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
The next sty was empty, but in the end one she found a large Curly Coat sow pacing up and down. She was heavily in-pig and displayed no interest in the other bucket of swill Esther tipped into the trough. The animal was obviously agitated and frothing at the mouth. From time to time the sow picked up a mouthful of straw and carried it about the sty, each time finally dropping it in one particular corner.
Esther moved towards her carefully. ‘Now then, old girl,’ she soothed. This pig reminded her of one of her uncle’s, a restless animal that had turned vicious at the birth and had tried to eat its own young, succeeding in killing all but two of the litter before her uncle had found them. Esther looked around her for something in which she could put the newborn piglets to keep them safe from their mother. There was nothing in the sty, but in the barn she found a battered old tea-chest. She dragged it into the sty and placed it in one corner, pushing some of the straw into the bottom as bedding.
Esther stayed in the corner near the door watching the sow from a safe distance whilst she waited. She had no idea where Sam Brumby had gone. Perhaps she should try to tell him, but she was rather afraid that if she left this pig alone for very long, by the time she returned there could well be a half-chewed piglet or two.
The youngsters slipped out quite easily one by one. The sow tried to rouse herself each time, but her eyes were wild and her mouth frothing. Esther knew she was not trying to suckle her young. This animal was dangerous, just like her uncle’s sow. She would kill her litter, given half a chance.
Esther went to one of the other sheds. The door squeaked rustily as she opened it and the fusty smell of neglect met her nostrils. Tools and implements had been thrown in higgledy-piggledy to lie dusty and forgotten. She stood a moment to let her eyes become accustomed to the dim interior and then she spotted what she wanted and pulled it from the heap of implements, disturbing a cloud of dust. She carried the garden hoe back to the pigsty and each time a piglet was born, Esther crept forward, keeping well away from the suffering mother, and as gently as she could pulled the wriggling creature away until she could pick it up. She wiped it as clean as she could with straw, over its face to clear the mouth, and slipped it into the tea-chest in the opposite corner. Then she stood up again and moved quietly back near the door to wait for the next arrival.
A shadow appeared across the doorway. ‘Now what are you up to, wench?’ came Sam’s exasperated tone.