Page 6 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

Violet pouted. “I want to go home. Grandmama Simmonds will not be happy to learn that I have been collecting eggs or milking cows.”

“Then I suggest you refrain from telling her when you write,” Blythe said through gritted teeth.

The open fields gave way to the stout, red-brick buildings of Midthorpe.

Those butterflies in her stomach became a swarm.

They passed the empty yard of the coaching inn. On the sign, the now faded and peeling black horse reared above.

She could not help but crane her neck when the carriage rolled over the crest of the medieval bridge across the beck and down the dusty road through the centre of Midthorpe.

A joyful peal of bells rang from the square tower of the Anglo-Saxon church. The great oak spread its sturdy branches across the village green. It would not be long before the leaves carpeted the ground in burnished orange and brown. At any other time of year, boys would be scampering across the grass. Now, they were out in the fields.

At the edge of the green, a fiery glow emanated from the wide-open doors of the smithy. Had Samuel Farrer taken over from his father? Did his own children work with him now?

Bowed windows displayed hats in the milliner's, and reams of fabric and ribbons in the haberdashery. A side of beef hung on a hook outside the butcher's, and golden loaves sat in rows in the baker’s window.

At the junction remained a double-fronted shop. In bright yellow lettering, the words Sharpe’s Apothecary stood out against the dark green paintwork. Guilt and delight warred within her.

A group of women stood on the corner. In unison, they gawped at the carriage when it took the south road. She jerked her head away. Perhaps she need not venture into the village during her stay.

The carriage rolled on. They passed the silent tavern, and terraced cottages became open fields once again. After a few minutes, they reached a wide gateway with the word Silverdale carved into the stone arch. The pigsty, the dairy and the stables lined the left side of the wide courtyard. Ahead, the barn doors remained open, and chickens fluttered and squawked when the carriage approached.

To the right, her heart swelled at the sight of her garden. Runner beans and pea vines climbed the brick walls, and the raised beds brimmed with lush green leaves.

Home, she was home.

Between the dusty dirt of the yard and the row of bright yellow and orange trailing nasturtiums that marked the edge of her garden, a maid stood with a sheet before the washing line on which already hung several shifts and shirts. The girl dropped the sheet into the wicker basket at her feet and ran into the house through the side door.

The carriage halted before the pointed-arched oak front door of the farmhouse.

Blythe inhaled, and the footman unfolded the step before helping her to alight. The limestone house rose two stories high. Pale pink roses climbed up to the slanted roof.

The studded door opened.

Blythe held her breath when Mama walked into the yard and stood before them, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Look at you all.” Mama wrapped Blythe in her arms, and she sank into her mother’s embrace.

Mama whispered, “I said there was no need to visit.”

All sense of comfort evaporated. Be strong, Blythe. “I came, regardless.”

Her mother stiffened. “We shall discuss this later.”

Oh, she had no doubt. Blythe gestured to her children and said, “Mama, allow me to introduce Elijah and Violet.”

Elijah bowed and Violet curtsied.

Mama put a hand to her chest. “Such a fine gentleman and young lady!” She turned to Blythe and said, “You’ve fair made me proud, Blythe.”

Pride had never been a problem.

Mama leaned down and kissed her grandchildren. “How well-turned-out you are.” She ran a thumb down Elijah’s cheek. “So smart and handsome.” To Violet, she said, “And you are as beautiful as your dear Mama was at your age, and what a pretty frock!”

Violet beamed under her grandparent’s praise.

“Come, we will drink tea in the parlour.” She took Violet’s hand and led her inside. It was clear who was now Mama’s favourite.