The Healing of Eve Ch. 07

I slept fitfully and was already awake when the alarm went off. We rose, dressed, and used the kettle in the room to make instant coffee, filling our thermos flask with it, before quietly letting ourselves out of the still somnolent house. We drove the few miles to the point that Johnny had said the track started and parked by the church. We shouldered our packs in the first grey light of the day and set off through a rickety gate along what we hoped was the right path.

For an hour or so the walking was fairly easy, the path was grassy under foot, and sloped gently upwards, heading towards a gap between two hills whose peaks remained covered by dense grey cloud. As we approached the hills, the path became steeper and rockier underfoot. The stones were slick with moss and slime where they protruded from the ground and our pace slowed as we picked our way between them. The hill tops remained stubbornly covered in cloud and it was obvious that unless the sun or wind intervened, we would soon be walking through a dank grey fog. We continued to climb steadily, not talking much but focusing on placing our feet carefully, a misstep here could easily result in a twisted ankle, or worse, and that would certainly not help our cause.

After we had been walking for about two hours, although it was hard to pinpoint our position given the limited visibility, after pouring over the map and trying to compare it with the terrain, we were just short of half way to our destination. Our progress was slower than we had hoped but in theory we could still make it to the cottage by lunch time, even if our pace remained the same.

I was feeling fine, strong, and full of energy, and Beth, long limbed and sure-footed as she was, seemed undeterred by the conditions. We eyed the lowering cloud through which it now seemed inevitable our journey would continue and, perhaps to give it a last chance to dissipate, we rested just below its base and shared a coffee from the flask. Having only one cup we took it in turns to sip the hot liquid and I was glad of its warmth and the companionship of the moment.

All too soon though, we shrugged ourselves back into our packs and after a few minutes of steady climbing found ourselves in the first swirling tendrils of mist. In the cloud it was noticeably colder and as we continued to climb the density of the fog increased. We could see very little of the landscape now, although mercifully the path itself remained distinct.

Gradually the way levelled out and it seemed that we had passed through the gap between the hills and were now walking across a plateau. Without the benefit of a gradient the ground became boggy underfoot and now any misstep resulted in a boot disappearing up to the ankle into a peaty pool of freezing water. Before long, our feet were soaking, and my previously buoyant spirits were dragged down by the dankness of the air and the numbness of my sodden feet as the cold seeped into my bones.

Now we were moving more slowly. Between the rocky protuberances which littered the path and the freezing boggy pools the going was treacherous and with hindsight an accident was inevitable and yet, when it happened, I was not really prepared. We were walking in single file with Beth leading when a rock on which she placed her foot proved unsteady. It tipped as she swung her weight over it and she was pitched forward and fell heavily, the sharp edge of another stone slamming into her side as she went down.

Even through the padding of her jacket I heard the sickening crack as her ribs took the full force of her descent. I crossed the few yards to where she lay, her face contorted with pain, my mind struggling to come to grips with the potential consequences of the situation. I stripped off my pack and knelt at Beth's side. She was conscious but the fall had winded her and at first, she was unable to speak. She had rolled off the jagged spike of rock and lay on the waterlogged ground her breathing shallow and her face drained of colour. I put my ear close to her mouth and listened carefully to her breathing, it sounded normal and my great fear, that she had fractured a rib and punctured a lung, receded.

Beth groaned and clutched her chest as she tried to lift herself.

"Just try and take a deep breath before you do anything else," I told her. Beth grimaced as she slowly drew a full breath.

"It's ok," she said, "Its painful but I don't think I've damaged my lungs." She tried to move again and failed to conceal a gasp of pain, "I might well have cracked a rib though," she said through clenched teeth, "but I need to get up, I'm getting soaked here."

On balance I knew she was right, even if she had broken a bone, no good would come of getting her clothes sodden. I gave her my arm and slowly she managed to get to her feet. The pallor of her complexion frightened me, and I held her, prepared to cushion a fall in case she lost consciousness. Beth was soaked to the skin. She had not been on the ground long but it was enough for the freezing, peaty water to penetrate all the layers of clothing that she wore. I could feel her trembling with a potentially lethal combination of cold and shock.

"Do you think you can walk?" I asked the key question.

"Yes, I think so," Beth said, without much conviction. She pressed a hand to her ribs and winced at the touch. "I may need to lean on you though, I'm not all that steady and I dare not risk another fall."

"Let's get going then," I said, "the sooner we get you warm, dry and in front of a doctor, the happier I'll be." I made to take Beth's arm, but she stopped me.

"We need to go on, "she said quietly. I had naturally assumed that we would turn round and head back the way we had come. "We must be at least three quarters of the way to Brother John's cottage," she said, "I'm not sure I'll make it all the way back, and at the speed I think I can walk it will be dark."

She was right of course, but the thought of pressing on to an unknown destination in the cloud was equally worrying to my mind. We could easily miss the cottage in the mirk, and then we would almost certainly be stranded in the hills overnight. I tried hard to persuade Beth to turn back but despite her injury she was adamant that we continue, and in the end, I gave in, consoling myself with the knowledge that Beth's intuition had not failed us in the past.

I pulled the flask of coffee from my pack and half-filled the cup. It was still piping hot and for that I was thankful. I offered the steaming brew to Beth, she looked as though she needed it. She smiled a rather wan smile, as she took the drink from my hand.

"If you fish around in the side pocket of my pack you'll find my hip flask," she said. Retrieving the small stainless-steel flask and guessing with lifted spirits, that it contained some of Beth's wonderful potion. I unscrewed the cap and poured a little into the cup. Beth drank the coffee with its infusion of magic and the colour began to return to her cheeks.

And so we set off again, this time at a snail's pace with Beth leaning on my arm, her free hand holding her ribs. The path remained the same as before, boggy and rock-strewn, treacherous underfoot, especially for Beth who seemed to struggle to balance properly. Several times I saved her from another fall and each time she gasped in pain as the unexpected movement jarred her injured ribs. This was so unlike the sure-footed Beth that I became increasingly worried. Very soon we would be forced to try and find somewhere drier than the boggy path to spend the night and in the fog I dare not leave her. Nor dare we stray far from the path so the task would be doubly difficult.

As the day wore on, Beth became more and more tired, we would move forwards for ten minutes or so and then rest for five. The way thankfully remained level for most of the afternoon but just after three o'clock, with no more than an hour left before the winter darkness began to close in, we started to climb gently. Although Beth found this harder going I was faintly encouraged, firstly because, from the map, the cottage should be somewhere on an upward slope at the other side of the plateau and secondly because I thought there would be more chance of finding somewhere less boggy if we were above the lowest point of the land, and I had by then resigned myself to spending the night in the open.

Not long after we started to climb, we rested. Beth leaned on me, her head bowed, with hardly the energy to speak. She was shivering uncontrollably and there was little I could do to warm her. Our flask of coffee was by then empty. I had wanted to keep some in reserve for the impending night but without it Beth would have long since been unable to continue. Now I was determined that we needed to seek shelter for the night. I opened my mouth to tell Beth that we needed to stop when she lifted her head.

"What's that?" She said, her face was ashen and I wondered whether she was delirious.

"What's what?" I answered.

"That smell," she lifted her face, sniffing the air like a dog on a scent. I took in a deep draft of the dank air through my nose. I got nothing, just the musty smell of the wet upland. I shook my head.

"No! Beth was insistent. And then, faintly, I could smell it too, the unmistakable reek of a peat fire. It could mean only one thing; we must be close to the cottage. We could not tell from which direction the smoke came, but I was sure we had not passed a building and logic said it must be close to the track. With renewed energy we started out again, still at our painfully slow pace, but now with growing hope.

The smell grew stronger as we inched our way forward up the slope. I knew we were close to our destination but as night drew in, the cloud was getting thicker, and the light was fading. Beth's brief surge of energy had dissipated and now she seemed barely conscious, putting one foot in front of another more like an automaton than a human being, leaning on me heavily so that our progress was impeded. And then, having threatened all day, the rain began. At first it seemed like an almost imperceptible thickening of the cloud, but soon the drizzle became a downpour. Our waterpoofs, sodden already, were no protection against the deluge. Within minutes I could feel the icy coldness against my skin as the water penetrated every layer that I wore.

How Beth kept moving at all, I will never know. Now we could hardly see where to put our feet and the path rapidly became a stream that filled our boots. I hardly felt it, my feet were already numb with cold. All I could do was place one foot in front of the other and take Beth's weight as she followed as though in a trance.

I offered up a prayer to the Goddess, it was truly a heartfelt cry. Unless an answer came, I felt for the first time that we might die there on the hills, so close to safety and yet so far away. Darkness was falling and all that was left to me was to hope and pray. We were moving forward still but so very slowly that our progress was minimal. But then, peering through the gathering gloom, trying to see our way ahead, it seemed to me that there was a glimmer of light, off to the left of the path. I could not be sure of anything anymore but after a few faltering steps we came upon a rough-hewn wooden post, and then another. It was surely the dilapidated remains of a fence and yes, there to the left was a patch of light that could only come from a dwelling. The smell of peat smoke suddenly became more intense, and Beth lifted her head.

"Beth, look," I directed her gaze to the light but she seemed unable to take it in.

"Come on." Almost carrying her, I headed directly for the light and as we approached, it became more distinct, taking on the outline of a window and next to it, a faded wooden door, paint peeling but the most welcome sight in my entire life.

Under the low eaves, blissfully out of the rain, I found the brass door knocker and rapped on the door, not stopping until it was opened by a rather cross looking pale-skinned woman who looked intent on giving me a piece of her mind, but her irritation turned immediately to concern as she took in our dire condition and, clucking like a mother hen, she drew us, stumbling over the threshold, passing from the darkness outside into the warmth and light of the cottage.

Now that she no longer needed her will to keep going Beth collapsed like a rag doll. I was barely able to take her weight but the woman stepped in and with surprising strength put her arm around Beth and between us, half carried, half dragged her from the small hallway into a low ceilinged living room in which the peat fire that had been our beacon blazed in a cast iron grate. We laid her on a long sofa, seemingly unconscious.

"John," the woman spoke quietly but her voice betrayed her concern, and I noticed for the first time the tall figure sitting quietly in a high-backed armchair.

"What is it Martha?" He said, his voice was deep and resonant, comforting like chocolate and I felt instinctively that the decision to come here had been the right one.

"We have guests," Martha said, "they are both exhausted and one has collapsed. She's on the sofa."

Brother John, for I was in no doubt that it was he, rose from his chair. He was an impressive figure, of slender build with shock of pure white hair he was so tall that his head almost touched the low ceiling. His face was lined but he far from being an old man, he moved easily out of his chair and came towards us slowly, and as he did so I saw with a shock that he was blind. He clearly knew by habit where the sofa was and as he approached it Martha reached out and took his hand. He knelt by the sofa and Martha guided his hand to where Beth's face rested on the sofa cushion. In complete stillness he cupped her face in his hands. Beth murmured something indistinct but did not stir.

"Ah Beth, "he said softly, "what have you been doing to yourself?" I was astonished. How did he know her name? He gently moved his hands down her body, pausing briefly over the site of her injured ribs. He held her hands in his and kept them there. Was it my imagination or did Beth's colour improve? Certainly, the lines of pain on her face seemed to be soothed away by this man's touch.

"Martha, will you get her boots off please," he said and Martha complied, struggling at first to untie the sodden laces before stripping off Beth's boots and socks. Beth's feet were almost blue when John took them into his hands.

"You are too cold my sister," he said, more to himself than anyone else, "but we'll soon have you warmed up. He held her like that, massaging her feet gently for a few minutes. Beth began to breath more deeply and steadily and now she seemed to me to be asleep rather than unconscious.

John placed her feet on the sofa. "She is not seriously injured," he said, "but she has fractured two ribs and she had hypothermia, but she is warm now and needs to sleep. Martha, will you get her out of those wet clothes and find her something to sleep in. She must stay here on the sofa in front of the fire tonight.

Then John turned towards me with unseeing eyes.

"But we have another guest," he said in the same gentle, resonant tone, "will you give me your hands? As you no doubt realise, I am unable to see you, but I am blessed with the gift of healing." He held out his hands and I placed mine in his. He pressed them gently and was silent for a while.

"Welcome Hazel," he said, "you seem to have survived your ordeal in rather better shape than our sister Beth. You need not worry, she will be fine, tomorrow I will be able to heal her but tonight she must sleep."

"How do you know our names?" I just blurted it out, no thank you for saving our lives or being so welcoming or anything appropriate like that. My excuse is that my brain was fogged by the trauma of the day. John just smiled, a wonderful warm smile, and let go of my hands. By some miracle they were now warm and I could actually feel my fingers again.

"I know rather more about you than just your names," he said with laughter in his voice. "It's part of the gift I have, but more of that in the morning. You had better let me bring your feet back to life and then you can help Martha to get Beth out of her wet things so she can sleep. After that there is some of Martha's delicious soup in the kitchen, you need to eat and then sleep. We have a spare room upstairs where you will be very comfortable."

"I can't leave Beth on her own," I said, "not when I know she's hurt."

"She won't be on her own," John said gently, "I will stay with her tonight. I need little sleep these days so it will not be a hardship, and you need to rest."

"He's right," Martha said, she had disappeared briefly and had now returned carrying two robes and a pile of cosy-looking blankets. "Get yourself out of those wet things and into one of these and then you can help me with your friend.

Gratefully and without shame I stripped off my soaking clothes and wrapped myself in the warm robe. Martha took the sodden and muddy pile of clothes and put then on the stone flagged floor of the hallway.

"I'll sort them out later," she said. "Now sit in that chair and let John deal with those feet of yours, they don't look good." I looked down at my feet and realised that she was right, my toes were unnaturally white and I could hardly feel them. I did as I was told and kneeling in front of me John cradled my feet in his hands, he massaged them gently, just as he had Beth's a few moments earlier and as I watched in amazement, my feet began to warm up, the colour returned to my toes and I could feel them again.

"That's better," he said, "now I think you're almost as good as new. I'm going to rest while you and Martha get Beth's wet things off." John returned to his chair and sat facing the fire, closing his eyes. Martha and I turned to Beth. It was easy to strip off her trousers and panties while she remained prone on the sofa but we had to sit her up between us so we could remove her jacket and the layers of clothing beneath, all of which were soaking wet. The movement inevitably caused pain but Beth bore it stoically, cooperating with us even in her semi-conscious state.

Once we had removed the last of her clothing the extent of her injury became obvious. Just below her breasts, a livid bruise covered the left-hand side of her ribcage, stretching round the side of her body and onto her back. Rather than try and get her into the robe and cause further pain we simply covered her with it, then added the blankets on top. I kissed her goodnight, and she drifted back into sleep without being in obvious discomfort.

John seemed to be asleep in his chair and Martha beckoned me to follow her into the kitchen. I was reluctant to leave Beth but I felt I had little choice other than to comply with Martha's wishes and so I crossed the hall end entered the bright kitchen beyond. The kitchen was warmed by an enormous, ancient, black range whose fire door was open letting the warmth of the flames within heat up the room. The rain, which was already turning to sleet, lashed against the kitchen window and I thanked the Goddess, not for the first time, for leading us to this place of safety.

"Sit yourself down," Martha gestured at one of the two armchairs in front of the range. Gratefully I sank into the tattered old chair while Martha disappeared with an armful of sodden clothes. Now I knew that Beth was safe, a wave of exhaustion suddenly came over me and I found myself weeping with a combination of relief, gratitude, and simple tiredness.

"Here, drink this," Martha had returned bearing two glasses of foaming Guinness. She handed one to me and sat in the other armchair, looking at me over the top of her glass.

"I'm sorry, " I said trying to stem the flow of tears, "it's been a bit of a rough day."