Page 19 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

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.