Tidelands

Sir William shouted: “Go!” and the young couple dashed across the cobbled yard towards the barn doors, dodging and twisting as their friends sprang towards them, pelting them with jugs of water and handfuls of chaff, trying to prevent them entering the barn. They fought their way through, pushing and ducking, swerving and gasping. Richard grabbed Alys’s hand to pull her from a mob of boys as the adults cheered them on, until finally each of them got a hand on the great iron ring of the barn door, pulled it open, and declared that the harvest was safely home.

Everyone cheered. Alinor saw the bright looks that the young couple exchanged, and the way they immediately turned away from each other to return to their friends, Richard exuberantly bouncing towards the harvest lads, who jostled him and pulled at his straw crown, as Alys ran to the girls, flushed and giggling. Mrs. Miller served the harvest ale, first cup to Sir William, and the thirsty harvesters gathered around for their cups as Alinor turned to find James at her side.

“Your daughter is a very beautiful girl,” he observed.

“She is,” she said quietly.

They were painfully tongue-tied in company. They wanted to speak nothing but secrets; and they could not be seen to whisper. “You got home safely from your travels?” was all she could say.

“Yes,” he said awkwardly. “Yes, I did. Did you go back to the young mother? Is she well?”

“I went this afternoon, and I will go again tomorrow,” she confirmed. “I like to visit a young mother with her newborn baby, even if she has her own mother at her side.”

He was about to ask if he might come to see her at the cottage tonight, after harvest home; but he broke off. Her brother was coming down the track from the ferry to the mill yard, his old dog, Red, winding around his feet.

“I have to see you,” James said urgently. “Not here. Not in front of all these people. Alone.”

“I know, I know,” she breathed.

“Can I come tonight?” he whispered; but before she could answer Ned walked up to his sister, and acknowledged James with a brief nod.

“Good day, sir,” Ned said abruptly. “I see you came to visit the poor people of the parish. I suppose you like the old ways: Harvest Queen and Harvest King.”

“As long as the harvest games are modest.” James tried to steady himself.

Ned turned to Alinor and demanded: “I take it you won’t be dancing?”

“No. But Alys can, can’t she?”

Ned frowned and was about to refuse.

“There can be no objection to dancing at harvest home,” James interrupted. “Oliver Cromwell himself does not object to a glass of wine and godly merriment.”

“Not pagan dances,” Ned said stiffly. “And harvest home with the Harvest King and Queen is both pagan and monarchical.”

James tried to choke back a laugh but Ned was red to his ears and looked angry. “My sister’s situation is awkward.” Ned turned on him. “You wouldn’t know, Mr. Summers, but this is a small island, and nobody has anything to do but gossip.”

“No one says anything against me,” Alinor argued. “And everyone knows that Alys is your niece and a godly child. She can dance with her friends, Brother. Surely she can!”

“As you wish,” he said sulkily. “But you should both leave before the harvesters get drunk.”

“Of course. You know I always do.”

They had set up trestle tables laden with dishes in the mill yard. Sir William stood at the head of the table and the miller and his wife stood at the foot. “Will you say grace, Mr. Summer?” he invited.

James had to leave Alinor without another word, take his place, put his hands together, and say a prayer.

Ned listened suspiciously for any old-fashioned doctrine, but James Summer recited the grace in simple comprehensible English, as plain and unvarnished as any army preacher.

“Amen!” said everyone, and seated themselves all in a jumble, on the benches and the stools, except for Sir William, who took the great Carver chair, brought from the house, at the head of the table. The miller sat on one side of him and James Summer on the other. Rob was seated farther down the table opposite Walter, Mrs. Miller at the foot with her daughter at her right hand. Sir William drank a glass of the Millers’ ale, but did not dine. He sat for a little while and then nodded to his groom for his horse. “So, you have my good wishes, and I will leave you,” he announced. He glanced at James Summer. “The boys can stay to dance if they like,” he said.

“I’ll bring them home in good time,” James promised him.

Sir William closed one eye in a knowing wink. “Let them have a cup of ale or two and a dance with a pretty girl,” he said. “Maybe a kiss and a romp behind a haystack if the fathers are looking the other way!” Some of the nearby men guffawed at the bawdy suggestion, but most were coldly silent.

James did not dare look towards Ned, who was bristling with indignation. “No, no, they will behave themselves,” he said repressively.