Luckpenny Land by Freda Lightfoot Read Free Book Online Page A

wouldn’t want to lose her from the farm, not yet. He maintained that her job was to look after him until he retired, or Dan married and brought a replacement housekeeper to the farm. By which time Meg reckoned she would be well past thirty and quite grey with age.
    But she couldn’t help telling Kath about meeting Jack at the copse, though she said nothing of the hot kisses or the furtive fumblings. These were secrets best kept to herself.
    ‘You want to be careful,’ Kath warned. ‘Jack has had loads of girl friends.’
    ‘Oh, I know he’s experienced,’ Meg said. ‘But he wouldn’t take advantage. I trust him.’
    Kath looked disbelieving. ‘So long as you don’t get any silly ideas about him, Meg. Like falling in love and marriage.’
    Meg took Kath’s warnings with a very large pinch of salt. What young man didn’t sow a few wild oats when he was young? And Jack was older than herself at twenty-three, nearly twenty-four, so of course he’d had a few girl friends. But she meant to be his last. The thought of marriage with Jack filled her with delight. Even so, instinct warned her that there had to be a greater purpose to her life. She understood this somehow, deep in her heart.
    So although the two girls shared their thoughts and dreams, Meg had no intention of letting even Kath into this one. Not until she’d sorted out her own thoughts on the subject.
    ‘Heaven forbid,’ she scoffed. ‘And spend my life in a kitchen?’ Both girls giggled, content with each other, as they had always been. Meg resolved then that until she had discovered what that something was, and had achieved it, she would not allow Jack Lawson to get so far with her again. It was too risky. But she would go on seeing him, as often as she could manage.
    There was a late snow the next day, blocking the lanes and filling the shady sides of the stone walls, burying the sheep who had sought shelter. Her father and two brothers were kept fully occupied bringing them in, often discovering the bedraggled, crow-picked bodies of newborn lambs, destroyed before they’d had time to taste life.
    Meg too worked flat out as the snow created its usual chaos and extra work. Clothes to be dried, hot meals provided at all hours of day and night without a word of thanks. And on top everything else, the orphan lambs to be fed at frequent intervals throughout the day and night and kept warm by the kitchen range until they were strong enough to survive outside without a mother.
    Worse, the snow meant that she couldn’t get out to see Jack. Through the long claustrophobic days that followed, confined to the farm, Meg dreamed of the warmth of his lips against hers, the feel of Jack’s fingers threading through her hair and the sigh of the wind in the ash trees as it washed over them, wrapping them in an almost mystical enchantment.
    A week passed, and another. Was Broombank cut off too? she wondered, and began to worry about Lanky. She had known him all her life and loved him almost as a father. There had been times when she’d wished he was. Meg knew that the old man hadn’t been well recently and would appreciate one of her home-made pies. And so, as soon as the lanes were passable, she decided not to wait for the thaw. She would go anyway.
     
    There were fox prints deep in the snow as Meg trod steadily upwards, leaving a trail of her own beside them. The thorn bushes were shrouded with white, showering the lane with yet more pristine crystal flakes as she brushed by. In her hand she carried a basket in which reposed the pie, deep and rich with gravy. There was also a small cheese, and a pot of her best raspberry jam. Lanky Lawson, being a widower with only Jack at home, had few comforts these days. So even if the food was not up to her mother’s standards, it would be welcomed.
    The mountains glittered brilliantly in the morning sun, fallen rocks like glass marbles at their feet. Great banks of snow were still piled high at each side of the lane,