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

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.

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.