Susan Evans McCloud - Throstleford

2008 Susan Evans McCloud

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

McCloud, Susan Evans.

Throstleford / Susan Evans McCloud.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-59038-942-3 (paperbound)

1. ClergyFiction. 2. MormonsFiction. 3. Church

membershipFiction. 4. Great BritainHistory19th centuryFiction.

I. Title.

PS3563.A26176T48 2008

813.54dc222008013528

Printed in the United States of America

Alexanders Print Advantage, Lindon, UT

JIT

The throstle bides in the hedgerow,

And waits his time to sing:

Old are his ways, and old his songs

And the memories they bring.

The robin calls in the morning,

The cuckoo cries to the moon,

The raven circles the wild trees round,

And the lark rises all too soon.

But the throstle hugs to the homeland,

To the field and the mead and the moor,

The throstle sings in the hedgerows

His hearts song, oer and oer.

Traditional

Calls from all quarters to come and preach were constantly sounding in our ears, and we labored night and day to satisfy the people, who manifested such a desire for the truth as I never saw before.

Life of Heber C. Kimball

E sther was the first to see the strangers wend with weary walk into Throstleford. They came by the narrow back road that crossed through the mill meadows close to the pond. It was a raw day in March, raw and windy. She pushed a tendril of hair back from her face, where the wind wanted to plaster it, and stood uneasily outside Sallie Brigmans cottage to watch them walk on, and up the path to the doctors doorstep. A shudder passed through her frame. She was to remember that shudder, with all else about these first moments, for the rest of her life. And yet, she had no premonition of ill or of trouble. Rather, in a singular way, a sense of quickening anticipation seized her, which she could not explain.

She entered Sallies house and remarked casually on the fact that two strangers had just come into the village.

Stopped at the doctors, did they? Sallie raised herself from her sick bed on one elbow and squinted up at her young visitor. Hes got a brother in London, you know, missy, and who can guess what other connections. They could be anybody, come to see him about who knows what matters, highfalutin and consequential. Did you bring the lovage for my rheumatic?

Esther nodded. This was a clear dismissal of the subject, and she would not allow her curiosity to press her further. Sallie was old enough to be her grandmother, and crotchety as a wet hen left out in the rain. She possessed the warmest of hearts, thank goodness, but her manners could be off-putting, to say the least.

That and some of Pearls hot biscuits, Esther smiled. Would you like me to put the kettle on and brew the lovage for you and a bit of mint for myself?

That would be cozy, mdear.

Esther moved easily about the tiny kitchen, for she knew where every crock and plate had its place, and she hummed under her breath as she worked.

You be just like my bees, Sallie crooned. Always have been, since you were a littlun, hummin and singing that way.

Esther smiled. Sallie had been a part of her life since she could remember; but then, it was the same with most of the villagers, who thought of themselves as separate and distinctly individualyet very loyalmembers of one family. Esther was nine when her mother died, and every heart quickened to the sorrow of the quiet, wide-eyed child, who had her mothers mild disposition and tender ways. And they kept their eye on the kindly young vicar who seemed to go gray and haunted at the terrible loss of his wife. Only Esther had power to reach him, to draw him out of himself, and that power grew as she emerged into a young woman, with many of the canny ways and perceptions of her sex.