Ghost Walk by Alanna Knight Read Free Book Online Page A

course for the wedding bed. Hopes that this wretched intruder across the table had blighted.
    Mrs Ward had taken all there was to see of me in a glance – wild cloud of hair, a sleepy and dishevelled look – and I knew that once she took her departure, that first meeting would be the talking point of the village for a long while to come. It would make no matter how I shaped out in the end, first impressions were what counted and I would never redeem myself in their eyes.
    Leaving, Mrs Ward again shook my hand, formally polite. ‘It has been a pleasure, Miss Faro.’
    I looked sharply at Jack’s mother whose expression was impenetrable . She made no attempt to correct the mistake.
    Watching her take Mrs Ward to the door, where they stayed longer than was necessary, I wondered if she had not mentioned that her future daughter-in-law was a widow.
    Surely Jack must have told her, I thought desperately, as shereturned and asked with careful politeness how I had slept.
    ‘You’ll no doubt be wanting just a slice of toast and a wee cup of tea, a mite of porridge, rather than a farmer’s breakfast.’
    She couldn’t have been more mistaken. From under covers on the kitchen range delicious smells of fried bacon drifted towards me and, always hungry, I sat down to a hearty farm style breakfast , the kind I did not doubt that labourers frequently consumed at a much earlier hour.
    Jack’s mother watched, clearly astonished. Having expected a lady-like refusal she was utterly taken aback at my ready acceptance of second helpings.
    ‘For such a wee lass, you certainly have a big appetite,’ she said as I demolished the second slice of thickly buttered toast.
    I treated myself to a little mind reading and decided her alarm was justified. She was picturing all Jack’s hard-earned pay going on food. I could hear her telling his father: ‘She’ll be eating him out of house and home.’
    I didn’t bother to apologise or to explain the reason why I ate so heartily when food was set before me. So often in Arizona I had gone without eating for days on end. Square meals were not at the forefront of my mind as I trudged across the red desert with a baby, bent on survival and trying to keep ahead of the renegade Apaches. With only a fast-emptying water skin to keep us alive, I knew all about starvation.
    ‘What would you like to do today?’ she asked, briskly clearing the table and making room for a flour bowl and an assortment of baking dishes.
    ‘I realise you will be very busy and I don’t want to disturb your routine. I think I shall explore. Or,’ indicating the appearance of a bag of flour, ‘perhaps I could make myself useful,’ I added with a brave attempt at a smile at Jack’s father who had just come into the kitchen.
    ‘Nay, lass, there’s no need for that,’ he said. ‘You’re here to enjoy yourself, have a nice wee holiday and get acquainted with Jack’shomeland. You could start by having a look at the Abbey.’
    The offer to make myself useful had not gone past the canny Mrs Macmerry. ‘She could always gather a few eggs later, Andrew. That would be a help.’ Clearly she wasn’t rapturous either about the prospect of having to entertain me until Jack arrived.
    I said yes to eggs and, their usual hiding-places indicated from the kitchen door, and regretting the absence of my bicycle, I set off down the farm road.
    Not for the Abbey but in the direction of Father McQuinn’s church.
    The door was open. This was a Friday and I had a fleeting notion that today all good Catholics went to confession.
    Greeted by incense, sanctuary lights gleaming on statues of saints, but no Father McQuinn, I decided I would try the house next door. Presumably he had a housekeeper or someone I could make an appointment with.
    A rotund, rosy-cheeked middle-aged woman came to the door. Flourishing a duster and scrubbing brush she presented a picture of bustling health and energy.
    ‘The Father’s out on his morning calls at the