‘Where are you going?’ he said, and cursed his sudden movement. His head hurt and it sounded as if pots and pans were falling all round his ears. ‘What’s that terrible noise?’ Then as Edith opened the door, he said, ‘No, I’ll do it. I’ll feed the hens.’

Amused, she followed him onto the verandah. She put out her hand and caught a perfect snowflake.

‘Don’t stand there, girl,’ said her father. ‘Go inside, it’s freezing.’

She realised why he’d been sleeping in the chair: he was frightened she would run away. Where could she run to? If she’d had somewhere to go, she would have left long ago. Her idea was far more brutal. There are other ways to go travelling, she told herself, even if the destination is unknown.

The coffee was on the table along with the bread, butter and jam and still the cabinet maker hadn’t come back. She wrapped her shawl round her and went onto the verandah and watched the snow. This was the snow song that storytellers of old had spoken of. Her grandmother had said that those who were innocent thought it was the music of the heavens, those who were guilty heard the devil’s pots and pans falling.

‘The hens are all gone,’ said her father. ‘Every one of them. Can’t you hear the noise? It must’ve frightened them away.’

Edith went back into the house and opened her grandmother’s room.

‘Do you think a fox got them all?’ he said, stamping the snow from his boots.

A hen waddled up to him and another flew onto the table. ‘How did they get in here?’ Receiving no reply, he said, ‘I need a drink,’ and disappeared into his room.

The yard gate opened, and Edith was nearly blinded by a flash of light from the mirror the blacksmith was carrying. Flora was almost dancing as she came in.

‘I never thought I would live to hear the snow sing,’ she said. ‘Can you hear it?’

Edith nodded.

‘I thought you should see yourself – we’ll put the mirror in your room.’

When the blacksmith had propped up the mirror, Edith touched his coat and put her hand to her ear.

‘What do I hear? I hear bells, a flock of sheep,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about the shepherd,’ he added as he left.

‘I know you’re going to wear traditional costume,’ Flora said, unpacking her basket, ‘but I thought you should have this. It’s my wedding present to you.’