Esther was sure Jonathan would feel obliged to leave, but still he stayed. Now, however, he came into the farmhouse. Some nights they just lay quietly together in each other’s arms. Too tired by the day’s work to make love, yet wanting to be together, just close to each other.

As the summer grew older, workers from the neighbouring farms began to arrive to help with Esther’s corn harvest. She knew they whispered about her and Jonathan, for she saw them in little huddles, nodding towards her. Sometimes a guffaw of laughter would echo across the field. Sometimes she would catch the fleeting disapproval in their eyes, especially amongst the women. There were many more women helpers now on the farms than ever before, for their menfolk were gone. There were a lot of new faces too, but the one familiar face she wanted to see did not come. This year there was no Ma Harris rounding up her brood and setting them to work.

It was obvious that all these workers had heard about Esther Hilton and the soldier. Her chin would go a little higher, and deliberately, she would move towards Jonathan. She would touch his arm and look up into his face then glance towards the whisperers coquettishly, defying their disapproval.

‘Esther, you shouldn’t . . .’ he would murmur, but she would not listen.

‘I dun’t care,’ she would tell him, her eyes flashing rebelliously. ‘I’ll give ’em something to tittle-tattle about.’

Towards Jonathan, however, the workers’ manner was deferential. The men – the few who by reason of age or ill health were left – would gather round him, watching him and quietly helping him. It was like a silent accolade on their part for his suffering, for his bravery. Perhaps it was also a wordless apology for the fact that they were still here, whole and almost untouched by the war.

Doggedly Jonathan kept pace with them and Esther watched with concern as the sweat poured down his face and his shirt clung damply to him. But she knew he would hate her to fuss over him, particularly in front of everyone.

She was returning from the farmhouse to the field with cool drinks for the workers when Kate came running towards her across the stubble. ‘Mam, Mam! He’s bleedin’. Come quick!’

Esther glanced to where the younger children were playing at the edge of the field. She squinted against the bright sunlight. ‘Who? I dun’t see—’

‘Not them – him!’ Kate was pointing, not in the direction of her playmates, but towards the menfolk further down the field.

They had stopped work and were gathered around one of their number lying on the ground.

Jonathan! She couldn’t see Jonathan.

‘Oh, no!’ Esther breathed and began to run.

Twenty-eight

‘WHAT is it? What’s happened?’