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
Now she had time to take a look around her, at the sea and the sand and the river that joined the sea. She was fascinated to see the little fishing boats moored along the river bank, and she followed its curve until the bank gave way to the sea. Esther paused in her walk to look at the huge boat where Robert Eland lived. It was lodged half on the bank, and shored up by sleepers and wooden poles dug deep into the bed of the river. At high water, it would seem to be almost afloat and yet the vessel was firmly anchored and would not move from its place. There was a narrow wooden jetty built up from the firm ground running on to the boat. Esther stood looking up at it in wonderment. She had never seen anything like it. It was a strange place for a man to make his home, she thought. She accepted, though, that there were those who felt an affinity with the sea as she did for the land she helped to work.
‘What are you doing here?’
The voice came from behind her, interrupting her reverie. She turned to find Robert Eland standing beside her. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’
‘You’re Sam Brumby’s wench,’ he stated bluntly.
Esther bristled. ‘If you mean I work on Mester Brumby’s farm, the answer’s yes. If you mean owt more . . .’ Her green eyes glinted. ‘Then you’re quite wrong.’
The expression in his eyes lightened a little, but he did not smile. His mouth was completely covered by his wiry beard. He was a dour man, who saw little humour in life in general and even less in his own. ‘Aye, I heard of your little – er – rumpus – with Missus Willoughby and ’er sister.’ He was glowering again. ‘Aye, an’ that’s not all I’ve heard about you. You took the job my Beth went after.’
‘Your Beth, but – but I thought she was Matthew’s girl.’
The scowl deepened. ‘Huh, him!’ Robert Eland muttered. He seemed about to say more, but then turned away angrily. As he brushed past her and headed for the gangway to his home, Esther thought she heard him mumble, ‘Ah, what’s the use?’
Esther walked on and came to a place where the river widened and joined the waters of the sea. On her left – to the east – was marshland, the beach and the North Sea to the horizon and beyond. To the west lay mile upon mile of flat farmland as far as she could see.