The air was soft and sweet, redolent of flowers, the sky blue, the hills emerald beneath the sun. She could feel the damp blades of grass beneath her bare feet, and she reveled in the sheer joy of being alive and feeling the silken breeze lift her hair until the sun kissed the back of her neck just so.
She could feel the beat of her own heart, and she ran in her dream as she had once run in life. She laughed out loud at the promise she felt all around and in her love for the land itself. She had come from the city, just as she had when she was a young child, free and strong, believing that happiness lay ahead. She knew that when she crested the next hill, she would see the cottage with its neatly thatched roof where it waited in the valley. A fire would be burning in the hearth, and at night, the men would drink their ale, play their tunes, sing of the maids they had loved and lost, and speak of times gone by. The old cottage would be filled with those she had loved and everything she herself had lost.
She realized that she was quickening her pace, and it troubled her at first. But then she decided to simply exult in the strength that filled her limbs. It was wonderful to run so, with her senses so alive and in tune with nature itself, the grass beneath her feet, the air, the sun, and even the distant sounds of music, like a siren’s song, beckoning her onward.
Then she looked back—and she knew. Knew why she was running faster. Had to run faster.
There was darkness behind her. The darkness of night, of billowing clouds, of shadows against the sun.
The sweet music that had called to her gave way to a roll of thunder, and she knew that she had to run, for like the sweep of a tidal wave, the darkness was coming. In that thunder she began to hear the drumming of horses’ hooves, and when next she dared to look, something was breaking through the clouds, rushing ahead of them.
A coach. Dark, massive and beautiful, yet terrifying, and drawn by huge, elegantly plumed black horses.
And she knew—somehow she knew—it was coming for her.
She turned away and began to run harder. She was young, she told herself, beautiful, and the world was hers.
She saw someone there…ahead of her. She knew him, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t place him. There was a sad smile on his face, as if to welcome her. Something told her that he shouldn’t have been there. She knew him. A friend, not a lover. And yet a friend who did not belong here, not in this Ireland she had known and loved as a child. He waved, and she couldn’t tell whether he was welcoming her or warning her away.
It didn’t matter. She had to escape the darkness, and the only way to run was forward.
And the thunder of those hooves! She didn’t know, either, whether that great coach was meant to save her from the darkness or if it was part of it.
And so she ran, picking up speed, her heart racing, her calf muscles burning along with her lungs. She prayed, as she raced to stay ahead of the darkness, that the coach was coming to save her. To hurry her onward toward the emerald-green beauty of the day, and the warmth and the love of the cottage and the one who waited for her there. He was speaking now, and though she couldn’t hear the words, somehow she knew they were a warning.
“Eddie?” she cried out, recognizing him as she drew closer.
“It’s all right, Bridey. I’m fine now. Fine where I am. But you have to watch out for the shadows and for the wind that howls.”
“Eddie, for the love of God…what happened?”
“Would that I knew. I saw the shadow.”
And then he was slipping away from her, fading. Shadows were falling around him, but she needed to reach him.
And so she continued to run….
Eager and, despite her fear, so alive, so desperately alive.
She could feel the dew beneath her feet. Feel the strength that powered her young muscles. Heart, lungs, mind: all were keen, and simply being alive was so sweet….
Bridey O’Riley woke with a start.
Barely had she blinked before she felt the arthritis crippling her hands, bowing her back, even as she lay in her bed.
Ah, dreams.
In dreams, a woman could be young again. Beautiful. Back in the Ireland of her youth, away from the strife of the city, just a lass playing in the hills and dreaming of love.