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Hertfordshire, England – 1811
The day fine, Elizabeth and Mary walked with firm enjoyment of the weather, despite their journey promising labour at its end. For the harvest not only brought coin for tenants and masters alike, but hard toil. Indeed, though Elizabeth found riding a thing to avoid, with their need to daily traverse the distance between house and fields, the lack of mounts for either sister proved a burden as the harvest extended from days to weeks, the apple harvest swiftly met by the root vegetables, potatoes, and leaks, not to mention dozens of other vegetables, fruits, and nuts.
“Will Lydia and Kitty be assisting with putting up the jams again?” Mary asked. “Mrs. Hill said Lydia has a remarkable talent for it; were PaPa a tradesman or journeyman instead of a gentleman, I believe Lydia would have found work in a great house! Medicinal remedies, preserving, even her understanding of botany would prove her a great asset within such a household.”
“Would it now?” Elizabeth laughed. “I am not certain she would enjoy working day in and day out; though, I grant you, she can be a hard worker. If she would be at work in the kitchens, then what about the rest of us? Were things different, what would we all do?”
Setting a finger to her cheek, Mary’s face contorted as she thought. “Well, Kitty would be a seamstress, perhaps one day owning her own establishment and designing for the more well-to-do members of the Ton. Jane… it is harder to say with her, for she has great ability with math, but finding work as an accountant as a woman, I assume, would not be easy. If she did not marry some wealthy tradesman, perhaps she might work with Kitty doing fine embroidery? Or as a musician–her harp playing is quite good. But…” she smirked as she studied Elizabeth, “As to you, I do not know if I can say. Your skill at art has improved greatly, though… you may have to suffer for your art. Walking? No. I fear however skillful you are at it, it could hardly lead you to earn a decent wage. Do not give me that look, I promise to be serious. Very well, I would say a teacher? Yes. With your enjoyment of reading, nature, art, and your knowledge of nearly everything a young person might need to run a home or estate, you would make a fine teacher. In fact,” she said, smirk replaced with a soft smile, “you already are a great teacher. I could not have asked for a better one.”
“A fine thing,” Elizabeth teased even as her eyes glistened and heart stirred at her sister’s compliment. “Not even a governess in a fine house? Well, I shall accept the position nonetheless, for teaching–I have found–is often remarkably rewarding.” Clearing her throat, she draped an arm around her sister. “And what of you? A musician perhaps? You have improved at the pianoforte beyond all recognition. What else, I wonder? You run a fine household, and would make any house a home, but you also create poetry. Perhaps you would run a householdANDpublish poetry, delighting your guests with music and readings of your work?”
“Boring them is more like,” Mary chuckled, eyes darting between her sister and the hill in front of them. “Well, all I can say is,” she paused, giving Elizabeth a playful shove before hurrying up the rise, half turning as she challenged her sister, “Catch me if you can!”
“I always do,” Elizabeth laughed as she raced after.
Panting, the pair slowed as they neared the first field they were to visit, the race having ended with Mary in the lead thanks, in part, to her head start and the unexpected interruption of a field hand giving his sweetheart a plaited heart made from husks of the recent corn harvest. Though hurrying past the couple to the field beyond, their race and laughter had stilled, the couple blushing as she pinned his gift to her chest; his sweet gesture accepted.
Sharing an amused smile with her sister, Elizabeth’s lips drew inward as she considered another couple. Kitty, only out four months and earlier than planned–sixteen rather than seventeen–had several men press their suit. Young James Lucus, however, had won out in no short order, his broad smile, soft manners, and unabashed interest in her and all she had to say being far from things which might hinder a man’s suit.
A good man. He certainly was a good man,Elizabeth mused.Not titled or particularly wealthy, but to take holy orders in a year’s time and with every likelihood of obtaining his own parish soon after. No. In terms of character and ability to provide he would do for her sister… It was Kitty’s youth that worried. For, at sixteen, could she really know her own heart?
Reaching the edge of the field and preparing for a discussion regarding root vegetables, Elizabeth allowed one final thought on the matter of Kitty.Seventeen. They would have to wait until Kitty reached that age to marry, if Jane agreed–though they could always write Father.
A mere eight-month delay. Surely the pair would accept it, IF he asked to marry of course. Which he would. All the signs were there.
Perhaps he would take some time before he proposed? That would be a delight, for then Kitty would hardly notice the wait… and they might not give up their sister so soon. It would be a sad day when Kitty married and went away. Sad for those who remained.
If only things might stay as they were. No more loved ones departing.
Nothing changing.
Though some answers to her mother’s secret would be one exception; in that she would happily see things change. She had shown the letter to her sisters, told them all she knew, but answers? Those they still did not have.
They all deserved the truth, and if Father would not give it, eventually, they would have to discover it themselves.
“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary,” Mr. Reed called over the voices of his men, “thank you for coming! We have a fine harvest of beetroots, make no mistake.”
“It appears so by the number of men you have hired;” Elizabeth noted, observing the full dozen men hard at work digging up the root vegetable, “the temperate weather has been ideal. How long do you expect this to take? I explored the neighboring field yesterday and the onions ought to be harvested next. The leaves are brown and bent as they should be, but there is little worse than leaving onions to rot, and with prices down from last year, we need every onion we can harvest.”
“The cold winter made me wonder if it would be a bad year for crops, what with hearing that the Thames was all frozen over again, but nothing to fear it seems, leastwise where we are,” Mr. Reed said, giving a satisfied nod as he too examined the work. “By end of day tomorrow we ought to be done here, then we can move on. As you say, the onions ought to be next harvested. I would hire a few more men to start on it, but with the horses needed here, it would do little good.”
“True enough. Though a day and a half should not cause the onions to rot. What is your opinion, Mary?”
“Are there men in want of work, Mr Reed?” Mary asked, eyes darting from Mr. Reed to those men who were clearly occupied.
“A few. I hired many, as you can see, but had to leave off a few men. Any more than I have and there would be men holding handfuls of beetroot while others blocked the cart with their own work; with the speed some of these lads work, we almost have that problem as it is.”
“Why could we not hire them to harvest the onions?” Mary questioned; the joy found in puzzling out the problem evident in her eyes.
Countenance brightening as her sister’s notion entered her own mind, Elizabeth stood back, allowing her younger sister her chance to do the work she had been trained to.
“I understand that the horses are needed here,” Mary continued, “but with the fine weather, the onions could be harvested and left out; spread apart so they can dry. I recall that it is best to let onions dry somewhat after. We usually manage that after we have moved them, but doing so now would help us not to fall behind in the harvest… not to mention it would give men work who need it.”
Chest puffed as though a proud father, Mr. Reed smiled, “Right you are, Miss Mary. A grand idea that! I might even pull off one of the men from here to work that field as well–as I said, with how quick some of these young men are, one less might help.”
Within an hour the men were hired and sent to harvest the onion crop, Elizabeth and Mary finishing their tour of the fields some few hours after, wearied but content that the yield would allow their tenants and themselves profit above what they had known the year prior. Improvements to the farms, to homes, and to families would be felt for some time to come if wise decisions were made.
