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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

Esther straightened up and went to the bed. The covers were pulled straight, though the patchwork quilt needed washing. She pulled back the top coverlet and saw that there were no sheets on the bed, only a rough blanket that smelled a little sour. There was no pillow-case on the rough ticking of the pillow either. Her fingers hesitated over a heavy oak chest standing at the foot of the bed. She had no wish to pry into Sam’s belongings, but if she were to care for him properly she needed to find fresh bedlinen. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid. Inside were sheets and pillow-cases, yellow with age, but neatly folded. She pulled out two of each and bundled them under her arm. The lid dropped with a dull thud and as she was going out of the room she noticed a shirt on the floor behind the door. She scooped that up too. At that moment she heard the back door bang and she scuttled down the stairs without stopping to look at the other upstairs rooms.

Sam was in the kitchen. ‘Now what are ya up to, wench?’ His words followed her as she rushed past him out to the wash-house.

‘Weshing, mester,’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘Just a bit o’ weshing.’

When the sheets, pillow-cases and shirt were bubbling in the copper, Esther went into the barn to search for a length of line to string between two trees in the garden at the front of the house. A good blow in the fresh air was what all these clothes and the linen needed. She glanced down at the coarse skirt and dirty pinafore she was wearing. She wished she could wash her own clothes, but she had nothing to change into and with that cheeky Matthew about, she dare not risk it.

She was possing the clothes in the rinsing tub when he appeared again, startling her as she caught sight of him standing silently in the doorway. She dropped the posser suddenly and cold water splashed her face.

‘Oh – ya made me jump!’ she said with annoyance. ‘What ya doing here? Shouldn’t ya be at work?’ Sweat plastered strands of hair to her forehead. Her cheeks were red with exertion.

‘I’ve come back to see you.’ Matthew grinned and took a step nearer.

She raised her hands, palms outward, as if to fend him off. ‘No, there’ll be trouble – I dun’t want to lose this job. I’ve come a long way and there’s nowhere for me to go back to, so – so don’t spoil it for me, please?’ she pleaded.