metal brazier near the visitor center.
When I showed Maeve the advertisement, she stared at it for a long time.
“They moved midsummer?” she asked.
I almost laughed.
“They moved the event.”
“The sun wasn’t consulted.”
That was Maeve.
She was not against festivals or visitors or people making a living.
She simply could not understand why anyone would take a moment dictated by the earth and sky, move it to a more convenient Saturday, put a rope around it, and sell tickets.
Still, I expected her to stay home when we learned the hill gate would be locked.
Instead, she dressed as she always did.
Dark coat despite the mild evening.
Sturdy shoes.
Walking stick.
And the brown envelope.
She never told me what was inside until Declan tried to send us away.
Now the secret was spread across the bonnet of the solicitor’s car.
Declan studied the old map.
“You cannot seriously expect us to unlock this gate and allow an uncontrolled crowd onto protected land.”
Maeve finally spoke.
“They walked here peacefully.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The foundation has liability.”
“On my acre?”
“To reach your acre, they cross ours.”
The solicitor tapped the second document.
“The easement addresses that.”
Declan turned sharply toward him.
“You work for her?”
“I worked for her late husband.
Then for Mrs.
O’Rourke.
More recently, I advised your foundation’s conveyancing solicitor when you acquired the estate.”
That changed everything.
Declan’s face tightened.
“You knew about this?”
“The title documents certainly did.”
One of the villagers laughed under his breath.
Declan heard him.
His embarrassment hardened into anger.
“This gathering still presents a fire hazard.”
Maeve nodded.
“That is why Seamus has the water tank.”
Everyone turned.
At the back of the road stood Seamus Doyle, a retired firefighter, beside a farm vehicle towing a water bowser.
He raised one hand.
“We’ve had one every year since 1987.”
Declan looked from Seamus to Maeve.
“And the fire service approved this?”
Seamus shrugged.
“We notified them, as usual.”
The solicitor opened another section of the folder.
“And here is the written acknowledgment.”
For several seconds, Declan seemed unable to find another objection.
Then he pointed at the crowd.
“There must be fifty people here.”
“Sixty-three,” someone corrected.
Another voice added, “Sixty-four now.
Nora just arrived.”
People laughed.
It was not cruel laughter.
That somehow made Declan look even more uncomfortable.
He had expected confrontation.
Shouting, perhaps.
Something he could describe later as disorderly behavior.
Instead, the villagers had stood quietly while his own paperwork defeated him.
He turned to the guards.
“Do not open the gate.”
The older guard frowned.
“Mr.
Shaw—”
“That is an instruction.”
The solicitor closed the folder.
“Then we have a different problem.”
Declan folded his arms.
“And what problem is that?”
“You are knowingly obstructing a registered right of access.”
The confidence returned to Declan’s face for a moment.
“Take us to court.”
Maeve sighed.
It was the first time she had appeared tired all evening.
I thought the words had defeated her.
Then she handed me the small object that had been inside the envelope.
A key.
It was old and heavy, but not ancient.
I stared at it.
Maeve pointed toward the gate.
“My husband paid for that lock fifteen years ago,
