The Bairn of Brianag

The pain of my heartbreak crashed upon me at last, bursting through the shell of numbness which had encased my soul. I burst into a storm of weeping, turning into the pillows, my tears soaking the linen. I felt Cathy sit next to me, stroking my shoulder, and I sobbed with relief and shame.

"Come now, dear; you must not weep so. All will be well," she said.

I wept for a very long time; she sat next to me until the girl summoned her for the child, then she left me; but immediately someone else came to sit next to me, and stroked my hand; this time it was Mrs. Randall. The tears I wept seemed to come from an ocean of pain and remorse.

"There now, dear; you are home now," said Mrs. Randall, and my heart swelled when I heard the words. "There now. You are safe. You are home. All is well."

I held tightly to her hand as if it were my lifeline. I was home. All was well. I was with those who loved me best. The foundations of Brianag were holding me up.

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I woke the next morning feeling almost giddy with happiness. The weeping had cleansed my soul. I was still weak, but the care lavished upon me by the entire household soothed my spirit, and my body grew stronger. My appetite returned; I was almost ravenous. I ate and drank of the dishes and cups that were continuously being offered to me-eggnog, clabber, cake and wine, hominy and ham and peas and bread, buttered turnips, syllabub, pot liquor-the variety seemed endless. Catherine's old Nurse brought a pudding made of persimmons. Rabbit insisted that I drink of her herbal brew every day.

There was a plate or tray or cup in my hand almost constantly.

When I felt my belly my bones were less defined. The hollows beneath my eyes began fill, and color returned to my cheeks. My hair was still dull; Susan rubbed pomade into it and brushed it daily. Mrs. Randall brought her embroidery into my room in the afternoons, and she and Catherine chatted with me until I drifted off to sleep.

Cathy did not bring her bairn into the room again. Sometimes I heard him wailing from another part of the house; at such times, I turned my face into the pillows and wept quietly, and whoever was near would pat and stroke me. The dreams I'd had of Robbie's son playing on the lawns of Brianag, his red head shining in the sun, were dead. But I lived, and at Brianag, I would feel peace again. At Brianag, my heart would heal.