‘I’ve got to get back in time to make lunch, so come on then. I’ll tell the men later. No use getting them all het up before a day’s work is done.’

She stood and climbed the stairs, calling out behind her. ‘Take the leftover biscuits from the pantry, now. And the coffee on the stove is still warm.’

I grabbed three of her biscuits and a napkin to wrap them in, swallowed a few mouthfuls of lukewarm coffee and rushed to the mudroom to put on my coat and boots. She had the truck keys in her hand. I hadn’t even realised she could drive.

We walked out into the bright, cold air and I looked at the budding branches of the oak trees, the kittens curled sleeping on the porch swing. You don’t really look at a place sometimes until you know you’re going to leave it. I thought of the stables, the apple tree, the smooth coats of Him ’n Her when I brushed them, the way they blinked and sneezed in the morning sun. I thought about how Roy had tried but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t blame him for shooting the horses, but I couldn’t forgive him either. I knew, deep down, that I ought to tell him I was leaving, and I nearly stopped her, but it was like stopping a log rolling down a hill. Once she got going you weren’t going to stand in her way.

The truck had wooden slatted sides and a wide running board. It was hard to lift my trunk into the back with just the two of us, but we managed. I lifted my suitcase on my own. Mrs Jackson started the engine while I was still climbing in and I realised she was hurrying too, that she wanted to get me away before the men found out what was happening. Smoke billowed out of the exhaust and I had hardly sat down before she was reversing and pulling around, driving us down the steep hill of the driveway. I pulled my felt hat low over my eyes, rubbed my hands together and tried to slow my breath. The taste of coffee was still in my mouth, bitter and burned. I checked the side mirror, half expecting to see the men on their green John Deere tractor, waving us down.

She glanced at me, her lips flat against her gums, squinting so the wrinkles collapsed the skin around her eyes. ‘You have anyone that can help you, child?’

‘There are some friends I met on the boat. Other brides. But I’ll go home. I’ll just get the papers sorted, the divorce papers, so he can marry again if he wants to.’