Read Online The Silver Bough by Lisa Tuttle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Tuttle
Ads: Link
Appleton. There are no abbeys or medieval settlements in the area, which was only sparsely populated in early times, without even a named village on the peninsula dubbed “Apple Island” (Innis Ubhall) by the Gaelic-speaking natives. When the first apples were grown there is a matter of some dispute, but by Victorian times Appleton was famous for cider and several particularly fine varieties of eating apple. However, despite a folk tradition that the Lowland settlers named their new town after the wild apple orchards they found there, it seems likely the first apple orchards were planted no earlier than 1669, with stock imported from eastern and central-southern Scotland. The annual Apple Fayre, which attracted visitors from many parts (see picture, below), was almost certainly a Victorian invention inspired by similar English festivals, with a few Scottish traditions rather obviously grafted on. (The “dark stranger” who brings good fortune to the whole town by crowning the Apple Queen will be recognized as the preferred “first-footer” of New Year celebrations.)
Mass importation of apples from America and Australia hit the home-grown industry in Britain hard, but Appleton remained miraculously immune from the worst effects for many years, with a growing demand for Appleton cider in all parts of Great Britain right up to 1950; in addition, a small but loyal group of buyers continued to favour “Appleton’s Fairest,” an eating apple never successfully grown outside the orchards of Appleton and now, sadly, lost forever.
N ELL WOKE SUDDENLY in the depths of night, alarmed out of sleep by a noise that was more than mere sound, as if an invasive, physical presence had shaken the house. For a moment, disoriented, she thought a drunken stranger had broken in and commenced smashing furniture in the rooms below. The noise continued to die away with a bouncing, pattering sound, as of bits and pieces falling and sliding across the floor. There was something visceral and deeply disturbing about it.
As she became more alert, she recognized how unlikely this nightmare scenario was. She lived in the peaceful countryside, with no enemies or drunken relatives to fear. Even if some mad stranger had made his way up the hill to her house, there would be no need to break in, as she’d almost certainly left her door unlocked, as usual. Besides, the noise was not coming from inside.
She pushed herself up in bed and held her breath, but there was nothing to hear except the ordinary natural sounds she’d grown used to; the sounds she’d once called silence. The rain had stopped, allowing the low, urgent murmuring of the stream to come through more clearly. She tried to remember what had disturbed her sleep: something cracking and breaking; something falling and sliding and settling; something large and very close.
Her thoughts flew to the old walled garden. Of course, the trees would be all right; they were young and healthy, and although the recent steady downpour meant the ground was waterlogged, they were in no immediate danger. They were fine when she saw them yesterday afternoon, and even if the night’s gusts had been of gale force—which she was sure they hadn’t—the walls would protect them. But if one of the walls had fallen?
As soon as she thought it, the image was disturbingly clear in her mind. It would be the south wall: the one she’d thought too sound to need repairing. Or perhaps the west wall, which had been rebuilt from scratch. It had seemed so strong and solid; but what if the builders had used some kind of cheap, inferior cement that the past four days of rain had turned to mush…
Although she knew she could do nothing about it by herself in the middle of the night, she would not be able to sleep again until she
knew.
Switching on the bedside lamp, she got up and rooted about in the pile on the armchair in the corner until she unearthed some leggings, socks, and a heavy sweatshirt, then
Mass importation of apples from America and Australia hit the home-grown industry in Britain hard, but Appleton remained miraculously immune from the worst effects for many years, with a growing demand for Appleton cider in all parts of Great Britain right up to 1950; in addition, a small but loyal group of buyers continued to favour “Appleton’s Fairest,” an eating apple never successfully grown outside the orchards of Appleton and now, sadly, lost forever.
N ELL WOKE SUDDENLY in the depths of night, alarmed out of sleep by a noise that was more than mere sound, as if an invasive, physical presence had shaken the house. For a moment, disoriented, she thought a drunken stranger had broken in and commenced smashing furniture in the rooms below. The noise continued to die away with a bouncing, pattering sound, as of bits and pieces falling and sliding across the floor. There was something visceral and deeply disturbing about it.
As she became more alert, she recognized how unlikely this nightmare scenario was. She lived in the peaceful countryside, with no enemies or drunken relatives to fear. Even if some mad stranger had made his way up the hill to her house, there would be no need to break in, as she’d almost certainly left her door unlocked, as usual. Besides, the noise was not coming from inside.
She pushed herself up in bed and held her breath, but there was nothing to hear except the ordinary natural sounds she’d grown used to; the sounds she’d once called silence. The rain had stopped, allowing the low, urgent murmuring of the stream to come through more clearly. She tried to remember what had disturbed her sleep: something cracking and breaking; something falling and sliding and settling; something large and very close.
Her thoughts flew to the old walled garden. Of course, the trees would be all right; they were young and healthy, and although the recent steady downpour meant the ground was waterlogged, they were in no immediate danger. They were fine when she saw them yesterday afternoon, and even if the night’s gusts had been of gale force—which she was sure they hadn’t—the walls would protect them. But if one of the walls had fallen?
As soon as she thought it, the image was disturbingly clear in her mind. It would be the south wall: the one she’d thought too sound to need repairing. Or perhaps the west wall, which had been rebuilt from scratch. It had seemed so strong and solid; but what if the builders had used some kind of cheap, inferior cement that the past four days of rain had turned to mush…
Although she knew she could do nothing about it by herself in the middle of the night, she would not be able to sleep again until she
knew.
Switching on the bedside lamp, she got up and rooted about in the pile on the armchair in the corner until she unearthed some leggings, socks, and a heavy sweatshirt, then
Similar Books
