“But I . . . she . . . it fell of its own accord. I was stirring the gruel across the room when it happened,” Moira argued, knowing full well it wouldn’t do any good.
“Oh, an’ I suppose Riona’s lying to me?” Gormal asked on her way to the branch. Defeated, Moira threw her hands out, palms up.
“No, no, Riona would never lie to you,” Moira muttered sarcastically. “It must have been me, right?”
“This baby’ll be here any time now. I’m too tired to beat you right now. You ungrateful . . .” Gormal turned from the fireplace and noisily dropped down into the chair. “Just clean it up an’ make her something else. That gruel was horrible anyway. Sometimes I think you’re trying to poison us.” She closed her eyes. “Ungrateful . . . mmmm . . . lazy . . . insolent . . . can’t do anything . . . mmmm.” Gormal mumbled until she was snoring loudly. Moira narrowed her green eyes and glared back when Riona stuck out her tongue.
“Maybe if the little brat got up before noon it wouldn’t be horrible!” Moira yelled as she grabbed a cloth from the washbasin and went to clean the mess on the floor.
Gormal jerked awake. “That’s it!” she said as she leaned forward to stand but fell back into the chair. Once more she tried to stand upright. She rocked forward once, twice, and on her third attempt she fell back exhausted. “Riona, bring me the branch!” she bellowed, breathless.
“Ma, I’m eating. Make Moira get it for you!” Riona whined in her nasally voice.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud.” After a small struggle, Gormal finally rose to her swollen feet. She grabbed the yew branch and lumbered into the small kitchen area. Moira braced herself for the stinging pain. She shut her eyes tightly and waited. When it didn’t come, she slowly opened them one at a time to peek at Gormal.
“Ma, what are you waiting for? Hit her. Hit her. Hit her,” Riona chanted.
“Naw, I got a better idea.” Gormal’s large mouth twisted into a nasty grin. Moira followed her intent gaze to the book sitting on the cabinet.
“No, please, I’ll do anything. Please, not that!” Moira, still on her knees, begged.
“Shut up! Nothing else has worked. I think this will be just the thing to break ya! Ha!” The older woman guffawed as she lifted the flat iron burner on the wood stove and threw in the Bard family Bible.
“No!” Moira watched in horror as the pages turned black and curled at the edges, and then as the entire book burst into flames. Her eyes blurred as she stared into the fire. A heat rose from her belly, filling her chest with a blaze matching the one in the stove. The two Bard women continued their gleeful laughter.
“Maybe now you’ll do as you’re told, you stupid girl.” Gormal smiled.
“Yeah, stupid girl!” Riona echoed.
The hatred that had been festering in Moira for the last twelve years threatened to explode. The room began to spin, and she felt like she was suffocating. Moira dropped the rag on the floor, jumped to her feet, and ran out the back door.
“Ma!” Riona shrieked. “Ma, she’s trying to run away again!”
“Moira! Get back here!”
Moira could hear the hysterical yelling, but she paid no attention. Outside, she ran even faster and she wasn’t going to stop this time. The sun was bright overhead and it warmed her. She momentarily forgot about Allail, about her dream. She was free and that was how she wanted to stay. Moira pulled her soiled apron over her head and threw it on the ground. She ran past cottages and fields. Woolly sheep stopped their grazing to stare as she passed. Cows tossed their heads to catch a glimpse of her flight. She ran west until she reached a dead end; then she turned south and ran until the next dead end and then headed back to the north. She felt like a lunatic, but she didn’t care as long as she was outside.
She didn’t know where she was going; she didn’t have a plan. All she wanted to do was run. She wanted to feel the cool air as it rushed past her flushed cheeks. She continued moving most of the day. She ran until her lungs were on fire and a terrible pain appeared in her left side. She sat on a moss-covered rock until her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to normal. Then she took off running again.
The sun was sinking in the western sky when Moira slowed. She saw the Cuasan Pass at the top of a slight hill covered in a thick coat of flora. She looked up into the pale blue sky. It looked like a work of art, the orange, gold, and pink hues mingling together in perfect harmony. Moira slowed and walked the rest of the way to the mouth of the pass. She stopped and sat on a stump to rest as she scanned the horizon and breathed in the freedom. Looking at the sky, she thought about the Bards. She wondered how there could be so much beauty, like this amazing sunset, in a world where there was such evil. She slid off the stump and into the cool green grass. She was bone weary and worn out. Slowly she drifted to sleep.
4
It was dark. Moira couldn’t see anything; she just knew she needed to keep running. She heard the men coming. They were laughing and cursing at her.
“She thinks she’ll get away from me—Artair Bard!” the angry man was saying. “Ha, not likely. I’ll find her and when I do, she’ll be sorry that she was born!” The other men laughed.
Moira’s pulse raced and her breathing constricted. She turned a circle, unsure which way to go. She couldn’t tell from which way the angry mob was coming. Frantically, she spun around trying to get her bearings in the pitch-black night.
“We’ll get her, Art,” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Yeah!” the entire crowd yelled in unison.
Moira could now see the torches that the men carried. Plan or no plan, she had to escape. She groped along in the darkness. The men seemed to be flying, they were coming up behind her so fast. Not caring that she couldn’t see anything, Moira broke into a gallop. She was pumping her legs as fast as she could, but she didn’t seem to be getting any farther away from the swelling mob. Finally, she looked down at her feet. They weren’t moving; they were stuck to the ground. She bent to see what was keeping her in place. She gasped as she realized it was gruel. She was stuck in gruel.
A cracking sound startled Moira awake. It was all a dream. No one was following her. There were no men with torches. Where am I? she thought. She stood up and stretched out her stiff muscles. There was another loud crack. Moira froze and listened. Another crack. She looked in the direction of the sound. A large black shape came into view. The shadow moved closer to her. It was dark but she could tell its head almost reached her shoulder.
Squinting into the darkness, she could make out four legs. Her eyes wide in horror, Moira backed away. The large shadowy figure bent its head and Moira heard grass being ripped from the ground. The creature let out a low mooing sound. “A cow!” Moira laughed, hysteria creeping into her voice. She took a few deep breaths and forced her heartbeat to slow. Tentatively reaching out her hand, she scratched one of the brown fuzzy ears. She turned to walk further north, deeper into the pass. She had only gotten a few feet when she was grabbed roughly around the waist and hoisted onto a wide shoulder.
She recognized the sour stench. “Artair?” she asked.
“ ’Ello, lassie. Did ya miss sme?” Artair slurred and then hiccupped.
A wave of relief washed over her as she realized he was drunk. The last time she ran, he was sober when he found her, and he beat her half to death. At least he’ll only try to bed me, she thought, not beat me. Thinking she would still be able to outrun him, Moira twisted out of his grasp, landing hard on the ground. She tried to jump to her feet. Artair’s hand shot out lightning fast, and he grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her back. Numbly, she braced herself for the long walk to the Bards’ small cottage.
Artair walked home slowly on unstable feet, jostling Moira more than necessary. It had been two hours from the time they left the Cuasan Pass, a walk that usually took thirty minutes. Moira sighed. Hurry up already. I’m already sore from running. Finally she recognized the wooden back door as Artair pushed it open. Five, fo
ur, three, two . . .
On one she landed on her back on the small straw mattress in the corner of the cottage’s front room. Lifting her arms and bracing them against the two walls, she raised both of her feet and waited. She heard the familiar sound of Artair’s belt hitting the wood plank floor. Odd, she thought. That sound use to scare me. She sighed and waited for him to get closer. As he bent over her, she put her feet squarely on his chest and, with full force, shoved just as she had done a thousand times before. And just like the other times, he stumbled backward and fell over the chair. He landed with a loud thud in front of the bedroom door. Moira waited, her feet still in mid air. After ten minutes, Moira gradually lowered her feet. Artair began to snore noisily.
Moira decided this had been her last failed attempt to run away. The next time she ran, she was not coming back.
The rest of that night Moira put the finishing touches on her escape plan. All she had to do now was wait for the perfect cold winter night. Content with her decision, Moira pulled her threadbare blue tartan blanket around her shoulders and fell into a deep sleep filled with sweet dreams of escape.
5
Ouch!” Moira’s eyes flew open as pain radiated through her right side just above her hip. She rolled over to see Gormal standing above her, foot poised for another kick. “I’m up.” She got to her knees and Gormal kicked her thigh the second time. “I said, I’m up!” Moira yelled, massaging her tender leg.
“The second’s for running again. When are you gonna learn that you’ll never get away?” Gormal waddled across the floor and flopped into the chair by the fireplace. “Breakfast!” she commanded. “Then clean the floor.” She pointed to the kitchen floor. “I saved your mess for ya. There’s even a new rag for ya on the tub.” Gormal threw her head back and cackled noisily.
Moira looked at the floor still covered in gruel and broken pieces of the bowl. “It’s dried now. It’s gonna take forever to clean up!”
“Well, then you better get a move on. Like I said, new rag’s on the tub.”
Moira stomped past Gormal, picked up the new rag, and got down on her hands and knees. Just a few more months, Moira. There are only a few more months until winter, she thought, trying to comfort herself. Taking a deep breath, she began to scrub at the mess on the floor. She spread the rag out to its full size. This wasn’t just any new rag. This was a square cut out of her threadbare blanket. Her eyes flew to her mattress in the corner.
“That’s right.” Gormal was now standing right beside her now. “It’s your only blanket. Next time you try to run, it won’t just be your blanket I cut up! You understand?” She was so close Moira could feel her rancid breath on the back of her neck. “I said breakfast first!” the older woman screamed into her ear.
Moira jumped to her feet, spun around, and pulled a small burlap bag of oats out of the dilapidated cabinet under the washtub. Gormal smacked her in the back of the head. “Put some sugar and molasses in it today so it’s not so horrible.” Moira rubbed the back of her head, pulled a small pan out of the cabinet, and started the morning gruel. Gormal waddled back to the sitting room and dropped noisily into the chair.
“Oh, she’s back,” Riona said, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Why’s she back?”
“’Cause if she weren’t here, you’d be doing her job from now on,” Gormal answered without opening her eyes.
“Well then, I’m glad you’re back.” Riona kicked Moira in the calf. Moira turned around and threw her spoon at Riona’s head. Riona ducked her tangled orange head out of the way. “Ma,” Riona whined, “Moira hit . . .”
“Shut it!” Gormal was stroking the sides of her sizeable belly. “Whew . . . ouch . . . grrrrr,” she grunted.
“Ma, are you okay? Ma?” Fear shone in Riona’s eyes as she ran and dropped to her knees next to her mother’s chair. “Moira? Moira, what’s wrong with Ma?” Riona looked at Moira, her face contorted in fear.
“She’s fine.” Moira rolled her eyes. “She’s just in labor.”
“What’s that mean?” Riona asked. “I don’t know what that means!”
“It means,” Gormal panted, “the baby’s coming. Owwww!” She screamed as a contraction ripped through her back. “Riona, don’t just sit there staring like a lump. Go an’ get Sorcha!”
“W-W-Why me? Send Moira, I’ll stay with you.”
“Owwww! No, she’ll just run again. Just go get her! Now!” Gormal rolled onto the floor. “Moira, get me to the bed. Riona! Get!” She violently shoved the terrified young girl toward the door.
Still in her nightdress, Riona ran barefoot out the door to find the midwife. Moira stood leaning against the cookstove, watching Gormal struggle through her labor pains as tried to get to bed. Gormal turned and saw the evil smile on Moira’s face. “What, er, are you, ow, smiling for?” she demanded. “Get over here an’ help me!”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll help you, but thank you for asking. After all, I have a mess to clean up.” Moira pointed to the gruel still stuck to the floor.
“Get over here! You stupid girl! You know I’ll beat you when this babe’s out of me!” Gormal doubled over in pain and grabbed her stomach.
“Yeah, maybe, but it will be a few days before you can get out of bed. By then, I think you will probably have forgotten, seeing as how you’ll have a new baby to feed and care for and all.” Moira smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and folded her arms across her chest.
“Moira!” The front door flew open. Riona, weeping loudly, pulled on the elfin hand of the elderly midwife Sorcha.
“All right, I’m here, child. Let me go,” Sorcha crooned to the hysterical girl. “I’ll take good care of your ma. Gormal, why aren’t you in the bed yet?”
“I’m on my way, Sorcha. Can’t you see that?” Gormal asked.
“All right now. None of that anger now. The babe needs a loving peaceful place to come to now, you hear me?” Sorcha scolded.
Moira laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
“Hello, lassie. How are you?” Sorcha asked Moira. Her sweet smile revealed missing teeth. “It’s been a while.” She crossed the room and took Moira’s chin in her pale hand. Looking at her face, she turned it to the left and then to the right. “You’re the spitting image of your ma. So sad.” She shook her head sadly. “She was a beauty and nice lass too. You never forget when you lose a ma.” Sorcha sniffed and wiped away the tears that trickled down her wrinkled face. “Okay, now let’s get that babe here.” She patted Moira’s cheek and walked through the doorway to where Riona was nervously fluttering around her mother.
Moira stared at the kind old lady. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She let out the breath she was unaware she was holding. The only one that ever talked to Moira about her mother was Gormal, and she never had anything nice to say. But this toothless old crone thought her mother was a nice woman. Moira smiled at the kindness of the old midwife and went to help deliver the Bard baby, if only to be closer to someone that had known her mother.
* * *
Seven hours later an exhausted Moira watched in horror as Sorcha gently placed a small pink bundle with a little tuft of orange hair into the outstretched arms of Gormal. Moira had never seen anything like childbearing. She wrinkled her nose, making a disgusted face. That was disgusting. I will never do anything like that as long as I live, she vowed to herself. Why would anyone endure that pain? All you get is a child you have to do everything for all day and night. No thank you! I will never be a mother. She made a sour face and walked out of the small room where the Bards slept.
“Is it over?” Riona raised her head from her knees and looked at Moira. “Is she . . . are they all right?”
“What is it?” Artair was sitting in the chair turning his hat over and over in his hands. “Is she . . . is she all right?” Artair asked, staring expectantly at Moira, whose face was still frozen with the disgusted expression. “W-w-why do you have that
look on your face?” Artair swallowed audibly.
“She’s fine. Everything’s fine,” Moira assured them. Unfortunately! “It’s a boy. You have a fat, healthy, orange-haired son.”
“Oh.” Artair jumped to his feet and paced back and forth in the small room. “A boy. Riona, did ya hear? A son, a brother. Riona, did ya hear?”
“Aye, I heard. It’s . . . it’s . . . great,” Riona said, relief on her face. “I didn’t want it to be a girl.”
Sorcha emerged from the small bedroom, fatigue evident in every move she made. “I’m not a spring chicken anymore, am I?” she asked, forcing a weary smile. “Artair, he’s a beauty. You can go see him, but both of them are sleepin’, so don’t disturb them.” She stood to one side as Artair darted past her.
“Can I go too?” Riona asked, still sitting on the floor by the chair.
“Not now, lassie, but soon. Your pa’ll be out soon, an’ then you can see Roane.”
Riona looked up from her knees. “Roane?”
“On account of his mass of orange hair like you and your pa. Roane means red,” she explained. Sorcha grunted as she stooped to pick up the bag with her birthing kit.
“Here, let me get it.” Moira easily picked up the large black bag and followed the midwife to the door.
“You can’t leave. Ma won’t like it,” Riona muttered into her knees. “You’ll run again.”
“I’ll be right back,” Moira said. “I’m just helping her get her stuff home.”
“Okay. Riona and Roane? Why . . .” Riona was muttering incoherently on the edge of sleep.
Once they were outside, Moira sucked in a few deep breaths. “Moira, I knew your ma pretty good. She loved ya,” Sorcha began. “She wanted the best for you. She wouldn’t have liked the way the Bards treat ya, but she would have wanted ya to be nice, no matter what.” She turned and looked Moira in the face. Moira couldn’t meet the old woman’s eyes. “But between you and me, if they treated me like that, I’d run too.” She winked.
Midnight Runner: A Novel Page 2
