The Fleethaven Trilogy (38 page)

Esther stood at the gate staring at him as he came towards her.

‘The war, Esther. It’s over.’ Wordlessly, she put her arms up and he hugged her to him. ‘It’ll be all right now, lass. Things’ll get better – you see.’

At the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, it was indeed all over. Of course there was rejoicing and in some towns and cities there were joyous celebrations, but amongst the community at Fleethaven Point there seemed only relief, their happiness tempered by the losses their small number had sustained. The squire’s son, who would never step into his father’s place; Ernie Harris, Ma’s firstborn – and Matthew. In the months since Esther had received the final letter from the Army authorities there had been no further word, no hint that there was any hope that he could still be alive.

Now that it was finally all over, Esther clung to the hope that Jonathan had come through, that perhaps he would come home, that he would come to the Point to see her and, maybe, finding her a widow, just maybe . . .

During the weeks which followed the Armistice, Esther grew increasingly restless. There was little she could do on the land in December, nor could she seem to generate any enthusiasm for Christmas preparations. Once again she had struggled virtually alone with her harvest, though this year she had use of the squire’s horses for a week and the loan of one of his men. Yet again, no one from the Point had offered help, nor even Tom Willoughby. And Ma Harris, whose coldness hurt more than anyone’s, kept stubbornly away from Brumbys’ Farm – and Esther.

Wandering around the farm watching the pigs, the hens, checking on the cows, Esther felt as if she were waiting for something to happen, only it didn’t seem to be happening.

She sighed and walked towards the farm gate, leaning on it and looking up the road towards the town. If only he would come walking back round the bend. But the lane was empty. There was no sign of a tall, fair-haired soldier marching towards her.

Her gaze travelled round and came to rest on the rise in the road – the Hump – beyond which were the cottages at the Point. Before she fully realized what she was doing, or had even stopped to think, she was moving out of her gate and down the lane towards the Point. She knocked on the door of Ma Harris’s cottage and stood waiting, her heart thumping. It was strange that she should feel afraid. She had missed Ma’s warmth, her chatter, her friendship so much. As she stood there she could hear the sound of children laughing and shrieking as they played on the scrubland beyond the cottage.

The door opened and Ma stood there, wiping her floury hands on her apron.

‘Oh – it’s you,’ she said, turned away abruptly and went back to her kitchen table to her pastry-making. But she left the door open. At least she had not slammed it in Esther’s face.

‘Ma – can I come in?’ This was a new Esther, a tentative, penitent Esther.

‘If ya must.’

‘Ma – can’t we be friends again?’

The older woman glanced at her and then back to her pastry, thumping it over and over, rolling it out with the wooden rolling pin. For a long time she didn’t answer.

‘Ya know what the Good Book says, “As ye sow, so shall ye reap.” There’ll come a day of reckoning, lass. Somewhere, some time you’ll be made to pay.’

An angry retort rose to Esther’s lips, but for once she literally bit back the words, pressing her teeth into her bottom lip to suppress them.

Ma Harris let out a long sigh and now there was more sadness than censure in her tone. ‘Oh, Esther lass, part of me does understand why you were drawn to that young feller, but it’s hard for me to forgive you. Young Matthew has always been part of our lives. I helped bring him into the world in that cottage next door,’ she nodded her head beyond her own cottage wall indicating the adjoining house. ‘He were like one of me own and after he’d lost both his parents, well, he more or less did become one of me family. But more than that even, it was you leaving your bairn in the house on her own that really riled me. Ya know how I am about bairns?’

‘I – I know you think badly of me and I’m sorry, real sorry. As for Kate, yes, I felt guilty about that and it never happened again.’

Ma cast her a sideways glance but said no more. To Esther her look said, ‘So, you took him into the house then – into Matthew’s house.’

Esther’s chin came a little higher, but she kept her tone submissive. ‘There’s a lot I’m sorry for now – a lot that’s to do with Matthew – and Beth. But I’ll never, ever, say I’m sorry I met Jonathan.’

Ma gasped and stared at her. Esther met her gaze levelly. ‘Eeh, lass, you’re honest, I’ll say that for ya. An’ though I dun’t hold with what ya’ve done, ya didn’t skulk about it. Ya didn’t try to hide what was going on between you and Jonathan from us all, even knowing we wouldn’t like it. You’re a strange one, Esther Hilton, an’ no mistake.’

Then slowly, like the sun appearing as a cloud passed away, a smile began to spread across Ma’s shrunken mouth. She shook her head, almost as if in disbelief at herself for what she was about to say. ‘I can’t go on being mad at ya – an’ the Lord knows I’ve tried. Truth is, I’ve missed ya, lass. Missed talking and laughing with ya, I really have.’

Now she was smiling broadly and Esther was smiling back.

‘So, you’ll both be here for Christmas this year, will you?’

‘Try and keep us away!’

So it was a merry Christmas that year of 1918 which Esther and Kate shared with the Harris family once more, for Mr Harris and all their brood took their lead from Ma. Her word was law. If she wanted nothing to do with Esther Hilton, then they obeyed, but if Ma forgave and welcomed her back, then they were ready to do that too.

And their country was no longer at war – it was time to forgive and to make new beginnings. They all went to Midnight Mass together, walking the long lane in the frosty, moonlit night, the children, far from sleepy, skipping and dancing and chasing each other; the grown-ups, walking arm in arm, smiling and content and thankful. Yes, thankful, Esther thought, that despite what they had all lost, there would be no more killing and maiming. Their soldiers were coming home.

Oh, dear Lord, she prayed silently, let one of them be Jonathan.

It was in the New Year that Esther’s restlessness grew and became unbearable. She could find no solace in the farm. Even her favourite place on the Spit and the peaceful scenery brought no comfort and serenity. Her anxiety over Jonathan festered until she was sleeping badly and could not eat.

There should have been some word. Surely the soldiers were coming home from France now? He would have got in touch somehow. Perhaps he was still in France. Perhaps he was wounded and in hospital, or – heaven forbid – perhaps he was dead and lying in a grave in foreign soil, alone and forgotten by everyone but her.

It was Will Benson who gave her the idea that there was something she could do.

‘Have you heard the latest?’

She was listening with only half an ear to his chatter, but his next words commanded her immediate attention. ‘Squire’s going over to France to see if he can find his boy’s grave. Course Mrs Marshall ain’t going. Poor lady – she’s never got over the lad’s death, y’know. Just the squire and his younger son are going.’

Esther stared at him. Her heart began to beat a little faster and she felt herself go breathless with excitement. ‘How’s he managed that? Can anybody go? When’s he going?’

‘Eh, steady on, lass. ’Ow should I know? All I know is, he’s got in touch with that there Major Langley. You know, ’im as gave that speech in the town just after the war started.’

‘Oh, I remember him all right!’ Esther said grimly.

‘Now, lass, the man was only doing his duty—’

‘Never mind that now, Will,’ she cut him off sharply. ‘Do you know when Squire’s going?’

‘Next week some time I think. He found out from the major where young Rodney’s company was when he was killed.’

‘Oh, next week, eh?’ Esther muttered, her mind busy. Jonathan must have been in the same company as the squire’s son. She remembered the squire asking Jonathan if he had known his son and Jonathan had said that he knew him by sight. They’d all been in the same regiment, Rodney Marshall, Ernie Harris, Matthew – and Jonathan! Perhaps . . .

‘Esther Hilton – what are you up to?’ Will was eyeing her shrewdly.

She grinned at him, feeling alive and hopeful for the first time in many months. ‘Never you mind, Will Benson, just never you mind.’

‘Mr Marshall – please, I want to come to France with you.’ Once more – as if time had taken a tilt – Esther was standing facing the squire across his huge desk.

‘Eh? What?’ The squires mouth all but dropped open. ‘Come to France? My dear Mrs Hilton . . .’

He was patronizing her. Her green eyes flashed and her jaw tightened. She saw that he had noticed, for his protestations died. He ran his hand through his thin, greying hair. He sighed deeply and said, more kindly, ‘I can well understand your desire to go out there. Indeed, it must match my own.’ He glanced at her shrewdly. ‘More so, if you still hold on to the belief that perhaps your husband may be alive.’

Esther opened her mouth and then shut it firmly against what she had been about to say. She made herself swallow hard before she said, ‘Exactly!’

Silently she begged forgiveness for the lie.

The squire spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘My dear, I really don’t think it’s a place for ladies . . .’

‘But the war is over now. Why don’t they come home? Why have we heard nothing?’ Deliberately, she allowed him to think she was referring all the time to Matthew, when in her heart she was silently crying the name, ‘Jonathan, Jonathan! JONATHAN!’

With quiet determination, she said, ‘Squire, please help me. I
have
to go.’

He sighed and looked at her steadily. Esther was sure he could no longer find it in his heart to argue with her. He was determined to go, but knew he would discover only a grave. She could read his thoughts, transparent upon his face. How can I refuse her, when perhaps she seeks the living?

All he did not know was the true identity of the person she sought.

‘
G
O
where?’ Ma Harris’s tone was scandalized. Esther might as well have said she intended to fly to the moon. ‘But – but what about yar bairn? And the farm?’

Esther smiled her most winning smile, but before she could utter a word, Ma nodded. ‘Oh, I get it. The Harrises’ll no doubt help out. Tek care of young Kate and all the livestock! Is that it?’

‘Well – ’ Esther eyed the older woman with a coy look, the smile still twitching at her mouth – ‘I was hoping . . .’

Ma’s laugh cackled. ‘Eeh, but you’re a bold one, lass. Is that why you came to get round me again?’

‘No, it isn’t, Ma. You know me better than that.’

‘Aye, I suppose I do at that. We’ll help ya.’ Then her eyes narrowed as she added perceptively, ‘What exactly are ya going for?’

Ma Harris was not as easily deceived as the squire.

For a long moment the two women stared at each other. Esther sighed. ‘Ma – please try to understand. I – I have to go.’

‘You’re going to try and find him – Jonathan – aren’t you?’

Esther sat down suddenly at Ma’s kitchen table and laid her arms on its scrubbed surface. All her strength, all her resolve ebbed away. She felt her mouth quiver and tears spring to her eyes.

‘Oh, Ma, don’t be angry with me. Not again, please.’

Ma sat down opposite and patted her hands as they lay, trembling a little, on the table. ‘Eh, lass, dun’t tek on so. I meant no harm. I didn’t mean to upset yar, but I dun’t want to see ya hurt . . .’ She paused a moment, before adding wisely, ‘Or bring more trouble on ya’sen. Ya’d do better to forget all about him and get on with yar life.’

‘Oh, Ma, I’m hurting now. I’ve never stopped hurting since the day he went. I don’t know what’s happened to him. I’ve never heard a word of him since he walked down that road away from me.’ She flung her arm wide in a vague gesture towards the road leading to the town. ‘I’ve got to know, Ma. I’ve just got to find out. At least, I must try.’

Ma shook her head sadly, but still held Esther’s hands. ‘Eh, lass, lass,’ was all she could say, but Esther knew by the older woman’s tone that whilst she might not condone Esther’s intentions, at least she had now forgiven her enough to help her.

‘Go where?’ Will thundered. ‘Are ya daft, girl? What about ya bairn? What about little Katie? Not thinking of draggin’ her along with ya, were ya?’ It was the first time Will had ever been angry with her.

‘No, of course not, Will.’ She had never seen him so incensed. He was almost shaking, and his hands, straight down by his sides, were clenching and unclenching.

‘Oh, I see, going off an’ leaving her, are ya?’

‘Ma Harris is going to look after her . . .’

‘A fine thing, running off after a feller and leaving your child. Don’t try to deny it, girl. I’ve held me tongue these past months, but I knew what were going on. I didn’t like it, but I could feel for ya, aye, I could. But to go off and leave yar child,’ he repeated as if he could scarcely believe it possible. ‘I thought better of you, Esther.’

‘I have to go, Will.’

He flung his hand towards her in a gesture of dismissal almost. ‘Aye well, perhaps ya’d better go and get it out yar system.’ Then as another thought struck him, his frown deepened. ‘You’re not going with just the two of them, are ya?’

‘Well – yes.’ Esther was puzzled. ‘You told me yourself, poor Mrs Marshall ain’t well . . .’

‘’Tain’t right. ’Tain’t fitting for you – a young woman to go off with two men.’

Esther laughed. ‘Oh, Will, really! Do you think that bothers me? Besides, from what I’ve read in all them papers you’ve kept bringing, in the war women have been doing things they never dreamed of; nursing, working in factories – all sorts of things. I reckon the days of chaperoning have gone – and good riddance, I say!’

‘You would,’ Will muttered, unable to argue with her. However, he was not going to let her have the last word. He faced her then, his eyes boring deeply into hers. ‘Ya’ll come back? Ya will come back?’