Twisted Strands Read Free Page A

someone of your own age, not an old feller like me.’
    ‘You’ve never believed me, have you? Everyone’s always laughed at me when I’ve said I’m going to marry you when I grow up.’
    ‘Bridie, love, from what I’m told, all little girls say they’re going to marry the man closest to them. Some even say their dad, or their brother—’
    ‘No, no, that’s not allowed.’ Bridie was shaking her head vehemently.
    ‘I know it isn’t,’ Andrew said quickly. ‘What I mean is, they say that before they understand the – the . . . well, about life.’
    She stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
    Andrew ran his hand through his brown hair. ‘It’s not for me to explain things to you, love. That’s for your gran to do.’
    ‘Oh, that ! I know all about that .’ Suddenly she seemed much older than her twelve years. ‘You don’t grow up on a farm without knowing what goes on. When the
boar visits and—’
    ‘Stop, stop!’ Andrew put up his hands once more. ‘You’ll have me blushing.’
    She grinned at him now and he put his arm about her shoulders again. Their easy friendship restored, they walked towards the house. ‘When you’re older you’ll have an army of
young suitors beating a path to your door and you’ll forget all about wanting to marry me.’
    She said nothing, but promised herself: Oh no, I won’t. I won’t ever stop loving you, Andrew Burns.
     
Three
    Bridie led Andrew into the farmhouse by the back door, through the scullery and into the kitchen. Her grandmother was placing a huge piece of roast beef on the table in front
of Josh, who wielded the carving knife against the steel with rhythmic movements to sharpen it.
    ‘Hello, Andrew, come and sit down. Did you have a good journey?’ Mary fussed around him, pulling out a chair for him at the table as she invited him to join their meal. Her tone
sharpened noticeably as she turned to Bridie. ‘Go and drain the vegetables in the scullery, girl. There are two tureens ready. Look sharp.’
    Mary turned to the black-leaded range. A roaring fire heated the oven, where all their meals were cooked. On the opposite side was a tank for water, heated by the same fire and ladled out of the
lid in the top. A kettle sat on the hob near the glowing coals, singing gently.
    Bridie hurried between scullery and kitchen, carrying the tureens laden with steaming vegetables: potatoes, fresh spring cabbage and sliced runner beans preserved in salt from the previous
growing season, washed thoroughly now and boiled, to enjoy through the winter.
    Bridie loved Sunday dinner, especially when Andrew came. She would pull her chair close to his and listen as the grown-ups talked. Josh would tell him, in detail, all about the work that had
been done about the small farm since his last visit. Today he had a piece of news.
    ‘Stephen Dunsmore is selling off bits of the estate. Rumour ses it’s to pay his gambling debts. Anyway,’ he went on, beaming with pride at Mary, ‘We’ve bought
another field alongside the beck. We can increase our herd now.’
    ‘More cows to milk,’ Bridie said and cast her eyes to the ceiling.
    ‘No, I – I mean, we . . .’ He glanced at Mary in apology, but she only smiled fondly at him. Josh continued. ‘We thought we’d buy beef cattle. Breed, you
know?’
    Bridie felt a thrill of excitement. ‘We’d have baby calves?’
    Josh nodded and Bridie clapped her hands.
    ‘I thought you were set on leaving, miss,’ Mary remarked drily and Bridie squirmed in her seat. For a moment the pull of more animals to care for was strong.
    Puzzled, Josh glanced from one to the other. ‘What’s this?’
    ‘Oh, nothing,’ Mary said quickly, ‘Only Bridie getting on her high horse and making idle threats when things don’t suit her.’
    Bridie opened her mouth to argue that her threats were anything but idle, but Andrew was shaking his head in wonderment. ‘You’re a marvel, Josh.’ He smiled. ‘How
you’ve