Sarah: A Long Way Back

By Alison Edwards

It is the long hot summer of 1796. In Devonshire, fourteen-year-old Sarah lives on the large farm, which has been home to countless generations of her late mother's family.

Her father is a strict head of his household and workforce. Born and bred in a Somersetshire town, he clearly has no love for his rural home and lifestyle. Although often privately resentful of his rules, Sarah, along with everyone else, knows she must do as she is told.

Throughout her childhood, she has quietly accepted that one is ever allowed to mention her mother. In addition she has always managed to hide her frustration at being prevented from working in the farmhouse or out on the land. But now to her utter dismay, she has learned that her father plans to send her away to a boarding school for young ladies. This is the final straw for Sarah and she finds herself becoming more rebellious with each passing day.

One day, with her father supervising the harvest, a gentleman calls at the farmhouse. When he speaks fondly of her mother, Sarah warms to him. But later the purpose of his visit devastates her.

This book can be enjoyed as a stand-alone novel but it also serves as the first instalment on the four-part series A Long Way Back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alison Edwards
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838073510

Alison Edwards

Alison Edwards is a historical novelist currently working hard to complete the final book in her four part series A Long Way Back.Many years ago she used to entertain her children by making up little stories. These days her children are all grown up and she has more time to apply herself to her writing.A while back she began composing a short story for a national competition. She never got round to submitting the entry because she quickly realised her character, Sarah, deserved much more attention than the permitted two thousand wordsAlison describes herself as a private person who feels comfortable spending time in her own company. Yet she still looks forward the occasional evening with her family and closest friends. She prefers the countryside to the city and loves walking alone in the hills and along the coast.Her passion for writing can sometimes be all consuming. Sitting at her desk she often becomes so absorbed in her stories and characters that she loses all sense of the present. Many a time, she admits to putting down her pen and gasping in surprise at the view through her window. On a hot summer's day, she says she might easily expect to see snow on the ground like it was in the chapter she had just written.Alison is a big Brontë fan. Her favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.

Book preview

14th September 1796, Devonshire

There seemed no end to the grand weather and once again, the morning sun blazed down from a clear blue sky.

Sarah stood at the end of the wide path, staring into the hedge over the road. Behind her, Rose Farm occupied an area of two hundred acres, and yet her father allowed her to venture no further than this spot, a few strides from the farmyard.

Pacing back to the gate, she rested her elbows on the top bar and gazed down the yard. To the right stood the big old house with its white walls and thatched roof, to the left, the great stone-built barn.

She turned fifteen next month. Ejecting that from her mind, she looked towards the wide track that commenced at this side of the barn. As a little girl, she remembered running all the way down to the cornfield. There she jumped into a man’s arms and he threw her onto his shoulders. Spreading her fingers up to the sky, she would ride on high above the singing voices and busy scythes.

Her father never appeared in that memory. She imagined him standing at the edge of the field, shouting and pointing.

Shoving the gate open, she strode down the yard. The squawking hens scattered but she had to skip around Goliath, the sleeping mastiff. On past the house, the aroma of hops and malt intensified. The sound of sloshing liquid grew.

She arrived at the wide open door of the brewhouse. Through a cloud of steam, the housekeeper had her back turned. Her white mobcap nodded with each stir of the beer.

‘Lizzie—’ she said.

The woman gasped. ‘You scared me half to death, creeping up on me like that.’

Sarah stepped inside. ‘I was only going to offer to help while Father is not around.’

‘You can help me fetch the water for the small-beer if you want.’ With those words the housekeeper grabbed two wooden pails from the floor and dashed outside.

Sarah caught her up. ‘Lizzie,’ she said, ‘who taught you how to brew?’

‘We need some rain. There’s barely a splash coming out of the pumps. Even the old well is nearly dry.’

‘Lizzie!’

‘Your grandmother when I was not much older than you. I thought I told you. Here, have this one.’

Sarah took the pail. ‘What was she like?’

‘Look how shallow the brook is,’ said Lizzie, side-stepping down the bank. Bending forward she dipped her pail against the sparkling flow.

Sarah jumped down the bank and leapt out onto a big stone but even as she laid her pail into the water, Lizzie had already filled hers and began clambering back up the slope.

With her pail full, Sarah walked back up the yard and into the brewhouse. Lizzie stood on a stool, tipping water into the copper cauldron.

Sarah passed up her own pail. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you did tell me my grandmother taught you but what was she like?’

‘It was so long ago I cannot remember much about her.’

‘You remember well enough. You simply don’t want to speak about when my mother was alive.’

‘You know I’m not supposed to go on about the past. You’ll get me into trouble,’ said Lizzie, handing back the empty pail and rushing out again.

Sarah quickly caught her up. ‘Father will not find out. Anyway it’s not as if I’m asking you to tell me about my mother. I asked you about my grandmother.’

‘But you’re leading up to questions about your mother again. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?’

‘You know why. He’s sending me away and if I don’t find out before I go, I’ll never get another chance.’

‘You are going to school for three years, not for ever.’

‘I told you not to mention that place to me!’

Lizzie hurried away and on down the bank. When Sarah arrived at the stream, the housekeeper scrambled back up, the full pail swinging at her side.

Back in the brewhouse, Lizzie remained tight-lipped as she took Sarah’s pail and poured it into the copper. Then she handed it back and once again departed swiftly towards the light of the doorway.

Sarah rushed out. ‘Wait for me. I didn’t mean to shout at you.’

The woman waited. ‘You shouldn’t keep pestering me. It’s not fair.’

As they walked together down towards the brook, Sarah spoke softly. ‘I know Father does not allow it but I think my mother would have wanted you to tell me about her.’

‘Your mother wanted me to keep you safe. And if I started to tell you about the past then I would no longer be able to do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he would send me packing, that’s why not.’

Sarah found the thought of losing Lizzie too painful to contemplate. It took her a minute to respond. ‘Trust me,’ she said, laying her pail in the water, ‘he would not find out from me. You do trust me don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Do you trust me enough to tell me about Mama?’

‘Oh you! I’ll tell you a bit but not this morning,’ The housekeeper set off again for the brewhouse.

Sarah caught her up. ‘When then?’

‘Soon. I need to get it all straight in my head first.’

‘You promise?’

‘Yes, as long as you stop pestering me. Now let us get this copper filled.’

One hour later, Lizzie straightened up from the water’s edge with a groan. ‘These last two pails will do it,’ she said. ‘Then this afternoon we’ll light it up.’

As they strode up the bank, Goliath barked three lazy barks and a shrill voice called Lizzie’s name.

Phoebe the cook with her wide body and narrow face, hurried down towards them.

‘There were a gentleman in the yard,’ said Phoebe as their paths met outside the brewhouse. ‘I told him to wait there and I’ll go fetch the housekeeper, she be making her beer. But he’s gone and took his horse up the stable.’

Lizzie snatched the pail from Sarah’s fingers and put it on the ground alongside her own. ‘Phoebe, you go and pour these last two into the copper, and me and miss will go and meet the gentleman.’

The cook folded her arms. ‘Don’t know about that.’

Sarah knew she had to intervene and as always, her loyalties lay with Lizzie. ‘Please, Phoebe, I think it would be for the best.’

‘If you says so, miss,’ said the cook, sighing.

Sarah walked quickly up the yard, keen to get the first look at the gentleman. Rushing alongside her, Lizzie tidied herself as she went.

As they reached the house, the big dog barked half-heartedly. A tall well-built man of fifty stepped from beside the barn and strode towards them. ‘How do you do?’ he said, ‘I am Oliver Dean.’

‘Very well, thank you, sir. Lizzie Mason, housekeeper here.’

‘Well, Lizzie, I am here to see Mr Hockworthy. Is he not at home?’

‘He is seeing on the harvest. If you come into the house, I’ll send word with our maid-girl.’

‘That is most kind.’ He smiled at Sarah.

‘I’m not the maid.’

‘I can see perfectly well who you are. You are the double of your mother.’

‘Come inside, sir,’ said the housekeeper, ushering him through the front door.

Sarah remained outside, thinking those were the kindest words she had ever heard. Before she had chance to go in, Lizzie returned and planted herself in the doorway. She loudly called the maid’s name and then whispered, ‘Do not start speaking to him about your mother, Sarah, because your father will surely find out.’

‘I do not care.’

‘Listen to me, your mother would not want you to do this.’

‘You are only saying that to keep me quiet.’

‘No, I mean it. I said I trust you but you must trust me. If you want me to tell you about her, you had better behave.’

Sarah shoved past her and walked on to stand in front of the long table at which Mr Dean sat.

Before the gentleman could speak, Lizzie appeared at her side, announcing, ‘Sir, I am sorry but the maid is not answering my call.’

‘No good keep shouting after her,’ panted Phoebe, entering, ‘she’s not come back since taking the beer to the field.’

Sarah could not resist. ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie, I’ll go and tell Father that Mr Dean is here.’

‘You will not!’

‘Oh, let the child run down to the field,’ said Mr Dean.

‘Sir, the master will be back to eat soon. Please take a mug of strong beer while you wait.’

Sarah had an urge to tell the gentleman that her father did not allow her to run down to the field but with Lizzie’s warning fresh in her mind, she kept quiet.

‘Phoebe, fetch a jug of strong beer and one of small,’ said Lizzie, sitting down opposite the visitor.

The cook dawdled off to the pantry. ‘And after that,' she muttered, 'I expect you’ll be wanting me to run down to the field to fetch the master.'

Ignoring her, Lizzie said, ‘Have you ridden far, sir?’

‘That depends on what you call far.’

Lizzie nodded politely.

Sarah could see the housekeeper endeavouring not to appear vexed at having her curiosity thwarted, so she sat down beside her and pressed herself close.

Presently Phoebe brought the beer and mugs over to the table and then she wandered off, mumbling to herself.

After taking a hearty swig, Mr Dean placed his mug back down on the table. ‘An excellent beer. My compliments to the brewer.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Lizzie.

He put on a surprised expression. ‘You mean you brewed this fine drink?’

Sarah smiled as she recalled the cook saying she told the gentleman that Lizzie was making her beer.

‘I am sure, sir,’ said the housekeeper, ‘that any drink would taste fine on such a hot day.’

‘You are too modest, my girl. Your beer is as good as I have supped for many a year. Now tell me, have you been part of Mr Hockworthy’s household long?’

‘That depends on what you call long,’ interrupted Sarah.

‘I’ve lived here for twenty-one years,’ Lizzie said quickly.

‘Would I be correct in thinking you were only a young child when you came here?’

‘I was not quite that young, sir.’

Sarah glanced mischievously at Lizzie. She knew her to be thirty-seven years old.

From the kitchen area, Phoebe muttered something. The gentleman turned to the cook and asked, ‘And how long have you served the farm, madam?’

‘Nine years now, sir.’

‘Ah, about the time poor Helen passed away.’

Sarah gasped. In long years, no one had spoken openly about her mother, and now this gentleman had mentioned her twice in the matter of minutes.

‘Oh, my dear girl,’ he said at once, ‘I do apologise. I did not mean to upset you.’

‘Sir, we don’t talk about Helen,’ whispered Lizzie, resting her hand on Sarah’s.

Sarah pulled her fingers away and sat upright. ‘Don’t apologise on my behalf. I am not upset by the mention of my mother. In fact, I wish more than anything that someone would talk to me about her.’

‘Sarah, that’s enough,’ said Lizzie.

‘Don’t shout at me!’

‘I did not shout at you.’

Mr Dean reached across the table for the jug.

After a period of quiet moments and small talk, the front door opened. Sarah turned to see her father stride in. Her brother, William, almost three years her junior, followed.

Mr Dean stood up. ‘Mr Hockworthy,’ he said, ‘please accept my apologies for arriving without prior notice. Being in the parish, I saw an opportunity to continue our recent discussion.’

Her father gazed up at the much larger man. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘let us continue our business in my private parlour.’ Then he turned and strode towards that small room at the rear of the house. The gentleman followed.

Her brother walked on to the little dining table in the corner. ‘Come over here now with me, Sarah,’ he said, sitting down.

‘I’m eating mine here.’

Lizzie carried two plates past her. ‘Your food will be on your father’s table, miss,’ she said, ‘and that’s where you’ll eat it.’

Sarah trudged over and sat opposite William. ‘This is ridiculous.’

As she bit a big chunk from her bread, her brother glared at her with disgust. She took a bigger bite. With his big brown eyes and thick dark hair, she thought he looked a bit like her but his mouth reminded her of their father’s.

Before long he got up and left the table. As usual half his meal remained. ‘No wonder you’re so small for twelve,’ she called.

‘And do you have an explanation why you’re so stupid for your age?’ he said, slumping onto the long seat fixed under the middle window. He picked up his book from the exact position he placed it that morning. He would always make a fuss if anyone dared move it, claiming his page had been lost.

On one occasion, Sarah opened the precious publication but after a few lines could barely bring herself to skim through it. It seemed no more than a commentary on a selection of British towns and cities and their various manufacturing trades.

She pushed her empty plate away and tapped a rhythm on the table.

‘Stop that noise,’ said William, peeping over his book.

She tapped louder.

Lizzie paced over to collect the plates. ‘Please stop trying to cause trouble,’ she whispered. ‘It’s me who will get it.’

Sarah sighed and looked out of the window.

CHAPTER 2

The next morning’s misty start soon turned to glorious sunshine. Outside the farmyard gate, Sarah took a step back to inspect her path-side gardens. All looked tidy now but so, so scorched.

She clapped her hands to rid them of the dusty earth. The sound rang out. She clapped again.

Silence returned.

She tossed her mud-spattered bucket over the gate and it clattered across the ground.

Climbing up the gate, she sat on the top bar and looked towards the window of her bedchamber, the second of the four upstairs. Almost directly above it, one solitary window, with its own pointed little roof, jutted out from the thatch. She felt sad whenever she saw that roof-window. Sometimes she chose to stare at it for ages until tears filled her eyes.

Far down the yard, Lizzie emerged from the brewhouse, carrying two heavy pails.

Sarah jumped to the ground and stooped to swing her dirty bucket into the orchard before running down the slope.

‘You will catch it, miss, if your father finds you wasting our water on those flowers,’ said Lizzie, approaching.

‘Trust you to worry about him. I used mostly bank sludge, which would have dried up anyway.’

‘I am not worried about him, I am worried about you. But pay no heed to me, it’s this heat again.’

Sarah took one of the pails from the woman. She followed her up the side of the house and in through the open door. ‘I thought you were supposed to take this to the cellar at a cooler time of day.’

‘It’s the strong beer that has to be casked cold,’ said Lizzie, her voice echoing as she descended the stone steps. ‘We do not make much fuss over this small beer. There, that is something new you have learned. At this rate you will soon be able to take over the whole task.’

‘If only he would let me.’

In the murky chamber below, a lantern hung from a rafter.

Lizzie walked over to the barrel that housed her funnel and began tipping the liquid from her pail.

Sarah put her pail to the floor. ‘I really want to defy him by going down the lane and watching the harvest through the hedge.’

‘Are you determined to cause trouble? We will all get on much better if you accept your father’s rules.’

‘You mean you will all get on much better. I shall be in that place.’

‘At least give it a chance. It might not be too bad.’

‘Lizzie, it will be awful. Can’t you see it is no place for a country girl?’

‘He told me it is in the countryside. It is called Oakwoods. He thinks you’ll like it. Pass me that beer.’

Sarah handed her the pail. ‘When has he ever cared about what I like? He only chose that place because his brother’s daughters are there. And if they are anything like him, I shall hate them. Anyway if he cared about what I liked, he would let me stay here and let you teach me the things I really want to learn.’

‘He wants you to learn more than I could ever teach you.’

‘Stop defending him. I could still carry on with my music lessons and my reading while you taught me about brewing, and baking, and needlework and such. Well, perhaps not needlework, but you know what I mean.’

‘Sarah, he wants you to be a young lady. A young lady has no cause to learn how to brew.’

‘I am not a young lady and I never will be. I want to be like my grandmother. She was not above brewing, was she?’

With the pail nearly empty, Lizzie began mumbling a song.

‘Answer me!’

‘No, she was not above brewing,’ said Lizzie, pouring out the last drop. Then she quickly picked up the other pail and strode towards the steps.

‘Did my mother know about brewing and such?’

Lizzie stopped and turned with sadness in her eyes. ‘Let us not get on that topic now. You know how angry your father would be if he found out.’

‘That’s exactly what you said when I asked you last night and we were alone then too. He won’t find out. I am doing as you asked by not causing trouble. Yesterday you promised you would tell me about my mother. Then last night you said it might be today, but all you do is ignore me or hurry away from me or start singing.’

‘I will tell you but not now.’

‘We are alone now. We have plenty of time now. So why not now? You are going to let me down, aren’t you?’

‘I’ll never let you down but you must trust me.’

‘Trust you? You have broken your promise to me.’

‘If I am to stay here, I must abide by your father’s rules. I made a promise to do that.’

‘Well, if your promise to him means more than your promise to me, then stay away from me. Those are my rules!’

Shaking with anger she shouldered past the woman. But before her foot touched the first step, she heard the pails clatter to the ground and felt two hands on her shoulders. She turned round ready to carry on the row but she saw the tears in Lizzie’s eyes.

‘Sarah, my promise was to your mother not to him.’

‘Oh so now you promised my mother to never tell me about her.’

‘Of course not. I promised her I would always stay here to look after you. I want to tell you about her but I am terrified of him finding out. That is why I wanted the time and place to be exactly right.’

‘But, Lizzie, the time and place is never going to be exactly right.’

‘I can see that now,’ she whispered, ‘and I will keep my promise to you. As God is my witness, before the end of this harvest season, I will tell you all you want to know.’

Across the dining table, Sarah’s father pushed away his unfinished midday meal. ‘Lizzie,’ he called, ‘I am returning briefly to the field but then I must ride over to Dormlea Hall. I will leave William here with you.’

‘With your permission,’ said the housekeeper, ‘I will take them for a walk down the lane, only as far as Mason’s Close. I want to pick a few nuts for next week. I am sure with the harvest going on that there will be no one about.’

‘Has she read today?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’ve read,’ said Sarah.

‘I was speaking to Lizzie.’

‘Yes, sir, she has.’

Sarah matched her father’s stare but she knew it made no sense to provoke him. She refused to lower her eyes though. Instead she turned to gaze out of the window.

Five minutes later, through the same window, she watched him depart across the yard. ‘Come on then,’ she said, getting up.

At the window-seat, she grabbed her brother’s arms. He tried to resist but she hauled him to his feet and held him upright.

‘Cheer up, Master William,’ said Lizzie. ‘It’s a grand day for walking.’

‘It is hot and I have been out working with Father all morning.’

Sarah let go of him and he fell back down. ‘Lizzie, surely he could stay with Phoebe, and then you and I could walk alone to Mason’s Close.’

‘And what do you think your father would say when he found out I’d gone and left him in the house?’

‘But, Lizzie,’ protested William, ‘I was looking forward to my book this afternoon. I’ll explain to him that I wanted to stay behind.’

‘I’ll not go back on arrangements made with your father,’ said Lizzie in a flustered tone. ‘You two should know that.’

Sarah grabbed him and pulled him up again. ‘Oh come on, put that boring book down.’

‘Get off me!’ he cried, slipping her grip and then walking out through the front door.

Sarah paced out after him. In the sunlit yard, she followed him as he trudged up towards the gate.

‘Wait, you two,’ called Lizzie.

Sarah waited. Down beside the barn, she could see her father striding away in the direction of the fields. She supposed he must have stopped off at the stable. William obviously had not spotted him for he ambled on through the gate. In the lane he took to the right.

Lizzie arrived at her side, carrying a basket. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Let us catch him up.’

In no time the three of them walked together in the shade of tall hedges. Sarah took the basket from Lizzie’s fingers. ‘I’ll carry this,’ she said. ‘Did Father say why he was going to Dormlea Hall?’

‘Are you stupid?’ said William. ‘He is going to see our landlord of course.’

‘I know that. I meant why. And I was talking to Lizzie not you. Lizzie, where exactly is Dormlea Hall?’

The woman waved her hand towards the hedge on their left. ‘It is over that way, beyond Mr Gamlin’s farm.’

‘Is Mr Gamlin’s farm as beautiful as Rose Farm?’

‘It is fine land and vast too.’

‘I should really love to see it.’

‘You fool,’ said William. ‘The Gamlins would stick a knife in you if you set foot on their farm.’

‘I am not a fool. I know more about the Gamlins than you do.’

‘That is enough,’ said Lizzie. ‘Now please change the subject.’

To keep the peace, Sarah quickened away from them.

Around the next bend, the lane rolled downhill and the side-banks grew tall. With each falling stride, the air thickened with the scent of wild flowers. She intended to keep on going and then wait at the bottom for the others. However, when a merry song rang out from the Rose Farm cornfields to her right, she stopped to listen. She felt sure the voice belonged to Daniel, a labourer who lived under the same roof as the Hockworthys. One by one, more voices joined in with his tune.

Without another thought she dropped the basket to the ground and set her boot against the steep verge. Then she pulled herself ever-higher by grabbing at the stems of tall weeds. Near the top, she made a lunge for the hedge. Hanging onto a branch, she eased herself upright to peep down through the leaves at a long field of wheat. Directly below her the heads of an old man and a young man dipped and rose in unison as they swung their scythes. A few strides behind them, a tightly bound sheaf fell from the hands of a stooping girl.

Sarah looked amongst the workers until she located Daniel by his bobbing fair head. As he sang and scythed, a man called out from the other side of the field. Another man answered, followed by laughter.

‘Come down, Sarah,’ called Lizzie from the road.

‘Hush,’ she hissed. She had spotted the tiny figure of her father sneaking behind the hedge on the far side of the field. Then as he arrived at the opening, the singing and laughter stopped. Daniel ducked down into the tall crop.

With his hands on his hips, her father yelled, ‘I’ve only been gone five minutes and already you are taking advantage. Reuben Brown,’ he called to his leading farmhand, ‘get this lot working before the rain starts.’

‘He’ll drop dead of madness afore much longer,’ said the young man working immediately below Sarah.

‘I hopes not,’ said the old man, ‘leastways not afore I’s had me wages.’

Sarah felt like shouting to her father to leave them alone and that they would work harder if he let them sing and laugh.

‘What exactly are you looking at?’ called William. ‘Is that Father’s voice I hear?’

She turned. Seeing her brother trying to climb the bank, she slid back down. At the last moment, she dodged past him and jumped.

In the road she watched William reach for Lizzie’s hand to help him down and then she snatched up the basket and paced off in front again.

The road continued to dip until at its deepest point, it ran under a clump of overhanging beech trees. ‘Wait,’ called Lizzie.

Sarah smiled as she waited. She knew what to expect.

‘Come here, both of you,’ said Lizzie, approaching. ‘Take my hands.’

Sarah did as the woman asked and together the three of them hurried through the black-green tunnel. Five seconds later they stepped

Reviews for Sarah

[Lynn Ruvang · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I liked the description of the life of the farm in this story. Unfortunately the story was slow and plodding and the dialogue was flat. What could have been exciting moments in the story (Sarah’s arrival at her new school, for example) were skipped over and revealed only by dialogue after the fact. I wanted to be there with Sarah when she went to the school! Not just watch her tell Lizzie about it afterward. Same with Helen’s history. We hear it in a bland recital from Lizzie. This approach makes me feel detached from the action. There were some scenes that did come to life but as a whole I think this book is an example of why writers should strive to “show, don’t tell.” I won’t be bothering with the other books in this series.