Wishing Water Read Free

gathered its strength to burst out as a waterfall, known locally as a force, and tumbled onwards through Whinstone Gill, a deep cleft cut into the rocks forming a wooded ravine, till it ran out of power and passed under Gimmer bridge at a more sedate pace.
    Now they climbed the sheep trods through Brockbarrow wood which in its turn flanked the southern shores of the tarn. Brockbarrow wood. The place for a lover’s tryst. And betrayal.
    ‘What shall I say to her?’ Lissa worried. ‘What can we talk about? She doesn’t know me or any of my friends.’  
    Anxious dark blue eyes gazed up at Meg. Jack’s eyes. She swallowed. ‘Tell her all about yourself. About how you like to help on the farm, how you’re learning to play the harmonium. How you are changing schools this year and mean to go to the High School.’  
    ‘If I pass my certificate.’
    ‘Of course you’ll pass.’  
    ‘I’m so nervous. Isn’t it silly?’ A small hand crept into Meg’s and she squeezed it encouragingly.
    ‘I’m pretty nervous myself as a matter of fact.’  
    ‘Are you?’ An odd relief in the voice.
    Somewhere high above a curlew mewed its plaintive, lonely cry, but Meg was aware only of Lissa’s deep thoughts. The worst part of Kath’s letters were her promises to visit, the way they unsettled the child, made her think and ask endless questions.
    ‘Tell me again how you came to Liverpool to find me,’ Lissa asked, wriggling close, and Meg stifled a sigh.
    ‘I’ve told you a dozen times. Kath couldn’t keep you. She was going into the WAAFS’ because of the war. She gave you to me to keep safe, at Broombank.’  
    ‘Did she come to see me a lot? Did she miss me?’ Lissa frowned. ‘I can’t seem to remember.’  
    ‘It was difficult, with the war and everything,’ Meg hedged.
    ‘I suppose so.’ More deep thoughts, Lissa wishing she could understand it all properly. She wished and wished so hard sometimes that it hurt, deep in her tummy. If only her mother would come, just once. Her child’s faith in the goodness of life made her certain that Kath would be kind and beautiful and tell her that she loved her, and Lissa would learn all about that secret part of herself she couldn’t quite discover.
    She worried sometimes that perhaps it was her fault that Kath had left. Perhaps she’d been a disappointment and her mother had been glad to give her up.
    Today, at last, all those fears could be swept away.
    All Lissa had ever seen of the world was this dale, these familiar mountains. She ached to see the rest of it, live the life she felt was her due. She adored Meg and Tam, loved them as if they were her real parents, but what kind of life might she have had if she’d been Lissa Ellis instead of Lissa Turner? How would she have been different? It was hard to work it out.
    A tall Scots pine stood like a sentinel on a small rise before her. Beyond that, Lissa knew, was the last sheep trod they needed to climb. This would join the long sweeping drive that led up to Larkrigg Hall through a pair of stone gate posts. It was a fine, nineteenth-century house, set high on a ridge as its name implied, surrounded on all sides by strangely shaped rocks and crags that poked out of the thin soil like old bones. A house that might have been her home, if things had been different.
    Or she might, even now, have been in Canada, seeing other mountains, riding the ponies on her mother’s ranch. These dreams had filled her head for years, keeping her awake at night. Now, she was sure they were about to be realised.
    ‘Will she tell me who my father is, do you think?’ Her voice was soft, robbed of breath by the wind and the intensity of her excitement.
    Meg and Kath had both avoided this part of the story. How they had both loved the same man, Kath had borne his child and Meg had loved her and brought her up. It hurt and embarrassed them both still, to think of it.
    Meg drew the child into the circle of her arms. ‘One day we’ll