out a small terrier bitch in the corner, sitting up now and growling at them. Three pups reached up to her teats, pulling at her and yipping excitedly.

“There’s the bitch, so. You saw the dog when you came in. He’s probably gone off ratting. Great ratters they both are. You couldn’t find better, but she does have a temper on her. Not too close or she’ll have the hand off you, especially with her whelps by her. I’d have drowned them if I could have got them off her,” he remarked, forgetting that he was trying to get a good price for one of the pups. “Not sure, how you’re going to take a look and pick one. Perhaps, I could throw a sack over her head and grab out one of the pups.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Nan answered, squatting down into the filthy straw. Fiona watched as Nan gazed at the dam and her litter. She’d seen Nan do this before. She looked like she was just resting but she was thinking very hard. Fiona remembered a farmer passing them on the road with his wagon. Suddenly, his horse had shied at some washing that had flown off a hedge. The farmer had gotten down from the wagon to settle the horse, but it continued to snort and roll its eyes. Nan had stood totally still, breathing deeply, and staring just past the horse’s ears. In a few moments, the horse quieted, and Nan gave a small smile and turning to Fiona, whispered, “That’s how it’s done child.”

The bitch had stopped growling, so Fiona took one step forward, just past Nan. One of the pups tumbled free, falling off the teat and rolled towards Fiona. She stood perfectly still, trying to breathe quietly as Nan was doing. The pup noticed Fiona then and pranced up to her, attacking her feet. Fiona stood her ground. Then the pup began to lick her toes and Fiona started to vibrate with giggles.

“Go ahead a leanbh,” Nan murmured. Slowly, Fiona crouched down and let her hands dangle towards the small creature. It took one of her fingers and nipped it sharply. She gasped but did not move. Then, as if making a decision, the pup sat down conclusively on her foot. Fiona bent over and scooped the bundle of fur into her arms, avoiding the enthusiastic tongue, as it searched her face for food.

Mr. Nugent raised his eyebrows but made no remark. Everyone knew the old woman had some sort of strange powers, especially with animals. He couldn’t care less so long as he was rid of one of the pups and got something in return. Oh, his wife would make remarks, but she would use the remedy all the same. It wasn’t as if they could afford to call in a doctor; even a witch’s potions were better than nothing.

“That’s decided then,” Nugent turned, noting that the bitch had curled back around the remaining pups without so much as a growl in the direction of the young lass. He supposed the bitch would be happy to be free of the burdensome little things. He’d probably have to drown the other two when he could get near enough to them. He needed the bitch back working at killing vermin and keeping strangers off the bit of land he worked. Times were hard and he couldn’t keep an eye out everywhere.

Nan handed Nugent the large portion of cheese she had carried under her shawl.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with some remedies for the lad.” She cocked her head and looked sharply at Nugent. “You know where I am if you ever need recipes.”

“Ah yes,” he muttered. The damn woman had read his mind of course, hearing his thoughts about her being a witch. Well, what of it? She didn’t deny it, and although she always called herself a healer and some called her ‘wise woman,’ or ‘cunning woman’ she was a witch and the priest had warned them off. Yet, the priest hadn’t given them the coppers needed to see a doctor so Nan was the best they could do and, she did well enough. Tainted or no, her cures often worked. He rubbed his raspy chin awkwardly.

“Well then, we’ll be seeing you. Hope the cailín is happy with the pup,” but that didn’t need saying. Already, Fiona had looked into the deep, chocolate eyes and been lost forever. Nan smiled. A dog had been a good choice. With the pup by her side constantly, Fiona would build an excellent, strong bond, learning the listening craft in no time. And the child would have no time to fret about a lost mother who’d chosen a swan over her own daughter.

That night, Farley, as she named him, crawled up next to Fiona, in the bed she shared with her nan. He snuggled under the blankets and laid his head alongside Fiona’s, blowing warm, milky breath into her face. She giggled and put her arms around the dog, pulling him close. His warmth was welcome. She had watched Nan touch a goat and close her eyes, listening. Fiona would learn to do this too with Farley, but not tonight. Tonight, he was just a puppy.

MARKET DAYS

It was not a long walk to the town, Ardara, it being only five miles or so but with the heavy cheeses to sell and a small workbench to carry, it felt like an arduous journey. Nan didn’t like leaving the goats but found she had to go into town once a month or so to make some coin – some things just couldn’t be bartered for. She would put panniers on her two biggest nanny goats and have them carry the cheese wheels. It took some training to get the goats to do this chore for her, as they were more inclined to eat the produce on their neighbour’s back then to trek along the road towards town. Nan strapped the bench for her wares to her own back and slung a bag of herbs and ointments over her shoulder. She would lay the cheeses out on the bench when she got to the market on Wednesday mornings but keep the herbs and other remedies hidden away. Those would be produced when requested, and not advertised. There were people about who did not appreciate the cunning woman’s craft.

The goat’s cheese was not to everyone’s taste, but Nan sold it cheaper than the girl with the cow cheese, so she was usually able to distribute most of her stock by the end of the market. The men would wind up at one o’clock and go into the pub for a jar while the women gathered outside to chat or went to the church for a quick novena. Nan did neither, anxious to get back to her small holding and be back with her goats.

When Eala left, Nan was perplexed as to how she would deal with the child on market day. The walk would be long for little legs and sitting by the cheese table all morning would be tiresome for a young thing. It was likely that Fiona would get restless and possibly irritable. Nan couldn’t have that while trying to sell her produce. She needed to concentrate on extolling the virtue of her goats’ cheese and the health benefits, as well as the economy. It wasn’t an easy thing for her to do, not being over-used to communicating with people and much preferring the company of animals. Leaving the goats all day with no one checking in on them also disturbed her. While Eala had often wandered off to the loch and was absent minded about her responsibilities, at least she was a sometimes presence on the small holding. Nan lived in fear of one of her small herd being stolen. She knew each goat intimately and they were all very dear to her. No one else would care for them as she did, and she had rarely sold or bartered a goat. Her goats could only go to the best of homes, where the people would treat the caprine with affection and concern. There were people like this – good farmers who knew well treated stock produced better, but one had to be discerning. There were also lazy farmers who did as little as possible to get by. Luckily, Nan was able to ask the animals the opinions of various farmers, who knew a good home; when the stock there was reported as being well fed, clean and warm in the winter.

After a discussion with Billy, Nan decided that he could watch the flock for the day. She would shut up the nannies in the byre and leave Billy on guard. With his majestic, curling horns and his significant stature, Billy could act as a deterrent to most thieves. Now she just had to decide what to do with the child. Would it be possible to leave her with a neighbour? She had never needed to do such a thing; when Eala was quite young her father had often been around. Nan was aware that mothers often looked after each other’s children, though she had never taken in any neighbour children. There was just that tiny bit of suspicion that her home wasn’t quite as homely as others, and it certainly wasn’t Catholic enough.

The Boyles had been somewhat more friendly than most families in the area. They nodded at Nan when she walked by and had been to see her for various remedies, both for themselves and their livestock. She wouldn’t say she was friends with Mrs. Boyle, but the woman had never been rude to her. Their cabin was on the way to Ardara. Maybe she could leave Fiona there for the day?

On market day, Nan loaded up Jenny and Roisin with cheese stuffed panniers. She made sure there was plenty of feed in the byre and had a last-minute conference with Billy. She filled her bag with the usual remedies – nettle rub for joint pain, blackberry tonic, meadowsweet for the runs, self-heal for fevers, willow bark for headaches, yarrow for nosebleeds, and so on. Most women had their own simples, but few had the range, or the efficacy that Nan had. She knew on which cycle of the moon to pick her plants and she said blessings over her herbs as they dried. Not that people knew she prayed over her remedies, but they knew her herbs were better than most.

Nan instructed Fiona to wrap up warmly and gave her two pieces of buttered bread, an apple, and some cheese for her lunch, enough to share with Farley, of course. Strapping the short bench on her back, Nan led her entourage of two goats, one dog and one child down the hill towards the town. On the route, she knocked on the Boyle’s door. Mrs Boyle came to the door, drying her hands on her apron, accompanied by a toddler with a sticky face clinging to her skirts. She was surprised to see Nan, as the woman was not known to make calls unless requested for her healing work.

Nan pushed Fiona forward.

“Would you mind terribly Mrs Boyle? I’ve got to go to the market today and I think it would be a long, cold day for my granddaughter.” Mrs Boyle looked confused for a moment and then remembered.

“Ah, of course. I’d forgotten that her mother had gone missing. To be sure, just leave the child with me and you can collect her on the way home.” Fiona looked up at her grandmother with consternation. They had not discussed this turn of events at all, and she was not entirely pleased. Mrs Boyle smiled and reached for her, but Fiona hung back. She had never been in someone’s house before without her grandmother. What if Nan wandered off like Eala did? What if Fiona had to live with these people forever? Fiona doubted that any of these people could talk to animals or make remedies and she would have nothing in common with them. Fiona shook her head and hid her face in Nan’s skirts.

Nan was embarrassed and a bit irked. It was bad enough to have to ask for a favour without the child misbehaving. She peeled Fiona off her and pushed her towards the door.

“You have your pup with you a leanbh. You will be fine,” but Fiona started to wail.

Mrs Boyle knelt in front of Fiona and took her by her shoulders. She was a mother of seven, five of them living. She knew children pretty well.

“Your nan is coming back lass. She’s only going to town for the day and then she’ll be back for you by tea-time. I promise.” Fiona paused in her protest, trying to hear if Mrs Boyle was telling the truth. “I’m making bread today and we have some jam left. Do you like bread and jam? I bet you do. All children like a bit of jam.” Seeing that Fiona was still suspicious, she continued. “How about your wee pup? Does he like bread and jam? Would you like to give him a wee bite?” At that Fiona nodded slowly and allowed Mrs Boyle to take her hand. Farley, aware that food was involved, quickly followed his mistress indoors. Nan adjusted her burdens and continued to walk down the hill towards the town, a bit concerned, and a bit relieved.

Mrs Boyle sat Fiona down at the scrubbed wooden table and put a cup of milky tea in front of her. Eying the woman over the rim of the cup, Fiona drank thirstily. She wasn’t used to cow’s milk and found the taste sweeter and quite pleasant. When she was halfway through, she placed the cup on the floor for Farley to have his share. Mrs Boyle compressed her lips but said nothing. Her children were less restrained. A boy of eight pointed at Farley and hooted with laughter and a girl, around Fiona’s own age complained that dogs were dirty, and she would never drink out of that cup again. Mrs Boyle hushed them both and told them to be polite to their guest.

She was a busy woman and Mrs Boyle had to get on with her baking. She was sure the children would be fine on their own, so she encouraged them out into the yard behind the house to play and get out from under her feet. She kept the toddler by her and occasionally rocked a grizzling baby in the cradle near the fire. The eldest child was out helping his father in the fields. The boy, and girl whom Fiona had already met took her met took her hands and tugged her outside.

“What shall we play?” asked the little girl, a dainty thing with light brown hair braided into even plaits down her back. Her dress was remarkably clean for a country child but like Fiona, she was barefoot. The boy was a bit scruffier, but his clothes were well mended and fitted relatively well, having recently been inherited from the older brother

. “You’re poor,” the boy remarked, taking in Fiona’s dress, cut down from one of Eala’s and so worn by washing that it had no real colour at all. Fiona’s hair was plaited too, but hurriedly and was already coming loose and gathering around her face in red and brown straggles. Her feet were exceedingly dirty from having walked in the goat byre that morning.

“Then we can play Lord and Lady and Fiona will be our servant,” the little girl announced. She turned to Fiona with a severe look, “That means you have to do everything we say.” Fiona narrowed her eyes but did not reply. She had no experience of playing with other children. Goats she had played with aplenty. They chased, they feinted, they charged, they even played ball. Goats were great playmates. She wasn’t so sure about these two children though.

“What about the dog?” the boy asked, moving towards Farley with intent. Farley lifted a lip and displayed an impressive new canine tooth that had just grown in.

Fiona intercepted the boy, “Leave me dog be.”

“Why?” the boy asked, now completely determined to investigate the terrier.

“He doesn’t want to play,” Fiona said.

“How do you know; did you ask him?” teased the boy.

Fiona was surprised. She didn’t realise the boy knew about Listeners. Nan had told her most people didn’t understand what Listeners did and it was best not to talk about it.

“He told me,” she announced.

“Your dog talks to you?” the girl exclaimed.

“Yes,” Fiona remarked. “And I listen.”

“You’re a liar,” the boy reprimanded.

“I’m going to tell my mam, you’re a liar!” The little girl went running towards the house.

Fiona decided she didn’t enjoy these children at all. She thought wistfully of the fresh baked bread with jam but wasn’t sure it was worth waiting for. When the boy ran up to Farley and yanked his tail, causing Farley to spin in an instant with a sharp nip, the decision was made. Calling Farley to her, she began running back up the hill towards home.

It was lonesome in the cabin without Nan or her mother, so Fiona went out to the goat byre. Billy inspected her carefully and listened to Farley’s report of the morning. Stepping aside, Billy granted them entrance to his abode and Fiona and Farley settled in among the goats. The press of the herd kept them warm, and they enjoyed watching the antics of the younger goats. It was much more pleasant than spending the day with strangers.

At one point, Mr. Boyle came up, calling for Fiona but Billy wouldn’t let him near the enclosure. Fiona squatted down behind the goats and made herself invisible until Mr. Boyle gave up and returned home. She heard him muttering under his breath, and he didn’t sound too pleased. She wondered why he was angry, hoping it had nothing to do with her. After all, she hadn’t eaten any of their bread and jam, so she was not beholden to the family.

Nan was tired after the day at the market and found carrying the table home exhausting. She wasn’t getting any younger. The cheese had sold well, and a number of remedies had sold too, but the few coins in her purse hardly seemed worth the day’s efforts. She was worried about her goats and hoped the child had gotten on well at the Boyle cabin. She approached the cabin slowly and leaned on the door to rest for a moment before knocking. Mrs. Boyle answered but her face was not nearly as welcoming as in the morning.

“She’s not here. Ran off almost right away. The husband had to leave his work and go looking for her, but he didn’t find her at all. It was a right nuisance. We have too much work to do to be running around the countryside looking for a spoiled wee brat.”

Nan didn’t know what to say. She was terrified that Fiona was down at the loch looking for her mother. And she was mortified that her granddaughter had been called spoiled. The child had been working since she could walk. What on earth had happened?

“I’m terribly sorry Mrs. Boyle, I don’t know what got into her. I suspect she’s just not used to other people; she’s been so much with meself and me daughter.”

“Well, that’s your own fault, isn’t it? Keeping yourself to yourself and not being neighbourly. The children said she wouldn’t play with them at all, and then she let that vicious dog bite me poor lad. If you came to church more often, maybe the child would know how to behave.” And then the door was shut in Nan’s face.