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
Now that a soldier’s death had touched Esther in the loss of her young friend, her anxiety for Matthew’s safety grew. Although cards still arrived from him, they were spasmodic and Matthew never thought to write the date on his cards, so Esther had no way of knowing how long they had taken to reach her. She had no idea where he was, except that he was definitely in France now. Every day she feared the arrival of a telegram, became more afraid for him if the time between his postcards seemed too long. Every week she had to compel herself to read the growing list of casualties in the local paper.
So 1915 passed and soon the war was a whole year old and there was another Christmas to face – this time knowing that Ernie would never come home.
Although her anxiety for Matthew’s safety was never far from her thoughts, the farm took up all Esther’s strength and time. Another harvest was safely over but there was the ploughing and the threshing through the winter. Without Tom Willoughby’s help, Esther doubted she could have coped. He sent men and machinery to help her whenever he could, so that all her ploughing was done to time in readiness for the spring sowing. The squire rarely visited now, but it was understandable, Esther thought. If the gossips were to be believed, it seemed his wife had taken to her sick-bed since the loss of their son and the poor squire had virtually lost his wife too.
Esther was always tired and had no time for anything now except her work and caring for Kate. Yet there was after all a strange security in the changing seasons and the demands of the farm which must be met no matter how she felt. She could not just give up. The war had robbed her of her young friend, Ernie, and had enticed her husband away; she would not allow it to take away her home and her livelihood too. She must keep everything going until Matthew came back . . .
Enid Harris, and now one of the younger boys, Luke, coming up to thirteen, helped her. Willing though the girl was, Enid was not Ernie and certainly she could not do the work Matthew had done. Esther suggested that Enid should take over the dairy work and looking after Kate. The child adored the older girl and began to run after her towards the Point as Enid went home.
The first time it happened, Esther rushed out of the stable where she had been putting the harness on Punch and Prince, and called after them. ‘Come back, Katie, you’re not to go with Enid just now. She’s going home.’
The child pouted and shook her curls, which glinted in the sunlight. ‘I want to go an’ play.’
‘No, stay here.’