Chapters (53)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- 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
- Sow the Seed
- Reap the Harvest
- About the Author
- ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
- Acknowledgements
- Copyright page
AFTER morning service on that first Sunday in August 1914, Esther was gratified that not only did the vicar now greet them warmly, but the squire took the trouble to stop and shake Matthew’s hand and ask how they both were and was everything going well on the farm. ‘Old Sam would have been very pleased, very pleased,’ he boomed. ‘Almost three years now, isn’t it? It doesn’t seem it. How time flies.’ He smiled benignly down at Kate’s upturned face and tickled her under the chin. ‘What a sweet child.’
Kate dimpled at him and pulled in her chin playfully, already artful in the ways of attracting and receiving attention. The squire looked up and winked at Matthew. ‘And plenty of time to add to the brood, eh Hilton?’
He glanced back with pride at his own two sons escorting their mother from the church. ‘Nothing like family life, Hilton. Nothing in the world to beat it. My eldest boy is going up to Oxford in October. We’ve just heard he’s got a place.’
Matthew nodded as if he fully understood and murmured, ‘That is good news, sir,’ and hoped it was the right thing to say. There was no mistaking the pride in the squire’s voice that must suggest a great achievement on the part of his son.
‘What’s he mean, “going up to Oxford”? It’s a place, ain’t it?’ Esther whispered as the squire passed out of earshot.
Matthew shrugged his broad shoulders.
‘I’ll ask Will,’ Esther murmured, ‘he’ll know.’
She was smugly satisfied to see that the Willoughbys, walking down the aisle only a few paces behind the squire and his family, could not have failed to overhear the conversation, but as usual Martha Willoughby and her sister swept past them, holding their skirts with delicacy and all but sticking their noses in the air.
Walking home, Matthew said, ‘It’s a Bank Holiday tomorrow, Esther. I’ll tek ya on the pier.’
She looked at him, their eyes on a level for Matthew was no taller than she was. ‘The pier? What’s the pier? I ain’t never seen one. Where is it?’
He stopped in surprise and turned to face her in the lane. ‘Dun’t ya know what a pier is? Why, we’ve a fine one off the main beach,’ he said, jerking his head backwards towards the town. He looked at her closely. ‘You pulling my leg, Esther? You must have seen it.’
She shook her head. ‘No, honest.’ She gave his arm a little shake. ‘Tell me, Matthew.’