Gwen does not acknowledge her father’s compliment. She jumps down from the back of the cart and strides off to dismantle another stook. Jack cannot help but wonder whether she is trying to dislodge the tiny creature embedded in her womb, so that she might be absolved from making the difficult decision before her. He reflects that perhaps they are both more comfortable with their courses being decided by fate.

They ride the wagon back to the farm, strands of straw shedding onto the warm evening breeze to land like flotsam in their wake. When they pull into the yard, Gwen jumps down and runs in to see if Muriel has the copper on.

Once in the rickyard, she stands tall on the back of the wagon and pitches sheaves over the side for the men to stack into a towering rick, storing the crop until threshing time.

They break briefly for tea, a simple meal of bacon rashers and broad beans sprinkled with mint from the garden, and new potatoes glistening from a liberal dressing of the meat’s hot fat. They eat hungrily. Gwen complains her portion is not enough and she takes her empty plate to the range where she raids the saucepans for more. Jack notices how Muriel’s eyes follow her.

They finish building the rick as the light begins to fade and when they are done they head back inside, hot and sticky and weary. Jim breaks open a flagon of beer and offers Jack a glass to slake his thirst. Gwen takes the tin bath down from its hook in the pantry and sets about filling it with water from the copper, while Muriel fetches clean towels from the press. She sets them on the pantry shelf while Gwen retrieves the cracked soap from the dish by the kitchen sink. As Muriel turns to leave she dips her hand in the water and lets out a cry.

‘Good God, Gwen, you’ll boil alive in there. Put some cold water in before you scald yourself.’

But Gwen steps into the pantry and edges the door to, securing her privacy, all the while claiming she doesn’t find it too hot … to her, it is not hot at all. As the door shuts, Muriel’s lips purse and her brow knits. She gathers up her things preparing for home, distractedly offering her farewells. Only Jack notices how she dithers on the threshold, half-turning towards the barred pantry, as she contemplates the swish of water coming from within.