Page 27

And then the doubts began to assail her.

Ophelia heard all the criticisms her father had levelled at her: weak, useless, unintelligent, good only for bearing children.

His voice taunted her and morphed into the more specific nastiness she had experienced during her service: unnatural, divisive, forward, immoral.

You only had one job here, Ophelia, she told herself.

No wonder everyone was so happy for Silas to arrive, they likely knew it was only a matter of time before you bollocksed something up.

Shame curdled in her belly, winding itself, vise-like, around her insides.

She wanted to sink into the ground before anyone found out.

The humiliation would be unbearable; she would lose her friends, her place on the farm, whatever was unfolding with Silas.

She hadn’t the work experience, nor the life experience, to get work in a town or city like Hannah or Bess.

Perhaps she was as useless as her father had said, after all.

No! She made herself listen, stern. It’s true you’ve made a total hash, but you’re not useless.

Look, you remembered to keep him moving, and you’re close to the path now.

Keep your head. Keep going. You can fix this. You will fix this .

Her arm jerked suddenly backward and Ophelia cried out at the pain in her shoulder. She turned and felt, rather than saw, Samson’s knees beginning to buckle and pulled hard at the rope, his mane, anywhere she could get a grip.

“No, Samson, no! Stay on your feet, you must!” she cried, moving to push at his large rump, then dashing forward to pull him ahead by the rope.

His footsteps were muddled and slow, and he kept stopping to kick at his stomach, but she pulled him along until her entire body ached and she felt the old blisters on her palms reopening.

Samson struggled along behind her, slowing and then finally, in a horrible slow-motion sway, began to crumple to the ground.

Ophelia shouted and cried to him to get up, to keep going, but he was too heavy for her to move once he began to kneel.

His great head tipped forward as his front knees met the soft earth, and even though Ophelia could barely see in the dark, she felt the gravity shift as he sank down.

Oh God! Why hadn’t she gone for help sooner?

She was such an idiot, trying to fix this on her own when she had no business calling herself a horsewoman, no business playing farmhand.

She begged Samson to get up, pulled at his forelock and mane, but she could feel the tremor of his back legs getting ready to sink fully to the ground and knew she had lost the battle to keep him standing.

She had no idea what to do. Her mind was a riot of panic and fear, and she heard herself babbling.

“I’m sorry, Samson, I’m so sorry. This never should have happened. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She knelt and ran her hands through his thick mane and cried, great heaving breaths shaking her shoulders.

“Ophelia! For God’s sake, girl, where are you?”

Mrs. Darling’s voice came loud and close in the night air. Ophelia stood so suddenly black spots danced before her eyes.

“Here,” she croaked.

A bright slice of lantern light cut through the dark, illuminating the bottom of the path and the edge of the field, then swung forward until it shone across Samson and Ophelia.

“God in heav’n! What’s happened?” said Mrs. Darling, hurrying over.

“I’m so sorry ... the latch ... he’s gotten into the field ... I tried ... tried to keep ...” Ophelia stumbled and stuttered, the words like stones in her mouth.

“Christ almighty,” swore Mrs. Darling. “Bess! Go straight to Mr. Bone’s and tell ’im we’ve need of him in his top field. Don’t leave until ’e comes back with you.”

Ophelia registered the sound of Bess hurrying away, but little else as she tried to push Samson to his feet again.

She said nothing to Mrs. Darling, afraid that the woman might release her immediately.

But Mrs. Darling only lowered her voice and moved closer to Ophelia, taking her hands and chaffing them, saying, “Come now, Ophelia, ye must be sore from keeping him upright for so long. We’ve been looking for you since I heard noises down here and found his stall empty. ”

“I’m sorry,” Ophelia cried, drawing her hands back from Mrs. Darling.

“That’s enough of that, now, girl. We’ve a job to do to get this one back on ’is feet an’ it’ll take all our focus to do that. We’ll discuss the rest later.”

“But, I’ve ruined everything,” Ophelia said, brokenly. “And poor Samson, I’ve harmed him ... perhaps even k-k-kil—” But she couldn’t even make herself say the words. “I’m no use to you here, have only caused trouble and made us behind. I know you’ll need to send me away.”

“Do you know that, now?” said Mrs. Darling.

Ophelia was silent, waiting for her to say the words.

“You think you’ve made such a grave mistake that I’ll not forgive you, is that it?”

Ophelia nodded, not sure the other woman could see her.

“You’ve looked about and decided you’re responsible for everything going wrong, have you? That if I toss you out, things’ll pick up and be done better without you? That I’m better off on me own?”

Ophelia felt the older woman nod and run her hands over Samson’s neck and withers.

“Well, I see you’ve not learned the most important thing about farming yet, Ophelia.

” She paused so long Ophelia thought she wasn’t going to continue, but then her voice came out of the night, soft and low.

“The most important thing about farming is leaning into each other, asking for help, and knowing when you need it. The tricky part is finding folks ye can count on, but once you do, mark my words, you hold on tight and keep ’em close. ”

She reached out, covering Ophelia’s shaking hands with her warm, rough one.

“You might not know much about farming yet, but I can see that you know something of bein’ alone, and it makes you skittish around others, thinking you can’t rely on them.

But I’m telling you now, you can rely on me, on these people.

We’ll come through this if we help each other, and so will Samson, greedy gelding that he is.

” Mrs. Darling said this last bit with a gruff laugh, and Ophelia felt the tears begin again.

She wanted to thank Mrs. Darling and to be sick all at once, to tell her that she had no idea how to rely on anyone, no idea how to feel safe without making herself useful to others.

Helpful and pleasant were the only ideals to which she had ever been told to aspire.

It felt awkward and frightening to admit that even though she had learned so much, there would be times like this when she was in over her head with the farm, and the people on it.

But before she could figure out how to say any of this to her host, the sound of deep voices penetrated the dark, coming closer and closer.

Ophelia heard the gravelly tones of Mr. Bone and the deeper rumble of Silas, Bess’s lighter voice rising and falling over them.

They all seemed to emerge into the field at the same time, and Mrs. Darling lifted her lantern to their faces.

Silas’s chiselled cheekbones and ruffled hair gave him the appearance of Michelangelo’s David while Mr. Bone looked like a storybook villain, the lantern light carving his fierce mouth like a trench across his angular face.

Bess came to a stop, one hand at her mouth when she saw Ophelia and Mrs. Darling crouched next to Samson.

Mr. Bone swept his eye over the scene, then passing one of the two ropes he held to Silas, said, “Stand up, ladies, and lend a hand with these ropes.”

They stood, and Mrs. Darling said, quietly, “I do thank you for coming, Casper.”

He looked at her sharply, but only nodded his head and set to work.