Sarah’s Story: An emotional family saga that you won’t be able to put down

Chapter 4

‘There’s a man at the gate, Sarah. We’re not expecting visitors, are we?’

Ada’s tone was querulous. She’d had a bad night, in pain from the rheumatism that plagued her hands and feet at different times of the year, and she wasn’t in the mood for the niceties that a social visit would demand. Sarah peered out of the window over her grandmother’s shoulder and had to suppress a gasp.

Standing at the gate, cap set at a jaunty angle, a bright-red neckerchief tucked in the neck of his canvas shirt and wearing a different waistcoat, but no jacket in recognition of the warmth of the day, was Joe Bancroft.

‘I’ll go and ask him what he wants,’ Sarah said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll send him on his way.’

Without waiting for her grandmother’s response, she opened the door and marched down the path. Joe swept his cap from his head with a flourish and bowed at her approach.

‘Good day, Sarah Gibson. I was just passing by and thought to ask whether you or your grandmother had need of help? Aught to be fixed around the house or garden?’ The expression on Joe’s face was one of guileless friendliness.

‘How did you find me here, Joseph Bancroft?’ Sarah was quite fired up. ‘It’s most forward of you to call on me at home in this way.’ She was almost spluttering with indignation at his behaviour.

Sarah had quite forgotten how she had sought out Joe the previous day, as well as how she had been longing to see him again ever since. Now, concerned that he had tracked her down in her own home, she felt quite wrong-footed. Joe, who seemed mildly amused rather than put out by her greeting, was looking over her shoulder.

‘Those roses there –’ he pointed at Sarah’s favourite crimson blooms ‘– would they be the ones scenting your cheeks yesterday?’

Sarah’s blush was as crimson as the rose petals. She was caught out in her vanity and embarrassed by it. But Joe’s face had changed in an instant. He spoke low and urgently.

‘Sarah Gibson, I must see you again. I’ve not been able to get thee from my mind the whole night through. Meet me tomorrow at the edge of Tinker’s Wood.’

Sarah shook her head, half turning as she heard her grandmother open the door.

Joe spoke again. ‘I must go away awhile tomorrow night. But first I must see you.’

‘Sarah, come away back inside.’ Ada’s tone was sharp and Sarah turned at once to go in.

‘Tomorrow. At midday. I will wait,’ Joe said.

Sarah turned back in time to catch Joe doffing his cap to both her and Ada, before he assumed his air of jaunty insouciance once more and went on his way, whistling.

‘What did he want?’ Ada demanded as soon as Sarah stepped over the threshold. ‘He looked nothing better than a tinker. I hope we’ll not be robbed in our beds tonight.’

Sarah’s mood switched quickly once more and she felt rage welling up inside her at her grandmother’s words. How could she refer to Joe in this way, as a tinker and a potential thief? She did her best to remain calm, however, determined not to reveal that she had any prior acquaintance with Joe.

‘Oh, he just wondered whether we had any jobs around the house or garden that required a man’s hand. He was most polite in his manner. I don’t think we have anything to fear from him.’

Sarah busied herself with folding laundry, hoping that she had allayed her grandmother’s worries, all the while prey to violently mixed emotions. Despite her cross words to Joe, she knew without a doubt that she would try to meet him at Tinker’s Wood the next day. When he had said that he’d been unable to get her from his mind the whole night through, a thrill had run through her. No one had ever said such a thing to her before. It was a secret, and she must keep it to herself, yet it gave her a delicious feeling of power.

She wished her sisters still lived there with her – she would have shared Joe’s words with them and asked them for their help. The laughing and giggling this would have provoked would no doubt have irritated Ada but, as it was, she had no one to turn to – and no one to help her effect her plans. At midday the next day her grandmother would expect Sarah to be at home, preparing their meal, not heading off over the fields to a secret assignation.

Although Sarah tried very hard to apply herself to the tasks set by her grandmother for the remainder of that day, her concentration was woefully lacking. While transferring the herbal distillations to smaller containers she overfilled the bottles, allowing the liquid to pour over the sides unchecked and so earning a scolding from Ada. She let the potatoes boil dry while preparing the midday meal, being too busy staring unseeing out of the window to notice anything amiss until a smell of burning snapped her out of her reverie. Sent out to gather may blossom from the hawthorn hedge bordering the garden she wandered off and came back empty-handed after an hour, having been distracted by watching a weasel hunting baby rabbits in the field beyond.

Ada was quite exasperated by the time bedtime arrived. ‘Well, child, I don’t know where your head has been today. I hope tomorrow brings a better state of affairs. After you have helped me to Nancy’s house in the morning, I suggest you use your free time usefully to consider your behaviour today. When you fetch me back later you can tell me what you have learnt.’

Sarah stared in astonishment at her grandmother, then collected herself. Having spent most of the day trying to work out how she could find an excuse for yet another herb-gathering trip to Tinker’s Wood, she was both amazed and alarmed at being given the solution to her problem by the very person she had expected to be an obstacle to her plan.

Sarah always found it difficult to sleep on summer evenings, when it was still light outside while the household was abed. That night was no exception and she tossed and turned, hot with anxiety and anticipation, until she could have sworn that she’d slept not a wink and here it was, already light again but this time with the freshness of dawn.

In the morning she helped her grandmother into her visiting clothes, doing up the tiny and fiddly buttons without complaint, and took extra care over breakfast. She even brought in a rose from the garden to set on the breakfast table. Sarah had washed up the breakfast dishes and finished her chores long before her grandmother considered herself ready to leave, but she did her best not to show any signs of impatience.

The sun was high in the sky before they set off to walk to Nancy’s cottage in Northwaite and Sarah calculated she would need to hurry if she was to reach Tinker’s Wood within a half-hour of Joe’s appointed meeting time. Despite feeling faint with apprehension, she did her best to be attentive to her grandmother as they made their way to Nancy’s house.

‘Now, child, I will be expecting you not a moment past four in the afternoon,’ Ada said. ‘You know that I can’t abide the way Nancy goes on, but with the sorrow she’s had, well …’ Ada sighed. Her bag held a variety of remedies requested by Nancy, whose husband’s death had been followed not long after by the deaths of her daughter Jean’s youngest children. Jean’s subsequent nervous collapse had left Nancy to care for the family until her daughter regained enough strength to return to the farmwork that had supported them, albeit in the most meagre of ways, since her husband had walked out on them.

Ada had expressed a belief that the loss of the two youngest had been a blessing in disguise. ‘Two less mouths to feed,’ she’d said, and looked surprised when Sarah had shushed her with an expression of horror.

Now Sarah kissed her grandmother on the cheek and wished her a pleasant afternoon, waving a greeting to Nancy as she stood at the door, before she took herself off at what she hoped was a seemly pace. Once out of view of Nancy’s house she broke into a run, stopping only once to retrieve her bonnet, which she’d failed to fasten well enough, so it had shaken itself free of her curls.

She slowed her pace when she reached the field that led up to Tinker’s Wood, the trees on its northern edge perched on the crest of the hill. If Joe should be watching, she didn’t want to appear over-eager, nor did she want to arrive too promptly, which would also have suggested too obvious a desire to please him.

As she reached the brow of the hill, she scanned the edge of the wood for a flash of colour, a sign that Joe was waiting there. But no one was to be seen. Sarah slowed her pace yet more. Was she early? A glance at the sun showed her timing to be correct, so it had to be that he was late.

She sought out the spot where they had sat before and settled down, plucking disconsolately at the grass around her. She felt half-inclined to go home, since he couldn’t be bothered to keep an arrangement he’d made, but all the nervous anticipation that she had endured over the last day kept her there. Scanning the field and the path that skirted it, she looked for signs of movement, but there were none. The countryside drowsed in the heat and she began to feel sleepy herself after her restless night. She wondered whether it would spoil her clothes if she lay back in the grass for a nap.

The hands placed over her eyes took her totally by surprise but the sensation of the rough skin on the fingers told her who it was, even as she gasped out loud. Joe had crept up behind her with the practised silence of a poacher.

‘And what might you be doing here on such a fine day, Sarah Gibson?’ Joe asked.

‘You know well enough, Joseph Bancroft,’ Sarah retorted. ‘And where, may I ask, have you been?’

Joe held up his hands in supplication. ‘Ah, I had things to attend to that took longer than I thought. But here I am now.’

Sarah noticed his failure to offer an apology but, aware of the time already lost from the little they had available to spend in each other’s company, she refrained from remarking on it.

‘Look,’ Joe said, ‘I brought us summat to share.’ He pulled some bread, cheese and a couple of bottles of ale from the pockets of his jacket. Sarah regarded the ale doubtfully but was glad of his forethought in bringing food; the sight of it made her realise how hungry she was, having been too nervous to breakfast well.

‘And,’ Joe said, holding out his hand to pull her to her feet, ‘I know a place in t’woods where we can eat, away from the heat and prying eyes.’

Sarah was glad of this too; she had been fearful that one of the villagers might have cause to pass along the track below and spy her there. She shook out her skirt and followed Joe into the wood, wondering at his surefootedness when there seemed to be barely a path.

Chapter 5

Joe led them deep into the wood, to a small clearing hidden a little way from the nearest path. Sarah marvelled that he could find it. The narrowest of tracks suggested that animals were the only ones to pass this way and, when the path opened into a clearing with a wall of rock behind it, Sarah saw there was a small pool at the foot of it. ‘’Tis used by the deer,’ Joe answered when she questioned him, and he busied himself spreading out his jacket for them to sit on, and laying out the food.

The first time he offered her the bottle of ale, Sarah demurred. Her grandmother never touched a drop and expected her to follow suit; she’d tried it once at a village celebration and had not been at all taken by it. After Joe had taken several large swigs, he offered her the bottle again and she felt it might seem churlish to refuse. So she took it from him, wiped the neck and took a couple of sips before offering it back.

Joe laughed at her. ‘Why, tha’s barely let a drop past thy lips. Here –’ and he handed it straight back to her ‘– tha’ needs more’n that when it be so hot.’

Sarah took a bolder swig and tried not to splutter. It did, it is true, have a pleasing effect. It seemed to help ease the anxiety that still knotted her stomach, so she drank deeply once more. Joe laughed again and reached over to take the bottle from her, his fingers brushing hers as he did so.

‘Now you have a taste for it,’ he teased. ‘And I must fight for my share.’ He pulled her towards him playfully and cupped her chin, gazing into her eyes. ‘Will tha’ miss me when I’m gone, Sarah Gibson?’ He used his hand to make her nod her head and they both burst out laughing. In the next instant, his lips were on hers and her hands were in his hair.

‘Ah, Sarah, Sarah,’ he murmured into her neck. He ran his hands up and down her back and she shivered at his touch, lost in the sensation. His hands found their way beneath her skirt to caress her legs, her thighs. She stiffened and tried to pull away from him but he kissed her again and undid the buttons on her blouse one by one, running his fingers over the curve of her breasts and whispering ‘Sarah, oh Sarah,’ over and over until she found she had allowed herself to be laid gently on the grass whilst his hands explored every inch of her beneath her clothes. She took delight in his touch and in the secrecy of the situation. She had never been the focus of anyone’s attention before – certainly not in such a way – and she didn’t want it to stop.

Afterwards, it was as if she had emerged from some kind of enchantment. Joe had his back to her, tucking in his shirt, and she lay and gazed up at the trees overhead, watching the patterns that their leaves made against the sky. There was something about the quality of the light that made her sit up suddenly, fearful of what time it was.

Joe was silent on their way back to the edge of the wood, but when they reached it he turned her to face him. ‘I was your first.’ It was a statement rather than a question but Sarah nodded, at a loss for words. He pulled her to him, in a rough hug that all but knocked the air out of her, then held her away from him at arm’s length.

‘Look after yourself, Sarah Gibson. And look out for me when I get back.’

Then he set off at a great pace down the hill and did not turn round once, leaving Sarah to watch him go, fearful of how late she might be to meet her grandmother. With Joe no longer at her side, she wasn’t sure that what had just happened was such a good idea, after all. She felt in desperate need of some time to herself to think it all over but, once Joe had reached the bottom of the hill, Sarah set off in the same direction. When she arrived back at Nancy’s house, her grandmother and Nancy were in the front garden, talking, and Sarah was suddenly hopeful that she wasn’t too tardy.

‘There you are, girl! I was beginning to wonder what had become of you.’ Ada didn’t sound particularly annoyed, so perhaps it had been a good visit.

‘I’m sorry, Gran.’ Sarah hesitated. ‘I fell asleep at home. I hope I’m not late.’

‘You’d have done better to make time to tidy yourself up before you left,’ Ada said, giving Sarah a critical look.

She blushed, hoping that what had just occurred by the deer pool wasn’t as obvious to others as it felt to her, but her grandmother had turned back to Nancy to discuss some aspect of the garden, leaving Sarah free to indulge in her thoughts until it was time to go home to Hill Farm Cottage.

Chapter 6

The weather turned while Joe was away. The early promise of summer was washed away in week after week of rain. The farmers were in despair as their crops failed to prosper and began to rot in the fields. Cows and sheep huddled together, taking whatever shelter they could. As time passed with no sign of the rain abating, their owners were forced to drive them back to their winter quarters, worrying all the while about whether they could afford to feed them for the rest of the year.

Sarah, although not oblivious to the weather, was unaffected by the misery around her. She was too wrapped up in her own private longing, which created a purgatory all of its own. She had no knowledge of when Joe might return, but also no knowledge of how and when to find him if and when he did. She trudged through the mud on errands for Ada, returning each time with skirts soaked and muddied and boots that had barely dried out before her feet must go into them again for another journey.

After the first week of rain, people ceased to notice it, enduring it instead with a kind of stoical despair. The weather gave Sarah an excuse to be abroad – head down, shawl drawn over her hair and face – without it being remarked upon. She was sustained in her forays outside by vivid memories of her own glimpse of summer, coloured by her two encounters with Joe. She revisited the meetings time and again, until every word and every nuance were etched on her memory. The one thing she couldn’t bring to mind was what he had said about his return. Was it a week? A month? Had he even given any indication? She simply couldn’t remember.

So Sarah made a point of making detours on her journeys to come back via Tinker’s Way, this being the only fixed location in her encounters with Joe. It felt as though it was the one place where she might happen on him again. Yet after only a week she was forced to abandon this. Two fields ran along the edge of Tinker’s Way, both set on hillsides, and the run-off turned the track into an increasingly muddy morass. At first Sarah had stuck to the grassy edges of the track, persevering in her quest, until these, too, became consumed by mud, at which point she had to admit defeat. Tinker’s Way was impassable and she was going to have to settle with the knowledge that, although she didn’t know where to find Joe, he knew where to find her.

In the end, Joe did find Sarah, just when she was least expecting it. She’d taken advantage of a break in the weather to hang out some washing in the garden, keeping her fingers crossed that the wind, which had accompanied the sunshine, wouldn’t simply push in yet more black clouds. She was busy calculating whether it was worth washing more of the pile of dirty linen, which had grown considerably during the rainy spell, when she was seized around the waist from behind and a hand was clamped over her mouth.

‘Sssh!’ a male voice whispered in her ear and Sarah, heart beating fit to burst, found herself spun around and face to face with Joe.

‘Joe! When did you get back?’ Sarah immediately glanced behind her, back towards the house, fearful that her grandmother would spot her. As she had hoped, the billowing sheets hid them both from view.

‘Just last night,’ he said. ‘And Sarah Gibson was the first person I wanted to see.’

Sarah blushed and bit her lip. ‘How did you get into the garden?’

‘Over t’wall.’ Joe indicated the sizeable dry-stone wall that ran along one edge of the garden. ‘I’ve been waiting out here a while for thee.’

His smile lit up his eyes, just as Sarah remembered, and she felt a huge wave of relief and happiness wash over her. He was back, and he’d come straight around to find her.

‘You mustn’t stay here,’ she said, common sense taking over. ‘If my grandmother sees you, there’ll be trouble.’ She glanced anxiously once more over her shoulder.

‘Later then,’ Joe said. ‘This a’ternoon. I’ll wait by Two-Ways Cross.’ He named a crossroads familiar to Sarah, one that she passed regularly on her way into Northwaite. Then he was gone, vaulting over the wall with ease, before she could gather her wits and reply. She could hear him whistling as he headed away back towards Northwaite.

Sarah struggled to fulfil her household duties that morning. She was glad of the washing, which gave her an excuse to be in and out of the house, for her hands were shaking with nervous excitement and Ada would surely have remarked upon it otherwise. As she had half-expected, the clouds blew in again by late morning and Sarah hastily gathered the washing back in. As she shook it out in the kitchen and found a place for it to dry near the range, the rain came down heavily once more.