Page 17

T he sun was cresting the tops of the oak trees when Hannah and Ophelia emerged from the house into the farmyard after breakfast. The ginger barn cat leapt down from the fence rail and slouched over to weave itself around Ophelia’s legs.

She stooped to scratch its back, fingertips moving over the knobby ridges of the cat’s spine.

It purred and flopped down to expose a long white strip of belly.

Hannah laughed. “Yer like a fae, Ophelia, charming all the animals around you.”

Ophelia snorted in response. “’Tis because I was never allowed a pet as a child.

My father only believed in animals for work, even the dogs he kept were only for hunting.

I tried to bring a treat to the dogs once and he caned my hand.

Said it made them soft and they needed to be sharp.

” She stopped petting the cat and looked over at Hannah.

“I suppose I always felt the animals might be my friends where people had failed to be.”

Hannah nodded. “I had no pets of me own, neither. No place for that in service, and once I were on me own, I’d no money to spare for that sort o’ thing.

’Tis horrible lonely on your own, isn’t it?

The first time I ever felt cared for was after joining the WSPU.

The other women looked out for me, looked after each other.

I felt as content as that cat there.” She gestured to the cat, indolent under Ophelia’s fingers.

“A funny thing isn’t it, that loneliness can come to anyone, monied or poor, educated or not. ”

Ophelia nodded, thinking about the difference in their lives, how easily she might never have met Hannah, nor gotten to know how strong and intelligent she was, how fiercely she fought to survive in a world that told her women were worth little.

In a strange way, having her hand forced by her father was the catalyst for some of the best things in Ophelia’s life; joining the WLA, meeting Hannah, Bess, and Mrs. Darling, understanding that she could direct the course of her life, that she was capable of so much more than she had ever known.

She nodded, thinking as she spoke. “I didn’t know that women could have such different lives, come from different classes, and still have so many of the same experiences.

Even though I hated the way my father spoke about people who were from lower classes than ourselves, I suppose I still thought of them that way .

.. as other than us. I truly thought you and I had nothing in common.

I’m embarrassed, really, at how callow I was, how unquestioning .

.. I know I’ll be learning a new way of seeing the world for a long time. ”

“Ah, come now, Ophelia. You couldn’t have known what you weren’t taught.

And you’re practically a card-carrying suffragette now,” Hannah said with a smile.

“In any case, that’s why Mrs. Pankhurst was always saying we’ve to spread the word .

.. though we wear no mark, we are everywhere,” Hannah intoned.

“So she says, in every class from high to low.” Hannah’s face always lit when she spoke of the cause and Ophelia felt grateful for the other woman’s willingness to overlook her flat-footed understanding of how the world worked outside the bounds of the gentry.

“Speaking of animals”—Hannah shot a sly look at Ophelia—“that was quite the breakfast after Mr. Bone arrived with the War Ag man, wasn’t it? Thought Mrs. Darling might toss him in the dung heap for a minute there.”

Ophelia laughed. “I was surprised to see him, too. I’ve never been certain what the story is about their past, but there must be something ... I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so cross. And he looked as though he would rather be anywhere else on Earth.”

“And well he might, Mrs. Darling isn’t to be trifled with. The timing is strange though, isn’t it? I hope Mr. Bone has’na gotten himself mixed up with those toads on the county committee, stirring trouble more than doing any good, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll ask Bess at dinner. She’ll surely have picked up some idea of the situation, working around Mr. Bone at the dairy every day. Bess says he can be quite friendly now that she’s gotten to know him.”

Hannah’s eyes flicked up over Ophelia’s shoulder as someone emerged from the house, scraping the door closed over the stone lintel.

Ophelia turned from Hannah to find Silas standing in the lee of the doorway.

He wore a dark grey waistcoat open over his shirt and the soft wool of his brown work trousers clung to his muscular thighs, hems brushing the top of his work boots.

The sun in her eyes gave Silas a halo; warm copper and golden light illuminated his hair, throwing his face in shadow.

She could feel his eyes though, their mossy green dark and intense as he stood quietly under her scrutiny.

She couldn’t tell whether the tightness in her chest was because of the situation on the farm or his undeniable beauty.

“Mrs. Darling has errands for me in the village and says I’m to find out if there are any repairs you need from the smith before ploughing ...” Silas said when neither woman spoke. “I, uh, if there’s anything you need, I can bring it to him today.”

Mrs. Darling clearly recognised him as someone meant for places such as the farm.

Ophelia was surprised how insecure that made her.

Here he was, immediately at ease, whilst she sometimes still felt out of place, the odd man out on the farm.

It was frustrating how easily she reverted to her old insecurities in his presence; she knew that he had more experience, of course he did, but she didn’t like her own assumption that his skills rendered hers useless.

It was an old pattern, thinking that she as a woman was less than, learned early and hard from her father.

She thought she had rid herself of the habit during the last year, but it had raised its head again with Silas’s arrival.

She wished the newer, bolder part of herself would put it back in its place.

Hannah shifted beside her, pushing Ophelia gently toward Silas.

“Ophelia’s the one with her eyes on the machinery most often, she can tell you if there’s anything needed.

I’ll be off now,” she said, waving as she turned to leave the farmyard.

They stood for a moment longer, Silas watching Hannah’s back.

Ophelia tried not to stare at him, but stole quick glances, memorizing him for later—broad shoulders bulky beneath his linen shirt, worn but clean, under the leather braces she remembered.

They had been a gift from his mother one Christmas, she recalled.

Clearly treasured, soft and flexible with wear.

“Right, then. I’ve not had an in-depth tour of what you’re working with. We could do that now, I suppose?”

“Over here,” Ophelia said, distracted by his nearness and her own musings, unable to manage anything more conversational.

She walked toward the large opening in the barn, Samson and Delilah stamping in their stalls, eager to move on hearing her approach.

She stepped into the dim half-light, dust motes floating in the sunlight that pierced the cracks and knotholes of the barn walls.

It was hushed other than the odd clomp of a large hoof and the intermittent tsk ing of the swallows shunting in and out of the high ceilinged space.

She heard Silas follow her and felt her heart thudding madly in her chest. Was it wise for her to be alone with him?

She couldn’t quite parse her feelings about Silas this morning—irritation?

attraction?—and that frightened her a little.

Walking ahead of him, she approached the collection of machines housed in the barn.

Harrow, seed drill, plough, all of various ages and states of repair, and in the back corner the dull metallic barrel of the roller.

She returned to her earlier worries about her abilities and felt a hum of satisfaction when she began describing the situation with each of the machines.

Of course, Silas knew what each was and how to use them, but she knew these specific ones and how they performed in these fields.

She knew the cant of their wheels, the finicky ways they needed to be attached, and the yawing turns they made at the end of each row.

She had been learning all these things all year long, and now she could share her knowledge with him.

Silas followed her, listening as she pointed out each piece, outlining their status and what repairs might be needed.

She didn’t pause once, and Silas seemed to understand that he wasn’t to interrupt.

He simply nodded and moved quietly along beside her.

“The seed drill needs to be realigned after each use, as the pins holding it in place get jogged out of position in the fields, but it’s not too much of a bother,” Ophelia said as she reached the final machine.

“And that’s about everything we have here, aside from Samson and Delilah, who you’ve already met.

” She nodded toward the doorway leading to the horse stalls.

“We’re lucky that Mr. Bone sees fit to do some small repairs for us, otherwise things would be even more makeshift than they are.

He can be a hard man, so we are grateful for his help with that. ”

“It’s good you have a handle on things. If we can’t rely on our equipment, it will be nigh on impossible to have the extra land cleared and sown in time.”

He paused, and she thought again of the task that lay ahead of them, of the miracle, and inconvenience, of his arrival.

“It adds to our work to be sure, but the main fields have already been harrowed, seeded, and rolled. That’s fifty acres of wheat and then there are the two small fields by the house. We’ve sown those in sugar beets, for the horses and cows.”