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Back Plough the Furrow Save as PDF
Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. Thirty-four
  38. Thirty-five
  39. Thirty-six
  40. Thirty-seven
  41. Thirty-eight
  42. Thirty-nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-one
  45. Forty-two
  46. Forty-three
  47. Forty-four
  48. Sow the Seed
  49. Reap the Harvest
  50. About the Author
  51. ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
  52. Acknowledgements
  53. Copyright page

‘Stand. Stand!’ she bellowed, but the wind whipped the words from her mouth and hurled them away. Matthew appeared in the yard dressed in warm clothes. He came close to her, his mouth against her ear, so that she could hear him above the gale. ‘Ya’ll have to give me a leg up.’

She bent down and cupped her hands and as he put his knee in them, she hoisted him on to the back of the nearest horse. Taking the reins of both horses in his hands, he urged them out of the yard and turned to the left up the lane towards the boat-house set in the dunes nearer the town.

Esther shivered and went back into the house to be met by the wails of her baby girl. She picked her up and opened the front of her blouse for the child to suckle, crooning soothingly. For once, however, Esther’s thoughts were not on her hungry child, but on her husband.

As dusk fell the wind seemed to get even stronger, raging around the lonely farmhouse as if it would pluck it from the ground. Esther laid the now sleeping child in her cradle in the corner of the kitchen and pulled on her coat and boots. She checked the fire in the range and then went out into the wild night and across the yard to the byre. The cows were huddled together wild-eyed and restless, disturbed by the storm. With a calmness she did not feel inside herself, Esther crooned softly to each of the beasts in turn, dreading the moment when she would come to Clover who, in the end stall, was already lowing and stamping her feet. But strangely, when Esther came at last to the stall, and ran her hands caressingly over Clover’s rump and uttered guttural noises deep in her throat, the animal seemed to quieten at once. The wind still rampaged and rattled the door and the rafters, yet inside the cowshed it seemed safe and warm. Docilely, Clover stood to be milked and as Esther rose and moved the milk away, the cow turned sorrowful eyes upon her.

‘I know, old girl, I don’t like this storm either, but ya’ll be all right snug and warm in here for the night. I aren’t going to turn you out into the field.’

Esther chuckled as the cow, seeming to understand, turned back to pluck some hay from the stall and chewed on it placidly.