Andrew Hurley - The Loney

Henry turned and looked at him.

‘You do, don’t you?’ said Paul.

He looked across to the presbytery.

‘I suppose Father ought to know,’ he said.

‘Don’t,’ said Henry.

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t,’ Henry said, though this time it wasn’t a plea.

‘He’s coming now,’ said Paul.

We heard the presbytery door slam and then Father Wilfred’s footsteps on the gravel path.

‘Don’t you say anything, you sod,’ Henry said.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Paul shaking his head. ‘Foul language as well.’

‘I mean it,’ said Henry.

Paul smiled at him as Father Wilfred appeared at the open door.

‘Are you still putting the books away?’ he said. ‘I thought you were supervising, Peavey?’

‘I am, Father, but they won’t listen.’

‘Won’t they?’

‘No, Father. They’re being impertinent,’ said Paul and waited eagerly to see Father Wilfred’s reaction.

‘I’m not interested in your excuses, Peavey,’ he said. ‘Did Miss Bunce happen to come here?’

‘Yes, Father,’ said Paul, his smile fading.

‘Where did she go?’

‘I don’t know, Father. She seemed a bit upset.’

‘Did she?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Did she say anything to you?’

‘No, Father. She just wanted her brolly.’

Father Wilfred looked on the back of the door where a red umbrella was hanging. He took it down and then went out, looked for her on the street and then hurried back to the presbytery.

On Easter morning, it was still dark as we walked about the yard looking for stones. Ones about the size of a fist were the best, the shape as close to an egg as possible.

Mummer and Farther had already found some for Mr and Mrs Belderboss and were back at the foot of the dry stone wall looking for more. Miss Bunce and David, who couldn’t see the point in any of it, had satisfied themselves with the first pebbles they had laid their hands on and returned to the warmth of the kitchen, where Father Bernard, who had overslept, was hurriedly putting on his boots.

‘Morning, Tonto,’ he said, coming out with his hair wild at one side and his face black with stubble. ‘Happy Easter.’

‘Happy Easter, Father.’

Mummer came over. ‘I’d try over by the wall if I were you, Father.’

‘Right,’ he said.

He went off and kicked about in the rubble, eventually selecting a flat block of slate. He held it up to me for approval and I shrugged and he tossed it back and moved on.

***

With pockets weighed down with stones, we made our way up the lane to the woods. What we’d seen the other night still troubled me and it was obvious that Miss Bunce and David were reluctant to go back as well, but the sky was lightening moment by moment and the trees were coming out of the shadows. It seemed a different place altogether.

Mummer led the way through the field and up behind Moorings, bearing right and heading for Nick’s Lane — the treeless stripe that cut through Brownslack Wood as cleanly as if someone had taken a razor and drawn it up the hill. No trees had ever grown there and Mr Belderboss thought that the land must have been poisoned in some way. Hadn’t they used lime on their fields around here? Too much of it might have killed off the trees. Farther suggested that by some freak of nature the wind blasted that particular part of the ridge and knocked the trees flat, but neither of their theories seemed any more plausible than the old story about the Devil burning a path through the woods as he left The Loney in a fit of rage the night they strung up Alice Percy.

Mr and Mrs Belderboss were left far behind and by the time they caught up with us on the ridge, the sky had started to lift in the east — the distant Pennines becoming noticeable moment by moment, pale and lavender-coloured in the dawn.

Mummer let her stone drop from her hand and it tumbled down the fellside as she whispered a prayer. Farther did the same and then everyone followed so that there were several rocks bouncing through the ferns and knocking against the limestone shelves, rousing pheasants and curlews from their sleep.

Hanny was tugging at my sleeve and pointing.

‘What is it?’ I whispered.

He went down the hillside a little and beckoned me to follow him.

‘What’s the matter, Hanny?’

‘What has he seen?’ said Mummer.

Hanny went off, wading through the ferns. Mummer called him back but he didn’t respond.

‘Stay here,’ said Farther. ‘I’ll fetch him.’

Farther went after Hanny, following the trail he had cut through the undergrowth, calling to him. Hanny turned around once or twice, but was determined to get to whatever he had seen from the ridge.

Way down the hill, he stopped. Farther caught up with him a minute later and he looked at what Hanny had found. He waved and called for Father Bernard and me to come.

***

Before we got within twenty yards of Farther, he raised his hand to keep us quiet, never taking his eyes off the thing by his feet.

‘What is it?’ Father Bernard said.

‘Look,’ said Farther.

A pregnant ewe was there in the ferns, its eyes yellow and wild, possessed by the ancient hormones that had driven it to hoof out a nest in the soil and lie down.

‘Is it alright, Father?’

‘Aye, I think so.’

Father Bernard knelt down and put his hand on the ewe’s belly, hushing it when it jerked suddenly and scuffled in the mud.

‘There now,’ he said softly.

‘Did you keep sheep, Father? On your farm?’

‘We’d a few, aye.’

The ewe raised its head a few times and then laid it down on the ground. In the cold of the early morning, its hot breath hung around its nose and mouth.

‘It’s breathing hard isn’t it?’ said Farther.

‘Aye, well look,’ said Father Bernard. ‘She’s at her time.’

He moved around to its rear end, where a hoof protruded, then another, before the lamb’s nose appeared, opening and closing behind the water sac. He edged a little closer and put his hand on the ewe’s side, stroking its fleece with his thumb.

‘It won’t be long now,’ he said.

The ewe looked at us with its black keyhole eyes and stiffened its legs as its stomach bulged. It gave a loud bray as its body shuddered in the final contractions that squeezed out the lamb in a steaming discharge.

It lay there, tarred and feathered by its mother’s gunk and the dead ferns, shivering and convulsing as it tried to breathe.

Father Bernard ripped up a few leaves and scrubbed the lamb with them, breaking the caul that had been covering its face. It opened its mouth to cry and tried to stand and then lay down again, bleating feebly. Father Bernard took hold of the lamb and pulled it around so that it lay in front of its mother’s face. The ewe lifted her head and began to lick.

Mummer and the rest of them had appeared by this time, having taken the path that wound down the hillside, and stood around watching. Miss Bunce held her nose and David’s hand. Mr Belderboss crossed himself.

‘God be praised,’ he said. ‘Is it alright?’

Father Bernard nodded.

The ewe had got up and wandered away from us into the bracken. After a few attempts, the lamb followed on its crumpled legs and began its first tottering steps, crying out with a little red spike of a tongue. The ewe called and the lamb went to it, ramming at her udders.

‘Father Bernard saved its life,’ said Farther.

‘I did nothing so heroic, Mr Smith. His mammy would have got rid of the caul herself right enough. I just didn’t want to see the poor lad struggling.’

‘First those butterflies,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘And now this. God couldn’t have sent us a more obvious sign. And Andrew finding it as well. Wonderful things are going to happen at the shrine, Esther.’