Page 151 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

He steps forward, grabbing me. “Bea, what do I do?” His voice breaks.

Tears well in my eyes, and my lips tremble as I let out a slow breath. I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “I have to wash it,” I whisper.

“No,” he growls, his fear morphing into resolve. “I willnae allow it. There has to be something that will stop this!”

I place a hand on his forearm, my tears now freely running down my face.

“There isn’t. I’m so sorry.” My heart cracks as his entire body stiffens, a sob bursting from his throat. “If her clothes aren't cleansed, if they don’t enter the After, she will still…” I can hardly bring myself to say the word, and I swallow. “She’ll still die. But she will wander in between forever, lost. She’ll be afraid. She’ll be like the souls we sealed down below.”

“No.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “No! I willnae allow it!” he shouts, as if he will force the magic of this death into bowing to him by sheer will.

The pain in his voice is so visceral, I can’t bear it. My heart longs to take it from him. To carry the sharpness of it myself so he doesn’t have to.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, but it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough to fix this. To heal the wound this loss will cause.

Brennen falls to his knees, hands shaking.

“Oh, Saoirse,” he says, bringing the dress to his chest. He pauses, pulling a small wooden figure from her pocket. A lamb.

He closes his eyes, sorrow evident in every line of his face. “I dinnae want to let her go,” he whispers.

The river turns angry, the After writhing, and I place my hands on top of his.

“I know,” I whisper. “But you have to. For her sake. I have to cleanse her. Am Breitheamh will judge her well. He will take care of her. She’ll be happy, with your parents.”

Brennen doesn't look at me as he continues to stare down at the clothes, the fury and grief in his eyes so intense, it steals the breath from my lungs.

Agonizing sorrow pushes out of his skin and needles into mine as he tucks the lamb back into Saoirse’s pocket with trembling fingers and begins to whisper. “Tha mi duilich, a phiuthar. Dh’fhàillig mi thu.” I’m sorry, sister. I failed you.

I can no longer see through my tears as I watch Brennen let go of the dress, blaming himself instead of the Cutter as it falls into my hands.

As gently as I am able, I cleanse the fabric, singing my song. Brennen watches my every move, and I keep my voice soft, hoping it sounds like a prayer rather than a song of mourning.

I give him a second to caress the fabric once more, then, with a sorrow so intense, my heart feels as if it is being carved from my chest, I let the dress go.

The river calms as it swirls softly downstream, disappearing into the After. I whisper the prayer of the Three, dipping my fingers in the water and tapping my chest, lips, and forehead.

Brennen stands behind me, and I turn to him, reaching out. Tears stain his cheeks, and his throat works as he swallows.

“Brennen,” I whisper, unsure of what to say. Afraid of what he may do in his grief.

He doesn’t look at me, but stares into the black mist, unblinking. “She asked me to make her a second lamb.” His voice breaks. “Said the one I made for her birthday needed a friend. But I didnae do it. I thought I had time.”

I close my eyes, my heart shattering for the man in front of me. At the guilt and regret in his voice. “You couldn’t have known.”

He holds his hands up in front of him.

“I don't—” He continues to look into the After for a long moment before turning, stalking into the treeline.

“Wait!” I stand, running after him. I do not want him to be alone, but my chain catches, throwing me to the ground. The rocks scrape my hands and elbows, and when I look back up, Brennen is gone, and I cannot go after him.

69

BEA

Istare after Brennen long after he disappears, my heart torn in two, tears stinging my eyes. I don’t think I’ve felt sorrow this potent since my childhood friend Emma’s passing several decades ago. I hadn't expected it, the day the wind had called me, and it had been her face that appeared in the water.

She died of old age, the best way to go to your rest. Still, it had fractured something inside my chest when a woman I recognized from another life stared back at me in the river, her features both familiar and not, aged in a way I never would experience.