They all stared at it in the dawn light, horrified and afraid.

Ma said: “It’s ruined. Nothing can be done.” She turned away and walked back toward the house.

Eadbald said: “If Ma says there’s no hope, there’s no hope.”

Edgar said: “I’m trying to figure out how this happened.”

Erman said: “What good will that do?”

“The rain was too much for the ground to soak up, I assume, so the water ran down the hill then pooled on the low ground.”

“My brother, the genius.”

Edgar ignored that. “If the water could have drained away, the hay might have been saved.”

“So what? It didn’t drain away.”

“I’m wondering how long it would take to dig a ditch from the top of the slope across the field to the bank to take the runoff and pour it into the river.”

“Too late for that now!”

The field was long and narrow, and Edgar guessed its width at about two hundred yards. A strong man could do it in a week or so, perhaps two if the digging proved difficult. “There’s a slight dip around the middle of the field,” he said, squinting through the rain. “The best place for the ditch would be just there.”

Erman said: “We can’t start digging ditches now. We have to weed the oats then reap them. And Ma does no work these days.”

“I’ll dig the ditch.”

“And what will we eat meanwhile—now there are six of us?”

“I don’t know,” said Edgar.

They all trudged through the rain back to the house. Edgar saw that Ma was not there. He said to Cwenburg: “Where did Ma go?”

Cwenburg shrugged. “I thought she was with you.”

“She left us. I thought she came back here.”

“Well, she didn’t.”

“Where else would she go, in this weather?”

“How should I know? She’s your mother.”

“I’ll look in the barn.”

Edgar went back out into the rain. Ma was not in the barn. He had a bad feeling.

He looked over the field. In this weather he could not see as far as the hamlet—but she had not gone in that direction, and if she had changed her mind, she would have had to pass her three sons.

So where had she gone?

Edgar fought down a feeling of panic. He went to the edge of the forest. Why would she go into the woods in this weather? He walked downhill to the river. She could not have crossed over: she could not swim. He scanned the near bank.

He thought he saw something a few hundred yards downstream, and his heart faltered. It looked like a wet bundle of rags, but when he peered more closely he saw, protruding from the bundle, something that seemed horribly like a hand.

He hurried along the bank, impatiently shoving aside bushes and low branches. As he got closer his heart filled with dread. The bundle was human. It was half in the water. The worn brown clothes were female. The face was down, but the shape of the body was frighteningly familiar.