Page 23

D inner was a hurried affair that evening; Mrs. Darling rushing to place the dishes on the table as the sinking sun, spreading its last rays of the day across the farmyard, sent long, coral fingers of light through the open kitchen door.

Ophelia had just hung her coat on the peg in the hall and was following the sound of cutlery and conversation toward the kitchen when Silas appeared at her shoulder.

From behind his back, he produced a bouquet and reached around her to hold it before her.

Clutched in his large, tanned hand were lilacs, their scent already swirling around Ophelia, and gauzy white umbels of cow parsley surrounded by a phalanx of dark, glossy leaves.

A late-April lane in the form of a bouquet.

Ophelia leaned forward to push her nose into the flowers, delirious with surprise and delight.

“Is that garlic?” she cried, snorting back a laugh.

“Needs must,” said Silas with a gentle huff. “I had only the length of the field to gather them, and even less time before I lost the nerve to give you them.”

She took the bouquet from his hand and turned to face him, raising the flowers to her nose again.

“They’re beautiful, Silas. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he rumbled, and she had the distinct impression he was not referring only to the flowers. “Wondered if you’d like to take a walk with me after dinner? It’s a lovely evening.”

She dipped her head, suddenly shy and mightily aware of something warm and alive between them, but nodded jerkily. “I’ll find a jug for these,” she said, backing into the kitchen, her eyes locked on Silas’s, their mossy green darkening to charcoal as he watched her retreat.

She hurriedly placed the flowers in a jug on the Welsh cupboard, shaking her head when Hannah made to ask her about them. Hannah grinned and pulled out the chair next to her at the table, and having washed her hands, Ophelia sank gratefully into it.

“Long day?” Hannah asked.

“Indeed. Lots of progress though, perhaps even enough to have the ploughing finished tomorrow.”

“Ah! Many hands make light work is right, then!” Hannah sang. “We’ll have that land under cultivation, and the committee’ll be eating crow, won’t they?”

“The day those men eat crow’ll be a cold day in hell, mark my word,” said Mrs. Darling darkly. “Don’t trust them not to have summat else up their sleeve.”

Bess placed her hands on Mrs. Darling’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Now then, we’re well on our way, so there’ll be no need to worry ’bout that,” she said confidently.

“Aye, perhaps you’re right, Bess. Let us hope so,” said Mrs. Darling, her face drawn and worn. “Now dig in, all of you, before the food is cold.”

Hannah patted Ophelia’s knee and said, “Pass the potatoes and tell us about those horses of yours, Ophelia. According to Silas, if we’re to have this done by first of May, we’ll be counting heavily on you.”

“I was able to get a first pass done today; it was tougher going in the new field as the ground is harder and longer since it was cultivated.” She paused, wondering if she really were equal to the task, trying not to dwell on everything that rode on her succeeding.

“But I’m getting better at holding the rows straight and the horses are strong.

I think we can do it. We must,” she said, as much to herself as everyone else.

Hannah patted her shoulder, smiling encouragingly, and at the head of the table, Silas lifted his glass to her, saluting her with a quiet smile of confidence and pride that made her blood warm.

I can do this, she thought, looking around the table and taking in the belief she saw in each of her friends’ faces.

I might not have been born into farm work, but I have worked hard to learn what I need to know to help Mrs. Darling and my country, and I belong here.

The thought surprised her, having never felt like she truly belonged anywhere, but the longer she let it linger, the truer it felt.

The women had accepted her, na?ve and unworldly as she was when she arrived, and had supported her as she gained confidence and understanding of what it meant to work on a farm.

They had shared their pasts with her, had been generous, if a little stern, in educating her on suffrage and equality.

She no longer felt on the outside but held by a web of interdependence defined not by family, but instead by friendship, shared work, and mutual respect.

Then she thought of walking out with Silas after the meal, and her stomach tipped nervously.

Eagerness warred with apprehension. She fiddled with her napkin in her lap and pushed her food around on her plate until, at last, Mrs. Darling suggested she put the kettle on and put an end to her “infernal fiddlin’. ”

Silas watched Ophelia pushing her dinner about her plate and wondered if she felt the hollow ache of nerves in her stomach like he did.

His own plate was nearly empty; out of long habit he made his way through the last of the hearty colcannon and chops Mrs. Darling had prepared, grateful for the food after a long day of work in the field.

He felt a visceral delight in a puddle of butter in mashed potatoes or the sharp tang of fresh greens dressed with a bit of vinegar, pushing away memories of dry rations in trenches and the soldiers who were still surviving on them.

Hannah’s hearty laugh cut through his thoughts and he glanced round at the women, deep in talk of preparations for the May Day celebrations in the village.

Bess was gathering suggestions for games for the children, as well as soliciting Mrs. Darling’s reportedly excellent Victoria sponge for the dessert table at the fete.

But it was Ophelia’s face that caught his attention, as usual.

She laughed while telling a story about a May Day fete at Wood Grange, and Silas was struck by her ease with Bess, Hannah, and Mrs. Darling; her high cheekbones were merrily pink, her white teeth flashing as a broad smile broke over her face, sunrise lighting the morning sky.

He’d never seen her so in her element; he’d always known her in relation to her father, the estate.

Here she was free in a way that suited her, on the cusp of becoming fully herself.

He could see the vitality in her, in the way she spoke and held herself.

The kernel of the girl he had known at Wood Grange was there, always, but a woman, intelligent and independent, was blooming around it.

He saw that she had given up everything he had mistakenly thought made her who she was; she was no more the estate than he was the tenanted land.

He didn’t have to continue on with things as they always had been—Ophelia had chosen something entirely different for herself, perhaps he could choose something different for himself, as well.

Silas worried that if Blackwood knew he were home from the front, and even worse, assigned to a farm with Ophelia, he would follow through on his threat to evict his mother and brother.

But, he thought, what if he could find a way around Blackwood’s blackmail?

If the secret of Silas’s enlistment were no longer a threat, surely that would leave Blackwood no bargaining chip?

Yes. Yes? If I had some legal advice and could ensure their safety, then I’d have nothing to hide, nothing to keep from Ophelia .

The thought was like nitrogen bubbles in his blood, fizzing and popping, making him lightheaded.

He wanted so much to tell her everything, to have nothing between them, least of all her father.

As soon as he had a way to protect his mother and Samuel from Merritt’s blackmail, he could visit them.

Tell them how sorry he was to have left, that he was safe, and that he would find a way to provide for them properly.

And then he could finally come clean to Ophelia.

After dinner, Ophelia and Hannah stood at the sink in the kitchen, Hannah wiping the film of suds from a plate while Ophelia tucked the last teacup into its spot in the Welsh cupboard.

Returning to the sink, Ophelia watched Hannah’s profile as she worked.

Hannah’s eyes were on her hands in the soapy water, but her mind clearly elsewhere.

She hummed to herself, and Ophelia joined in while turning to tuck the last plate away on the shelf, surprised to see Silas standing in the entrance to the kitchen, a navy-blue knitted jumper pulled on over his work shirt, hands in his pockets.

“Care to join me for that walk, Ophelia?”

Nerves skittered along her spine making her want to fidget or laugh, but she schooled herself, attempting to modulate her voice into a calm, reasonable reply.

She could see the nerves in Silas, too, the way he held his shoulders stiffly, eyes searching and eager.

She realized in a rush that he thought she might rebuff him, and her insides melted disobediently, pooling warm in her belly.

She nodded and turned to Hannah. “See you in the morning?”

Hannah swivelled from her spot at the basin and smiled. “Aye, you will. Enjoy your stroll.”