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She slowed her pace when she reached the field that led up to Tinker’s Wood, the trees on its northern edge perched on the crest of the hill. If Joe should be watching, she didn’t want to appear over-eager, nor did she want to arrive too promptly, which would also have suggested too obvious a desire to please him.
As she reached the brow of the hill, she scanned the edge of the wood for a flash of colour, a sign that Joe was waiting there. But no one was to be seen. Sarah slowed her pace yet more. Was she early? A glance at the sun showed her timing to be correct, so it had to be that he was late.
She sought out the spot where they had sat before and settled down, plucking disconsolately at the grass around her. She felt half-inclined to go home, since he couldn’t be bothered to keep an arrangement he’d made, but all the nervous anticipation that she had endured over the last day kept her there. Scanning the field and the path that skirted it, she looked for signs of movement, but there were none. The countryside drowsed in the heat and she began to feel sleepy herself after her restless night. She wondered whether it would spoil her clothes if she lay back in the grass for a nap.
The hands placed over her eyes took her totally by surprise but the sensation of the rough skin on the fingers told her who it was, even as she gasped out loud. Joe had crept up behind her with the practised silence of a poacher.
‘And what might you be doing here on such a fine day, Sarah Gibson?’ Joe asked.
‘You know well enough, Joseph Bancroft,’ Sarah retorted. ‘And where, may I ask, have you been?’
Joe held up his hands in supplication. ‘Ah, I had things to attend to that took longer than I thought. But here I am now.’
Sarah noticed his failure to offer an apology but, aware of the time already lost from the little they had available to spend in each other’s company, she refrained from remarking on it.
‘Look,’ Joe said, ‘I brought us summat to share.’ He pulled some bread, cheese and a couple of bottles of ale from the pockets of his jacket. Sarah regarded the ale doubtfully but was glad of his forethought in bringing food; the sight of it made her realise how hungry she was, having been too nervous to breakfast well.
‘And,’ Joe said, holding out his hand to pull her to her feet, ‘I know a place in t’woods where we can eat, away from the heat and prying eyes.’
Sarah was glad of this too; she had been fearful that one of the villagers might have cause to pass along the track below and spy her there. She shook out her skirt and followed Joe into the wood, wondering at his surefootedness when there seemed to be barely a path.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_ee6da954-6972-56ff-90df-352e261f77a6)
Joe led them deep into the wood, to a small clearing hidden a little way from the nearest path. Sarah marvelled that he could find it. The narrowest of tracks suggested that animals were the only ones to pass this way and, when the path opened into a clearing with a wall of rock behind it, Sarah saw there was a small pool at the foot of it. ‘’Tis used by the deer,’ Joe answered when she questioned him, and he busied himself spreading out his jacket for them to sit on, and laying out the food.
The first time he offered her the bottle of ale, Sarah demurred. Her grandmother never touched a drop and expected her to follow suit; she’d tried it once at a village celebration and had not been at all taken by it. After Joe had taken several large swigs, he offered her the bottle again and she felt it might seem churlish to refuse. So she took it from him, wiped the neck and took a couple of sips before offering it back.
Joe laughed at her. ‘Why, tha’s barely let a drop past thy lips. Here –’ and he handed it straight back to her ‘– tha’ needs more’n that when it be so hot.’
Sarah took a bolder swig and tried not to splutter. It did, it is true, have a pleasing effect. It seemed to help ease the anxiety that still knotted her stomach, so she drank deeply once more. Joe laughed again and reached over to take the bottle from her, his fingers brushing hers as he did so.
‘Now you have a taste for it,’ he teased. ‘And I must fight for my share.’ He pulled her towards him playfully and cupped her chin, gazing into her eyes. ‘Will tha’ miss me when I’m gone, Sarah Gibson?’ He used his hand to make her nod her head and they both burst out laughing. In the next instant, his lips were on hers and her hands were in his hair.
‘Ah, Sarah, Sarah,’ he murmured into her neck. He ran his hands up and down her back and she shivered at his touch, lost in the sensation. His hands found their way beneath her skirt to caress her legs, her thighs. She stiffened and tried to pull away from him but he kissed her again and undid the buttons on her blouse one by one, running his fingers over the curve of her breasts and whispering ‘Sarah, oh Sarah,’ over and over until she found she had allowed herself to be laid gently on the grass whilst his hands explored every inch of her beneath her clothes. She took delight in his touch and in the secrecy of the situation. She had never been the focus of anyone’s attention before – certainly not in such a way – and she didn’t want it to stop.
Afterwards, it was as if she had emerged from some kind of enchantment. Joe had his back to her, tucking in his shirt, and she lay and gazed up at the trees overhead, watching the patterns that their leaves made against the sky. There was something about the quality of the light that made her sit up suddenly, fearful of what time it was.
Joe was silent on their way back to the edge of the wood, but when they reached it he turned her to face him. ‘I was your first.’ It was a statement rather than a question but Sarah nodded, at a loss for words. He pulled her to him, in a rough hug that all but knocked the air out of her, then held her away from him at arm’s length.
‘Look after yourself, Sarah Gibson. And look out for me when I get back.’
Then he set off at a great pace down the hill and did not turn round once, leaving Sarah to watch him go, fearful of how late she might be to meet her grandmother. With Joe no longer at her side, she wasn’t sure that what had just happened was such a good idea, after all. She felt in desperate need of some time to herself to think it all over but, once Joe had reached the bottom of the hill, Sarah set off in the same direction. When she arrived back at Nancy’s house, her grandmother and Nancy were in the front garden, talking, and Sarah was suddenly hopeful that she wasn’t too tardy.
‘There you are, girl! I was beginning to wonder what had become of you.’ Ada didn’t sound particularly annoyed, so perhaps it had been a good visit.
‘I’m sorry, Gran.’ Sarah hesitated. ‘I fell asleep at home. I hope I’m not late.’
‘You’d have done better to make time to tidy yourself up before you left,’ Ada said, giving Sarah a critical look.
She blushed, hoping that what had just occurred by the deer pool wasn’t as obvious to others as it felt to her, but her grandmother had turned back to Nancy to discuss some aspect of the garden, leaving Sarah free to indulge in her thoughts until it was time to go home to Hill Farm Cottage.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_220aad0b-f7bd-5eeb-9d0d-fa3ee8b01071)
The weather turned while Joe was away. The early promise of summer was washed away in week after week of rain. The farmers were in despair as their crops failed to prosper and began to rot in the fields. Cows and sheep huddled together, taking whatever shelter they could. As time passed with no sign of the rain abating, their owners were forced to drive them back to their winter quarters, worrying all the while about whether they could afford to feed them for the rest of the year.
Sarah, although not oblivious to the weather, was unaffected by the misery around her. She was too wrapped up in her own private longing, which created a purgatory all of its own. She had no knowledge of when Joe might return, but also no knowledge of how and when to find him if and when he did. She trudged through the mud on errands for Ada, returning each time with skirts soaked and muddied and boots that had barely dried out before her feet must go into them again for another journey.
After the first week of rain, people ceased to notice it, enduring it instead with a kind of stoical despair. The weather gave Sarah an excuse to be abroad – head down, shawl drawn over her hair and face – without it being remarked upon. She was sustained in her forays outside by vivid memories of her own glimpse of summer, coloured by her two encounters with Joe. She revisited the meetings time and again, until every word and every nuance were etched on her memory. The one thing she couldn’t bring to mind was what he had said about his return. Was it a week? A month? Had he even given any indication? She simply couldn’t remember.
So Sarah made a point of making detours on her journeys to come back via Tinker’s Way, this being the only fixed location in her encounters with Joe. It felt as though it was the one place where she might happen on him again. Yet after only a week she was forced to abandon this. Two fields ran along the edge of Tinker’s Way, both set on hillsides, and the run-off turned the track into an increasingly muddy morass. At first Sarah had stuck to the grassy edges of the track, persevering in her quest, until these, too, became consumed by mud, at which point she had to admit defeat. Tinker’s Way was impassable and she was going to have to settle with the knowledge that, although she didn’t know where to find Joe, he knew where to find her.
In the end, Joe did find Sarah, just when she was least expecting it. She’d taken advantage of a break in the weather to hang out some washing in the garden, keeping her fingers crossed that the wind, which had accompanied the sunshine, wouldn’t simply push in yet more black clouds. She was busy calculating whether it was worth washing more of the pile of dirty linen, which had grown considerably during the rainy spell, when she was seized around the waist from behind and a hand was clamped over her mouth.
‘Sssh!’ a male voice whispered in her ear and Sarah, heart beating fit to burst, found herself spun around and face to face with Joe.
‘Joe! When did you get back?’ Sarah immediately glanced behind her, back towards the house, fearful that her grandmother would spot her. As she had hoped, the billowing sheets hid them both from view.
‘Just last night,’ he said. ‘And Sarah Gibson was the first person I wanted to see.’
Sarah blushed and bit her lip. ‘How did you get into the garden?’
‘Over t’wall.’ Joe indicated the sizeable dry-stone wall that ran along one edge of the garden. ‘I’ve been waiting out here a while for thee.’
His smile lit up his eyes, just as Sarah remembered, and she felt a huge wave of relief and happiness wash over her. He was back, and he’d come straight around to find her.
‘You mustn’t stay here,’ she said, common sense taking over. ‘If my grandmother sees you, there’ll be trouble.’ She glanced anxiously once more over her shoulder.
‘Later then,’ Joe said. ‘This a’ternoon. I’ll wait by Two-Ways Cross.’ He named a crossroads familiar to Sarah, one that she passed regularly on her way into Northwaite. Then he was gone, vaulting over the wall with ease, before she could gather her wits and reply. She could hear him whistling as he headed away back towards Northwaite.
Sarah struggled to fulfil her household duties that morning. She was glad of the washing, which gave her an excuse to be in and out of the house, for her hands were shaking with nervous excitement and Ada would surely have remarked upon it otherwise. As she had half-expected, the clouds blew in again by late morning and Sarah hastily gathered the washing back in. As she shook it out in the kitchen and found a place for it to dry near the range, the rain came down heavily once more.
‘I do hope this doesn’t last,’ Ada said. ‘I’ve promised Mrs Shepherd that she will have her remedy this afternoon and it looks as though you will get drenched yet again.’ She looked out at the rain and let out a long sigh.
‘No matter,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve become used to it.’ She made an effort not to appear too cheerful or eager at the prospect of venturing out, whilst silently thanking Mrs Shepherd for giving her the excuse she needed to see Joe.
By the time dinner was eaten and the plates cleared away, the rain had eased a little but threatening clouds promised yet more to come.
‘I’ll take shelter if it comes on too hard,’ Sarah said, preparing her grandmother for a possible delayed return. She departed swiftly, heart beating fast at the prospect of seeing Joe. But he was nowhere to be seen at Two-Ways Cross, and although she waited a while, walking up and down to see whether she could observe his approach, she didn’t like to loiter too long. Wondering what might have kept him, and feeling very disconsolate, she made her way to Mrs Shepherd’s house, declining her offers of refreshment with the excuse that she’d like to get back home before the rain came on.
Sarah hurried back through the streets of Northwaite, slowing her steps as she passed The Old Bell. Was it possible that Joe was in there, oblivious to the passage of time? She had no way of finding out; entering would be inconceivable, and loitering with the intention of asking a departing customer whether Joe was there would likely cause a scandal. The door swung open and she peered in, but could make out little of the interior other than figures huddled at the bar, so she put her head down against the rain, which had resumed, borne on a driving wind, and headed back towards home.
At Two-Ways Cross she paused again. After a few moments she could hear whistling, faint at first but drawing ever closer along the road she had just traversed. Her heart leapt. ‘Joe,’ she thought, and sure enough he strode into view shortly after.
‘Well, lass, a’ thought it were you in Northwaite just now.’
She could smell the ale on his breath, but told herself that since he’d been forced to bide his time before meeting her, then of course it was likely he would be in the tavern. She was expecting a kiss but instead he seized her hand and pulled her through a gate leading into the field beside them.
‘We’ll be drownded like rats if we don’t take shelter,’ he said, taking her hand to guide her through the sticky, slippery mud – made even worse by the passage of hooves of cattle – towards the barn, which provided a trysting place less attractive than the deer pool, but no less welcome.
Joe stamped his feet and waved his arms to drive the cattle out into the field to allow them access. The cows had sheltered glumly under a tree at first but then edged back, gathering around the door and bumping into each other as they jostled for space, the breath from their nostrils hanging in the damp air.
As soon as Joe had Sarah safe within the barn, laid on the straw, he fell on her like a man ravenous. She felt a sense of disappointment that he hadn’t wooed her and coaxed her, followed by a feeling of detachment from the situation. Afterwards, he was silent, head turned away from her, and she thought he had fallen asleep. Just when she was beginning to feel that she couldn’t bear the weight of him a moment longer he turned towards her.
‘So, hast thou missed me?’ he said, stroking the side of her face and allowing his fingers to linger as he moved to caress her body. Finally, she felt the stirrings of the feelings that had both sustained her and tormented her over the last few weeks. He trailed his fingers across her belly, then laid his hand flat on it. He looked at her questioningly.
‘With child?’
She shook her head, willing him to go on with his exploration of her.
He bit the flesh on the back of her hand lightly, gazing at her all the while, then grazed her shoulder with his teeth. She shivered and he stopped.
‘Ist thou cold?’
Sarah shook her head again. The weather was chilly for a July day, sodden and damp with rain as it was, but her skin burned. She reached her hands up around his neck and pulled her down to him.
‘If it’s a baby you’re wanting, then you must do something about it,’ she whispered.
He was kissing her more gently now and Sarah was barely aware of the scratch of damp straw against her skin, but a thought she wanted to express kept rising to the surface even though her whole being wished to be simply swept along on a tide of pleasure.
‘You must marry me,’ she murmured.
Joe paused and pulled away to look at her. Had she been too bold? Sarah wondered. Had she made a mistake in voicing this thought out loud, a thought that had taken root and nagged away at her all the time he had been gone?
‘Aye, well, happen I must,’ he said, and fell to kissing her again so that Sarah barely knew whether she had heard him aright.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_1976f1ba-1465-5793-a0c1-690b787fe5e9)
Within a week of Joe’s return, summer was back. He’d joked that the skies had been crying over his departure but now all was well, and it was certainly true that each day brought increased sunshine, a rise in the temperatures and a rapid drying up of the mud.
Sarah used the excuse of needing to see how the herbs that she collected from the wild had fared during the rain as a reason to absent herself from the house. This, along with the delivery of remedies around the area, found her able to arrange meetings with Joe nearly every other day. Ada, absorbed in the nurturing of the herb beds at home, and in the creation of the ointments and remedies, didn’t seem to notice the length of Sarah’s absences. But Sarah found herself made greedy. She had so longed for Joe’s return that now she had him back, an hour or so of his company two or three times a week wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to spend more time with him, to do ordinary things with him. Although she didn’t regret one minute of their fevered assignations, she did find herself wondering what it might be like to sit across the table from him at breakfast, or to prepare a meal for him at the end of the day.
As July and then August passed, and the weather held out, she waited for Joe to speak again of their marriage. Come September, as the month wore on and the leaves started to fall, colder, wetter weather swept in. Outdoor meetings would soon be impossible, Sarah reasoned, and she resolved to raise the subject of marriage with Joe once more. Two events forced her hand. As she straightened her skirt and buttoned her blouse one autumnal afternoon, sheltered this time from the blustery winds by the enclosed nature of the deer pool, which had become their regular trysting place, Joe spoke. He had his back to her as he pulled on his jacket and his voice was casual.
‘I’ll be away from next week. There’s work to be had for a while.’
Sarah stilled her fingers. ‘Will we be married before you go?’ she asked.
Joe still had his back to her when he spoke again. ‘Nay, why the hurry? We can talk on it when I’m back.’
Sarah felt her colour rise along with a rush of anger. ‘And when will that be?’ she demanded.
Joe swung round to face her. ‘Why, tha’ knows I canna say for sure.’
By now, Sarah knew that Joe worked on the canal, taking boats with their loads of cotton, wool and coal up to Manchester. She’d been shocked at first; her grandmother always spoke badly of the canal dwellers, deeming them uneducated, low and thieving folk. Sarah would have liked to be able to refute this but Joe had described his life on the canal to her in the time that they were able to spare for talking when they met. He’d joked about the vegetables that they took from the gardens alongside the canal, and of his prowess as a poacher. He’d offered her pheasants and rabbits but Sarah had laughingly refused, asking him just how did he think she could explain them away to her grandmother?
He’d told her how jobs on the canal could run on for weeks and months, when the arrival of a delivery at its destination could be met with a demand for the boat to transport a new cargo back to the other end of the canal. He’d declined work over the summer in order to be free to spend time with Sarah, he’d said, but could no longer afford to miss the wages.
This time, Sarah had a pressing need to be sure of his return date.
‘I’ve a baby on the way,’ she said.
Joe looked at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom. She would have hazarded a guess at a mixture of pleased, alarmed and wary.
When he didn’t speak, she pressed on.
‘I don’t think I can wait five or six weeks for your return, Joe. I will be showing by then.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Afore I go, then. Afore I go, we will marry.’
He stood up and pulled her to her feet and hugged her close to him. They both stood without speaking for some time, wrapped in their own thoughts.
‘Must I tell my grandmother?’ Sarah spoke hesitantly. She could see no way round it, but couldn’t bear to guess at Ada’s reaction.
‘Nay, lass. Not yet. Let me think on it.’
In fact, it was Sarah who went home that day to think about it. And her thoughts persuaded her that it might be foolish to wait for Joe to organise their wedding, with so little time remaining before he was to go away again. With no idea herself, though, of how to go about organising such a thing, she could see no alternative to telling her grandmother of what had befallen her. This was not an easy conclusion to reach and she passed a restless night, with a good deal of it spent watching the shadows change on the wall as the darkness of the night lifted to reveal a grey dawn.
Even with breakfast on the table, Sarah was no clearer in her mind as to how to approach the topic. She only knew that Ada was likely to be angry; indeed, very angry. Would she forbid the wedding? Sarah wasn’t sure, but she would have to endure much scolding before it could be agreed upon. She could see little point in waiting any longer though. So, as soon as Ada had taken her seat and Sarah had poured tea into her cup, she spoke.
‘I’m to be wed.’
Ada laid down her knife and the piece of bread she was about to butter.
‘I don’t believe I can have heard you correctly. I thought you said you were about to be wed.’
‘Indeed I did,’ said Sarah.
‘And am I to know the name of the bridegroom?’ Ada’s calm reaction was not what Sarah had been expecting.
‘Joe Bancroft. From …’ Sarah hesitated, reluctant to mention Joe’s abode, which would reveal his line of work. ‘From Nortonstall.’
‘And where did you meet this Joe Bancroft?’
‘While I was out gathering lungwort and comfrey.’
Ada picked up her bread and buttered it carefully before speaking. ‘You’re too young, Sarah. You may ask this Joe Bancroft to come to the house to meet me, to see whether he might be a suitable match. With your father and mother away it falls to me to decide such things.’
Sarah looked down at her plate, concentrating hard on the faded painted twists of flowers around the edge while she fought back tears. ‘I must be wed. And within the week.’
Ada’s knife slipped from her fingers and clattered down, striking her plate and falling to the floor.
‘Am I to understand …’ She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
‘There’s to be a baby, yes.’ Sarah tried hard to stay in control but her voice shook and tears spilled down her cheeks.
‘Have you no sense? No shame? Like your mother before you. As if I hadn’t already been shamed once in my own community.’ Ada shook her head. ‘You’re throwing your life away. Like as not he’s a ne’er-do-well, or you wouldn’t find yourself in this situation.’ Her voice rose along with her anger. ‘And why married within the week, might I ask?’
‘He’s to go away for work,’ Sarah said, her voice dwindling almost to a whisper. ‘By the time he gets back, the baby will be well on the way.’
