"Why are we running...?" Sounded the frustrated voice of Jennifer through a groaning wind
"Because THEY are running" replied the stout woman pulling Jennifer's uneasy steps along with a hand, made strong by years of repetitive labor at the the Grain mill.
"But we've DONE nothing wrong" Jennifer continued in protest
"Too right dat Missy, WE ha'done nuttin wrong. You on de udder hand, You been one stone too many in da Miller's wife's shoe." The strong woman replied.
"So where do we go then?" Asked Jennifer. As the two women stopped beneath an oak on the edge of the sheep lot, where the Stout woman knew the Miller's wife and the rest of the gossips and busy bodies would go no further without horse or hound.
"You Miss Jennifer, you'll ha ta be on yer own from here on in. I would go furder wit cha if I could, but I got Connacht and tree little granbabies ta mind."
With that she handed Jennifer a small sack from the pocket of her apron.
"Dis, dis is what I saved ye. It's enough ta get ya room and board in Meath for long enough ta find work an proper lodgin. Head into dat setting sun and you'll make it dare before dark. Keep your cape about ye, and yer hood up. Stop fer no one, At de inn at Meath ask for Donal, he's Connacht's brother, he runs the inn. He'll look out for ye and help ye get settled and here.. take dis too. It's just a bit of salt pork and some bread but you should take it less you get hungry out d'ere.
Jennifer's eyes welled up with tears as she watched her dear friend, her only friend, smile the sad smile of goodbye. A sturdy hug nearly cracking every joint in the petit Jennifer's spine, was the last gesture between the two women. She watched as her rotund friend slowly disappeared into the coming haze of a misty twilight, and Jennifer, now alone, not for the first time, would have to start her life again. She turned to face the brighter horizon and began her pursuit of the receding sun. The tears ended as quickly as they came and her demeanor stoned with each step like an organic armor plating itself to her impish frame until sealing her tightly inside.
"How many steps to Meath?" she thought "How many steps to my rebirth?"
"Because THEY are running" replied the stout woman pulling Jennifer's uneasy steps along with a hand, made strong by years of repetitive labor at the the Grain mill.
"But we've DONE nothing wrong" Jennifer continued in protest
"Too right dat Missy, WE ha'done nuttin wrong. You on de udder hand, You been one stone too many in da Miller's wife's shoe." The strong woman replied.
"So where do we go then?" Asked Jennifer. As the two women stopped beneath an oak on the edge of the sheep lot, where the Stout woman knew the Miller's wife and the rest of the gossips and busy bodies would go no further without horse or hound.
"You Miss Jennifer, you'll ha ta be on yer own from here on in. I would go furder wit cha if I could, but I got Connacht and tree little granbabies ta mind."
With that she handed Jennifer a small sack from the pocket of her apron.
"Dis, dis is what I saved ye. It's enough ta get ya room and board in Meath for long enough ta find work an proper lodgin. Head into dat setting sun and you'll make it dare before dark. Keep your cape about ye, and yer hood up. Stop fer no one, At de inn at Meath ask for Donal, he's Connacht's brother, he runs the inn. He'll look out for ye and help ye get settled and here.. take dis too. It's just a bit of salt pork and some bread but you should take it less you get hungry out d'ere.
Jennifer's eyes welled up with tears as she watched her dear friend, her only friend, smile the sad smile of goodbye. A sturdy hug nearly cracking every joint in the petit Jennifer's spine, was the last gesture between the two women. She watched as her rotund friend slowly disappeared into the coming haze of a misty twilight, and Jennifer, now alone, not for the first time, would have to start her life again. She turned to face the brighter horizon and began her pursuit of the receding sun. The tears ended as quickly as they came and her demeanor stoned with each step like an organic armor plating itself to her impish frame until sealing her tightly inside.
"How many steps to Meath?" she thought "How many steps to my rebirth?"
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That's not a family tartan is it?