Annie said urgently, ‘Well, perhaps God is calling us for something else. Something greater! I feel God’s call for me is bigger than the village – than Father’s . . .’

‘What – making pens?’ Margaret could hear the sarcasm in her own voice.

‘Not making pens. But being here. If ever there was a place God’s work is needed it’s here – far more than in the village. Think what the pastor said on Sunday, about all those dark places where God’s light does not shine . . .’

Margaret turned away, sighing. Annie was always so sure what God wanted from her. Until recently, she had also been sure, not least because that was all that God seemed to offer. She ached to be home, to return to the quiet, undisturbed life she had known before, when walking in God’s way in the manner of her parents seemed a certain and unchanging thing.

‘Father wants us home,’ she said quietly. ‘We can’t just stay here with Uncle and Aunt for ever. And I have to make things right with him.’

‘He needs to apologize,’ Annie said. ‘Where is his admission of wrongdoing? Believing that hypocrite, that monster, instead of you!’

Annie, with her truth-telling, always seemed to manage to probe at Margaret’s sorest parts, at the feelings to which she did not want to admit. That her father, until now Godlike in her eyes, had betrayed her, she still could not bear. She bowed her head.

‘Annie, just be quiet – please.’

Long after Annie was asleep that night, Margaret lay in the dark, afraid to close her eyes because that was when it started. Not dreams exactly, for she was still wide awake, but images crowding in.

Even with her eyes open she could not prevent it. For months, Charles Barber had occupied her mind, waking and often sleeping as well. He had turned his attention on her and she had felt honoured and chosen. She had felt loved.

Most days, for an hour or sometimes more, they would walk together, along the river and up the surrounding hills. She trotted alongside his striding figure, tingling with excitement at being by his side. Villagers touched their caps, people greeted them. It had become very obvious that Pastor Hanson’s eldest daughter was walking out with the assistant, Charles Barber. What an energetic and exciting young man he was, the other Congregationalists said. Marvellous to see young Maggie Hanson recovered at last.

Charles drew her out of herself by talking. He had a sweeping vision of God’s plan, both for the world and for himself. He cast aside her doubts and filled her with excitement.