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
No more explanation was necessary. The two women regarded each other sadly. In that moment of mutual loss, they came the closest they ever would to understanding one another.
Esther had not known love before Jonathan, but if Beth had loved Matthew in the same way, then there was room for compassion.
Esther held out the photograph. ‘I thought you might like to have this. Matthew sent me it soon after he – first went.’
Beth took his likeness and stared at it and then held it to her breast. ‘Don’t you want it?’ she whispered.
‘There were two,’ Esther explained simply. ‘I have the other in a frame on the mantelpiece.’
Beth nodded. Her eyes filled with tears that spilled over and ran down her pale cheeks. ‘Thank you, Esther. And thank you for coming to tell me.’
Beth turned away and, like an old woman, dragged herself back up the slope of the gangway.
Thirty-two
THE small community was shocked by the news.
The squire rode over in person to visit Esther. ‘Of course, my dear,’ he said taking her hand and patting it comfortingly, ‘it does say “reported missing”. There is room for hope, my dear. It must be chaos out there, you know. Maybe he’s been wounded and carted off to some field hospital and not able to tell them who he is. Anything like that can happen. You must – we must all – continue to hope that he is alive somewhere. It’s not definite – you must cling to that hope.’
Esther tried to smile. ‘Thank you, Squire, you’re very kind.’ She bit her lip. She wanted so much to ask him what was to happen about the tenancy of the farm, but suddenly the picture of his angry face and his censorious words after Sam Brumby’s funeral made her bite back her question. Now was not the time!
Life continued much as before through the summer of 1917 – day after day the same. What had she to look forward to now? What had she to hope for? Indeed, with this dreadful war snatching all the young men from their midst, fathers, husbands – and lovers, what hope for the future had anyone?
The day that Esther had dreaded arrived without warning and before she could take the evasive action she had done the last time. The little man with the sheaf of papers under his arm arrived so unexpectedly that she had no chance to move Punch and Prince from the meadow.
‘I am quite aware, Mrs Hilton,’ he began without preamble, ‘that on the occasion of my last visit you were able to deceive me. I don’t intend to make trouble for you.’ His voice softened. ‘I’m not really the hard-hearted villain you take me for – but I have a job to do and I am afraid I really must commandeer your horses.’