Time Shall Reap Read Free Page A

lantern, I just asked if ...’
    ‘You spoke when you didna ken who the man was?’
    ‘I ... I didna think, Father, I was that worried.’
    ‘So I’ve raised a weakling,’ Geordie growled. ‘A lassie that can’t even find her way home without asking a strange man to help her.’
    ‘John Forrest’s not a strange man.’
    ‘He was a strange man to you ... or so you said.’ He eyed her with renewed suspicion.
    ‘I didna ken him, truly I didna.’
    ‘If I ever find out you’ve been lying to me, Elspeth, I’ll leather your backside till you’ll not be able to sit down for a week.’
    Flustered, she turned away and concentrated on breaking up the coals with the heavy poker, so that the guilty scarlet of her cheeks could be attributed to the heat, and when she looked round again, her father had lifted the big family bible from the dresser and taken it over to the table. When he bent his head to read his daily passage, she took the opportunity to study him. Nearing fifty, he had the erect bearing of a far younger man; his white hair – she couldn’t remember it being anything else so he must have turned white when he was quite young – was wiry and unruly; his lined face and rough hands were weatherbeaten from years of working out of doors.
    At ten o’clock, Geordie stood up. ‘It’s time we were housed up, so get to your bed now. I’ll bank the fire wi’ dross before I come up.’
    She rose obediently. ‘Goodnight, Father, and I’m sorry for making you angry.’
    He nodded gravely. ‘Aye, and you’d best ask God to forgive you, and all.’
    Climbing the narrow stairs, Elspeth wondered what he would have said if she had told him everything, for, as far as she was concerned, her father’s wrath was even worse than God’s.

 
Chapter Two
    At five o’clock the following morning, Elspeth was awakened by the sound of Geordie Gray clearing snow from the door before he set off for the farm, but she lay on for nearly another hour, remembering how she had dreamt of John Forrest’s kisses, of his gentle caresses, of his growing passion ... and hers. At last, ashamed of her dreams and of her own part in what had happened the night before, she flung back the blankets and got out of bed. The bedroom was ice-cold, so she did not linger over dressing, and went down to cook the porridge for her father. The coarse oatmeal was soft after soaking in the pot all night, so he would have no complaints about lumps when he re-turned for breakfast at half past seven.
    Having to stir the grey mass until it came to the boil, she gave herself up to daydreams. Would John want to court her? If only he would, it would be all she would ever want, and she was practically certain that he loved her. Not that he had said it, but he hadn’t needed to. What he had done was proof enough for her. She did not know how long he would be at home, but surely it would be long enough to let them get to know each other properly, to avow their love, to make plans for the future. She could just imagine herself keeping their little house clean and tidy, laundering his clothes, cooking for him ... making porridge as she waited for him to come down to kiss her good morning after a heavenly night of passion. He would take her in his arms for so long that she would forget what she was supposed to be doing, and it would be John who noticed that the pot was boiling ... the pot! The lovely pretence evaporated in a flash as she jerked the fiercely bubbling pot off the fire and laid it on the hob. Thank goodness she had noticed it in time; her father would go mad if his breakfast had the least taste of singeing.
    The kettle also having come to the boil, she took it into the back kitchen and gave herself a wash. Then she filled it again and put it on the hob, moving the porridge pot farther away from the heat, for it only needed to be kept warm now. At last she was ready to set off for work, a little earlier than usual in case there were drifts. It was still