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Back Plough the Furrow Save as PDF
Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. Thirty-four
  38. Thirty-five
  39. Thirty-six
  40. Thirty-seven
  41. Thirty-eight
  42. Thirty-nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-one
  45. Forty-two
  46. Forty-three
  47. Forty-four
  48. Sow the Seed
  49. Reap the Harvest
  50. About the Author
  51. ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
  52. Acknowledgements
  53. Copyright page

She realized now that although she had never felt for her husband the overwhelming passion she felt for Jonathan, still in a way she had loved Matthew. She owed him a debt of gratitude and the loyalty that any man ought to be able to expect from his wife. But now, having known the intensity of falling in love with a man, of being loved and desired and almost worshipped by that man in return, there was a tinge of sadness in her memories of Matthew. She had no doubt that Beth had loved Matthew like that, and, too late, Matthew had come to realize that he loved Beth. Then he had felt cheated and trapped by his marriage and had vented his unhappiness upon Esther.

Carefully, she placed the letter in the sideboard drawer and closed it. Matthew was gone and she could not alter what had happened in the past. Even so, it had not been all bad, she comforted herself. They’d had the farm and they had created a daughter.

Now the farm and Kate were all she had left.

One blustery afternoon, Esther went into her meadow which adjoined Tom Willoughby’s land to check the bloom on the grass. She sighed. This field was ready for cutting now – in fact it had been ready for two weeks. Somehow she was going to have to cope completely alone with the harvests this year, for no one would come to help her. She looked about her at the long grass rippling like waves on the ocean in the stiff breeze that blew in from the sea. Clouds scudded across the sun and their shadows travelled across the fields. Suddenly she was filled with a desire to go to the end of the Spit – just to get away from the never-ending workload, if only for an hour.

She left the fields and walked back down the lane away from the borders of Rookery Farm and towards the sand dunes and the marsh beyond them. She had climbed the bank and was about to run down the other side to cross the marsh towards the Spit, when she heard the rattle of wheels in the lane behind her. She turned to see Martha and Flo in their trap, their smart bonnets suggesting they were heading for Lynthorpe. Not wishing to become embroiled in yet further argument with Martha and her sister, Esther ran quickly down the bank and out of their view.

The tide was high and the wind drove waves against the Spit as she walked along it, but she was determined to get to the end where she could find solace and peace surrounded by the sea and the sky with only the birds to share her loneliness.