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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 – stop tormenting me. It’s killing me, sleeping – or not sleeping – knowing you’re lying just the other side of the wall . . .’ His voice deepened with desire. ‘Esther – I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone before. You’ve got me all twisted up like no other girl ever has . . .’

She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Aye, only ’cos I’m the first to fend ya off, me lad.’

‘No, no, it ain’t that, truly it ain’t.’

She felt his breath upon her face and then his lips were on her mouth, but gently, pleadingly. ‘Esther,’ he murmured. ‘I love you, Esther.’

She twisted her head away. ‘Matthew – I won’t. I’ve told you I won’t – not till I’m married.’

‘Then I’ll marry you, Esther Everatt, if that’s what it takes.’

Twelve

ALL the people whom Matthew had listed attended the funeral, plus a few more besides. Esther recognized most of them. There were the two neighbouring farmers – also tenants of Squire Marshall – Tom Willoughby and Mr Souter. All the men from the Point were there and the squire, together with his farm bailiff, and, of course, Will Benson.

All funerals were sad, Esther thought but she felt the pathos of this one. Poor Sam. There were no close relatives, no one to shed a tear into a delicate kerchief for him. Esther and Matthew kept to their places at the rear of the funeral procession, sitting towards the back of the church in the pew Sam had occupied on the few occasions he had attended a service. The flowers from the previous Sunday were withered and dying. No one had cared enough to put fresh ones in their place. The church was cold and musty with the damp.

The vicar said a few words about Sam, about him being a man of the soil, a man close to Nature, whose life had been ordered by the Seasons of God. Much of what he said was way above Esther’s head, but he seemed to be speaking about Sam in a kindly and respectful manner, skilfully avoiding any mention of the fact that he had attended church only about three times a year or that he lived the life of a grumpy recluse.

They stood in a little cluster around the grave as the coffin was lowered into the earth, the damp drizzle seeping through their clothes so that as soon as they could without unseemly haste, the mourners moved away from the cold graveyard and back to their conveyances. Esther saw the squire and his bailiff in conversation. They both glanced across at her, then swiftly away again as they saw her watching them. Then Mr Marshall climbed into his carriage.