Although the system had no leader, it was Rebecca to whom all moles turned for help and guidance and whose love for them all was the wellspring of so much happiness. And by June, with the coming of summer, Rebecca had regained— or seemed to have—much of her normal joy in living.
So it was she who reminded them that Midsummer Night was a time to gather quietly at the Stone and to give thanks for the young; and who can say, as the warm Midsummer evening drew in, that she did not hope that her beloved Bracken might come again from off the pastures, with Boswell at his side, and speak the special blessing only he knew, which he had not had time to teach another mole before he left?
Perhaps Comfrey suspected, or guessed, that Rebecca had such dreams; perhaps he prayed to the Stone for such a miracle to happen, while making sure that he stayed lovingly close to Rebecca all Midsummer Night in case it did not.
All moles gathered by the Stone, the youngsters younger than normal because of a lateness of littering, many of them playing and gambolling among the roots and leaves, hushed by the peace of their parents and Rebecca, who moved among them whispering words of blessing that she drew from memory and love and which surely spoke the spirit, if not the words, the Stone intended on that special night.
But no Bracken came, no Boswell hobbled into view: though there was a time, later in the evening, when the youngsters had been taken back to their home burrows and only a few adults remained in silence by the Stone, the warm night air soft in their fur, when Rebecca knew in her heart that somewhere, far, far away, her Bracken was saying the blessing for them all and sending her his love as the same moon that shone down into the Stone clearing shone on his own dark fur. She hoped that just as Comfrey was by her, and had stayed with her all evening, so Boswell was near him. ‘Dearest Boswell,’ she thought, ‘My own sweet Bracken,’ she smiled, hoping that the Stone would let him know how much she loved him.
Well, perhaps it could, perhaps it would, and ‘perhaps’ became a word Rebecca grew tired of using. A mole must live where a Stone has put her, or him, and with those moles who happen by circumstance or fate to be living in the same system. And nomole was more aware than Rebecca, healer now to the system of Duncton, that hopes and memories are like winter aconite, a source of health and joy if used one way, a debilitating poison if used another. So, as the summer advanced, she put her Bracken from her mind and concentrated all her energies on helping the moles about her.
Their numbers grew rapidly. Under her care, most of the late spring litters survived and there was so much spare territory available in the Ancient System that there was little conflict, or death, when it came to the dispersal of the young in July and August. At the same time, the Stone, and perhaps the reputation of Rebecca, brought a steady flow of moles into Duncton, some from the outlying parts of the Pasture system, others from far to the east, the old Eastside, which had not been much affected by the fire. There was a good mixture of males and younger females in this influx and the system began to have a fuller, united feel about it—the main social centre of the system being over to its east side where Bracken had first started his exploration.
There was a natural reluctance among the moles to go west into the Chamber of Dark Sound or beyond it towards where the Chamber of Echoes lay, and most moles lived on the east side of the ancient tunnels. Only Comfrey lived on the slopes, which gave him a reputation as an amiable eccentric, but he was respected for his enormous knowledge of the lore of plants and the role he was thought to have as adviser and protector of Rebecca. The mystery around him was enhanced by the fact that it was known that he travelled widely in his search for herbs, venturing right across the pastures, so it was said, and even down across the stricken Old Wood to the marshes.
Although the summer was generally sunless and chilly, in contrast to the preceding one, it was still a time for idleness: the rain had brought plenty of worms and grubs to the beechwoods and the litters were quickly off parents’ paws. So, once more, the Duncton moles slipped into their old habits of gossip and chatter and the telling of tales; and, memories being short and imaginations strong, many stories were told (and more created) of the deeds and adventures of Bracken, the mole who had rid the system of Mandrake and Rune and who had gone to Uffington with that Boswell, the mole from Uffington, to give thanks for deliverance from the plague.
Many a youngster heard the tale, and asked to be told again, of how Bracken crossed the marshes to ‘rescue Boswell,’ of how Bracken ‘ordered’ Stonecrop to kill Mandrake before the Stone, of the plague and of Bracken’s subsequent departure for the Holy Burrows.
