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
‘Esther Hilton,’ she said aloud to the empty house. ‘You’ll become bitter and sharp-tongued just like your Aunt Hannah if you dun’t watch yourself!’
She remained sitting where she was for some time, finding herself in a strangely pensive mood. Maybe, she thought reflectively, it had been the responsibility of her family and the sheer drudgery of her life in caring for them that had made her aunt as she had been. For, despite the fact that her uncle had been a gentle, good-natured lump of a man, Esther could see now that he had never taken responsibility upon himself. He had worked hard but it had been her aunt who had made decisions, she who had carried the burden of bringing up the family.
Maybe I’m more like her than I care to admit, Esther thought ruefully, and tried to imagine what her aunt must be like now, struck down by a paralysing seizure. And her uncle, how would he cope? Hannah had ruled her family and organized their daily routine. Without her hand on the plough, the furrows of their lives would be crooked and uneven.
Again Esther wrestled with her conscience, but still the festering resentment clouded her vision and her emotions. She could not forget – nor yet forgive – the sharp tongue and the feel of the rough hand. Never a word of affection or encouragement had come her way.
The cold of the stone gantry struck through her clothing and reminded her that she had been sitting idling away her time. What would Aunt Hannah have said to that? she thought wryly. As she pulled herself upright and went about her work her feeling of guilt could not so easily be dismissed.
Not yet, I can’t go yet, she answered her nagging conscience. Maybe one day . . .
When the squire left Matthew at the farm gate and drove away, Esther came out of the back door to see her husband standing staring after the receding vehicle. Drying her hands on her apron she moved towards him across the yard. ‘Well, did you enjoy that?’
When he turned to look at her, she could see that his eyes were shining. He pointed with fingers that no longer shook, after the car. ‘It’s a Ford, the latest model,’ he told her and there was no denying the excitement in his voice. And, Esther realized with a shock, he had put together a proper sentence for the first time since he had come home.
‘Very nice,’ Esther agreed, forcing herself to be thankful for the obvious pleasure the ride had given Matthew, and for its undoubted beneficial effect. She pushed away uncharitable thoughts of how she carried the burden of the farm work alone. How strange it was, she thought, that such a simple thing could lift him out of his despondency and bring about such an immediate improvement.