Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) by Jodi McIsaac Page B

shawl.
    “You’ll do no such thing. Now go fetch a basin of water, and let’s get this girl cleaned up.” The younger woman looked keen to argue, but she went outside and came back with a bucket of water, which she poured into a shallow basin and warmed up with water from the kettle that hung on a hook over the fire. Nora sank into the chair she was offered, feeling dazed and exhausted.
    “I’m Mrs. Kathleen Gillies,” the older woman said, dipping a cloth into the basin and handing it to Nora. “This is my daughter Hannah, but everyone calls her Pidge. And you are . . . ?”
    “Nora O’Reilly.” She rubbed her face with the cloth the girl had offered her and rinsed it out before moving on to her arms and hands.
    “And what’s your business here, Nora O’Reilly? What has you running?”
    Nora wondered if Mrs. Gillies was trying to bait her in order to determine her allegiance. There hadn’t been enough time to think of a convincing cover story. What was she to say—that she’d come from the future to help a man she’d never met? She pretended to wash her face again while thinking of a suitable lie.
    “Let her rest a minute, Ma!” Pidge exclaimed. “Cuppa, Nora?”
    “Please, thank you,” Nora said. Mrs. Gillies stood in front of her, hands on her generous hips. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore a simple, long-sleeved brown dress that fell to midcalf. Her stockings and shoes were both black, and she wore a clean beige apron over her dress.
    Pidge handed Nora a cup of tea, which she accepted with a grateful smile. The hot liquid brought new life to her exhausted, aching body. Pidge was a handsome girl with a wide mouth and dark curls that fell to her shoulders. She wore a plain dress much like her mother’s. She looked at Nora with open curiosity.
    “I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re asking,” Nora said cautiously.
    “But you said you were runnin’,” Mrs. Gillies pointed out. She took a seat at the wooden table beside Nora and poured her own cup of tea.
    “I arrived from Belfast earlier today,” Nora said, knowing she’d not be able to hide her Ulster accent.
    “On your own?” Mrs. Gillies asked with a raised eyebrow.
    “Aye.” She remembered one of the history lessons Eamon had given her over a pot of tea many years ago. Before the country was officially divided, the Protestant majority in the North had fought the prospect of a Catholic-run independent Ireland tooth and nail. After the treaty, Catholics in the six northern counties were beaten and murdered in unprecedented numbers, their bodies mutilated and left as a warning to other Catholics. So-called match and petrol men burned out and terrorized entire Catholic neighborhoods, all with the tacit blessing—including weapons and soldiers—of the British Crown. Pogroms, Eamon had called them. The message was clear: get out. Thousands of refugees streamed over the newly created border into the Free State, seeking refuge in a country already traumatized by a vicious war with Britain and a looming civil war of its own.
    Nora’s cheeks burned. This was material she could use to form her story, but she had to be careful what she gave away. She didn’t know how her new hosts would react. But even so, she could never pretend to be a supporter of the British. “My family was burned out by an Orange mob in Belfast. I came down to stay with my uncle in Kildare, only I couldn’t find him. His home was empty. Looked like it had been wrecked.”
    Mrs. Gillies and Pidge shared a look.
    “These soldiers started harassing me on the street while I was looking for another place to stay. I ran away from them, but they chased me. I hid until I found a stand of trees to sleep in for the night. And that’s when I heard the explosion.”
    “Our boys, harassing a young woman on the street!” Mrs. Gillies looked scandalized. “I would never have thought them capable of it!”
    “They’re not ‘our