“The old ones believedbruadarwas a vision for those with the second sight.”
A memory returned.
We were warned about such things by the nuns at the Foundling Hospital, that it was blasphemous and a sin against God to believe in such things.
“Me grandmother had the sight,” Elizabeth continued. “There were three of us bairns, including William. She always made the most delicious scones. I dinna seem to be able to make them as good as her own,” she added with a smile.
I assured her that they were delicious.
“It is an experiment with each batch of the demmed things,” she replied. “I keep trying. Or perhaps it is simply my memory of them as a child. She made two batches every mornin’. One forour father and uncle, and then a special batch for us children before we set off for our chores.”
I accepted a second cup of coffee and another scone, her voice as gentle as the sunshine that spilled across the table.
“It was then, after our father had gone off to the fields, that the visions sometimes came to her. There were all sorts of things she saw. She could sense a change in the weather before there was a cloud in the sky.
“She sensed that a girl William fancied early on was strange in the head,” she winked at me. “And then there was the prediction about our father’s prize cow. She predicted that the next calf would be afflicted by adeformity, as she called it. The poor thing was born with only three legs, but she wouldna let him get rid of it. She told him that it was a gift.”
“What happened to the calf?”
“It was a bonny wee thing, got along with three legs as good as four, produced twin calves each time it was bred which brought a good sum to the family. He never doubted her again.”
I laughed, not all certain the story was true with the twinkle in Elizabeth’s warm gaze.
“And then there was the time Gran got all tangled up in the garden our mother kept and fell down among the cabbages. She claimed a man appeared and helped her to her feet. Afterward, our father called her a cabbage-head, though never to her face.
“I often thought he wasna at all certain that she wouldna cast a spell on him for it.”
It was impossible to know how much of it was true, but it her stories were something I’d never experienced as a small child.
“Do you possess the second sight?” I asked when I was able to draw a deep breath again and wiped a tear from my cheek.
She shook her head. “Not the same as me Gran. Though sometimes I feel somethin’ or hear a whisper when there’s no one about. William calls menumpty.”
“Foolish?”
“Aye, ’tis easier to my way of thinkin’ than believin’ that I may have the sight. Although I have passed along a warning or two for him in his work that can be dangerous. After all, he’s the only brother I have.
“Only once he admitted that I was right. But I know.” There was that smile again.
“Wot of the things ye see and feel that others do not?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I do not...”
“Aye, ye do,” she gently replied. “I’ve seen it, just in the time ye’ve been here.”
I stood suddenly and carried my cup to the basin and washed it, unsettled by the way the conversation had turned.
“You are mistaken.”
“I saw yesterday morn when the vase of flowers tipped and would have fallen. Ye set it right without touchin’ it. I saw it. A small thing but I’ll wager it’s not the first time somethin’ like that has happened.”
I shook my head as I dried the cup and set it on the sideboard.
“And the night ye arrived with William. I usually let the fire in the stove burn low. Coal is expensive. But the fire was suddenly there, not dyin’ out as before.”
“A bit of air that stirred it, no more,” I replied.
“Have ye ever known a thing before it happened?” she asked.
