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
‘Do – do you want any – help?’ Esther asked, not without reluctance. Normally she would tackle anything, but the thought of helping to lay out Sam Brumby made her spine shiver.
‘Nay, I’ll manage. He were no’but skin and bone towards the end. You get on with yar work. I ’spect you’ve a lot to do with the funeral, an,’ all. By, lass, but you’ve kept this place going, I’ve got to hand it to ya . . .’ and still chattering, Ma Harris heaved her stout frame up the narrow stairs. Esther stood at the bottom and watched Mrs Harris turn into Sam’s room and close the door.
So it was late afternoon by the time Esther had finished everything about the farm and had washed under the pump in the yard, changed into her Sunday best frock and pinned up her hair.
When she came down the stairs she found Matthew lingering in the kitchen, warming his hands before the glowing fire in the range. The wood fell and sent a shower of sparks up the flue.
‘Thought you’d gone home,’ she said abruptly.
He turned slowly and grinned cheekily at her. ‘Now – why would I be wanting to do that, Esther?’
‘Well, there’s no need for you to stay any longer – not now.’ Even to her own ears, her tone sounded more brusque than she had intended.
The smile faded from Matthew’s mouth and his eyes glinted in the dancing firelight. ‘Oh – dismissed, am I? Just like that, eh?’
Esther gave a click of exasperation. ‘Oh, don’t be so touchy, Matthew. I’ve been grateful for yar help, ya should know that.’
He turned away from the fire and moved slowly towards her, almost with a touch of menace. ‘No, I dun’t know. Perhaps you’d better show me just how grateful . . .’
She put out her hands, palms outward, to fend him off. ‘Now, dun’t you start that, Matthew Hilton.’
He stopped and regarded her insolently, then said, feigning innocence, ‘Start what, Esther? Whatever can you be meaning?’
Esther turned quickly away from him, exasperated. ‘Oh, really!’ she muttered. Reaching her shawl from the peg, she dragged open the door and was through it and gone before he could say – or do – any more.