Midnight Runner: A Novel

by Marilee Jackson

  “Thanks,” Moira said with a weak smile, “but they keep catching me and bringing me back. I have a plan. I just have to wait until winter, and I need a little more money.” As they walked to the midwife’s small one-room cottage, Moira recounted her plan to the old woman. She knew she should guard her tongue, but it felt good to share with somebody. She told her about the day she had seen the royal parade, the times she had run away before, and about the plan to get to Allail and make herself into something. Sorcha listened silently.

  When they reached her cottage, Sorcha held the door open. “Come in, lassie. I’ve something for ya.” When Moira hesitated, Sorcha pulled on her arm and shut the door behind her. “Just put my bag in the corner.” Moira set the bag down and looked around the small cottage. It was half the size of the Bards’ cottage but somehow nicer. Maybe because they aren’t here. She smirked at the thought. The layout was basically the same as the Bards’. However, it had a rug woven with green and blue on the floor, and a small vase of wildflowers in the middle of the table. The whole feel was different—Moira would call it homey.

  “Were you married, Sorcha?” Moira asked.

  “Aye, that I was, for the best sixty years of my life. A little piece of me died with him . . .” Sorcha’s eyes filled with tears. “Sorry, lassie. Just remembering ghosts of my past.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  “No. No babies for me. That’s why I took to birthing them.”

  “Oh,” Moira said.

  “Ya know a little piece of your ma died when your da left. She was never the same without him. Loved him like a king, she did. An’ he loved her too, make no mistake about that. He was a good one, your da. Just circumstances being what they were an’ all.” She smiled sadly. “’Ere ya go.” She handed Moira an old burlap sack.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s for ya. Open it.”

  Moira unrolled the old bag and untied the strings. She reached down to the bottom, grasped something, and withdrew her hand. Her mouth dropped open as she opened her fist. “Sorcha, I can’t—”

  “’Course ya can. I wanna give it to ya.” Sorcha shook her head as Moira tried to give the contents back to her. “What’s an old one like me gonna do with it? You’re young. Take it—get yourself to Allail. My husband and I never got ta use it, an’ I don’t wanna go anywhere unless it’s to meet him again.” Sorcha put her hand over Moira’s and closed her fingers over her palm. “It’s yours.” She kissed her on the forehead and gently pushed her out the door. “Better get before they come searching for ya.”

  Moira stood outside the small cottage dumbfounded. She opened the sack to make sure it was real. For as long as she could remember, nobody had ever been nice to her. She didn’t know how to take it. Gradually, she opened her fist. Lying in her palm was a wad of money. Moira stared at the gift for five minutes. Then, afraid she would draw attention to herself, she pushed it into her pocket and made her way back to the Bards.

  “Good, you’re back. I was just gonna go find ya.” Artair stopped pulling his boots on as Moira walked through the back door. “You gonna get supper now or do I have to beat ya?”

  “No, I’ll get supper now.”

  “Good.” He narrowed his eyes and watched her step into the kitchen. “An’ when you’re done, Roane’s diaper needs a change, and since Gormal needs her sleep, you’ll stay up with the wee laddie.” Moira absentmindedly nodded. She didn’t care what they said to her tonight. For the first time since she could remember, she was happy. Thanks to Sorcha, wonderful Sorcha, she had more than enough money to get all the way to Allail and even to buy herself some new material for dresses. Humming quietly to herself, Moira felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  Moira was still up when the sun broke the horizon, so by the time the Bards awakened she had already cleaned the house, bathed and wrapped Roane in clean blankets, and had a fresh pot of gruel waiting on the cookstove for them. Riona ran to the table and ate greedily as Moira spooned more gruel into her bowl. Artair stood in the corner watching Moira with narrow eyes and tight lips before heading to the table to devour his breakfast.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull,” he said through a mouthful of gruel, “but it won’t work.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Moira said. She had decided that until she ran away for the final time, she was going to be the best housemaid she could be. She was going to make them trust her, so when she ran they wouldn’t find out until they woke to find no breakfast waiting for them. She laughed as she pictured them waiting at the table, no one there to slop them, confusion on their fat faces.

  “Hmm.” Artair wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood. “We’ll see.” He walked out the back door.

  Moira cleaned up from breakfast as Riona tortured bugs in the front yard and Gormal fed Roane again. The back door flew open, smashing into the wall. Moira jumped as Artair ran in. “Gormal! Gormal!” he yelled, his face filled with horror.

  “I just got Roane to sleep. Keep it down!” Gormal hissed, gesturing to the sleeping bundle.

  Moira stepped to the side of the fireplace and smashed her face against the wall to eavesdrop.

  “. . . found her this morning,” Artair was saying.

  “You sure?” Gormal asked. “She was just here yesterday.”

  “I know. That’s what I told them at the pub. Uh, I was there sharing the news of the babe with the townsfolk.”

  “You think I don’t know you go to the pub every day? Finish your story, ya drunken sod.”

  “That’s it. They just told me that the Butler girl went to get Sorcha this morning and found her dead.”

  Moira sucked in a breath and fought back the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. “No!” she whispered as she slowly walked to the kitchen. When she reached the table, she had to brace herself so she didn’t fall. Moira didn’t want to believe it. Why do bad things always happen to good people? Why does everyone that is nice to me die? Moira slid to the floor and silently sobbed into her hands.

  6

  Six months later on a bitterly cold night, Moira silently pulled open the cumbersome wooden back door of the shabby stone cottage that housed her adopted family. As she stepped lightly out into the freezing weather, she hoped that the draft wouldn’t wake up any of the Bard family. In her heart, she hoped that the draft she let in would give them all pneumonia. It had been a dry January, so she didn’t worry about leaving tracks behind. However, without the cloud cover to trap in the warm air, every breath she took felt like razor blades in her lungs. She felt much older than her eighteen years.

  The wind swirled dead leaves around Moira’s feet as she began walking. The cold cut through her threadbare blanket and she pulled it tighter around her shoulders. After her twelve years of servitude, a frozen death was worth the risk. After a few steps, she stopped to listen and was certain only silence surrounded her. Moira continued on her way out of Trom, the only town she had ever known, without a second thought.

  Moira often wondered what made a person royal or noble; who really had claim to these exalted classes in life? She came to the conclusion that they were once common just like her, but they possessed the courage and determination to eliminate the competition. I have more than enough of both characteristics, Moira decided, with a flash of fire in her emerald eyes.

  She moved slowly through the woods. She wanted to get to Allail as soon as possible, but she didn’t want to exhaust herself on the first night of her trip. She kept the road in view, but stayed far enough away to remain undetected. As the eastern sky grew lighter, transitioning from ebony into a lighter grayish-blue, Moira could barely keep her eyes open. She scanned the densely wooded forest in search of a safe place to rest for the daylight hours.

  Several hours later, as twilight loomed overhead, Moira stood, brushed the dead leaves from her dress, and stretched her stiff muscles. She sat down on the fallen log that had served as her
protection during the day. She opened the small bundle she had stolen from the Bards and pulled out a round loaf of bread that she had made last week. Moira broke the stale loaf into five pieces, one for each day her journey should take. Replacing the other four pieces in the bundle, she pulled out the crowdie she had brought and, mouth watering in anticipation, smeared a small amount on her chunk of bread.

  She sank her teeth into the tough hunk of bread and tore off a large mouthful, quickly devouring her first day’s ration of food. When she finished her small meal, Moira pulled the tattered hem of her dress up and wiped her face clean. With the dry bread still lodged in her throat, Moira realized she needed something to drink.

  Moira wandered her makeshift campground and had only gone a few yards before she heard the trickle of moving water. She found a small stream that bubbled and swirled toward the river Allt. She knelt beside the icy stream, filled her hands and, despite the frigid water, swallowed mouthful after mouthful to quench her overwhelming thirst. When she had had her fill, she once again filled her hands, braced herself for the chill, and washed her face. Done with her bath, she brushed her fingers through her long dark tangles of hair, pulling out leaves and small twigs. Moira looked up at the early evening sky and decided it was dark enough to continue on her journey.

  The next few nights passed in the same routine. The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that she would be free from her life of poverty as soon as she could get to Allail.

  On the fifth morning of her journey, the orange sun broke over the horizon as she walked into the modest village of Oidean. Pulse quickening, Moira had to force herself not to run the last few yards. Heaving a tired but content sigh of a free woman, she rounded the corner heading east up the dusty deserted road leading to an inn.

  Moira stopped in front of the massive oak door. She looked up at a sign that creaked in the frosty morning breeze: “Dolidh’s Inn and Tavern.” She pulled her hands out of her pockets, breathed warm air into them, and rubbed them together. She pulled on the large front door of the two-story stone cottage, but it wouldn’t budge. Changing her tactic, she planted her feet and used her shoulder to push as hard as she could. Her feet slipped on a few loose rocks, and she fell to the ground.

  “Oh, lass, are you okay?” Moira looked up to see a tall man in his midthirties standing over her, concern creasing his leathery forehead and showing in his gray eyes. He obviously worked outside in the wind and sun. He had chestnut colored hair that hung just above his shoulders and was turning gray at his temples. Moira looked around, trying to figure out where he had come from so quickly.

  “I was trying to . . . the door is . . . I need a room.” She was gesturing to the inn.

  “Oh, Dolidh hasn’t unlocked yet, huh?” He offered her a callused hand. Moira nervously took the proffered hand. “I was out milkin’,” he explained as he pulled her easily to her feet. Moira quickly pulled her hand away from his grasp. “Let me.” He turned and hammered a fist on the door. “DOLIDH!” he shouted. After a few awkward moments, they heard the lock turn and the door flew open.

  “Barra, what the—” An animated woman about the same age as the man cut off midsentence when she saw Moira. She wore a white nightgown and a bemused smile. A dark braid flowed down her back. “Hello, lass,” she said, offering a warm smile.

  “She’s in need of a room, woman. Why haven’t you unlocked yet? The sun’s up, ain’t it?” Barra teased.

  “’Cause I been picking up after you, man. Go an’ finish up your chores. I’ll take care of her,” she said, giving him a gentle push with one hand and putting the other around Moira’s back. “Come in and rest yerself, dearie.”

  Moira stiffened at Dolidh’s touch and slid out of her hold. Shrugging, Dolidh ushered her into the inn. “I bet you could use a nice warm bed. You look just dead on your feet.” Dolidh pulled the huge door shut with a thunderous click that made Moira jump. Dolidh chuckled. “Wee nervous thing, ain’t ya?”

  Moira narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but Dolidh walked across the large room and stopped at the bottom of a staircase. She turned and waited for Moira to join her.

  Slowly, Moira walked over and joined Dolidh. She shoved Moira up the stairs ahead of her. Dolidh opened the first door on the landing. She crossed the small room and opened the thin curtain to let the early morning light filter through. “Here we are, the best in town—only one in town for that matter.” Dolidh laughed at her joke. “If you need anything be sure to holler.” With a quick nod and wink, the older woman shut the door to Moira’s room and was gone.

  Moira sat on the edge of the double bed. These people seem so nice! Are there really that many nice people in the world? What’s the matter with the Bards then? she wondered as she threw her dirt-encrusted blanket on the floor and kicked off her shoes. Then she pulled off her soiled dress and tossed it to the floor with her blanket. She made a mental note to throw out the old linen as soon as possible.

  She took a quick look around the room. The walls were bare except for one small grimy window that let in a rectangle of orange sunlight. There was a rug on the floor, a small bed, and a small dresser with a washbasin on top. Compared to the straw mattress in the corner, this was a magnificent castle. She laid her head down on the pillow and finally let the joyful tears of relief flow unreservedly from her eyes. She was free.

  7

  After using the washbasin and taking a long nap, Moira decided to see what the inn offered in the way of dinner. Descending the long narrow staircase from the second floor, Moira noticed that the rest of the inn was just as plain and practical as her room. There was nothing on the walls or dusty wooden floor. A bar was in the corner by the front door and several plain round tables were scattered around the large dark dining room. She stepped off the bottom step and headed straight to the bar, nearly tripping over a small black ball of fluff that appeared to be a dog.

  “Oy, Coll! Get out of the nice lassie’s way.”

  Moira looked up to see who was yelling at the small animal. Behind the bar was the woman from earlier; her dark brown hair was now pulled into a sensible bun at the base of her neck. She was not thin by any means, but she was nowhere near as rotund as Gormal. She was of average height and stood about five inches taller than Moira. She was serving drinks to several rough-looking men seated at the bar.

  “Now, you just wait your turn there, Branan. I’ll get to you when I get to you.” Dolidh, holding a large bottle of whisky, smiled a warm smile and winked at Moira, motioning for her to take a seat at a table to the left of the bar. This woman confused Moira. Her words to Branan were harsh, but she smiled kindly at Moira.

  “C’mon, Dolidh. I’ve been waitin’ ferra long while,” Branan slurred with a hiccup. Even from the table behind him, Moira could smell the whisky on his breath.

  “If I’m not mistaken, Branan, I’ve already told you you’re done. So why don’t you just head on home to your missus.” Dolidh was not smiling this time.

  “Maybe she’s a one that drove me ta a bottle in th’ first place!” Branan smashed a glass on the table and struggled to stand up. Just then a tiny woman came through the front door.

  “Dolidh, I’m so sorry. I should’ve known he’d be here making a nuisance of himself. Branan! March your arse home this very instant! You should be ashamed of yerself out here wasting the meager wages you make on whisky! And your children home tending to your chores!” That tiny woman’s temper is as fiery as her mane of red hair, Moira thought, watching the scene with wide-eyed bewilderment.

  “WOMAN, I COME HOME WHEN I’M GOOD AND READY TO!” Branan’s voice boomed like a drum, causing the whole room to stop and stare in his direction just as he fell flat on his face.

  “Ya dumb drunk.” The tiny woman sighed and tried to rouse him with a hard, swift slap across the face.

  The tall man with chestnut hair from that morning came in from what Moira imagined was the kitchen and threw a bucket of cold water on Branan. “Thanks, Barra. Woul
d ya just throw him in the barn? He can sleep it off with the sheep . . . again.” The tiny woman suddenly seemed weary as she waved to Dolidh and pulled the large oak door shut after Barra half-dragged, half-carried her mammoth of a husband from the floor of the small inn.

  “Now, we were wondering when you’d be down to join the fun, lass. You’ve been up there for hours.” Dolidh turned to Moira with a warm smile as if nothing had just happened. Are these people all crazy like that? Moira shook her head in disbelief. Seeing the baffled expression on Moira’s face, Dolidh, with a brush of her plump hand, said, “Don’t fret none. Happens once a week or so.”

  “Aye,” the crowd around the bar agreed in unison.

  “That’s just a little of the local color round these parts. But you’re not from around these parts, are you?” Dolidh narrowed her sky-blue eyes suspiciously at Moira. “Where are you from and why are you alone?” asked Dolidh, and the whole crowd of drinkers waited for Moira’s response.

  “Um, my mother died when I was just a babe and my father died not too long ago. Now I am headed to Allail to live with my mother’s sister.” Moira expertly recited the lie she had worked up on the walk here. She knew that not many people would let the fact that she was traveling without a chaperon pass unquestioned.

  “Poor, dearie. You’ve no other family? Why didn’t you wait ’til it was warmer? A wee tiny thing like you, it wouldn’ take long to freeze to death,” Dolidh said with a concerned shake of her head. Moira laughed nervously as the crowd of onlookers hung on her every word.

  “No, I don’t have any other family. They sold our cottage to pay off my father’s debt so I had to leave straight away.” Moira faked a sad pout.