I was talking to the Muse today about real life events and 1930 events as if they are one and the same. (To us, they are.) As we were weaving through conversation about real life and fictional people, I told her about the ghost, Mabel and while I was talking it sparked an idea. Maura’s Mother has arrived in Rockport and surprised the main cast of 1930, except for Maura. She’s out in the upper garden at Caleb’s farm helping Patrick bring in some of the harvest and still needs to find out. So I came up with this.
Maura stood, braced her hands on her back and stretched.
“You don’t have to do this, Maura. If you want to go back and join the women in the kitchen, I won’t think any less of ye,” Patrick said.
“No, Patrick. It feels good to move. Seems I’ve been sittin’ and doin’ nothin’ fer weeks.” She wiped sweat from her forehead, closed her eyes and blew out a long breath.
“You alright, Maura?” Patrick stood and took her arm.
“Just dizzy from the heat. I’m fine.” She opened her eyes toward the direction of the house and squinted. She closed her eyes and opened them again, readjusting to the bright light.
“Jaysus sufferin’ Christ!”
“I’m seein’ things, Patrick. I’m having a apparition of sorts.”
“What do you see?” Patrick sidled up to her and followed her eyes.
“I swear I see me Mother. Just there by the house. See!”
Patrick squinted. “I don’t know what yer mother looks like, Maura.”
“Oh, for the love of…either I’m dyin’ or she is, Patrick! People only see their loved ones when they’re dyin’! And she’s coming towards me! She’s comin’ to say goodbye!”
“Now, hold on, Maura. I see two people as well. Don’t get yourself worked up. Let’s just go on down there and see who it is, alright?”
Her hand was shaking as Patrick took it, leading her out of the bountiful garden.
“I can’t bear to walk toward me Mother’s ghost!”
She stopped and covered her face with her hands.
“Tis not yer mothers ghost, Maura. Likely one of Kathleen’s friends come to help.”
Maura shook her head fiercely from behind her hands.
After a moment, she heard the sharp maternal voice, the harsh Irish brogue, calling her name. “Maura!” and she yelped.
“Take yer hands from yer face, child. It’s me.”
Slowly Maura lowered her hands, hardly believing her eyes.
“Mam?” She studied her carefully deciding that she was, in fact, alive.
“Aye. Come here.” She held her arms open and Maura walked into them, still disbelieving. She was taller than her mother, only for Katie’s aged back.
“How did you get here?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “Same way you did, ye simpleton. A big boat.”
“But why?” She pulled back and stared at her. “Why did you come?”
“Because ye need me.”