She knew she was referring to the time Matthew had gone out in the lifeboat and had rescued Robert.

‘Please – thank Beth for me, will ya?’

There was a pause, then Robert nodded and muttered, ‘Aye, I will.’

There was no more to be said. To say any more would have been an embarrassment to them both. Robert Eland might have saved her life but it had changed nothing in the attitude of the people of Fleethaven Point towards Esther Hilton. Not one thing.

It was the farm that devoured Esther’s time and strength through the rest of the summer, autumn and even the winter of 1917. Thankfully, her growing daughter, happy at school and always welcomed by her friends at the Point even if her mother was not, was little trouble. Kate never seemed to suffer from childish illnesses, she was sturdy, strong for her age, and healthy. If anyone’s health was in question during those months, it was Esther’s.

Apart from Will Benson, she saw no one but to say that she was utterly alone was not quite true for she had two very willing helpers, and for their age and strength they were remarkable.

Kate – and Danny Eland. Without their help she would have lost more of her crops than she did, for when winter set in with a vengeance there were still two fields uncut. As for the rest, Esther cut the corn with a hand sickle. She had tried Sam’s scythe but found it too heavy and unwieldy. Day after day she moved slowly down the field locked into a stooping position, grasping a bunch of corn in her left hand and cutting it with the sickle in her right. Day after day until she thought she would never walk upright again, until every limb in her body ached and cried out for rest. Still she drove herself on. On and on until the pain in her body drove out the ache in her heart and left her mind dulled and unable to think of Jonathan. At night she fell into bed exhausted and slept at once.

The children took on the job of raking, tying the sheaves and stooking. Esther cut down the handles of two rakes to make them more manageable for them and their merry laughter as they worked was the only sound in the fields, normally alive with noisy chatter from the numerous harvest workers. The fields at Brumbys’ Farm were silent, waiting their turn under Esther’s lone sickle – and some would wait in vain.

‘Ya’ll kill ya’sen, lass,’ Will told her bluntly.

‘What else can I do, Will? I can’t lose it all. I won’t lose it all.’

‘Ask the squire for help, Esther. After all, it’s his land.’