A Bittersweet Garden

by Caren J. Werlinger

  “The ghost?” The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirked. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Hush,” Sheila said, flapping a hand at him. “Tell us.”

  In a rush, Nora described everything that she’d seen in her dreams, ending with the one from last night, the waking with dirt dried on her hands, the scrape on her ankle, all of it.

  Sheila and Quinn stared at her.

  “Do you sleepwalk?” Sheila asked.

  “I never have,” Nora said. “I mean, I know I’m kind of clumsy when I’m awake, but… It was so real. The smells, the textures of the plants and the soil when I fell. That lilac smell of bird cherry was there again.”

  “What was she calling out?” Quinn asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Nora closed her eyes, trying to remember. And she heard it. “Rowan.” Her eyes opened. “She kept saying, rowan, over and over. Isn’t that a tree?”

  Quinn’s gaze locked with Sheila’s for a moment. She reached for his hand. “It’s also a name. There’s a legend around here, an old, old legend, of a child who was lost. A little girl. Her name was Rowan.”

  Nora’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “Could this ghost be her, or her mother?”

  Sheila shook her head. “I don’t know, Nora. I don’t remember anything else about Rowan’s story. Only the name. It was a story used to scare us when we were little, playing in the woods round abouts.”

  Quinn tried to laugh, but didn’t quite pull it off. “Yeah, but it’s just a story. Like you said. Just a legend, right?”

  Sheila’s eyes were wide as she gazed at Nora. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “I have to know more,” Nora said. “About the history of that cottage and the people who lived there.”

  Sheila nodded. “I’ll help you.”

  Nora ground the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  “You look exhausted,” Quinn said.

  Nora gave a mirthless laugh. “Apparently, I was running through the woods all night.”

  “You can’t go back there,” Quinn said. “We can fix a room up here.”

  It took Nora’s befuddled mind a moment to process what he’d said. “No, I can’t do that to you. Besides…” She frowned. “I don’t think she means me any harm. She needs me… for something.”

  “You should get some sleep,” Sheila said.

  Nora shook her head. “I need something to distract me. How about we work on your website today?”

  “Are you sure?” Sheila looked doubtful. “Today was to be a day off for you.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I won’t say no to your help.” Sheila stood. “But first, breakfast.”

  Briana spread fresh straw in one of the stalls and turned to wheel the barrow of soiled straw and manure out to the compost pile. Dilly trotted in with a length of old rope. She gave him a scratch and played a little tug o’ war with him. She stopped at the last stall. The gray mare wasn’t inside. Briana opened the stall door and went through to the enclosure to see what she was up to. The mare stood at the fence, nose to nose with Stubbs.

  Briana watched the pair of them for a moment. “I wonder.”

  She quickly scraped the stall clean and threw down fresh straw before going to the feed bin to get a bucket of oats.

  She went to the paddock where Stubbs’s ears immediately pricked at the rustle of the oats in the bucket as she shook it. The fat pony trotted over eagerly.

  She fed him a palmful, leading him back over to the fence. The mare stomped her feet and bolted to the other side of her small enclosure. Briana gave Stubbs another mouthful of oats and then hung the bucket on the fencepost to give him a rubdown. He snorted in pleasure as her strong hands ran along the muscles on either side of his spine. From the corner of her eye, Briana saw the mare cautiously approaching—ears up, neck stretched forward to sniff at the oats, ready to bolt again.

  Briana backed up to lean against the fence, not entirely sure this was wise, as the mare had shown every evidence of wanting to take a chunk out of anyone who came near her. Stubbs followed, allowing her to continue rubbing while she talked to him in a soothing voice.

  A moment later, Briana felt a puff of warm breath on the back of her neck. The mare sniffed her, nosing her hair. Stubbs reached his muzzle up to the mare, nickering. The mare stepped closer, lowering her head over Briana’s shoulder and allowing Bri to touch her for the first time. There were streaks of white crisscrossing her dapple-gray coat, scars from the beatings she’d had.

  “Well, now,” Briana murmured, lifting one hand to lay it along the mare’s cheek. “I know they hurt you before, but you’ll never have to be afraid again.”

  She reached into the bucket and held a fistful of oats on her flat palm. The mare’s nostrils quivered and her eyes had a ring of white as she stared for a moment into Briana’s eyes, but then she dipped her muzzle to take the oats.

  A half-hour later, when Quinn drove up, he got out of his truck and stood, open-mouthed at the paddock fence where the mare and the pony were grazing side by side.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy…”

  Briana grinned. “Lizzy and I are friends now. She likes Stubbs, so I thought they’d do well pastured together.”

  He turned to her. “Lizzy?”

  Briana lifted one shoulder. “Whatever they called her, she should have a new name now. She’s kind of like Lazarus, so…”

  “Lizzy. I like it.”

  They stood shoulder to shoulder at the fence. Briana kept her eyes on the horses. “How’s Nora?”

  She felt his gaze sharpen but didn’t look at him.

  “She’s fine. More or less.”

  She glanced up at that. “What’s that mean?”

  He scanned the yard, but they were alone. “I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

  She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “She came to us a couple of mornings ago, like a wet cat in the rain.” He paused, scratching his head. “She’d had a dream. Says she’s been having them.”

  “About what?”

  He gave an embarrassed chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “The ghost. At the cottage.”

  Briana’s mouth hung open. “You’re for real?”

  He nodded. “She says it’s a dark-haired woman, crying out, searching for something. That morning she came to us, she’d woken with mud on her hands and a scrape on her ankle that weren’t there when she went to bed.”

  He bit his lip as Briana stared.

  “What’s the woman searching for?”

  “There’s an old legend around here; Sheila and I both grew up hearing it. About a child, a girl name of Rowan, who went missing. They used to scare us with it when we were kids, saying her ghost would come and nab us if we misbehaved or snuck out at night.” He hesitated. “That’s the name Nora said the woman keeps calling. Rowan.”

  “But… Nora never heard these stories, did she?”

  He shook his head. “Which kind of makes me believe her. She had no way of knowing. Unless her grandparents told her, but she swears they never did.”

  Briana thought about what he’d said. “What do they want with Nora?”

  He gave her a dark look. “That’s what Sheila and I are wondering.”

  A winter storm howls outside while Donall holds the children enthralled with a tale of Brian Boru. The peat fire crackles merrily, and the children gasp at all the right places. Even Callum is captivated, setting aside the new knife Donall made him.

  Yule has passed—the longest night behind them—but this blustery night makes them all glad to be snug and warm inside the cottage, under the new slate roof Donall had put on in place of the thatch the summer before the crops went bad, back when work was plentiful.

  Móirín rocks the baby—the easiest to come into the world of all her babies. It should have been a time of joy with this new one, but she finds herself in tears at the least little thing.

  The baby herself is a delight—cheerful and sm
iling at her brothers and sisters. She has the most bewitching green eyes, eyes that captivate all who hold her.

  Donall casts a worried eye in Móirín’s direction as she rocks and stares out the window at the bitter cold night.

  “That’s enough for tonight,” he says.

  The children all moan with disappointment.

  “But Da,” says Rowan, “you stopped just before the big battle.”

  “That I did,” Donall says with a grin. “Now you’ll have something to dream about. Off to bed.”

  He takes them upstairs and gets them all changed into their nightshirts. Realizing he’s missing one, he finds Teafa trying to climb back into the wooden cradle next to the bed he shares with Móirín.

  “That’s not yours any longer, darlin’,” he says, scooping her up and tucking her in the middle of the big bed in the other room—Callum and Rowan on the outside with the little ones hemmed in to keep them from falling out.

  With the children settled, he goes down to Móirín. “Come sit closer to the fire.”

  He helps her to her feet and shifts her chair nearer the snapping flames. For long minutes, they sit, she holding the baby, his hand on her knee.

  “What is it, Móirín? What troubles you so? Are you feeling poorly?”

  She shakes her head. “’Tis nothing. I’m being foolish.”

  “You’re no such thing. Only tell me what I can do to help.”

  She looks at him, his eyes full of such concern, and her own fill with tears again. “I can’t stop it, Donall. I keep seeing them. The Foyles. The five of them, dead in their bed, and no one to mourn them. Mary Gallagher’s little baby boy, dead before he lived a month. How can God allow such things?”

  “I don’t know, mo chroí.” He tenderly brushes his fingers over the baby’s forehead. “All I know is my family is alive and safe. That’s all I can do. All we can do.”

  “But what if—?”

  “Shhhh.” He takes Móirín’s hand and raises it to his lips. “Come to bed. You’re tired.”

  “That’s the Lord’s truth. Body and soul.”

  She follows him up the stairs and allows him to take the baby to tuck into her cradle while she gets into bed, sliding over to make room for him. When he joins her, she lays her head on his shoulder, his arm encircling her protectively. She tries to remember what he said. Our family is alive and safe. Over and over, she repeats those words as she drifts into a fitful sleep.

  Nora opened the oven to check on the chicken and potatoes roasting inside. She had a couple of tomatoes on the counter, ready to be sliced, thanks to Sheila’s greenhouse. She heard the rumble of an engine driving up and cutting off. Going into the parlor, the sight of Briana’s Hyundai parked out front made her heart leap a little. When she opened the door, Shannon was there to greet her, sitting politely on the flagstones. A wide smile split Nora’s face at the sight of the two of them. She patted Shannon’s shaggy head.

  “Hi,” she said to Briana, who was reaching into the passenger seat.

  Briana shut the car door, holding a bag in one hand. “We brought you a few things.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Briana shrugged. “I know. You’ve got your bicycle, but Quinn said he didn’t remember the last time they took you to the market, so I thought I’d pick up a few basics on my way and see if you need to make a shopping trip.”

  She sniffed appreciatively. “Or maybe you don’t.”

  Nora stepped back. “Come on in. Can you stay for dinner? It’s almost ready.”

  “Are you sure? We shouldn’t have come by unannounced.”

  “I’d love to have some company. And I don’t have a phone, so you couldn’t announce yourself anyhow.”

  “My sister would nag you to get a mobile while you’re here.”

  Nora chuckled. “So would mine. I could have gotten an international plan for mine, but it’s been kind of nice, not being chained to a phone.”

  Shannon trotted inside, sniffing everything. Briana looked around just as curiously as she entered.

  “Has it changed that much since the last time you were here?”

  “No.” Briana flushed and walked through to the kitchen.

  Puzzled, Nora followed.

  “Just eggs, milk, bread, biscuits.” Briana laid the items out on the counter. “And beer. Not that there’s anything wrong with Guinness, but you need to expand your taste for Irish beer.”

  She produced a six-pack of mixed ales and stouts.

  “Open two for us,” Nora said as she put the rest of the groceries away and got plates down from the cupboard. “How’ve you been? How’s Kieran and the rest of your family?”

  “They’re good. Mum keeps asking me to bring you back to Dublin.” Briana popped the tops of two bottles—a Beamish and a Murphy’s—and poured them into glasses.

  Nora reached into the oven and set the roasting pan on the cook top. “Do you go often? You said you don’t like Dublin.”

  “I don’t. So I don’t go as often as they’d like. I think that’s their strategy. Get me to come more often by inviting you.”

  For some reason, that made Briana blush again. She glanced up and caught Nora watching her. A long moment passed as they stared at each other.

  “Um,” Nora stammered, redirecting her attention. She pointed at the tomatoes. “Can you slice those?”

  They sat a few minutes later, the evening sun slanting through the open back door. Shannon stretched out on her side in the warmth.

  Nora noticed Briana kept glancing over her shoulder into the parlor. “Is something wrong?”

  To her amusement, Briana shuffled her chair around to sit adjacent to Nora rather than across from her.

  “Quinn told you,” Nora said, smiling.

  “If a ghost is going to come at us, I’d rather not have my back to it,” Briana said defensively.

  “She’s not like that.”

  Briana paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “What’s she like, then?”

  Nora took a drink of her ale as she considered how to answer. “Sad. Not vengeful. Although there was a bit of a temper tantrum. I think I’ve seen her twice. Just quick glimpses in the upstairs room.”

  Briana sat up straighter. “The day we came back from Dublin. When I dropped you off, you were looking up at the window.”

  Nora nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “When I got inside, things had been… rearranged. My books and pens on the floor. Pillows upstairs thrown around.”

  Briana’s eyes were wide. “And you stay here?”

  “Where else am I going to go?” Nora shrugged. “And, like I told you. She’s not going to hurt me. I feel that.”

  “She threw your things about.”

  “She was upset that I left, I think. She needs my help.”

  “Rowan.”

  “Sometimes I can almost feel her anguish. Her heartbreak over… whatever happened.” Nora nodded again. “She’s reaching out to me.”

  Briana set her fork down and leaned forward. “But why you? Just because you’re here?”

  “Maybe. How long has it been since anyone stayed here?”

  Briana thought. “Farmer McCarthy had someone let this cottage two summers ago, but they only stayed a week. I remember because I rode by as they were throwing everything back into their car as fast as they could. They didn’t say why they were leaving, so I never thought any more about it.”

  “I think I can guess.” Nora picked up her glass. “Sheila and I are going to visit Mrs. McCarthy tomorrow morning. See if she can tell us anything. She won’t set foot in here. When she and Mr. McCarthy came by after I arrived, she stayed outside.”

  They finished eating and quickly did the dishes. Nora went to the parlor to get some money.

  “Not this time,” Briana declined. “I just wanted to do that. Besides, you fed me.”

  She shuffled her feet.

  “What is it?” Nora asked.

  “Are you sure you’re safe here?” Briana blu
rted.

  Nora smiled. “Want to see for yourself?”

  She led the way up the stairs. Briana and Shannon followed.

  Nora pointed into the back bedroom. “She’s never shown any signs of being in here.”

  She walked down the hall to the front room. Briana paused at the threshold before taking a deep breath and following Nora into the room. Shannon came in, sniffing curiously, but stopped suddenly, one paw in mid-air. A deep growl rumbled from her chest, and she leapt almost the entire distance back to the hall, where she refused to come into the room again.

  Nora watched Briana looking around warily, looking ready to bolt herself.

  “See?” Nora held her hands out. “Nothing. It’s like this most of the time.”

  “But Quinn said you’ve been seeing her in dreams.”

  “Yeah. She mostly comes to me in my sleep.”

  Briana glanced at Shannon, who still stood out in the hall. “She’s here.” She scanned the room again. There was nothing visible, but she shivered.

  “Let’s go down,” Nora suggested.

  Briana led the way this time. Shannon raced down the stairs and out the front door. Nora followed them to the SUV.

  “Thanks again for coming by and bringing the groceries.”

  Briana opened the door for Shannon to hop inside, but then stood with her hand on the door. “Would you like to go riding again?”

  It took Nora a second to process the abrupt change of topic. “Uh… sure. When?”

  “Your next day off. I’ve a horse I need to work with, but she’ll go better with company. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “I’d like that. Not tomorrow, but the day after?”

  Briana nodded and got into the car. “You know where the private stables are?”

  “Sheila showed me.”

  “Meet me there at eight, then. If that’s not too early.”

  “Eight. Thursday. See you then.”

  Nora waved them off. She stood there for a long time, savoring the unfamiliar—and unexpected—feelings that being with Briana seemed to bring out in her.

  You didn’t come here for a summer fling, she reminded herself sternly. Of course, she’d never had a fling of any kind, summer or otherwise.