Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1)

by Jodi McIsaac

  The song ended, and someone tapped on Thomas’s shoulder. “May I cut in?” the other man asked.

  “No,” Thomas said abruptly, pulling Nora in closer. The music started again, and together they moved through the dance, their eyes locked on each other. “Brigid sent you?” he demanded. “Are you certain?” His charming demeanor had dissipated. His eyes were no longer twinkling, but cold and angry.

  “Yes, after a fashion.” He didn’t need to know the Brigidine Sisters had been the intermediary. “I came to help you, in answer—”

  “I don’t need your help.” He jerked her arm as they turned.

  “But . . . you asked. You begged me to find you.”

  “How is that possible? I’ve never met you before.”

  “Come with me,” she said. She didn’t want to create a scene, or worse, be overheard. She stalked out of the pub, trusting him to follow. It was raining, and she’d left her coat inside, but she didn’t care. She strode into the dark yard, then turned on her heel. He was right behind her.

  “You really don’t know? I’ve been dreaming of you for months. Months. Almost every night. At first they were just vague images, impressions, maybe, but I knew you were trying to tell me something. And then you spoke to me as clearly as you did tonight. You told me to find you. You told me to go to Kildare, to find Brigid. And so I did, and she sent me here. And now you’re telling me that you don’t know who I am, and you don’t need my help. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  Her frustration poured off her like steam, undampened by the steady rain. She wanted to tell him everything, to tell him she was from the future, that according to the inscription on the back of the photograph he was going to die this year. But his demeanor invited no such confidences. The light of one of the swinging lamps danced across his face, which was hard and somber. He spoke slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Nora. I don’t know how you came into Brigid’s path. But Brigid is . . . She makes her own choices. She has her reasons for what she does, and I don’t pretend to understand them. She gets inside people’s heads. I can’t do that. It was not me who called for you, no matter how it may have appeared at the time. And while I’m flattered—amazed, really—that you would answer the plea of a stranger you only met in your dreams, I assure you, I’m in need of no one’s help but my own.” His eyes darkened as he said this. He turned to go back into the pub but then stopped. “It would be best for you not to speak of this to anyone. There’s nothing but death for dreams in this place.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thomas disappeared back into the warmth of the pub. The rain pelted Nora’s face. Her cream dress clung to her figure, heavy and cold against her skin.

  Had it all been fake, then? Some trick? Or did Saint Brigid put those dreams in her head for some purpose of her own? But why use Thomas at all? Why make me believe he needs my help . . . and then this? Does he need my help and just not realize it?

  A stone grew in her throat. She swallowed forcefully. She’d been a fool to be swayed by dreams and visions.

  But it is real. You’re here, in 1923. There’s a reason for that. There’s got to be. She didn’t bring you here for a lark.

  “Fuckin’ eejit!” she cried, balling her fists. She stalked out of the muddy yard, heading back onto the road. She’d go to Kildare tonight. The Brigidine Sisters were the ones who had done this; perhaps they could tell her why Brigid had really sent her back in time.

  There was no moonlight, and the road was rough. She stepped in a rut, rolling her ankle. “Ballix!” she yelled, catching herself before she sprawled in the mud. Her ankle throbbed, adding to the maelstrom of frustration that swirled around her. Then she cried out in surprise. Something hairy had leaned up against her.

  “Oh! Bran,” she said, patting the wolfhound she’d met at the camp. “What are you doing out here? I have no bones for you this time.” The dog whined and nuzzled her side. Nora leaned against her gratefully. “Your master is at the pub, needing no one’s help but his own.” The dog whined again. “That’s how I feel, too,” Nora whispered.

  Resigned, she turned back, knowing she’d not get far on her throbbing ankle in the dark. Bran stayed by her side as she limped along, choosing each step carefully.

  Questions swirled inside her head. Why had Thomas reacted so coldly? He’d admitted Saint Brigid was real, and he hadn’t seemed all that surprised to hear she had sent Nora to him. But none of it made sense. Someone—or everyone—had lied to her. Either that or Brigid had her own agenda and hadn’t felt the need to inform Nora of it. She didn’t care if she had to limp the whole way to Kildare. Tomorrow, she would find out the truth.

  She found Pidge in a frenzied state outside the pub, keeping dry under the eaves. Bran bounded away into the shadows as soon as they reached the building. “Nora! Where on earth have you been?” Pidge called.

  “I’m sorry,” Nora said, just now becoming aware of the state of her borrowed dress. “I just . . . needed to go for a walk. To clear my head.”

  “You went for a walk? In this?”

  “Aye.”

  “Get yourself in here.” Pidge threw Nora’s coat over her shoulders and dragged her into the pub. Nora ducked her head, avoiding the stares. “Charlie, get this woman a whiskey,” Pidge said to the barman as they stalked past him toward their table.

  “I’m fine, Pidge, I—”

  “What the devil’s going on with you and Thomas?” Pidge interrupted. “First the two of you leave together, without a word to anyone, mind you; then he storms back inside only to collect his things and make excuses to his friends. I thought maybe you were just having a chat and wanted your privacy, but when you didn’t come back, I started to worry. Then Charlie at the bar said he saw Thomas drive away in his carriage. Well, what was I supposed to think? I sent Stephen down the road to see if he could find you. He’ll be drenched through by now.”

  “Pidge, I’m sorry—”

  “Tell me the truth, Nora. It wasn’t your cousin who was looking for Thomas, was it?”

  Charlie arrived with the whiskey. Nora wrapped her hands around it. She wanted so badly to tell Pidge the truth, but what good would it do? There was no way she would believe her. She’d think she was mad. She couldn’t afford that risk, and she didn’t want to lose the one friend she had here. But Pidge wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “It was an arrangement. Between our parents,” she murmured. It was not difficult to look suitably embarrassed.

  “An arranged marriage?” Pidge asked with wide eyes.

  “Nothing so serious. They thought we would be a good match, so they wanted us to meet. But I only found out about it after my mother died. It was my cousin who told me. So . . . I thought I would give it a try, at least.”

  “And he turned you away?” Pidge looked scandalized.

  “Aye. He did. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve no feelings for the man, if that’s what you’re worried about. I only just met him today.”

  “But you came all this way . . .”

  Nora nodded grimly. “Aye. So I did. I need to go to Kildare, and soon. We’ve a . . . friend of the family there who might be able to help me.”

  Pidge grabbed her hands, which were still icy cold. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “It’s grand, I can go by myself.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s market day, anyway. Ma’s been wanting a new bolt of cloth, and we’ve some things to post. Besides, I’ve my mission from Lynch, remember? I have to deliver his letter to a man in Kildare as soon as possible. So we’ll do it all at once. Ah, here’s Stephen. We’d best be off.”

  “Stephen, I’m sorry you had to go looking for me,” Nora said as the three of them left the pub. “I was grand, so I was. But I appreciate your concern.”

  “S’all right,” Stephen muttered. “I’m glad you’re well. We’ll have a damp trip home, though.”

  “Ugh,” Pidge said, eyeing the rain with distaste.
“Well, there’s nothing for it.” Then a horse-pulled carriage turned off the lane. The driver hopped down. Thomas.

  “Can I offer you a ride?” he said. “You’re the Gillies siblings, aren’t you? I’m going back that way.”

  “No, thank you,” Nora said stiffly. Pidge and Stephen stayed silent.

  “It’s a wee bit damp out,” Thomas observed. “I’d think you’d be happy for a covered ride.”

  “I’m in need of no one’s help but my own,” she said, throwing his words back at him.

  “Even on that ankle?”

  “How do you—” Nora’s jaw stiffened. “Were you following me? Is that why your dog was there?”

  “I wasn’t following you. Bran was. Weren’t you, girl?” Bran ran up to her master, who gave her ears a ruffle. “Thomas Heaney,” he said, holding out a hand to Stephen, who shook it.

  “Stephen Gillies. This is my sister, Pidge. I guess you’ve already met Nora,” Stephen said.

  “Are you sure you’re going that way?” Pidge asked. “Our farm is up by—”

  “I know where it is,” Thomas interrupted. “Won’t you get in?”

  Pidge gave Nora a pleading look. “We can fetch the bicycles later,” she said softly. Rain was dripping off the brim of her hat.

  Nora pressed her lips together. “Fine,” she muttered. She stalked over to the carriage and climbed awkwardly into the back. Pidge followed her as Stephen got into the front beside Thomas. Bran settled herself on the floor by Nora’s feet.

  The ride took only a few minutes, the horse picking its way through the ruts and holes in the road. Thomas smoked a cigarette under the canopy of the driver’s seat. Nora stared into the darkness. She had so many questions, none of which she could ask for fear of being branded a lunatic. Besides, Thomas was obviously disinclined to help, though she was sure he knew more than he was letting on.

  Pidge thanked Thomas warmly when he stopped outside their house. Nora simply accepted Stephen’s hand and climbed down without a word.

  “You could have said thank you, you know,” Pidge said as they hung up their coats near the fire. Stephen climbed the ladder to the loft, and it seemed Mr. and Mrs. Gillies were already asleep.

  “You thanked him for all of us.”

  “Yes, but he came back for you.”

  “He did no such thing. You should have heard him earlier. He wants nothing to do with me.”

  “You’re hurt because he rejected you. I get it. But maybe he was just surprised at first. Maybe he already has a sweetheart, and then this beautiful woman shows up in his life unexpectedly, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Could be he’s having second thoughts.”

  “He made himself pretty clear.” Nora scowled. She should have told Pidge something else; now she would treat Nora like a spurned lover. Better that than her knowing the truth.

  Pidge tossed her a towel. “For your hair. Come, let’s change.”

  Once they were clothed in long flannel nightgowns, Pidge made tea and they sat with their backs to the fire, the heat drying their hair.

  Once it was nearly dry, Nora tied her hair into a thick braid and unfolded the settle bed in the kitchen. “Good night. And thank you.”

  “Sleep well. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

  Sleeping well was not in the cards. Nora lay awake most of the night, replaying her dreams, her conversation with Mary in Kildare, and Thomas’s perplexing response to her. A Saint Brigid’s cross made from reeds hung above the doorway, just like the one that had hung in her childhood home in Belfast. It was too dark for her to see it well, but she could feel its presence.

  “Saint Brigid . . . I need your help. I don’t know why you sent me here, or even if you were truly the one who sent me. But if it was you . . . it was a mistake. This isn’t where I belong. Please, help me get back home.” She followed this up with two Hail Marys, for good measure, and her usual prayers for the dead.

  Was Saint Brigid responsible for sending her back in time? Saints could perform miracles, she believed that much. As a child, she’d woven Saint Brigid crosses out of rushes with her classmates every February 1 while their teacher told them stories of Brigid’s miracles. When the stingy king of Leinster agreed to give Brigid’s abbey only the ground her cloak could cover, she gave each corner of the cloak to one of her nuns and told them to keep running until it covered the entire kingdom. The king relented and gave Brigid a generous portion of land. Nora’s favorite story was of Brigid’s response to an unwelcome marriage proposal: she thrust a finger through her own eye to make her unacceptable as a bride, then healed it once the offer had been withdrawn. Nora tried to remember everything she’d heard about the saint, in case it would give her some clue into her predicament, some insight into Brigid’s design for her. But Brigid had lived 1,500 years ago. What could she possibly want with Nora now?

  It felt as though she had barely fallen asleep when Pidge shook her awake the next morning. “Up you get, sleepyhead.”

  Nora cracked her eyes open. Day four in another century. Pidge was already dressed, and her hair was pinned up. She was adding turf bricks to the fire, and a bucket of water sat beside her.

  Nora dressed quickly in Pidge’s room and tidied her braid. When she came back into the kitchen, Mrs. Gillies was already mixing another batch of soda bread on the table.

  “Ah, Nora! Did you have a good time last night?”

  Nora stole a glance at Pidge. “Aye, I did.”

  “Pidge tells me you found your man.”

  “Aye, he was at the training camp.”

  “He must have been pleased to get the message from your cousin, then.”

  Nora relaxed and gave Pidge a grateful smile. “He was.”

  “And you’ve business in Kildare today?”

  “A family friend I thought I should try to track down. I don’t want to be a burden on you longer than necessary.”

  “A burden! Don’t say such a thing. You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you need.”

  “Ta, Mrs. Gillies. You’re all very kind.”

  Mrs. Gillies gave Pidge detailed instructions on what kind of cloth to buy, as well as a list of other items to get from the market. She handed her two thin envelopes. “And post these for me, will you, dear?”

  Nora quivered with impatience, drinking her tea so quickly it scalded her throat. “Let’s go,” she gasped, setting the cup down.

  The bicycles were in the yard. “Stephen went and fetched them from the pub this morning with the cart,” Pidge explained. “I didn’t fancy walking to Kildare and back, not with all the things mother wants me to fetch.”

  The road seemed vaguely familiar to Nora as they cycled. “How’s your bottom?” Pidge teased.

  “Better today,” Nora answered with a grin. Here in the morning sun, her situation didn’t seem so dire. She’d find the Brigidine Sisters, explain what had happened, and they would send her back to her own time. She could be back in Darfur before the week was out. With time, she’d forget all about the misleading dreams.

  Before long they were passing the barracks outside the town. Pidge muttered, “Traitors.” They kept going until they reached the center of the town, near the market, and then they dismounted.

  “Right, what shall we do first?” Pidge said, consulting her mother’s list.

  “I thought I might try and find my family friend while you’re doing your shopping,” Nora said. Pidge looked up in surprise.

  “What, by yourself? Don’t you want my help?”

  “I’m grand, really. It might take a while, and I don’t want to hold you up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.”

  Pidge looked uncertain, but she nodded. “All right, then, shall we meet for lunch, at least? There’s a chippy just over there. I should be done in a couple of hours. Does that give you enough time?”

  Nora nodded. She felt surprisingly emotional about saying good-bye to Pidge, though they’d only known each other a few days. But if all w
ent well, they’d never see each other again. Making a mental note to look up the Gillies family when she got back to the present, she leaned over and gave Pidge a quick hug. “Good luck. With everything.”

  She got back on the bicycle and rode in the direction of the cathedral, whose spires were clearly visible from the market. Children and dogs ran across the street, unafraid of the slow-moving horse carriages. A couple of cars and motorcycles puttered past, but the majority of the traffic was of the foot—or hoof—variety. She leaned her bike against the stone wall surrounding the church. The man sitting outside the lace shop was the same one who’d told her what year it was. This time, he didn’t spare her a second glance.

  She hiked up her long skirt and ran up the pathway to the cathedral. Would they be waiting for her? Mary had said to tell them the code phrase “the bane of Aengus Óg.” Surely that meant they were expecting her?

  She pushed open the heavy wooden door, which slid across the tiled floor. Sunlight filtered in through the narrow windows, catching dust in its beams. The church was empty, save for a solitary figure in the third row of pews. The woman, who wore a tweed coat and had a dark green scarf wrapped around her head, had rested her forearms against the pew in front of her and was sitting with her head bowed and eyes closed. Nora walked up the center aisle and slipped into the pew behind her. She waited for the woman to finish her prayers. Finally, she lifted her head.

  “Welcome, Nora,” she said without looking behind her.

  Nora’s breath hitched. “How do you know my name?”

  The woman turned around. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, though her hair was still a rich, dark auburn set in curls under her green head scarf. “Saint Brigid told me to expect you. I felt your presence just now, as I was praying.”

  “Are you a Brigidine Sister?”

  “I am. My name is Bernadette.”

  “The other woman—Mary—told me to tell you that Brigid sent me, and that I am . . . I don’t know what this means, but she said to say I’m the bane of Aengus Óg. What is that?”

  Bernadette nodded slowly. “Those were the words I was told to expect. I have to admit, my faith was weak. The blessed saint, she has spoken to others, but this was the first time I’ve heard her voice so clearly.”