A Bittersweet Garden

by Caren J. Werlinger

  She went back inside. With a glance upwards, she said, “Let’s have a full night’s sleep with no adventures.”

  Nora watched the hedges and stone walls roll by as Sheila navigated a winding road Nora had never been on.

  “Mrs. McCarthy knows we’re coming?” she asked.

  She’d taken care to clean her shoes of any mud and wore khakis instead of jeans. Sheila, she noticed, had done the same, ditching her gardening trousers and Wellies for clothing more suited to a social call. In a plum-colored sweater, with her hair pulled back in a loose knot, she was stunning. Nora’s best couldn’t compare to Sheila on a normal day at the nursery. Nora glanced down at herself. Face it, clean and presentable is the best you can do.

  “She does,” Sheila said, slowing and pulling over to let a large truck pass. “I’ve a loaf of almond bread for her. A little bread and tea will help to loosen her tongue.”

  The McCarthy farm was kind of ramshackle. The house was well kept, with cheerful flowers planted in window boxes—clearly Mrs. McCarthy’s domain—but the rest of the barnyard was littered with plows and hay rakes and spare tractor tires. Cattle and sheep grazed in a nearby pasture.

  Sheila parked, but before they could get out, Mrs. McCarthy was already outside, drying her hands on a tea towel.

  “Good morning to you both,” she called.

  Sheila retrieved the bread from the back seat, and Mrs. McCarthy ushered them into her homey kitchen. Everything from the ancient-looking stove to the porcelain sink looked well-used, but it was all spotless and orderly, down to the flour and sugar canisters on the counter, decorated with roosters and chickens.

  “Sit down, sit down. I’ve just made the tea. Oh, Sheila, you didn’t have to do that.”

  But Nora noted she had a wooden cutting board and a crock of butter waiting on the table.

  “Thanks for having us over, Mrs. McCarthy,” she said.

  “’Tis my pleasure,” Mrs. McCarthy said. “A nice morning with women instead of the foolishness of men for a change. I told himself I had company coming, and no men were welcome. So he and his boys are off to the fields. And call me Orlagh.”

  She set the teapot on the table along with three pretty cups and saucers of fine china. “I never get to use these. James is the proverbial bull in the china shop, so he gets the mugs with the chips. Chips he put in them, mind.”

  She poured for all of them while Sheila passed around plates with generous slices of bread.

  Orlagh slathered a thick layer of butter on hers and took a bite. “Oh, that’s good!”

  Nora agreed with a little groan. “I’m going to go home twenty pounds heavier if I keep eating like this.”

  “That’s what your bicycle is for,” Sheila said with a grin. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she took a sip of tea.

  “So how are you enjoying the cottage?” Orlagh asked.

  Nora met her eyes over the rim of her cup and saw instantly that Orlagh McCarthy was a sharp one. “I am enjoying it, but that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.”

  “I thought so.” Orlagh set her cup down, her dark eyes curious. “What’s been happening?”

  Nora and Sheila shared a glance. Sheila gave her a small nod. Nora launched into a recounting of her dreams. She omitted the one where she’d apparently left her bed to run through the forest.

  “So,” she said as she finished. “I need to know what you know of the cottage’s earlier inhabitants, its history.”

  Orlagh pursed her lips for a moment, but the slight clatter of her cup against her saucer betrayed her nerves.

  “I told James we should never have bought that cottage, but he said balderdash. It had sat empty for nigh onto fifty years before we bought it from old Paddy Morahan that everyone thought was daft because he spoke of the ghost that haunted his great-grandfather’s cottage. I knew he wasn’t crazy, but James bought it anyhow and fixed it up, thinking to let it to self-catering tourists like you. He couldn’t figure out why no one stayed longer than a few days, but I knew.”

  Orlagh got up suddenly and went to a wooden cupboard. She rummaged inside, searching for something tucked behind stacks of clinking china, and returned with a bottle, tipping a bit of whiskey into all three tea cups.

  She took a bigger sip and closed her eyes. “I’ve seen her,” she breathed.

  Nora leaned forward. “You have?”

  Orlagh opened her eyes and stared hard at Nora. “I have. Watching me as I cleaned in that front bedroom. I thought at first James had come upstairs, but when I turned…”

  She shuddered and drank more whiskey-laced tea. Refilling her cup with half-tea, half-whiskey, she said, “I left that day and never went back.”

  Sheila patted her arm. “I’m sure that was startling. But what do you know about the cottage’s history? Paddy Morahan’s great-grandfather.”

  Orlagh’s gaze focused on the distant past as she tried to remember. “I think the story goes that the cottage was abandoned, probably during the Hunger. The Morahans moved in, but there were already tales of strange goings-on there.”

  Nora looked from Orlagh to Sheila. “So whatever is going on is from before the Morahans?”

  “I believe so,” said Orlagh.

  “What do you think she means, though, when she calls out ‘Rowan’?”

  Orlagh helped herself to more bread before saying, “We all know the stories of the little girl named Rowan who disappeared. I’m certain it has to do with that. But what, I don’t know.”

  She took another sip of her tea and smacked her lips as the whiskey seemed to calm her nerves a bit. She eyed Sheila. “There is one who might know.”

  Sheila sat up straighter. “Eve?”

  Orlagh nodded.

  “Who’s Eve?” Nora asked.

  Sheila turned to her. “She’s a bit odd, is Eve. Her Irish name is…” She reached for a pad of paper from near the telephone and spelled out Aoibheann Ní Mheolchatha, and then pushed the pad toward Nora.

  Nora gaped for a moment. “How in the world do you pronounce that?”

  “EE van nee mohl KAH hah,” said Sheila.

  “Why can’t Irish be simpler?” Nora grumbled.

  Orlagh chuckled. “What fun would that be?”

  “We’ll go see her,” Sheila said.

  Orlagh tipped the bottle three more times over their tea. “If anyone can tell you anything about Rowan and the ghost of Sióg Cottage, ’tis Eve.”

  Chapter 7

  Briana kept a light hand on the reins as Lizzy pranced nervously under her. Beside them, Nora straddled Stubbs’s wide girth. Shannon ranged ahead, impatient with the slow pace. The fat pony nickered, reaching over to nose the fidgety mare, calming her.

  “That’s why I wanted him with us,” Briana said. “Thanks for coming along.”

  “No problem,” Nora said. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is, but she’s had a hard time of it.” Briana smoothed her hand along the mare’s neck.

  “What happened?”

  “She was a racehorse. Lots of promise, blinding speed when she was alone on the track, but no drive to get in the mix with other horses. Her trainer and jockey were brutal, thinking they could whip her to the front of the pack. She got to where she wouldn’t let anyone touch her much less ride her.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “A friend of mine, an exercise rider for another trainer, called me. She’d reported them to the track stewards, and they contacted the owner. He’s one with dozens of horses; burns through them and then tosses them. He agreed to sell her rather than face a fine, and she came to us. Underfed, open cuts from the whip.”

  A rabbit jumped out of a nearby hedge. Lizzy gave a wild snort and leapt sideways, crashing into Stubbs and Nora.

  Nora managed to keep her seat, tightening her grip on Stubbs’s reins while Briana got Lizzy under control. She used leg pressure to gently nudge the mare toward the hedge and let her lower her head to sniff at the lingering scent of rabb
it. When Lizzy was satisfied that nothing there would hurt her, they walked on.

  Briana gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “She’s been with us for four months and is only now letting me touch her.”

  “Do you do this often?” Nora asked, straightening her helmet.

  “This being?”

  “Rescue horses.”

  Briana shrugged. “Quinn’s good about searching the auctions for cast-offs. They make good stable horses. All most of them need is a bit of kindness and gentle handling.”

  “What about the trainer? The one who was treating her so badly. Did he get into trouble?”

  “Rafferty was his name. I heard the stewards barred him from the track. And I know he left with a black eye.”

  Nora twisted in the saddle. “Quinn gave him a black eye?”

  “No.” Briana felt herself redden under Nora’s intense gaze. “I did. Bastard deserved it.”

  Nora laughed softly.

  They ambled on, but Nora kept snorting under her breath.

  “What’s so funny?” Briana asked.

  “I’m just picturing you punching out some big, burly guy,” Nora said, still chuckling.

  “Well, I would have given him more than a black eye if Quinn hadn’t tossed me into the horse trailer.” She waited a beat. “Then Quinn gave him a bloody nose.”

  Nora laughed more loudly. “I love Ireland.”

  She met Briana’s gaze, and Bri felt her face warm again, but with an accompanying tingle in her stomach this time.

  “What time did you get to the barn this morning?” Nora asked.

  “About six. Time enough to get the horses turned out and the stalls cleaned.”

  “I didn’t see your SUV.”

  “It’s parked at the house.”

  Nora’s head tilted. “You walked to work?”

  Briana chortled. “The house is about twenty-five yards behind the barn.”

  “That cute little place? I thought that was the office.”

  “Quinn lets it cheap as part of my pay. He likes to have someone close at night, in case of fire. He does the same at the riding stables. Liam lives in a flat fixed up over the office.”

  “That’s handy.”

  “It works out for all of us. Let’s canter.”

  A few minutes later, they slowed to a walk again. With some of her nervous energy scrubbed off, Lizzy looked around with more curiosity than fear.

  “How was your visit with Mrs. McCarthy?”

  “Interesting,” Nora said. “She’s seen her. The ghost.”

  “She has?”

  “Yep. She said the old man they bought the cottage from talked about her, and people thought he was crazy. She doesn’t know anything about Rowan, though. She suggested we go talk to an old woman…” Nora screwed her face up, trying to remember how to pronounce the name. “Aoibheann Ní Mheolchatha.”

  “Eve?”

  Nora turned. “You know her?”

  “Sure,” Briana nodded to the left. “I ride by her cottage a few times a month. Deep in the woods, she is. Likes her quiet and alone.” Briana hesitated. “Did Mrs. McCarthy tell you anything about her?”

  “Only that she’s a bit odd.”

  Briana let out a bark of laughter. “That’s an understatement.”

  Nora frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s what you might call a medicine woman.” Briana grinned. “Or a witch.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “No.” Briana shook her head. “I’m not. Wait till you see her place. When are you going?”

  “Sheila said we’d go this weekend.”

  Briana chuckled. “Let me know how it goes.”

  “Why don’t you come along?”

  Briana saw the challenge in Nora’s eyes, but it was the opportunity to spend more time in her company that drove her. She nodded. “All right, then. I will.”

  Sheila parked the SUV in a lay-by on the side of a dirt road and opened her rear hatch. “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

  Apparently, the rules for attire for visiting Eve were different from those for Orlagh McCarthy. Luckily, Sheila had warned Nora about the need to trek, so Nora was appropriately dressed in what she thought of as her nursery clothes—nylon hiking pants that shed mud and water easily, with waterproof hiking shoes. Briana was dressed similarly in patched canvas work dungarees and worn boots. Sheila handed each of them a basket, taking a third herself.

  “Where’s Shannon?” Nora asked.

  “Thought she’d better stay at the stables today,” Briana said, zipping her jacket.

  An overnight rain had left the morning cool and misty, with tendrils of fog swirling about as they made their way through the ferns and mosses. The damp chill made Nora glad she’d heeded Sheila’s advice and worn a sweater under her rain jacket.

  “What’s in these baskets?” Nora asked.

  “Things Eve can use,” Sheila said. “Herbs, dried flowers, roots—ingredients for her teas and medicines. Some of my lotions and soaps.”

  She glanced back with a grin. “Plus a bottle. To loosen her tongue.”

  Nora returned the grin. “Did you think of that because it helped with Orlagh McCarthy?”

  “Well, it reminded me, let’s say.”

  Sheila pushed through a patch of undergrowth that left them soaked with water droplets. Overhead, the trees were so dense that they walked through a green twilight. Nora wondered what trail Sheila was following, because there was no path she could see. Behind her, Briana kept pace silently.

  It seemed they walked for an hour, though it probably wasn’t that long.

  “How in the world does she exist this far from everything?” Nora panted.

  “People bring her things,” Briana said, not even breathing hard from the sound of it. “She barters.”

  Nora turned to her. “For what?”

  But just then, a cottage came into view through the trees. At least, Nora thought it was a cottage. It looked almost as if it was just another feature of the forest. Partially dug into a hill, the cottage’s roof of slate was covered in moss like the forest floor. The ferns and other plants grew right up to a rough wooden door. Only the wisps of smoke rising from a squat stone chimney gave any hint that a human lived there.

  Sheila stopped so abruptly that Nora almost walked into her.

  “Eve! Eve, it’s Sheila Donnelly.”

  For a moment, nothing happened. Nora wondered if anyone was there. Then the door creaked open and Nora gasped.

  She was… ethereal, Nora decided. Hair of silver-white cascaded over shoulders cloaked in a kind of gown of deepest blue that was at once shapeless and elegant, girded at her slender waist by a twisted braid of green cloth or vine—Nora wasn’t sure. Her feet were clad in boots or slippers of brown. Leather? Somehow, Nora had a hard time imagining her wearing animal skins.

  She would wonder later how she noticed all those other things because she could have sworn her eyes never left Eve’s. Eve’s gaze immediately focused on her, and Nora felt ensnared.

  She was vaguely aware that Sheila had continued toward the cottage and Briana had nudged her from behind, but Nora didn’t really remember taking any more steps. Suddenly, she found herself standing before Eve, staring into eyes as green as the mosses and ferns of her forest, eyes that were at once guileless and ancient.

  “Dia duit,” Nora managed to say.

  Eve’s beautiful face broke into a smile at the greeting. She reached for Nora’s hand, her grasp warm and soft. It seemed to Nora that there was a spark of light at the contact. Eve smiled more broadly. “Fáilte.”

  She led Nora into the cottage. Sheila and Briana followed.

  “Aoibheann Ní Mheolchatha, this is my cousin, Nora McNeill,” Sheila said, setting her basket on the table where four cups sat. “I’m sorry, Eve. Are we interrupting? Were you expecting company?”

  Eve chuckled softly and released Nora’s hand. “No and yes, Sheila. I saw you coming.”

/>   She went to the stone hearth, where a kettle hung over a peat fire. “Please, sit.”

  While she poured hot water into a teapot, Nora gazed around open-mouthed. She felt she had stepped back in time to another era. The entire cottage was filled with a hodgepodge of books—some looking to be very old—along with shelves crammed with pots and jars. Judging from the candles and oil lamps scattered about, the cottage didn’t seem to have electricity. One candle on the mantel was lit, sitting inside the protection of a glass vase, like a hurricane lamp.

  From the wooden beams supporting the roof hung bunches of dried flowers, hanks of different grasses tied together, twisted roots that Nora couldn’t identify. She caught Briana watching her with an “I told you so” expression.

  “We brought you some things I thought you could use,” Sheila said, opening the lid of her basket and setting its contents on the table.

  “That was so thoughtful of you,” Eve said. She set the teapot on the table and picked up one of the bars of soap, inhaling its scent. “You know I love the things you make.”

  She poured the tea and passed the cups around.

  Sheila reached into the basket that Briana had carried. “We also brought some other things.” She produced two loaves of her almond bread and a bottle.

  Eve laughed, and the sound was musical to Nora’s ears.

  “That was kind of you,” Eve said. She reached for a knife. “One to share with new friends.”

  She nodded at the bottle. “If you’d tip a bit of that into our tea, Briana, it’ll help ward off this chill morning.”

  Briana poured the whiskey while Eve cut the bread. Nora found a container of eggs and a crock of fresh butter in her basket and placed them on the table.

  “This is quite a feast,” Eve said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, we were in the mood for a bit of craic,” Sheila said casually.

  “What does that mean?” Nora asked. “Someone else mentioned craic to me.”

  Sheila opened and then closed her mouth.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Briana said.

  “It’s conversation,” said Eve. “A bit of gossip.”

  “A good time,” Sheila offered. “You know it without words.” She waved her hand at Nora. “Nora’s visiting us for the summer, and Bri and I thought it’d be nice for her to meet you.”