Fairlyden by Gwen Kirkwood

Author:Gwen Kirkwood [Kirkwood, Gwen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2016-02-07T05:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Rory O’Connor saw the tiny canvas satchel caught around the branch of a submerged sapling. He retraced his steps, peering into the foaming waters. The tree bridge had gone! The satchel belonged to the little one from Fairlyden - but where was she? He hurried downstream, straining his eyes in the deepening grey shadows of the dark November afternoon. He dodged the overhanging branches, oblivious now of soaking boots and cold, wet feet. He heard the voices in his brain: ‘Do not go to Fairlyden. Do not help. Do not go ‘ The rain had plastered his hair to his head and he rubbed it in an unconscious gesture of agitation. He had to go on! The wind had beckoned him, and the burn had called to him with its thunderous roar.

Then he saw the small bundle attached to a log, floating and bouncing over the foaming water. He called, but his voice was carried away on the wind. The bundle did not stir. He ducked away from the burn where the water was too fierce and too deep for him to wade. The bushes hid the log from his view. Then the bushes cleared and he saw clearly a small girl, clinging desperately to a tree trunk. He grasped an overhanging branch and leaned over the water, calling again and again The child raised her head briefly. He reached out a hand.

‘Jesus,’ Sarah whispered, and closed her eyes. She would be all right now. Jesus had come to help her, just as Mama had promised he would if she said her prayers every night. Her small frozen arms slid away from the log. Sarah gasped as the icy water rushed over her head.

Rory yelled in dismay. He could not reach. He let go of the branch and grasped frantically at Sarah’s soaking skirts as the water dashed over her head a second time, taking away the last of her breath. Rory clutched the sodden bundle more firmly but he could feel the current sweeping him away. He tried to catch the branch he had just relinquished but he was carried along by the water and it evaded his outstretched fingers by a hair’s breadth. The burn curved naturally and Rory was swept off his feet by the sudden surge, but the current carried him and his bundle to the opposite bank, throwing him up hard against a protruding root. He clung to it grimly with one thin arm, gasping for breath, exhausted by the brief fight with death, for Rory was more aware than most of the danger of the burn in spate.

He tried to pull himself upwards into shallower water, but he almost lost Sarah in his efforts. He knew he could save himself if he let her float away down the stream. He smiled gently and looked down into her still face. It gleamed like marble in the faint light. He had no thought of releasing her slight body to the relentless waters. He put his wet

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