There was frost sparkling, bright against the dark earth, as Grace walked up the hill towards the farm. It was Monday the fifteenth of March, not yet dawn, the first coils of pink light visible beyond the hills. The ground was iron-hard. Grace held Gabriel close beneath her cloak and stumbled forward; he was swaddled in linen, then wrapped in a woollen blanket to keep him warm and, as she held him, Grace could feel him curved against her, trusting, asleep. Across the field, a vixen slunk away, dragging her drooping belly towards a den. She would give birth to cubs soon; blind for the first fourteen days, they would be warmed by their mother’s body heat for four weeks until the spring air was mellow and kind. Grace called softly to the vixen, wishing her well. She understood the keen expression in the eyes of the she-fox, the sharp sixth sense that sought the warmest safest place to bring her cubs into the world where she could guard them fiercely against predators.
Once she reached the barn, Grace found Alice already seated on her stool, ribbons in her hair beneath the white cap. Next to her was a makeshift cradle, a wooden box stuffed with fresh hay, soft blankets tucked snugly over the top. She reached out her hands in welcome. ‘I persuaded Nathaniel to find me a box so that I could make the baby a crib. He can sleep between us all day. We can both take care of him.’
Grace noticed the concerned gleam in Alice’s eyes. ‘I am grateful to you, Alice,’ she said. ‘I have been worried for my baby’s welfare. I do not wish him to become cold – the weather is not yet warm enough for spring.’
‘Oh, he will not catch a cold – I have brought extra blankets. And I thought that when he wakes and you suckle him, I could take over your milking and give you a chance to spend a few moments with him until he sleeps again.’
‘Thank you, Alice. You are indeed a good friend.’
Grace arranged Gabriel in the cradle, then she and Alice set to work to milk the first cows just as Jennet and Margaret arrived. Margaret peered into the crib at the baby, grunted and went about her business, but Jennet lingered, pausing to peruse the child’s face and then Grace’s, making a snorting noise that clearly meant Gabriel did not resemble his mother, before she found a stool and sat down.
The morning passed slowly; Grace tended each cow with special care, patting their warm hides, offering them gentle words of sympathy because they too were mothers and full of milk. But she gazed constantly towards the crib, desperate to pick Gabriel up, aware of every small sound, every movement, wondering if he needed her to hold him, to nuzzle his soft skin and to whisper tender words into his ear. Then, a few hours later, he began to make small noises and Grace dried her hands on her apron, plucked him from his crib, opened the front of her dress and settled herself down to feed him.
Jennet watched closely, peering from behind the cow. Margaret showed no interest, but Alice slid from her stool and crouched next to Grace, touching the baby’s skin with a gentle finger. Grace sighed as she felt little Gabriel suckle; she closed her eyes, filled with tenderness, and Alice wrapped the sheepskin cloak around them both closely so that the cold air that whipped through the barn would not chill them. Grace smiled and Alice whispered, ‘I think it will not be too long before I have a son of my own.’ She saw Grace’s interested expression, and murmured, ‘I am not yet with child, but I am hopeful.’
‘I pray it will be soon,’ Grace replied. ‘Being a mother fills me with so much joy and I wish the same happiness for you, Alice.’
Jennet watched as Grace tucked Gabriel back into his crib, tracing the curve of his cheek, placing a kiss on his brow, then she grunted, ‘It is to be hoped that he survives this cold weather. There are many babies who don’t. The wind is raw and it may settle into his lungs and bring on a fever.’
Grace’s brow wrinkled with concern and Alice spoke loudly. ‘Hush your mouth, Jennet, or speak well to Grace. Our sister, Nancy, will be delivered of her child soon and we do not wish to bring bad luck by talking of sickness.’
‘Nancy has bad luck already – she is yoked to George,’ Jennet said.
‘Will you deliver Nancy’s baby?’ Margaret asked Grace. ‘I believe you help Bett White with birthing.’
‘If I am needed, I will gladly do so.’ Grace made sure her fingers were warm before gripping the cow’s teats. The sound of splashing milk came from her pail.
‘There’s typhus fever over in Hockholler. My mother said that two children had died of it.’ Margaret did not look up. ‘She said that’s two less mouths to feed in the family.’
Grace glanced at her baby and shuddered. His face was flushed pink and she hoped he was warm and comfortable.
Alice’s pretty face was full of hope. ‘Ashcomb is a small village; we are a blessed community. That’s what Reverend Walters says in church on Sunday and I believe every word.’
Jennet shook her head. ‘Nonsense, Alice. You are so green. You have lived many more years than I, but you have always been foolish. We have nothing but misfortune from the day we leave our mother’s womb to the day we gasp our final breath.’ She glanced towards the baby and her face was sullen. ‘And that is the truth of it.’
‘I am of gentle disposition and you are not,’ Alice said. ‘Our mother always says as much.’
‘I have every reason to feel anger. Ned and I were to be married and now it may not come to pass because his leg is blasted.’
Margaret laughed. ‘His leg is not the working part you have most need of…’
‘And I am truly sorry for what has happened,’ Alice cried out. ‘But Nathaniel will find him work here on the farm and…’
‘It will be women’s work,’ Jennet snapped. ‘And now his leg is lame, since the time the men returned home from the wassailing in January, Father says I must wait and see if I can make a better match. But Ned was the man I wanted to wed.’
‘And it still may come to be…’ Alice protested.
Jennet turned to Grace, her brow creased. ‘You foretold it, the breaking of the oak branch. Alice told me and I told Ned. You knew it, Grace.’
‘In truth,’ Grace said, ‘I saw the branch laden with snow and I feared it would not hold the weight of it.’
Jennet folded her arms, glaring angrily. ‘And now my Ned cannot walk, and it is due to your words.’
Grace was astonished. ‘How can that be, Jennet? I wish Ned no harm.’
‘He says as much,’ Jennet scoffed. ‘But I do not believe him.’
Jennet’s constant scowl made Grace feel troubled and she glanced at Gabriel, checking that he was sleeping comfortably. She wanted badly to pick him up and hold him close: Jennet’s ill mood had made her anxious for his safety, although she had no reason to suspect that Jennet would do him any harm. Hurriedly, Grace led the cow into the field and another cow approached her, its head bent, docile. She took the cow back to the barn, seated herself and rubbed her hands together, looking at her slumbering son again.
Jennet watched Grace as she began to milk the cow, her brow now a deeper frown. ‘Ned always speaks you fair, Grace. I think he carries a torch for you. I cannot think why. What power do you hold over him?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I only wish him well, Jennet, and I wish you well too.’
‘Jennet is angry because she cannot wed him this summer,’ Alice soothed. ‘But be patient, sister, because he is a goodly man and you are blessed with him. Ned Shears is not like his brother, George, who fights each day with Nancy – they are angry as two cats…’
‘That touches me not,’ Jennet said spitefully. ‘I wonder about Grace, and how she came to be with child and no one knows who the father is. I do not think it is my Ned, because he has brown hair. And I wonder who will marry you now, Grace Cotter. You have had a child and now you are no better than a strumpet, some man’s whore.’ Her face had taken on an expression of malevolent satisfaction.
Margaret turned abruptly. ‘Hush your mouth, Jennet, or the cow’s milk will become curds before it leaves the udder.’
Alice leaned forward. ‘I beg you, Jennet, do not say these things of Grace.’
‘I am not afraid of her, even though she may make my teeth fall out for the words I have said.’
‘Jennet,’ Grace began, but a sharp cry escaped from the crib and she rushed over to Gabriel, picking him up, rocking him in her arms.
‘He is hungry yet again,’ Alice said. ‘He will grow to be a fine strong man.’
‘He will – harken to those lusty lungs,’ Margaret agreed.
Jennet watched as Grace loosened her dress and began to feed the baby, whose cries quickly became snuffles of contentment. Her face clouded with anger. ‘So, tell us the truth, Grace, who is the baby’s father? Everyone here wants to know it.’
Alice looked up abruptly from her milking. ‘Grace has already said – he is no one we know. He is someone from another parish.’
‘So, how did you and he meet, Grace?’ Jennet’s voice became louder, determined to make her point. ‘Did you meet him in Ashcomb? Did you dance with him on the village green at the bringing in of the May?’ Her eyes flashed with spite. ‘Did he tumble you on the grass outside the cottage, or was it here in this barn?’
‘Be silent, Jennet,’ Alice spat through her teeth. ‘If you continue in this vein, I will strike you.’
‘I am not afraid of you, Alice, with your pretty ribbons and your fine manners and your airs, as if you were the wife of a gentleman. It is clear your husband cares not a jot for you, or he would not have you still working here a milkmaid in his barn.’
Grace’s head was low, listening to the sounds of her suckling baby, stroking his cheek with a gentle finger. She shuddered: she was sure Jennet was about to say something that would cause trouble. She had no idea what to do to remedy the situation, but her skin prickled in anticipation; she was ready to flee with her child if the situation demanded it.
Alice raised her voice. ‘You have gone too far, Jennet…’
‘No, sister, I tell the truth because you are foolish and weak. Look at Grace, holding her bastard child, and you cannot get one yourself.’
‘Do not you speak ill of my son, Jennet,’ Grace said, but Alice stood up shaking, her fist clenched.
Margaret watched from her stool in surprise, convinced that Alice would strike her own sister. Grace hugged Gabriel close to her and watched the sisters as they opposed each other, both quivering in anger.
Then Jennet said, ‘Look at the child, Alice. He has no look of Grace, with her pale hair and her slender limbs. He is hearty, and dark of hair and eyes. Who does the baby favour, do you think? Not her.’
Margaret frowned. ‘They say the Devil is a dark-haired man.’
‘And some men in the parish have dark hair too…’ Jennet began, a smirk on her face, and Alice took a step towards her.
‘Hold your tongue, Jennet, or I will make you hold it.’
‘But look at him, Alice – it is clear who the baby resembles. You have eyes and you can see it for yourself, but you will not.’
Then they heard a low voice call sharply, ‘What is all this noise?’
The four women turned to see Nathaniel striding into the barn, dark hair tumbling over deep-set eyes, frowning, looking from face to face. Grace watched as she clasped her child, the warmth of his skin next to hers. She saw Alice’s smooth brow cloud as she glanced from Jennet to Nathaniel, then to the baby and then back to Grace, her eyes glinting with tears of realisation.
In one movement, Alice caught her breath in a single sob and rushed from the barn.