Location:Ferrow's Rest
Date/Time:TC1856.09.20 – TC1856.09.26
The cart came up the east road at midday with two young people walking beside it and an old woman sitting in the back among the bags, and Emrys Dunmore watched it from the churchyard wall and understood that they had sent someone after all.
He had expected that. He had expected a captain, or another one of the careful young men with paste, or — on the bad nights — the woman herself again, with the number in her mouth.
What got down off the cart was seventy-one years old and swore quietly at her own knee.
"Don't help," she said, as he came down the path. "I'll be four minutes about it, and then I'll be fine, and if you take my elbow I'll be twenty minutes at it and cross."
He stopped where he was.
"You'll be Dunmore," she said, once she was upright. "Maren Harren. I've come to sit in your kitchen. That's the size of it, and I've said it first so you don't spend three days waiting for the other part."
