Chapter 7
In the kitchen, Mama packed baskets with bread and cheese while Jane watched from the rocking chair in the corner and grimaced.
Blythe asked, “Are you well? Is the baby coming?”
Jane shook her head. “Just a few twinges. They will pass in a moment.”
“But what if they do not pass?”
“Stop fussin’, Blythe,” Mama snapped. “Jane knows the difference between a twinge and labour pains. Besides, she must take the elevenses out to the wheat fields. I’m off to the north fields where they’re collecting up the last sheaves of the spring barley.”
“How many times must I say that Jane cannot go out on the cart in her condition? I will go.”
“You can’t go.” Mama counted the baskets under her breath.
“Why not?” Gabriel would be working in the wheat fields. “Or perhaps I can go to the north fields in your stead, and you to the wheat fields.”
“I need to be back before noon, and the wheat fields are too far.”
“I’m happy to do the wheat fields.” Jane pushed herself up, then scowled, rubbing her back.
Why was Jane so intent on pleasing Mama? You cannot talk. But she did not intend to fall back into her old habits.
Blythe nudged Jane back into the chair, and the expectant mother winced again. “You clearly need to rest.”
Mama shook her head.
“I am more than capable of driving the cart to the wheat fields to hand out the elevenses, then returning to help you with the rest of your work.” Blythe held Mama’s narrowed gaze, but she would not be dissuaded. She picked up the basket on the table. “Is this the last one?”
Mama nodded.
“Then I best be off. We cannot allow the harvest hands to go hungry, or they will not return next year.”
After grabbing a straw bonnet, she strode into the yard where two male servants loaded baskets onto two carts. “Which one is intended for the wheat fields?”
“The first one, ma’am.”
After tying her bonnet and placing her basket on the cart, she clambered onto the bench seat. With a click of her tongue and a flick of the reins, the horse set off.
She would show Mama she could still do the duties she did in her younger days. Her skills were rusty but not forgotten.
Guiding the horse out of the gateway, she headed south. Her shoulders relaxed with the gentle sway of the cart. A murder of crows rifled through the stubby remnants in the field to her right. They cawed and dispersed when she approached.
To her left, the workers on Reverend Worthing’s land were gathering up the wheat that had been left to dry in stooks dotted across the field. The men waved their caps. She waved back, then tipped her face to the azure sky. Warm contentment washed over her.
In the fields ahead, reapers swept their long-bladed scythes across the stems of the wheat. Behind them, gleaners gathered up the crops and bound them into sheaves before stacking them into triangular stooks.
She pulled up before the gate. John was showing Elijah a head of wheat and crushing the husk in his hands.
Elijah appeared enraptured by whatever John was saying.
Her heart warmed. Elijah had never shown such interest in his father’s family business.
Was it wrong to expect him to follow in his father’s footsteps without question?
Her dreams had been suppressed by her mother; she did not want the same for her son.
John smiled before calling a halt to work. He approached the gap in the hedgerow with Elijah in tow and opened the gate. “Never thought I’d see you delivering elevenses again. I’m surprised Mam allowed it.”
“I gave her little choice.”
John helped her down from the cart and drew in a long breath that whistled between his teeth. “You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest now.”
“I do not care.” Blythe handed bread rolls to the line of harvest hands. “I am here to be useful, and Jane is struggling with the fatigue of her condition.”
“Is something wrong?” John frowned.
“No, but the babe appears to be quite large.”
“It is probably putting a lot of stress on her spine.” Gabriel’s voice rumbled behind her.
John passed a bottle of cider to a woman for distribution. “She is not due for a few weeks. Could there be a problem?”
“Not necessarily,” Blythe unwrapped a wheel of cheese and broke it into smaller portions. “Because this is her fifth child, the onset of labour pains and the birth could be rapid. It is not uncommon after multiple pregnancies.”
“What are her symptoms?” Gabriel asked.
“Her lower back aches, and she mentioned twinges in her belly.”
John almost choked on a mouthful of cider. “Is the baby on its way?”
“Be calm.” Blythe patted her brother’s back. “Jane did not think so.”
Gabriel grabbed a bottle of the cloudy beverage and filled his tin cup. “She is probably correct; false labour pains are common in the last months of pregnancy. But I shall attend her after we have finished for the day.”
John nodded his thanks, then said, “Now, let’s eat.”
Blythe handed Gabriel a crusty bread roll.
“Thank you.” He grinned and heat flooded her cheeks.
Good heavens, she was the mother of two children. She should not blush simply because a handsome man deigned to smile at her.
She concentrated on handing out cheese. A myriad of accents offered their thanks.
Elijah approached.
“Are you enjoying your time with Uncle John?”
“Yes.” He took the bread she offered and bit into the crust with relish. “Farming is so interesting. Why did you not bring us here before?”
“Your Papa preferred us to remain in York.” Guilt swirled in her stomach at the half-truth.
“I love it here: the fresh air, the sense of industry and accomplishment. I have been scything the wheat, collecting and tying the sheaves, and learning about how to tell when the wheat is ready to harvest. My uncle has been kind enough to explain many things, but I want to know more. It is much more interesting than discussing how to make money.” Elijah took another hearty bite of his bread.
Blythe passed him a bottle of cider. “Here, you must be thirsty.”
He gulped several mouthfuls, then nodded over her shoulder. “I have been speaking to Doctor Sharpe too. Did you know he studied medicine at Edinburgh?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“His knowledge of how the human body works is extensive.” He jogged over to Gabriel.
While they spoke, Gabriel smiled at her over Elijah’s shoulder.
She should focus on her duties rather than fawning over the man she jilted fifteen years ago because she was a coward.
The women whispered with their heads together, between sly glances towards Gabriel. Elijah looked up at the doctor with a bright smile, nodding every few moments.
Mrs Simmonds would be unhappy if Elijah did not follow in his father’s footsteps, but his happiness was more important to her than his grandmother’s approval. Unlike her mother, she would defend and support him, regardless.
Sweat bloomed on the back of her neck by the time she stacked the empty baskets on the cart.
“Now then, what’s a fine woman like you doing here?”
Who would dare to address her without being introduced?
A tall, wide-chested man with deep-brown skin swept off his straw hat and bowed. “Thomas Kemp, Lord of the Harvest, at your service.” The rising inflection of his south-west vernacular was soft and melodic.
Blythe could not stop the wide smile that spread across her face. Even in York, as the wife of an esteemed businessman, she was not greeted with such aplomb.
She dipped her chin. “Mrs Simmonds, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kemp.”
“So, you are Mrs Simmonds, the famous beauty of the parish, returned to the bosom of her family.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I would not go so far, but thank you, Mr Kemp.”
He leaned into his scythe. “I’m pleased to see the rumours are true, for I’ve heard nothing but exclamations of the charms of Blythe Simmonds, née Dixon, since I started working here seven seasons ago.
I’m happy to discover that those exclamations are founded.
” The Lord of the Harvest winked. “If you’ll allow me to say so, you’re a fine beauty, Mrs Simmonds, one that fair steals my breath. ”
Good heavens, her lips twitched at the man’s roguish charm. “You are too kind, Mr Kemp.”
“I hope you’ll do me the honour of standing up with me at the harvest supper.”
Now she was no longer in mourning, she could do as she pleased, including dancing with the nomadic harvest hands. “It would be my pleasure, Mr Kemp.”
He brought her knuckles to his lips. “I hope we meet again in the meantime, Mrs Simmonds.”
“I suppose we may.”
His impish grin highlighted his handsome countenance, despite his sweat-dampened forehead. He replaced his hat before claiming a cup of cider.
She followed his cocky swagger until her gaze met Gabriel’s.
His brow furrowed before he returned his attention to Elijah.
Any joy she had gained from her brief flirtation evaporated.
John signalled that the time had come to return to work, and everyone rose with weary sighs.
She checked that everything on the cart was secure before untying the reins from the gatepost. As she climbed aboard, firm hands grasped her waist and hefted her onto the bench. She turned to find Gabriel below her. “Thank—”
“Beware of Kemp. He has a reputation for misleading women and leaving a trail of heartbreak in his wake.” Gabriel scowled.
Before she could reply, he stalked back to the field and collected his scythe.
She stared at his broad back. Her skin tingled with the imprint of his hands.
Perhaps it was too much to have expected that they could return to being friends. She flicked the reins and headed back to the farm.