Chapters (50)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- The Pengarron Sagas
- The Harvey Family Sagas
Luke’s frustration came as no surprise; Kerensa knew her son through and through. It arose from his disability and being confined to a desk instead of being out and about doing the more masculine pursuits enjoyed by his father and brother. But there was something else portrayed in Olivia’s clever brushstrokes: a soul-deep sadness. Guilt came to Kerensa, she had not noticed the sadness before.
The late afternoon sun beamed over where Beatrice slouched, banging a fist against her drooping bosom to loosen phlegm, intermittently humming and hawing to herself. A sharp goldenness strangely illuminated the peculiarly ugly slattern; a scene from myth and fable, incorporating dark suggestion, except Beatrice was on the side of goodness and happy endings.
‘Goodness sake, stop worritin’,’ Beatrice swiped foul-looking dribble off her many chins with the sleeve of her none too clean dress. She smelled none too sweet either, from the sweat of her exertions and her reluctance to use the washbowl.
‘Luke writ ’ee ’e was comin’ ’ome didn’t ’e? And bringing Jack along with un, and don’t start off about ’e too. We all know you miss un as well. Grown men, the both. Time you let ’em be so.’ Kerensa failed to hand Beatrice a handkerchief. ‘And don’t ’ee dare start yer fussin’ over me!’
The observation that some of the elderly regressed to a second childhood passed through Kerensa’s mind. ‘We only received a relayed message from Luke, as you very well know.’
‘Well, either they’ll come or they won’t. Still be a baptism. Kane’s boy’s a dear little soul, ed’n ’e?’
Kerensa parried Beatrice’s shrewd look. ‘You got vexed with me yesterday for talking too much about Harry.’
‘Well, if I can’t say nothin’ right for thee today, I’ll be off and git meself a blessed drink. Not ’nough time t’ yerself, that’s yourn trouble. Too bleddy young.’ Beatrice was off on one of her favourite themes. ‘You was too young when Oliver forced thee to be ’is bride, youm too young to ’ave so many children and far too young to be a gran’mothur! Youm still a little maid.’
‘I’ve been a wife and mother these past four and twenty years. I’m approaching my forty-second birthday. Not too young to have a first grandchild.’
‘And Luke and Jack and the rest of ’em—’ Beatrice wagged a gnarled finger – ‘baint too young to be leading their own lives.’