Summer at Mount Hope by Rosalie Ham Read Free Book Online

at his wife but she didn’t take her eyes off the pot. Her grey-streaked hair was tied in loose, messy twists that hung down over her bosoms, and her cheeks were flushed. ‘I still have a bit of a head,’ she said, on the way to the outhouse. It was the one place outside Maude had to go. As much as she could, she stayed indoors.
    â€˜I’ll make some fresh tea,’ said Phoeba moving the kettle to the hotplate. The headaches had only started lately, but this one wasn’t going to stop Maude settling at the kitchen table with Lilith, a box of dressmaking patterns and a stack of fashion magazines.
    â€˜I quite like a feathered aigrette on my bodice although they say the tailored effect is fashionable now in Europe,’ said Lilith.
    â€˜And what’s new in hats and veils?’ asked her mother.
    Phoeba headed to the orchard for some peace, but as she picked plums Hadley’s hurt face came back to her. There was nothing she could do about it, she decided. Time would have to heal.
    Sitting in the grass stoning the plums, she made a list in her head of alternative occupations: nurse, teacher, factory seamstress, librarian or governess. The options didn’t seem too bad. But there was a depression, thousands of people were unemployed, she knew, and Bay View was a long way from anywhere.
    After lunch she helped her father harness Rocket ready for the sulky.
    â€˜I hope he doesn’t kill us. Why didn’t you borrow a horse from Overton?’
    â€˜You’re starting to sound like your mother,’ said Robert looping the strap of his pith helmet under his chin.
    â€˜And you look as if you’re about to go off shooting elephants.’
    â€˜Bloody women,’ said Robert. ‘Thank God for Rocket.’
    Phoeba was smoothing her worn riding gloves over her rough hands when Lilith appeared dressed in her best knife-pleated skirt and jacket. Maude’s finest bar brooch was pinned to her lapel and she wore her most sumptuous hat.
    â€˜Aren’t you hot?’ asked Phoeba, while Robert stared at the feathers waving about on top of his daughter’s head: ‘Ostriches will be cold this winter,’ he mused.
    â€˜You never know,’ said Lilith. ‘We might meet someone.’
    â€˜Prince Edward is often at Mrs Flynn’s shop,’ muttered Phoeba.
    As they approached the gate, Spot spread his front legs wide and dropped his big black head to the ground, sulkily. His nostrils were crusted with dust and his breath cleared two bare circles in the dirt. The rooster and duck stood supportively by his side.
    â€˜It’s your own fault,’ called Phoeba, but she made a mental note to give him an apple when she got back. She looked down to Bay View.
    Fortunately, there was only one other horse in sight and it was two miles away, tied up outside Flynn’s shop: it would have been impossible to stop Rocket at the intersection if there was converging traffic. Galloping pace was his only speed. Phoeba looped the reins between her fingers, squeezed the leather straps tightly and pulled back, restraining the white horse as he danced through the gate.
    Lilith held her hat, Phoeba said gee-up and Rocket sprang, pacing all the way down Mount Hope Lane. Grazing rabbits scattered as they sped by and the intersection and the dam went by in a blur as they raced towards Bay View. Phoeba saw a man stride out of Flynn’s to the tethered horse. She’d seen neither the horse nor the rider before.
    â€˜Oh no,’ she said under her breath. ‘Please let him stay put.’
    The man got on his horse and saw Rocket racing towards the siding and, just as Phoeba feared, spurred his horse and rode to meet them. He was broad-shouldered and dark-haired and he turned his horse to ride alongside Rocket as he met up with them.
    â€˜I’ve got him,’ he called to Phoeba and reached for Rocket’s cheek piece.
    â€˜He’ll stop at the