Fiery Red Hair

Fiery Red Hair

The old lady lay in the hospital bed. Her half-opened eyes saw nothing of the room around her. The IV and tubes had all been removed. The only mechanical device still connected measured her slowing heartbeat. That's what everyone else saw. They couldn't know that one moment the old lady was wracked with pain, the next she was riding a galloping horse across a grassy meadow in a time before the Normans invaded Hibernia. The Celtic lass was thinking only of the green-eyed lover she would meet in the trees beyond the field of wildflowers.

The old lady lay in the hospital bed. Tears from her unseeing eyes rolled down her cheek to the pillow beneath her head. That's what everyone else saw. They couldn't know that the Celtic wife was on a horse galloping across a grassy meadow. Her fiery red hair was flowing behind her as were the tears coming from her reddened eyes. Sorrow shadowed her face as she relived the tragedy of a few hours before. Her green-eyed husband had lost his life during one of the periodic cattle raids by those living across the valley. He would never know of the child she carried in her barely bulging belly.

The old lady lay in the hospital bed. A faint smile momentarily brightened her face.That's what everyone else saw. They couldn't know that the Celtic mother was on a horse galloping across a grassy meadow. Her fiery red hair was streaked with wisps of silver. The basket she carried contained wildflowers from the field just before the trees. She would weave them into a circlet to adorn the fiery red hair of her green-eyed daughter. The wedding was to take place that very afternoon.

The old lady lay in the hospital bed. Wisps of red hair highlighted the silver. That's what everyone else saw. They couldn't know that the Celtic mother-in-law on a horse was headed back to her village. Wildflowers filled the air as clumps of dirt from the meadow were dislodged by the hooves of the galloping horse. The handwoven basket attached to her waist by a cord bounced against her leg. She reached down to adjust the cloth covering the edible mushrooms she had found among the trees beyond the wildflowers. She was bringing them home to add to the kettle on the fire in front of the thatched dwelling she shared with her daughter and son-in-law. The stew inside the kettle had been simmering for generations, as was the case with every other kettle on every other fire in the village. The announcement of the arrival of her grandchild in six months was cause for celebration. The mushrooms were her contribution to the festivities.

Shouting from the fenced area on the other side of the village made the Celtic woman turn her horse. The mushrooms from her basket joined the wildflowers strewn across the grassy meadow. Her silver hair with wisps of red was flowing behind her. She could see raiders from across the valley approaching on horseback. A raiding archer had nocked an arrow in his longbow and was aiming at her son-in-law who was guarding the cattle from the village. She urged her horse to a full gallop, reining him in as she came between the archer and the father of her grandchild. As she saw the arrow leave the bow she let out a yell that echoed to the trees beyond the field of wildflowers.

The old lady lay in the hospital bed. A woman with fiery red hair slept in the chair beside her. The bulge of her pregnant belly was barely noticeable. The change of the intermittent beep of the heart monitor to a steady hum woke her. As fiery red hair mingled with the silver on the pillow, a green-eyed man stepped to his wife and encircled her in his arms.

That's what everyone else saw.