BooksBarbecue
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 shaded her eyes and looked out towards the sea. In the far distance she could see the Spit jutting out into the water, further out even than where she was standing. She retraced her steps past the cottages and the boat and took the path leading across the old marsh until she came to the dunes. Pushing her way through thick clumps of spiky marram grass, she came to the Spit and walked along the narrow ridge of scrubland to the end until she was surrounded on three sides by the sea. At high tide, the point of land could afford boats a haven from the treacherous currents and sudden squalls of the North Sea. At low tide the River Lynn still wound its way through the mudbanks.

All around her was a magnificent bleakness. She turned slowly in a full circle, but every view was the same – flat as far as the eye could see. With the land so low and level, the glorious sky seemed to surround her entirely. There was so much space, it gave her such a sense of freedom.

She threw back her head and breathed in the exhilarating air. She closed her eyes as the sea breeze wrapped itself around her, lifted her skirt and ruffled her curls, like a man flirting with her. The sound of the waves gently lapping at her feet was soothing.

Whatever happened in her life, she thought, the waves would continue to break upon the shore and the tide would ebb and flow. It gave her a feeling of constancy, a sense of security. Behind her was the land that she loved already. Before her was the sea that she would come to know, too. She belonged in this place, she would make this place her own. She bent and picked up a fistful of the sand. She revelled in the feel of it in her hand. Then she flung it high into the sky and laughed aloud as the particles showered around her.

Esther – unwanted and unloved ail her young life – had found a place to stay, a place to love. She had found her home.

Eight

TO Esther’s disappointment, Christmas Day in Sam Brumby’s house was little different from any other day. She had cooked and baked for most of Christmas Eve, so that there was a chicken and vegetables to be cooked on the day itself, and a pudding to be warmed. Even her aunt had made more of Christmas than this, Esther thought disconsolately, as she remembered the shouting and laughter of her young cousins, her uncle carving at a huge goose and the dinner table loaded with all manner of food that they never tasted at any other time of the year. It was the first – and probably the only – time she would think kindly of her aunt.