Free Bruar's Rest by Jess Smith

looking for an honest answer to her next question. ‘How long, doctor?’
    ‘Now, lass, only the Lord himself can say for sure. But you have two grand lassies who will see to your every whim.’
    ‘Please don’t tell them. I can’t bear the thought of them hovering about with tear-streaked faces. It’s only months since their father met an untimely end. No, I’ll keep this strictly with your good self. Now I can hear that big highlander Rory Stewart calling on you, best you take a look at him too. He doesn’t half cry out in the nights.’
    Doctor Mackenzie crept out from the tent, wishing he’d a magic wand to turn Annie’s thin canvas abode into a warm wee cottage with a fire, and a bed that would at least keep her off the damp ground. He could easily have offered her a death-bed in the local hospital, or, better still, a bed in his house, but he knew that tinkers desire only to wait on death in the embrace of mother earth.
    As he stood up, the sight of Rory approaching took thoughts of Annie from his mind. ‘Hello, big Stewart my man, what can I do for you?’ he asked.
    ‘Well, good doctor, my stomach has been rejecting every morsel of food these days.’
    ‘I bet it has no problem with the cratur? The whisky will be the reason for your gut being a bother. Stop supping and I bet within a month the stomach will be back to normal.’
    ‘You’re a hard man for one who is supposed to heal, I can tell you. The water of life hasn’t passed my tonsils for months—if you don’t believe me, then ask Jimmy over there.’
    Young Jimmy, who had gone back to weaving a basket after Rachel answered her mother’s call, smiled at the doctor, said nothing and continued with his work. The doctor went over to him. ‘Can you swear your father hasn’t touched the drink, Jimmy?’
    The young man lowered his dried reeds to the ground, stood up and whispered, ‘If you smell my father’s breath, then you’ll see that not weeks but hours have passed since he was filled with stuff O’Connor the Irishman brewed.’
    Rory had no problem in hearing his son’s whispering, and raised his fist. ‘You lying toad, I’ll switch the hide off you for that! The drink doesn’t affect my ears.’
    ‘Rory, I never thought you a violent man towards your sons. I’d lay off the demon drink for more reasons than a sore belly if I was you.’ He handed him a bottle of stomach chalk, saying, ‘Take a spoonful every four hours.’
    ‘God love you, man, this’ll cure the gnawing.’ Rory thanked him once more, before crawling inside his tent, probably to drink half the contents before O’ Connor slipped him another bottle of homemade, hellfire brew.
    Round the bend in the road, in a quiet spot another family of tinkers had found refuge. Before heading home, the doctor popped his head inside the tent of the McAllisters, who were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their first baby. A quiet couple, they kept to themselves, bothering no one, and never joined the campfires of the others.
    They were private and shy, nothing like Megan, who came singing and laughing with Bruar over the high hill above the campsite. When they saw the doctor unhobble his horse, they hurried to see him before he left.
    ‘Hey, Doctor Mackenzie, wait on us, see what we have for supper,’ she called at the top of her voice, holding aloft and waving a brace of cock pheasants and two large buck rabbits; but he was already trotting away and didn’t hear her.
    ‘Would you take a look at that,’ she said to Bruar, ‘the only visitor we get, and we miss him.’
    ‘You’ll see him next time,’ he told her, adding, ‘I think the lassie McAllister is due her baby soon.’
    ‘Yes, I suppose so. But I’ll tell you something, I didn’t like the colour of Mammy this morning. I think she is not letting on about her illness. She says it’s her bones that ache, but I think it might be far more serious a problem. Do you know I got up in the night and heard her whispering