‘I didn’t want him to go, you know that,’ she replied belligerently. ‘In fact I begged him not to go –
if
you remember?’
‘I remember all right. I suppose the next thing you’re goin’ to tell me is that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t gone?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t, would it?’
‘Dun’t lay the blame at Matthew’s door. This ain’t his fault.’
‘Oh, I suppose you’re like everyone else around here,’ Esther responded heatedly. ‘Blaming me for tricking Matthew into marrying me. Matthew should have married Beth, we all know that now, don’t we? But wicked Esther Everatt stole him away from poor, innocent Beth. Poor, innocent Beth indeed! She lifted her skirts for him, didn’t she, let him have his way with her and bore his bastard? But of course, it’s all
my
fault.’
‘I ain’t talkin’ about all that, lass. That’s all over and done with.’
‘Over it may be,’ Esther retorted, ‘but I dun’t reckon it’ll ever be done with. People’s got long memories round here for minding other folks’s business.’
‘So – what’s going to happen when Matthew gets back and he hears about – about this feller? What’s going to happen then, eh?’ Ma Harris persisted.
Suddenly the fight went out of Esther and she sank down on to the cold stone of the gantry where the milk stood in its churn. ‘I haven’t had a card from Matthew for months, Ma. I – I dun’t reckon he’s ever comin’ back.’
She raised her eyes to meet Ma’s and watched the fleeting expressions on the woman’s face as she tried to come to terms with what Esther was now telling her, tried to find it within her to understand Esther, to forgive her even, but failing, as she said, ‘Well, it still dun’t give you the right to take up with another man. And worse, leave yar bairn alone in the house whilst you’re – you’re . . .’
For all her bluntness, even Ma Harris could not bring herself to put it into words.
Esther stood up. ‘On that score, I happen to agree with you. It won’t happen again.’
‘Ya mean . . .’ For a moment there was a hint of relenting in Ma’s expression. ‘You mean you’re going to end it?’
‘No, no, I don’t.’
Ma Harris sucked in air through her sunken mouth. ‘Esther – you dun’t mean you – you’ll take him into yar bed? Not Matthew’s bed!’
Esther faced her brazenly, then yielded. She didn’t care what any of them said about her, but she couldn’t bear them to think ill of Jonathan. She shook her head. ‘Jonathan would refuse anyway. Whatever you think of me, you shouldn’t blame him, he’s a gentleman.’
Ma shook her head grimly. ‘I dun’t blame him. Ya can’t blame a man. I blame you.’ With that she turned and went out of Esther’s pantry and out her house. Esther followed her to the back door. Half-way across the yard, Ma turned and shouted back, ‘I’ll be sending Enid for the milk and eggs in future, Esther Hilton.’
She was surprised just how the older woman’s attitude hurt her. She had thought herself tough and hard and totally resilient to the opinions others had of her. But she had always liked Ma Harris, had valued her friendship and, at times, her help. Now Ma had literally turned her back on her.
Determinedly, Esther shook herself. I’ll survive, she told herself. Of course she would – but still, it hurt.
*
Esther was sure Jonathan would feel obliged to leave, but still he stayed. Now, however, he came into the farmhouse. Some nights they just lay quietly together in each other’s arms. Too tired by the day’s work to make love, yet wanting to be together, just close to each other.
As the summer grew older, workers from the neighbouring farms began to arrive to help with Esther’s corn harvest. She knew they whispered about her and Jonathan, for she saw them in little huddles, nodding towards her. Sometimes a guffaw of laughter would echo across the field. Sometimes she would catch the fleeting disapproval in their eyes, especially amongst the women. There were many more women helpers now on the farms than ever before, for their menfolk were gone. There were a lot of new faces too, but the one familiar face she wanted to see did not come. This year there was no Ma Harris rounding up her brood and setting them to work.
It was obvious that all these workers had heard about Esther Hilton and the soldier. Her chin would go a little higher, and deliberately, she would move towards Jonathan. She would touch his arm and look up into his face then glance towards the whisperers coquettishly, defying their disapproval.
‘Esther, you shouldn’t . . .’ he would murmur, but she would not listen.
‘I dun’t care,’ she would tell him, her eyes flashing rebelliously. ‘I’ll give ’em something to tittle-tattle about.’
Towards Jonathan, however, the workers’ manner was deferential. The men – the few who by reason of age or ill health were left – would gather round him, watching
him and quietly helping him. It was like a silent accolade on their part for his suffering, for his bravery. Perhaps it was also a wordless apology for the fact that they were still here, whole and almost untouched by the war.
Doggedly Jonathan kept pace with them and Esther watched with concern as the sweat poured down his face and his shirt clung damply to him. But she knew he would hate her to fuss over him, particularly in front of everyone.
She was returning from the farmhouse to the field with cool drinks for the workers when Kate came running towards her across the stubble. ‘Mam, Mam! He’s bleedin’. Come quick!’
Esther glanced to where the younger children were playing at the edge of the field. She squinted against the bright sunlight. ‘Who? I dun’t see—’
‘Not them – him!’ Kate was pointing, not in the direction of her playmates, but towards the menfolk further down the field.
They had stopped work and were gathered around one of their number lying on the ground.
Jonathan! She couldn’t see Jonathan.
‘Oh, no!’ Esther breathed and began to run.
‘W
HAT
is it? What’s happened?’
Esther pushed her way through the group. Then she dropped to her knees beside Jonathan. He was sitting on the ground, bending forward, holding his injured shoulder.
‘Let me see . . .’ she began.
‘No! It’s just the wound – opened up. Don’t fuss, Esther.’
She gasped at his sharpness and sat back on her heels, staring at him.
Immediately, he was contrite. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured softly, and as he raised his head, she saw his face was grey with pain and streaked with sweat.
In her anxiety for him, she had been oblivious to the fact that the gathering were standing silent and watchful, listening for every word that passed between them. Yet even in his pain, Jonathan had not forgotten.
She stood up. Stiffly, she said, ‘You’d better come to the farmhouse.’ Then she turned to Ben Harris. ‘Perhaps two of you would help him?’ Then she marched away across the field towards the farm without looking back.
But her eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
When they were alone in her kitchen Esther bathed and dressed the jagged line of the wound which had opened
up a little at what had been its deepest point. ‘Why didn’t ya tell me it was as bad as this? Ya shouldn’t be doing
anything
, let alone heavy farm work.’
I’m not going to be beaten by a little scratch.’
‘Please, Jonathan . . .’ she began and took his hands in hers. She saw him wince and slowly she turned them over. The edges of his forefingers were covered with blisters.
‘What on earth . . . ?’ she gasped.
‘It’s tying the sheaves.’ He grinned ruefully. She put her arms around him and he nestled his head against her breast.
Kate’s running feet sounded on the yard and Esther moved away from Jonathan as the child appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were wide with alarm. ‘Danny ses you was hurt. Are you?’
Jonathan smiled at her and his face softened. ‘A little – it’s nothing.
‘Nothing, indeed!’ Esther muttered.
Kate moved towards him and as he held out his good arm to her, she climbed on to his knee.
‘You mustn’t do any more work on the farm, you—’ Esther began.
‘Oh, yes, I will!’ His mouth was a firm, determined line. Above the child’s head they glared at each other.
‘Oh, you’re so stubborn. You’re just like . . .’ Esther bit back the words. She had been going to say ‘just like Matthew’ but instead she finished lamely, ‘You’re all the same, you men!’
She was aware of Kate’s glance shifting from one to the other. ‘If you can’t help Mam on the farm, mester,’ the
child said, beaming up at him with a beatific smile, ‘then you can take me shrimpin’ tomorrow.’
The look of defeat on Jonathan’s face was so comical that Esther turned away and smothered her laughter with her apron. Then she heard his deep chuckle as he ruffled Kate’s curls. ‘All right, you win. I can’t beat the two of you!’
But on the third day, Jonathan was back in the fields doggedly keeping pace with the other workers.
Despite his grief at the loss of his elder son, Squire Marshall was determined that life on his estate should go on as near to normal as possible.
‘We shall hold the Harvest Supper as usual,’ he told each of his tenants in turn. ‘I expect you all to come and bring whatever friends you like.’ He paused a moment reflectively and added, haltingly, ‘There’ll be too many empty places.’
Visiting Brumbys’ Farm, he said to Esther, ‘And this is the young man I’ve heard about who’s visiting poor Mrs Harris.’ He held out his hand to Jonathan and gripped it warmly. ‘Did – did you know my boy?’
His voice deep with regret, Jonathan replied, ‘Not personally, sir, but by sight, yes.’
‘Well, my boy, I trust our good air is returning you to full health. I expect you’ll – er – be going back soon, will you?’
Jonathan’s normally steady gaze flickered away for a moment. He took a deep breath and then looked back to meet the squire’s gaze squarely. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said softly, but nonetheless firmly, ‘I will be going back.’
Esther, hearing the exchange, felt as if the breath had been knocked from her body. Her whole world seemed to crumble and even in the sunlight she shivered. Mechanically, she stretched a smile on to her mouth when the squire wished her good day. She stood staring after him as he mounted his horse and rode out of the farmyard gate.
When he was out of sight, Jonathan put his arm about her and led her into the barn. ‘I know what you’re thinking – feeling,’ he said gently. ‘But you’ve known all along that I must leave eventually. I’m well now – that’s obvious to anyone who sees me working in the fields. I shouldn’t be here. Every day I’m on borrowed time.’
She looked up into his face. ‘But your wound isn’t healed properly. You know it isn’t.’
‘It’s – well enough that I ought to be going back. If I don’t report back very soon, they’ll come looking for me.’
‘You could hide here. No one from the army knows where you are, do they?’ She flung her arms about him crying, ‘Don’t go. Stay with me. Please!’
He held her close. ‘A little longer, my love, just a little while longer.’ More than that he would not promise.
Later she asked, ‘You’ll come to the Harvest Supper with me?’
‘I’ll go to the supper – but not with you.’
‘Whyever not?’
‘Esther, we’d be flaunting our – our affair in front of all your neighbours. We’d only be asking for more trouble. These people care for Matthew. You must go to the squire’s supper as the wife of a tenant farmer, the wife of a
man who is a soldier at the front doing his duty for his country – as Matthew’s wife.’ Despite his reasoned argument, his voice wavered a little on the final words, but Esther was too angry to notice.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she began hotly. ‘Matthew only went because he got drunk and volunteered when Martha Willoughby called him a coward.’
‘For whatever reason, he’s there – in the thick of it. I’ll go with the Harrises. That is, if they’ll have me.’
For once Esther could not shake his quiet resolve.
Esther dressed with care on the evening of the Harvest Supper. She was as nervous as a girl on her first outing with a young man.
She had to take Kate along, for on this night there was no one who wanted to miss the supper to stay at home with Esther’s daughter.
‘Will Enid be there? And the others?’ Kate chattered incessantly, catching some of Esther’s excitement.
‘I expect so. Do hold still, child, whilst I tie this ribbon in your hair. Such thick curls you’ve got, just like mine.’
‘Will Danny be there?’
Esther’s fingers were stilled a moment. Then she brushed Kate’s hair vigorously.
‘Ouch, you’re pulling.’
‘I really don’t know,’ Esther said, answering her daughter’s question but unable to keep the sharpness from her tone. ‘But I’ll be there tonight to make sure he doesn’t pull your hair again.’
‘Oh, he doesn’t pull my hair any more.’ Kate said airily.
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘No – now he tries to kiss me.’
‘What! For heaven’s sake, child, you’re only four! You shouldn’t be kissing little boys . . .’ Esther pursed her lips and muttered, ‘He’s his father’s son, all right, and no mistake.’
‘What did you say, Mamma?’
‘Nothing for you, missy. You stay away from Danny Eland, d’you hear me?’
‘He’s my friend. I like Danny.’ The small mouth quivered and tears trembled, but Esther hardened her heart.
‘You’ll do as I say, Kate.’
The merriment was in full swing when they arrived at the huge barn at the Grange. At least on the surface it appeared to be, but after a few moments there, Esther could feel that the atmosphere of gaiety was forced. Although everyone was doing their best to put on a show of enjoying themselves, there were so many faces missing now, so many who would never be coming back. Every day the casualty lists grew longer and news of fearsome battles, won and lost, dominated the newspapers.
She scanned the bobbing heads for sight of him and saw him deep in solemn conversation with the squire. She felt Kate’s hand tug itself from her hold.
‘Kate, you . . .’
The child was gone, darting between the dancers to the stack at the end of the barn where several children were playing, sliding down and tumbling each other. At
least, thought Esther wryly, I can’t see Danny Eland amongst them. Then forgetting the children, her eyes again sought Jonathan.