Sometimes a dream is all you have…

The night after Jared Ellis kisses her under the mistletoe, nineteen-year-old Sarah Naylor dreams she is standing by the window of Fairfield Hall, waiting for him to come to her. In her dream, she is wearing a pale green silk gown and meeting him as an equal, but in reality she is a servant at the Hall and Jared Ellis is the cousin of the owner’s wife. As a result, Sarah knows there’s little chance that the dream will ever come true – and even less chance after tragedy strikes on New Year’s Eve and she is forced to leave Fairfield.

But some dreams are impossible to forget and, as Sarah starts a new life away from everything she’s ever known, her dream – and memories of Jared – continue to haunt her thoughts, despite all her efforts to dismiss them.

Now read the first six pages of Chapter One

I woke briefly as the candlelight flickered near the bed and a voice told me that it was time to get up. But for once I took no notice. I was warm and I was comfortable and I knew that, despite the fire which had been smouldering in the grate until late into the night, the room would be chilly when I climbed out of bed. I also knew that, with four of us to get washed and dressed in that small space, it was wisest for us to do it one at a time. So, deciding to let my foster-sisters get up before me for a change, I pulled the bedcovers over my head again and tried to return to my dream.

It was the dream I’d had every night since Boxing Day when Jared Ellis had kissed me for the second time, the dream in which I was no longer a servant, adopted daughter of a cook and a gardener, but mistress of Fairfield, meeting him as an equal, loving him and being loved in return.

In my mind, I saw myself standing by the many-paned window of the Hall, looking out down the long sweeping drive with its tall beeches and oak trees, ashes and elms. I wore a gown of the finest pale green silk which highlighted the chestnut brown of my hair, and at my throat a diamond-encrusted brooch threaded on a pale green velvet band flashed and sparkled in the sun. I had a light wrap around my shoulders, while on my feet were dainty shoes of the softest kid.

In one hand I held a book, but, though it was open, I knew I hadn’t read a word. There was too much excitement in my heart for me to concentrate on anything, except looking out of the window, waiting for Jared.

Then, at last, I saw him, riding through the distant gates on his high-spirited horse, coming towards me, closer and closer. I turned towards the door to go and meet him, already imagining the moment when he would take me in his arms and hold me closely, kiss me as if he would never let me go…

“Sarah!” Alice’s suddenly shrill voice broke into my dream. “How many more times do I have to call you? It’s the busiest day of our year and you’re still a-bed at this time!”

As I mumbled some reply, she shook my shoulder roughly, then pulled the bedclothes back so that the cold air hit me with a shock.

I was out of bed in a second then, washing quickly before pulling on my serviceable, but dull, woollen dress, hitching up thick woollen stockings with darns in both heels, then forcing my feet into harsh clogs, ready for the short walk from the cottage up to the Hall. As I smoothed my hurriedly-combed hair down with my hand and tucked it away under my cap, dreams of Jared faded like the summer’s dew. Despite his kindness, despite his kisses, he was further from my reach than the Pole Star itself – and the sooner I accepted that fact, the better I would be.

“You’d best drink this afore you go out. It’s going to be a busy morning and you don’t want to be working on an empty belly.”

As he spoke, Tom, my foster-father, pushed a bowl of porridge into my hands and I ate the contents quickly, realizing from their temperature that I’d stayed in bed even longer than I’d intended to. Then, almost before the bowl was empty, Alice snatched it from me.

“You’ve no time to linger this morning, my lass,” she insisted then. “I’ve done two hours’ work already!” And thrusting a thick crust of bread and dripping at me, she told me to eat it on the way up to the Hall.

Though the stars were still shining faintly in the west, there was the first hint of dawn in the eastern sky as we left the cottage and, as we went out through the garden gate, a strange, soft wind blew suddenly through the tall, bare trees along the drive to the Hall. Though out in the open it was surprisingly mild for the time of year, I shivered unexpectedly and Alice glanced at me sharply.

“And what’s wrong with you this time?” she asked abruptly. “You’ve been worse than useless about the house since you set eyes on Mr Ellis at the beginning of this month – and, since he kissed you on Boxing Day, you’ve been giving yourself such airs and graces.”

“No, I haven’t!” I tried to deny it, but she wouldn’t listen. I knew she’d noticed the effect Jared Ellis had had on me – and, as we hurried along to try and make up some of the time I’d lost, she told me that other people had noticed it, too.

“Mrs Fairfax is especially angry about it,” she went on. “You know she likes you little enough at the best of times, but to see you gazing after her cousin with that look in your eyes is almost more than she can bear. She’s already had words with me about it – and, if it gets much worse, I don’t doubt but what she’ll have words with her husband, too. And then where shall we be?”

Over the years, however, I’d grown so used to Alice’s occasional tirades that I didn’t bother to answer her. I’d long since learned that, if she got no response from me, she’d usually let the matter drop. But that morning I was out of luck for she stopped suddenly, caught hold of my arm and swung me round to face her.

“I’ll tell you where!” she snapped and a note of fear tinged the anger in her voice. “We’ll be thrown out of Fairfield, the lot of us, that’s where! We’ll have to live on what charity we can get. This child I’m carrying’ll have to be born and brought up in t’poorhouse. And all because you must take after you mother – whoever she was!”

The last three words hurt me, as they were meant to, for it was a source of great grievance to me that I didn’t know who I really was. I didn’t even have a name of my own. My surname was Naylor, like that of my foster-parents, but, though I loved them both dearly, I’d still have liked to have known who my natural parents were.

All I knew for certain was that I’d been found as a week-old baby on the steps of Fairfield Hall and Richard Fairfax, the owner, had taken pity on me. Although obviously unable to adopt me himself, he’d made an allowance to Alice and Tom Naylor to bring me up in their cottage, rather than condemning me to the rigours of an orphanage or the poorhouse. But, though this was all I’d been told, I’d always felt that Alice and Tom knew more. There was something about the story that didn’t quite ring true. Yet, whenever I’d started to make enquiries, my questions had been answered by an embarrassed silence and finally I’d given up trying…

Sharp-tongued as she could be at times, however, Alice was not an unkind woman at heart. Though it was true that she’d never encouraged me to call her mother, it was also true that she’d never treated me any differently from her own three daughters. And now, as she realized her words had hurt me more deeply than she’d intended, she let her face soften a little.

“I only mean it for your own good, Sarah, love,” she told me quietly then. “I don’t want you to break your heart crying for the moon. I know it’s difficult sometimes, but you must remember your place in this life. You must remember that a man like Jared Ellis would never truly love you, no matter how attractive you were. He’d use you, but that’s all. When he tired of you – or found someone more suitable – you’d be tossed to one side and completely forgotten. You’d end up like your poor mother in more ways than one!” Then, as we reached the kitchen where most of the servants were back at work already after their breakfast break, she changed the subject and started issuing instructions for the rest of the morning.

back to top

Look forward to these, also from Hazel Mary Martell

WHERE TWO WORLDS MEET

Chapter One

“I reckon Tom Foxton’s taken a fancy to you this year, our Essie!” Lorna, my eleven-year-old sister spoke in a voice that seemed loud enough for half of Yorkshire to hear, let alone the young man who was standing across the street, talking to the butcher as we came out of the village bakery. “Look at him – he can’t take his eyes off you!”
     “Don’t talk so daft!” I retorted, blushing to the top of my head as I realized he was indeed glancing in our direction and raising his hand in acknowledgement. “More likely he’s looking at you and thinking what a cheeky little madam you are.”
     “No, I’m not!” she protested as I nodded a greeting towards him. “And, anyway, he’s forever making excuses to come round to see us and he always speaks to you.”
     “That’s because he’s polite, idiot,” I replied, turning away from him and back to her. “And he can hardly ignore us when we’re staying on his father’s land, can he?”
     “Well, I don’t remember him coming round so often when we were here last year.”
     “That’s because he wasn’t at home then. He was still away in the army, but his sister came to see us a few times and so did his father.”
     “But they didn’t stay like Tom does,” Lorna said mischievously, determined to make her point as we started walking along the street towards the post office. “They never had so much as a cup of tea with us, yet Tom even stayed and ate with us last week when you’d made that rabbit stew.”
     “Well, he had brought the rabbits for us,” I said firmly. “And the wood for the fire as well, if you remember. It was only right that he should stop and eat with us then if he wanted to.”
     “And what about all the other times he comes calling?”
     I shrugged my shoulders, trying without success to think of something that would keep her quiet for a moment. By that time, however, we’d reached the door of the post-office-cum-newsagent’s and, as I opened it and stepped inside to cash the postal order we’d received from Uncle Frank earlier that morning, Lorna forgot about Tom Foxton and turned her attention to the jars of sweets on the shelves behind the newspaper counter.
     “Please can I have some aniseed balls, Essie?” she asked then, as Mrs Metcalf the postmistress counted out the money and handed it to me. “Uncle Frank’s sent us plenty this week – I’m sure you could spare me a penny!”
     I hesitated, knowing how long the money had to last and how far it had to go, but not wanting to appear mean.
     “You can have a penny,” I said finally. “But if I give you it now, there’ll be nothing else later in the week. You won’t have enough to buy your comic when it comes out.”
     But instead of pleasing her, as I’d hoped, my offer brought a rebellious look to her face.
     “That’s not fair!” she said crossly, stamping her foot. “You got a new drawing-book last week – and that cost a lot more than a bag of aniseed balls! And you got some pencils the week before. It’s not fair at all.”
     She turned her back on me, but not before I saw the hint of tears sparkling in her eyes, making me reach out and give her a hug.
     “Oh, Lorna,” I said then, holding her tight against me for a moment. “You know things are difficult for us right now, what with Mam being so poorly and Dad having to spend most of his time looking after her instead of doing odd jobs around the village like he usually does when we’re here.”
     “I know, but – ” Her voice choked off, then she gave a loud sniff and started again. “But I’m sure a few aniseed balls won’t make things either better or worse – and he has gone out to work for somebody today.”
     As Lorna was speaking, Mrs Metcalf gave me a large wink, then reached up and got the jar of aniseed balls from the shelf. Scooping some of its contents into a paper bag without bothering to weigh them, she handed it to Lorna. When I offered to pay, however, Mrs Metcalf shook her head.
     “You’ve been good customers over the years,” she said brusquely. “I think I can spare a few sweets for the bairn.”
     Then, as Lorna thanked her and concentrated on her sweets for the moment, Mrs Metcalf’s voice softened to little more than a whisper as she asked after our Mam.
     “How is she today?” she asked, speaking over Lorna’s head in the hope that my sister wouldn’t hear her. “I saw your Dad in the village early on, but I didn’t like to ask him. He gets that upset about her. Is she any better?”
     I shook my head, saying no. “She’s just about the same,” I added, trying to keep the worry out of my voice for Lorna’s sake. “Though at least she’s still able to get up and dressed – and, when we left, she was busy helping our Sam get the stew started for our tea.”
     “Well, you give her my regards when you get back to her – and remind her that there’s plenty of folk in this village who think the world of her. It’ll do her good to know that.”
     “Yes, I’m sure it will.” I let myself smile. “In fact, if good wishes could cure her, she’d be skipping round like a Spring lamb by now.”
     “I just wish she could!” A wistful look came to Mrs Metcalf’s face as she spoke, then, realizing Lorna was starting to listen to our conversation, she changed the subject quickly, telling me to be sure to ask her if I needed any help with anything.
     “Any time – day or night,” she added. “I can always get someone to come in and look after the shop for me, if necessary.”
     I thanked Mrs Metcalf for her kindness, then, as the doorbell jangled and another customer came in, Lorna and I wished her good morning and stepped back into the village street.
     I didn’t mean to look back towards the bakery then as we were setting off in the opposite direction, but somehow my eyes were drawn that way and I saw that Tom Foxton was still standing there, talking to the butcher. I turned back quickly, hoping that Lorna hadn’t noticed, or at least hoping she wouldn’t comment. But I was out of luck as she remembered the question she’d been asking me when we’d got to the post office door.
     “You never answered me, Essie,” she started then and the mischievous look was back on her face. “You never told me why you think Tom Foxton calls round to see us so many times, but I’m sure it’s because he’s taken a fancy to you.”
    “No, it’s not!” I snapped back as I desperately tried to think of a more sensible reason. “He probably just comes to check that we’re not tickling too many of his father’s trout from the river.”
     But the only effect of my words was to make Lorna’s eyebrows rise mockingly.
     “Now you’re the one who’s talking daft,” she said scornfully. “The Foxtons have that many trout that Tom brought us some of them, too, last week, if you remember. But they were just an excuse for visiting us – just like the rabbits were. He really comes to see you – and I reckon you fancy him, too!”
     And, as she came a bit too close to a truth that I didn’t want to admit even to myself, I aimed a mock blow at her nearest ear, then, taking her firmly by the arm, I quickened my pace, making her run to keep up until we reached the village church and turned off the main street and into the walled lane which ran towards the woods and the river.
     “Slow down a minute, will you?” she said then, suddenly pulling back and grasping at her side. “I’ve got an awful stitch. I can’t run any further.”
     And, seeing the look of genuine pain on her face, knowing we were well out of Tom Foxton’s sight or hearing, I agreed.
     “We’ll just have five minutes,” I added, putting the basket down and climbing up the grassy bank to sit on the drystone wall at the top and look out over my favourite view. “Our Mam’ll be all right for a bit longer with Sam to look after her, so let’s enjoy the sun while we’ve chance!”
     Forgetting her stitch, Lorna laid out on her stomach on the bank below me, pushing her sleeves back and stretching her arms out to the sun.
     “If I stay here long enough, maybe my freckles’ll join up and I’ll have lovely brown arms,” she said then, her voice muffled by the lush grass of late Spring. “Then when we go back home, people might think we’ve been abroad for our holidays, instead of being stuck here at the back of beyond.”
     “Aye – and maybe you’ll get sunburned and turn bright red instead!” I answered her, ignoring her last remark as I knew she’d only said it to annoy me. “Then you’ll be up all night, whimpering because it hurts.”
     “No, I won’t!”
     She started to argue back, but I didn’t feel like talking any more. After the scene in the post office and the embarrassment she’d threatened to cause me in the street, I just wanted a few quiet minutes to gather my thoughts together. I wanted to let the peace of the place wash over me, calm me down before we went back to our camp and had to face our Mam, for, even though she was ill, she still had the ability to take one look at us and know if everything wasn’t as it should be.
     With my feet placed firmly on the wall in front of me then, I hugged my knees and looked out across the view which was as familiar as that from my own bedroom window, for every year for as long as I could remember we’d come to this lane in the Dales where our Mam had been born and we stayed here for two or three weeks.
     Usually we came between hay-time and harvest, when work was slack at the pit where our Dad worked part-time and school had broken up for the holidays. Dad would do odd jobs around the nearby villages, while we kids played in the wood or by the beck, climbing trees, building dams, seeing pictures in the passing clouds. Or we spent time with our Mam, learning to recognize the wild birds and animals from tracks and other clues. We also learnt the names of trees, plants and flowers and what they could be used for, pretending we still lived the life she’d had as a child.
     Even during the war years, when things were much more difficult, we’d always managed to get away for a few days at least, packing what we needed into the bow-topped vardo which had been a wedding present to my parents from my mother’s family and leaving our small farm on the outskirts of Morley to the south of Leeds and travelling out through Bradford and Keighley to Skipton and the Dales beyond.
     But this year was different. This year we’d come in mid-April, when Spring was bursting over the land in every imaginable shade of green and the cuckoo joined the other birds in their dawn chorus. More importantly, we were staying for as long as we needed to, because this year our Dad had walked out of his part-time job at the pit long before he’d been laid off for the summer. He’d left his brother, Frank, to keep an eye on the farm while we were away, and told my thirteen-year-old brother, Sam, that his schooldays were over. He’d also taken Lorna out of school – much to her annoyance because she’d won a scholarship to the Grammar School and was enjoying her time there – though he’d promised her she could go back eventually. As I was almost eighteen, my school days – when all I’d really liked were English, art and history lessons – were long behind me and all I’d had to give up was my part-time job in the grocer’s shop near our farm to be able to stay here longer than usual.
     And the reason for all these changes was that this year our Mam was dying – and there was nothing any of us could do to stop her.
     In the depth of winter, she’d struggled to give birth to a third, much-wanted son, Danny, who’d died the following week. We’d buried him in the town cemetery on a bitterly cold day when a gusting wind had brought showers of sleet and hail hurtling off the high Pennines, soaking us to the skin as we’d watched his tiny coffin being lowered on top of that of his eight-year-old brother, Ben, who’d died in a stupid accident the previous autumn.
     Worn out by her efforts and saddened by this second loss in so short a time, our Mam had fallen victim to influenza a few days later. She’d had to spend six weeks in bed and, though the influenza had long gone by that time, it had left her severely weakened, fragile-looking, short of breath and easily tired. The doctor had been time after time, but all his pills and potions had been to no avail – and, as our Dad had seen her slowly worsening, he’d made the decision to let her end her life where she’d started it, away from the confines of walls and roofs and among the trees and meadows she loved so much.
     Her favourite spot was by the river, where the water fell over a ridge of peat-stained rock to form a deep pool with a large pike often lurking on the bottom, lying in wait for smaller fish. It was about half a mile downhill through the woods from our camp and, though for the first week or so she could get there and back without any help so long as one of us went with her, she gradually needed more and more assistance. By the middle of May she needed an arm to hold on to as she went down to the river, as well as when she came back up. She also needed many stops along the way in order to catch her breath, but she was still determined to go there every day for as long as she could.
     Thinking of her then made me suddenly feel guilty for staying out so long, when all I was supposed to be doing was going to the post office and the baker’s shop, and I quickly jumped down from the wall and prodded Lorna – who by that time had fallen asleep - none too gently in the ribs.
     “It’s time we were getting back,” I told her as she rolled over, sat up and scowled at me. “Our Mam’ll be wondering where we’ve got to!”
      And, as Lorna reluctantly got to her feet, I picked up the shopping basket and started hurrying back towards our camp.
      As usual, Dad had parked the vardo on an area of grass verge which was also wide enough for us kids to set up the bender tents we slept in. There was ample grazing for the pony, as well as space to store the firewood and other items we needed. Tall trees grew nearby, but not close enough to cast shadows, and a thick hedge gave protection from the worst of the wind. As a result, the site was a suntrap and, as we got closer, I could see that our Mam was taking full advantage, sitting on the top step of the vardo, enjoying the warmth of the late May sun as she watched Sam busying himself chopping wood for the fire, though I noticed she had her shawl wrapped tightly round her shoulders.
     The dog barked a greeting as we approached and, hearing him, our Mam turned and saw us. Her face brightened into a smile.
     “I’m glad to see you back,” she said then. “I’m feeling a bit better at the moment and I’d love to walk down to the river while it’s still fine.”
     “Wouldn’t you rather wait till Dad comes home?” I asked.
     She shook her head, saying no. “I’d like you to take me today, Essie,” she added. “Your Dad might be late and I think the weather might change before he gets back.”
     She glanced at the sky as she spoke and I saw that some of the clouds were indeed darkening, though rain was still a long way off.
     “Yes, but let’s have a bit of lunch first,” I said, as Sam and Lorna looked at me hungrily. “You’ll feel better still with some food inside you.”
     As I spoke, I put the kettle back over the fire, then started getting the fresh bread and the cheese we’d just bought out of the basket.
     Lorna fetched the plates and mugs out of the vardo, while Sam brought me the bread board, the knives and the butter, together with a jar of the chutney Mam had made the previous autumn when life had been going so well for us.
     I made our lunch as quickly as I could, but Mam was impatient to be off and, twenty minutes later, Sam and Lorna were still eating when she got up from the vardo steps where she’d been sitting and brushed the crumbs from her skirt.
     “I know I haven’t much time left, Essie,” she said quietly, turning away from Sam and Lorna in the hope that they wouldn’t overhear her, then reaching out for my arm for support. “And there’s something I want to tell you before I go, something that might be useful to you one day, because I don’t think your Dad’ll cope right well without me.”

back to top

A HEART ALONE

Excerpt from Chapter One

I guess most people can look back to their childhood and see a day on which they started to grow up, see the world in a different light. Me? I can even put a date to it - the eighth of July 1903. It was just a fortnight after my twelfth birthday. It was also the first day of the summer race meeting at Pontefract Park and, together with my sisters Vinnie and Jane and our oldest brother John, I was taking three days off school to help our Dad with the refreshment stall he set up by the race course at every meeting.

Yet, despite what happened later, the day started off quite normally, with the noise of the pump in the back garden waking me just after six as our Dad drew the first water of the day. I waited until I heard him come back into the kitchen and stir the fire up to boil the kettle for breakfast, then I got out of bed and hurried across to the dressing-table where a flowered pitcher of water stood. Pouring a third of its contents into the matching bowl, I washed quickly. Then I started to get dressed, pulling on long black stockings and a white petticoat before going over to the window and looking out for a moment.

Though it wasn’t quite half-past six, the sun was already well up and shining brightly from a blue sky that was almost cloudless and the rapidly-melting traces of mist over the low-lying fields beyond the railway embankment promised another fine day.

“Just what we need!” I said out loud, turning back into the bedroom and deciding to wear my everyday dress and pinafore until after I’d eaten breakfast and fed the hens. “The better the weather, the bigger the crowds – and the more money we’ll make at our stall.”

When I’d finished dressing, I unwound the strips of rag which had been curling my light brown hair overnight and brushed it out into ringlets. Then, when there was still no sign of my sisters waking up, I went back to the bed the three of us shared and shook Vinnie’s shoulder none too gently.

“Come on!” I urged as she protested sleepily. “It’s time you were up – you, too, Jane!”

“No, it’s not!” Vinnie protested again and pulled the sheet back over her head. “It’s not time for school yet, so what’s the hurry?”

“I know it’s not time for school,” I answered, more impatiently than I’d intended. “But, in case you’d forgotten, it is the first day of the Races and we’ve all got plenty to do before we set out.”

“All right, Miss Bossy Boots – there’s no need to get so excited about it!” Vinnie sat up at that and yawned widely, then stretched as far as she could without kicking Jane out of bed. “Just because you enjoy going to the Races, it doesn’t mean we all have to. I’d rather spend the day at the factory, if only I could.”

“You’ll be able to in December when your birthday comes around,” I retorted. “But meanwhile you might show a bit of interest in helping the rest of us today. If you go round with a face like a wet hen, you’ll scare all our customers off.”

“Well, happen if you didn’t make such a to-do about it, it wouldn’t be as bad.” Vinnie kept on protesting, but her tone of voice was more good-natured as she finally shook off the remnants of sleep and climbed out of bed to start the same routine of washing and dressing which I’d just completed. “Just because you enjoy gawping at all those toffee-nosed women in their fancy outfits, it doesn’t mean to say that I’ve got to enjoy it, too.”

But the look in Vinnie’s eyes belied her words – and young Jane didn’t hesitate to say so. “You’re only pretending you don’t enjoy it because you’re jealous, Vinnie Jessop!” she cut in with sharper perception than might have been expected for her nine years. “You fancy yourself in one of those big flowered hats just as much as our Dorothy does!”

“No, I don’t!” Vinnie denied it hotly and, as a squabble seemed about to develop, I pulled my ankle boots on and buttoned them quickly.

“I’ll leave you two to get on with it,” I said firmly then, going to the bedroom door and opening it wide. “But don’t be all morning – there’s too much to do.”

And, though Vinnie pulled a face and Jane stuck her tongue out in mock defiance, I knew it’d only be a few more minutes before they were following me down the stairs and into the kitchen.

When I got there, Dad had just taken the kettle off the hob and was mashing tea in the highly-polished urn which served as a teapot for our ever-increasing family.

“’Morning, Dorothy,” he greeted me. “Are you first up as usual?”

“Aye, but Vinnie and Jane are on their way.” As I spoke, I reached for some of the mugs which were hanging from hooks underneath the wall-cupboards and set them on the table. Splashing a drop of milk into each, I lined them up by the urn, then, while I waited for the tea to strengthen, I got a loaf out of the bread-crock and started to slice it.

Dad took the first slice from me and went to toast it on the fire, saying it was for our Mam, and, by the time it was ready, Vinnie was at the kitchen door and Jane was clattering down the steps behind her.

“Take this up for your Mam now, Dorothy, and let these two finish making the breakfast,” Dad said then, putting the plate of toast and a mug of tea on a tray. “And, while you’re up there, knock on John’s door. It’s time he was out of bed, too – otherwise the races’ll have started before we’ve even got the stall up.”

“Right, Dad, I’ll do that!” And, satisfied that Vinnie and Jane had charge of the rest of the breakfast, I picked up the tray and carried it upstairs.

“How’re you feeling now, Mam?” I asked a moment later as I let myself into her bedroom and she started to sit up in bed. “Our Dad said you’d woken up tired after all the work you’ve done ready for today.”

She nodded. “I did that,” she admitted. “But I’m feeling much better for this extra hour in bed – and I’ll be better still when I’ve drunk this tea and eaten the toast.”

“Our Dad thought you would be – but he says that, if you’re not, then you’ve to stay where you are for a bit longer and Vinnie and me’ll get the little ’uns ready for school.”

She smiled gently at that, “He worries far too much,” she said affectionately, but more to herself than to me. “Anybody’d think this was my first baby, not my eighth!” Then, remembering that I was still in the room, she told me to run along and get my breakfast.

“And tell your Dad to stop fussing,” she added. “I’ll be down to help you all get ready by the time you’ve fed the hens and collected the eggs.”

And, realizing she meant what she said, I went back downstairs to the kitchen to eat my breakfast before starting on the first of my jobs for the day…

back to top