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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

Seawards, she could see a small boat making towards the haven. Perhaps it was Robert Eland returning from a day’s fishing. No doubt, as he drew closer, he would see her standing there, but he would be too intent upon threading his way between the markers he himself had placed in the marsh at low tide to bother himself with Esther Hilton. The poles, sticking up out of the water when the tide was high and the sea covered the marsh, were to guide him up the deep channel of the river bed.

How long she stood there, she didn’t know, nor did she know what made her turn suddenly to see Martha and Flo only a few feet away from her, for no sound of their approach had come to her ears above the sound of the sea and the wind.

Suddenly, Esther was filled with an unaccustomed dread. She was standing on the end of the narrow strip of land with her back to the swirling, rushing water and before her, advancing with menace in every step, were the two women who hated her most in the world. Perhaps even more than did Beth Eland.

Esther was trapped. There was no place to run. Young and strong though she was, she would be no match for the two of them.

They had stopped and were standing side by side on the narrow strip of land, effectively barring any chance of escape towards the marsh. Exultation showed on both their faces. The sea, splashing against the bank, showered their best skirts with salty spray yet they didn’t seem to care, didn’t even seem to notice.

They had Esther Everatt Hilton at their mercy.

Thirty-three

MARTHA was speaking. Her mouth, twisted into an ugly sneer, was moving, but her words were snatched away by the wind before they could reach Esther.

Together they moved forward and Esther felt the fear rise in her throat. Even out here in the cold wind she found she was sweating with terror. Behind her the sea, once her solace, had become a malevolent monster waiting to devour her. The water was not deep but Esther could not swim, and there were hidden channels and pools that were always water-filled even at low tide. If she should fall into one of those . . .

The two women moved forwards again, coming closer, ever closer . . .

There was no escape for Esther.

Suddenly, with one accord, they lunged towards her hitting her in the chest and sending her falling, arms flailing helplessly, backwards into the sea.