The Visitor

TO TELL THE TRUTH, Mary-Brigid was glad to be outside and away from the cottage. Ever since the night her father had come home all bruised and cut, it was if a dark shadow, like a big black crow, had spread its wings and settled itself over them all.

She didn’t rightly understand it, and no-one had explained it to her, but it had something to do with the landlord and what had happened to old Agnes and the sudden disappearance of the Hennessys.

Her mother and father had changed too. Nowadays they were mostly quiet, as if they were watching and waiting for something to happen. Auntie Nano prayed and prayed – Mary-Brigid had never seen anyone pray so much. The old lady’s lips moved even in her sleep, and Mary-Brigid could almost hear the words of a prayer. Jodie, even though he was only a small boy, sensed that all was not well and had become cranky and cross, and had her tormented with wanting to play and be distracted.

At least outside, with the soft breeze blowing and the white clouds scudding across the sky, they could try and forget about it.

‘Jodie!’ she shouted. ‘Look at the heron!’

Her brother’s dark, curly head turned skywards and they both watched the huge bird spread its wings and lift its long legs as it flapped to gain more height, flying slowly in a wide circle over their farm.

‘What’s he looking for?’ asked Jody.

‘A fish. A little flap from a fish in the stream or in the lake,’ she said, wondering if the heron could see them at all.

As the bird flew out of sight, Mary-Brigid became aware of the gentle clip-clop of a horse close by. She listened, wondering who would be out so near their home at this hour of the day. She had strict instructions to run home as quick as lightning if she caught sight of the landlord or any of his men, or, God forbid, the constable!

She held her breath, waiting to grab Jodie and run with him. Then she spotted the familiar dark curly hair and kind open face of Michael, her mother’s brother. He was leading two horses, a fine big strong-looking one, though she seemed to be walking lame, and the most beautiful foal that Mary-Brigid had ever seen.

‘Michael!’ she screamed. ‘Uncle Michael!’

She ran like a whirlwind to met him, her dress flying around her as she raced across the tussocks of grass.

The two horses stopped, curious. Her uncle lifted her into his arms and hugged her.

‘Why, Mary-Brigid, you’re still the prettiest girl I know!’ he said, ruffling her wild, fair hair.