"You quarreled
with mother, and now she can bear her cross no longer, and she says
you must tell me everything." Though the sentence was hardly coherent,
the old woman nodded her understanding. She came and sat on the bed,
taking the young girl's hand in her own.
"I'll tell you this much now, and then you must sleep. There'll be
worlds of time in the morning. Will you promise me you'll sleep, and
trust
me till the sunrise?" The daughter nodded.
"She's not your mother, Mary. I am."
Three
That night, her subconscious stirred by fever, and by the maelstrom of
unsettling events, Mary dreamed more deeply and vividly than she had
since childhood. The fire burned brightly before her as the old woman,
ever mindful, rocked slowly back and forth, beside her.
She stood atop a high hill, looking down into a broad expanse of green
valley. To the left she heard the stirring sound of bagpipes, to the
right, the ominous drums and steady tramp of the English. Two armies
advanced upon each other, making for some indefinable object in the
center of the field, which for some reason both sides wanted.
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