Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Two
Mrs. MacDougal's World
"This is a lovely spot to sit down, Morag, I have to say," said Pansy. "Although, I know you must be busy…"
Pansy stood and smoothed the sleeves of her blouse. Getting up led to taking in a long, deep breath, through her nostrils. She savored the summer smells, the heather and the sweet scent of the morning glories.
"Oh, no need to rush off," Morag said. "I appreciate you coming. You can tell Harry I'm fine, really."
Pansy looked at Morag, studying her face. She didn't see how Morag MacDougal could be fine. Her classmate had the internal discipline and raw intelligence to go through Hogwarts during a period of severe disruption, finishing in outright war, get a professional education and practice healing in her community. Now she was communicating with thistle and an empty sky.
Pansy admired Morag's sense of duty and determination to use her magic and healing skills to make her mother's last days as pain-free and comfortable as she could. She even credited her choice of keeping Mrs. MacDougal in the cottage, although Pansy didn't think she'd be able to go that far. There were specialized facilities for the elderly in the magical world, just as there were for muggles. Morag could use some help, Pansy knew.
"Morag, isn't there something I can send along?" Pansy asked. "Food you're craving that you can't get here? A book? Herbs, potions, Standard Book of Spells?"
Morag laughed.
"I don't need anything, honestly," she said.
Pansy looked at her. Morag was clean, her hair brushed, skin clear. She was taking care of herself, physically. Pansy held a thought: 'Be gracious,' and didn't argue.
"I'm going to take off, for today," she said. "Can we owl, now and then? I'll worry about you, way out here."
Morag stiffened, looking Pansy straight in the eye.
"Pansy, you're not to worry," she said, her tone hardening a little. "Understand? I'm doing my duty. I'm giving back, which is what I trained to do. Way out here is home, to some of us."
Pansy saw an elaborately-carved wooden knob at the cuff of Morag's left sleeve, and guessed a wand was laid against her forearm. While they stood there looking at one another a voice came from the cottage.
"Mo-Ahh. Mo-Ahh," someone was calling.
"Mum," Morag declared. "Show yourself out?"
"Can I do anything to help?" Pansy asked.
Morag walked to the back door without another word.
Pansy stood where she was, not knowing if Morag wanted help, or would accept it if she followed her in. She made a decision, falling in behind Morag.
Morag didn't notice she was there until she turned to close the door.
"What?"
"Tell me what to do," Pansy said, half-expecting to be told to leave and not come back.
Morag took a moment, then sighed.
"Let me see what…" she said, leaving off the end of her sentence.
Morag went as far as the door to the next room. Pansy stood, looking around the kitchen space, fitting it into her mental picture of the dimensions of the cottage. Any way you looked at it the place didn't have the footprint for anything but two rooms. That was how Morag MacDougal was living as she took care of her invalid mother. Pansy felt like crying would really help elevate her mood, but nothing came out.
"Pansy? I can use your assistance after all," Morag said from the other room.
"Mother—this is Pansy," she said when Pansy got to the doorway. "Pansy, my mother, Livia MacDougal."
Mrs. MacDougal lay on a low single bed, propped up on multiple pillows. One arm, her left, was across her torso. The hand had not assumed the withered-claw look Pansy had seen in one or two witches she'd known who had suffered strokes. She guessed Mrs. MacDougal hadn't been in her condition long enough for her hand to claw up.
Mrs. MacDougal smiled, on one-half of her face, and extended her right hand. Pansy knelt at her bedside, took Mrs. MacDougal's hand in both of hers and kissed it.
"An honor, Madam," she said. Mrs. MacDougal continued to smile.
"Ma fabe'it po," she said. "Pans ma fabe'it po."
"Mother's favorite pony," Morag muttered. "She had a Shetland pony named Pansy when she was a girl."
"Is that right?" Pansy asked. "A pony, named Pansy."
She continued to hold the old witch's hand. Mrs. MacDougal squeezed, tight, with her one good hand. A single tear rolled down the old lady's cheek.
"Ready to sit up, Mother?" Morag asked, then spoke to Pansy. "I just want to arrange her pillows."
Morag slipped her arm under her mother.
"Just stay where you are, Pansy," she said. "Mother might hold really tight. I don't think she has the sense of how much strength she is using anymore."
Morag raised Mrs. MacDougal up. The old lady let go of Pansy's hands and put her one good arm over her shoulder, pulling the two of them together.
"Pans," she said. "Pans."
Mrs. MacDougal's right hand began to pat Pansy on the back. It felt like the old lady was laying on open-handed slaps as horsemen and women do to their equine friends.
"Pans. Guh po. Guh gul," said Mrs. MacDougal.
"Pansy's a good pony, Mother?" asked Morag. "It's time to let Pansy go. You had a good ride, now you both take a little rest."
Mrs. MacDougal let Morag handle her weight, what little there was left, and lay back down on the pillows.
"Pans," she said one last time.
Pansy led the way back into the larger room.
"Morag," she tried, again.
"What?" Morag asked. "This is what I want to do, Pansy, you have nothing to say about it. Whatever time she has left she'll get fed and bathed and put to bed at night by me. I can't do anything else, do you understand? I owe. I'll have plenty of life left when she's gone. I'll do things then. There won't be a second chance to do this."
"Fine, Love," said Pansy. "You're fine and doing well. You don't need anything. Would you like an owl, bearing a note once in awhile?"
Morag's gaze softened.
"I would, yes," she said. "General news items. Classmates having babies."
"I'll see to it," said Pansy. "Anything. Anything at all. We want to help."
"I can see that," said Morag. "I'll let you know. I appreciate your coming. Bye for now."
With that Morag turned and went back into her mother's bedroom, letting Pansy sort out her own departure.