Poppy Day Read Online Free PDF

his business. She was her mother’s province and Louisa made sure it stayed that way. Jess was her one, precious child.
    The farm boys helped walk the ‘big girls’, Myrtle and Maisie, the two black and white Shire horses, along from Lea End Farm, their fringed hooves striking on the frost hardened track, breath furling from their nostrils.
    Jess tore along to meet them, hair a crazy bird’s nest, holding up her thick winter dress. The arrival of the Shires felt like a dignified royal occasion. Jess’s father was ready for them, with Philip Gill. The forge was open on one side, facing the yard. Smoke curled out into the sharp air. The furnace was stoked high and it was dim inside even in the winter sunshine. Rows of tools hung on the main ceiling beam, and alongside the fire.
    William Hart, clad in his working apron, tucked the end of his long beard between the buttons of his shirt to keep it out of the way.
    ‘Can I hold Maisie while you shoe her – please ? Dad, Philip, let me!’
    Philip, eighteen then, stood rubbing one of his enormous ears, making hissing noises of amusement through his teeth. ‘You know ’ow to keep on, don’t yer?’
    William Hart said nothing.
    He prised the old shoes off, working his way round the horse, clicking at her and leaning against the hard flanks to make her lift her hooves. Jess talked to her, kissing her nose. Maisie tolerated this for a time, then lifted her head with an impatient jerk.
    ‘Eh now,’ Jess said, trying to sound grown up. ‘There’s a good girl.’
    When it happened, she was standing with a hand on Maisie’s neck, wrapped in the hot smell of horse. A shaft of sunlight cut into the dark forge, shot through with motes of smoke and dust. William, a shadowy silhouette in the firelight, hammered a glowing cresent of iron.
    From the doorway of the cottage her scream broke along the yard.
    ‘ William! Help me – for God’s sake! ’
    There was Louisa, doubled up, gasping on the step, face contorted in agony, hands thickly smeared with blood, and William Hart was running, hammer slammed down, the air abruptly emptied of all other sounds but his boots along the yard. Even the horses stared, rock still.
    Jess felt her mother’s agony and fear pass into her and her limbs turned weak.
    ‘Mom! Mom!’ She was struggling, crying, everything else a fog around her. Strong arms caught her. Philip carried her into the forge, sat her on a stool.
    ‘There now – there,’ he said, mopping her cheeks. Jess screwed up her nose at the smell of him.
    She was not allowed in the house all day, freezing as it was. The widow Mrs Guerney was sent for from the village, and the doctor. William stayed inside and Philip shod the horses. All day there was a dreadful quiet over the place which frightened her as much as her mother’s screams. Left alone, wrapped in her old coat, Jess wandered to the back gate which led to the path, then the hayfield. Atop the wall, on that diamond-hard day, cobwebs had frozen, crystalline and perfect across clusters of blood-red berries. Jess whimpered, hugging herself. Nothing felt right or safe any more. She kept seeing Louisa’s red hands, hearing that bloodcurdling cry, the last sound she would ever hear her mother utter.
    Late that night she saw Louisa laid out. Her hair was arranged loose on the pillow. She was cold and there was no expression in her face.
    Jess looked up accusingly at Mrs Guerney. ‘That ain’t Mom,’ she whispered. Then screamed, ‘What’ve yer done to my mom – that ain’t ’er! Where’ve yer taken ’er?’
    Sarah Guerney made clucking sounds with her tongue, led Jess briskly downstairs again and fed her bread crusts dipped in sweet milk. Her father sat by the range, staring ahead of him. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t even seem to see her.
    ‘Your mother’s gone to Heaven to be with the angels,’ Mrs Guerney told her. Jess thought she looked pleased about this, and hated her.
    When they took Louisa to be