The Gentle Wind's Caress Read Free Page B

husband.’ His unblinking stare wasn’t unsympathetic.
    ‘Yes. I am. I need a home for my brother and me.’ She smiled, trying desperately to still her anxiety. ‘You…you require a wife to help you run your farm?’
    ‘Aye.’ He glanced at Mr Beale and then at Matron.
    As if taking her cue, Matron bustled forward. ‘Miss Gibson is a hard worker indeed, Mr Farrell. You’ll not go wrong in having her for a wife.’
    Isabelle frowned in surprise at Matron’s sunny nature. She’d never had a good word to say about her before. Turning her attention back to Mr Farrell she focused on his answer.
    ‘Being a farmer’s wife is no easy life.’ He peered at her as though sizing up her worth. ‘Yer sure yer up to it?’
    ‘Of course!’ She straightened; alarmed that he’d think her weak. She’d have no one say she couldn’t pull her weight. She wasn’t frightened of hard work. ‘I’m healthy and strong.’
    He nodded. ‘Yer’ll need to be.’
    She raised her chin. ‘Hard work doesn’t deter me, Mr Farrell.’
    ‘You’d be no use to me if it did.’ He snorted. ‘They’ll be many chores that are yours alone. The farm’s been without a woman since me mam died some years back. I haven’t time to do everything now.’
    ‘Of course. You can depend on me. I promise you.’
    ‘Right. Good.’
    ‘Mr Beale tells me your farm is on the moors beyond Heptonstall.’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘When I was small I remember my father taking me onto the moors near Sowerby. We walked forever that day. It was like being on top of the world and-’ Isabelle stopped, embarrassed at the other’s silence.
    Farrell shifted uneasily, a flush staining his cheeks. ‘Well, I don’t know about that, but it’s not bad in’t summer. Winter can be a bloody nuisance.’
    ‘Indeed, Mr Farrell!’ Matron eyed him severely for his language. ‘I’m certain Isabelle will enjoy all the delights a moorland farm can offer.’
    ‘Right, yes.’ Farrell fiddled with the hat in his hands.
    ‘Well, what do you think, Isabelle?’ Matron beamed. ‘Doesn’t it all sound romantic?’
    Romantic? Isabelle stared at her. Who was the new woman? She much preferred the old matron, at least then she knew what to expect. Matron’s extraordinary behaviour confused her already jumbled thoughts, but before she could speak, Farrell strode to the chair near the door and picked up a small posy of wildflowers.
    He thrust them at her without meeting her eyes. ‘There aren’t many flowers left now. These were all I could find about the place.’
    She took the squashed bunch of flowers. The unexpected gesture astonished her. If he could bring her flowers then he couldn’t be that bad, surely? ‘Thank you. Do they grow near your home?’
    ‘Aye. Near the stream.’ His tone became distant and, scowling, he looked away as if disappointed by something.
    Isabelle sniffed their faded fragrance and was filled with sense of outdoors. She longed to be up on the moors, to experience the vastness of them where there were no walls to keep her in or that hid the world from her view. She felt she couldn’t breathe here anymore.
    ***
    Later that afternoon, Isabelle and Hughie, huddling in their thin coats, sat in a secluded corner of the yard playing cards. They put up with the cold because it was better than the other option – staying inside and being at Matron’s beck and call.
    ‘So, this Mr Farrell seems nice?’ Hughie asked, shuffling the cards.
    ‘Yes, he seemed to be.’ Isabelle shrugged, not really knowing one way or the other. ‘He didn’t stay long otherwise I would have sent for you to meet him, too.’
    ‘Will he like me, do you think?’
    ‘Of course he will.’ She winked. ‘Why would he not?’
    ‘It might be good to live on a farm and care for animals.’
    She snorted. ‘Anywhere is better than here.’
    ‘I know. Matron slapped me around the ear this morning for eating too fast, but I’m always hungry.’
    ‘Just think of what they must