Esther pushed her way through the group. Then she dropped to her knees beside Jonathan. He was sitting on the ground, bending forward, holding his injured shoulder.

‘Let me see . . .’ she began.

‘No! It’s just the wound – opened up. Don’t fuss, Esther.’

She gasped at his sharpness and sat back on her heels, staring at him.

Immediately, he was contrite. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured softly, and as he raised his head, she saw his face was grey with pain and streaked with sweat.

In her anxiety for him, she had been oblivious to the fact that the gathering were standing silent and watchful, listening for every word that passed between them. Yet even in his pain, Jonathan had not forgotten.

She stood up. Stiffly, she said, ‘You’d better come to the farmhouse.’ Then she turned to Ben Harris. ‘Perhaps two of you would help him?’ Then she marched away across the field towards the farm without looking back.

But her eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

When they were alone in her kitchen Esther bathed and dressed the jagged line of the wound which had opened up a little at what had been its deepest point. ‘Why didn’t ya tell me it was as bad as this? Ya shouldn’t be doing anything, let alone heavy farm work.’

‘I’m not going to be beaten by a little scratch.’

‘Please, Jonathan . . .’ she began and took his hands in hers. She saw him wince and slowly she turned them over. The edges of his forefingers were covered with blisters.

‘What on earth . . . ?’ she gasped.

‘It’s tying the sheaves.’ He grinned ruefully. She put her arms around him and he nestled his head against her breast.

Kate’s running feet sounded on the yard and Esther moved away from Jonathan as the child appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were wide with alarm. ‘Danny ses you was hurt. Are you?’

Jonathan smiled at her and his face softened. ‘A little – it’s nothing.’

‘Nothing, indeed!’ Esther muttered.

Kate moved towards him and as he held out his good arm to her, she climbed on to his knee.

‘You mustn’t do any more work on the farm, you—’ Esther began.

‘Oh, yes, I will!’ His mouth was a firm, determined line. Above the child’s head they glared at each other.

‘Oh, you’re so stubborn. You’re just like . . .’ Esther bit back the words. She had been going to say ‘just like Matthew’ but instead she finished lamely, ‘You’re all the same, you men!’

She was aware of Kate’s glance shifting from one to the other. ‘If you can’t help Mam on the farm, mester,’ the child said, beaming up at him with a beatific smile, ‘then you can take me shrimpin’ tomorrow.’