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Authors: Gwen Kirkwood
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black dress would be very suitable for the Fair,â she said diffidently, unwilling to disappoint him. âAnd it is much too soon to wear my muslin dress. Besides ...âshe hesitated, reluctant to say she had no pennies to spend on the rides and coconut stalls and all the other pleasure of the fairground.
âYou can wear my grey silk dress,â Meg offered at once. âIt was always a little tight and it does not fit at all now. In fact you may keep it.â Gertrude scowled. Meg pretended not to see. The grey silk dress was the one her mother had insisted she should wear after they came out of mourning for Josh. If Gertrude had had her way they would all have worn black for the rest of their lives.
So, despite clouds of disapproval, Ross and Rachel took the pony and trap and set out for the annual Bank Holiday Fair promising to be back for milking. Meg had no heart for celebrations but her mother was not placated by her presence.
The sky was overcast but nothing could dampen their spirits, just being alone together was enough. Ross did not have much money to spend either and for the first time he understood why Willie and Ruth kept their own cow and a few hens and a pig, why John Landell had insisted his daughter should have her own cottage and a bit of land. It was just as well that Ruthâs father had enough money to be generous to his daughter and his grandchildren. They would have had few pleasures otherwise.
No one had much money these days but the holiday atmosphere and the music would have cheered all but the most melancholy hearts. After a couple of rides on the gaily coloured horses, Ross won two ribbons for Rachelâs hair. Eventually they came to a stall selling sticky buns and one next to it with large savoury pasties.
âShall we buy something to eat and find a quiet place to ourselves?â Ross asked. His eyes met hers and Rachel saw the desire in them. Her colour deepened. Twice more he had loved her and each time was better than before. Her stomach seemed to turn upside down as her own desire quickened. She nodded, her eyes bright, her colour high.
It was a day to remember and they sang softly together as they jogged along the narrow leafy lanes back to Windlebrae. It was the first time Rachel had been away from the farm, other than the walk to the kirk. She was completely lost as the narrow roads turned and twisted and crossed over but Dolly, the pony, seemed to know instinctively which way to go and Ross claimed Rachelâs attention as they jogged along with his arm around her waist.
All too soon the corn was ripe and the field of oats was cut and stooked. It was vital that it had wind and sun to dry it out and harden the grain so that it would keep until it was thrashed in winter. Several times in the next fortnight the rain came down in torrents. All the carefully erected stooks had to be moved to dry ground like so many Indian wigwams. Rachel felt lethargic. Her limbs seemed leaden. It was an awful effort to gather up the cows from the meadow and bring them in for milking, but at last the corn was safely gathered into two round stacks.
Two days after the harvest was finished Rachel suffered a bout of sickness. Meg rose before anyone else in the mornings to gather in the cows ready for morning milking. On this particular morning at the beginning of October she had just left the bedroom when Rachel swung her legs over the bed. The wave of nausea came as a shock and she reached for the chamber pot. She soon felt better. She was not one to make a fuss.
The next few mornings she felt slightly dizzy but she decided the mild illness had passed so it was a shock the following morning when a sudden wave of sickness came over her. She ran to the midden. She was thankful no one had witnessed such indignity â or so she believed. The same thing occurred the next morning but this time she managed to gain the privacy of the closet. It took her a little while to recover.
âYou can wear my grey silk dress,â Meg offered at once. âIt was always a little tight and it does not fit at all now. In fact you may keep it.â Gertrude scowled. Meg pretended not to see. The grey silk dress was the one her mother had insisted she should wear after they came out of mourning for Josh. If Gertrude had had her way they would all have worn black for the rest of their lives.
So, despite clouds of disapproval, Ross and Rachel took the pony and trap and set out for the annual Bank Holiday Fair promising to be back for milking. Meg had no heart for celebrations but her mother was not placated by her presence.
The sky was overcast but nothing could dampen their spirits, just being alone together was enough. Ross did not have much money to spend either and for the first time he understood why Willie and Ruth kept their own cow and a few hens and a pig, why John Landell had insisted his daughter should have her own cottage and a bit of land. It was just as well that Ruthâs father had enough money to be generous to his daughter and his grandchildren. They would have had few pleasures otherwise.
No one had much money these days but the holiday atmosphere and the music would have cheered all but the most melancholy hearts. After a couple of rides on the gaily coloured horses, Ross won two ribbons for Rachelâs hair. Eventually they came to a stall selling sticky buns and one next to it with large savoury pasties.
âShall we buy something to eat and find a quiet place to ourselves?â Ross asked. His eyes met hers and Rachel saw the desire in them. Her colour deepened. Twice more he had loved her and each time was better than before. Her stomach seemed to turn upside down as her own desire quickened. She nodded, her eyes bright, her colour high.
It was a day to remember and they sang softly together as they jogged along the narrow leafy lanes back to Windlebrae. It was the first time Rachel had been away from the farm, other than the walk to the kirk. She was completely lost as the narrow roads turned and twisted and crossed over but Dolly, the pony, seemed to know instinctively which way to go and Ross claimed Rachelâs attention as they jogged along with his arm around her waist.
All too soon the corn was ripe and the field of oats was cut and stooked. It was vital that it had wind and sun to dry it out and harden the grain so that it would keep until it was thrashed in winter. Several times in the next fortnight the rain came down in torrents. All the carefully erected stooks had to be moved to dry ground like so many Indian wigwams. Rachel felt lethargic. Her limbs seemed leaden. It was an awful effort to gather up the cows from the meadow and bring them in for milking, but at last the corn was safely gathered into two round stacks.
Two days after the harvest was finished Rachel suffered a bout of sickness. Meg rose before anyone else in the mornings to gather in the cows ready for morning milking. On this particular morning at the beginning of October she had just left the bedroom when Rachel swung her legs over the bed. The wave of nausea came as a shock and she reached for the chamber pot. She soon felt better. She was not one to make a fuss.
The next few mornings she felt slightly dizzy but she decided the mild illness had passed so it was a shock the following morning when a sudden wave of sickness came over her. She ran to the midden. She was thankful no one had witnessed such indignity â or so she believed. The same thing occurred the next morning but this time she managed to gain the privacy of the closet. It took her a little while to recover.
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