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Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Margaret Dickinson
  3. Dedication page
  4. Contents
  5. Part One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Part Two
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Thirty-Nine
  46. Forty
  47. Forty-One
  48. Forty-Two
  49. Sow the Seed
  50. Note
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Copyright page

Kate followed her grandfather’s bent form as he walked up the path towards the church porch. But instead of going into the building he moved on and turned on to the grass between the gravestones. He came to a place and stopped. Kate moved to stand beside him and saw in front of her two white headstones, identical in size and shape but with an unmarked plot between the two.

‘That’s where I’m to be buried when I go, Kate. Ya mam’s promised me to see to it.’

Kate read the inscriptions on the two headstones. One was Will’s wife, Rebecca Benson, who had died in 1919.

But Will was pointing to the companion headstone. ‘That’s ya grandmother, Kate.’

Kate gave a startled gasp and stared at him. Slowly she turned her gaze back to the graves. She bent closer and read. ‘In loving memory of Constance Everatt who fell asleep 9th June 1893, aged nineteen years. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’

‘Ya mam was born . . .’ Will’s voice shook a little, ‘out of wedlock.’ He couldn’t bring himself to use the name her mother used so scathingly. Of herself, it seemed, Kate realized with a sudden shock.

Esther Everatt had been born a bastard.

Suddenly – everything fell into place.

‘I loved Connie,’ Will was saying simply and he drew the back of his hand, now thin and bony, the skin paper-thin, across his eyes which suddenly watered. It was difficult to imagine this bent old man standing in the draughty churchyard being young and virile; virile enough to sire a bastard on a younger girl.

‘Rebecca were a good wife and I didn’t mean to hurt her. We never had any children, Rebecca an’ me, and then after a few years she didn’t like that side of married life . . .’ He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Connie were a young lass in the village. I – couldn’t help mesen, Kate. I just couldn’t help mesen . . .’ His voice faded away and he was lost, looking back down the years to a time when he had known a brief time of passionate happiness. ‘She were a lovely girl, a lovely girl.’

‘What happened?’ It was Kate now whose voice was a husky whisper.

‘She – died giving birth to Esther.’

‘And then?’ she prompted gently. She wanted to know it all. It was important that she knew everything.