Free Cherry Tree Lane by Anna Jacobs

word in books and looked it up in his dictionary, but had never been able to use it before. Now he knew exactly what it meant.
    He wondered what she was really like. She had hard-working hands, reddened, marked with needle pricks from sewing. His wife’s hands had been like that.
    As if she could feel him staring at her, the stranger began to stir. Her head moved from side to side, then her eyes slowly opened. She closed them again, blinked, then opened them fully. Once again, he was struck by how blue they were, like the periwinkles that grew down one end of his garden. He’d always liked those flowers and spared a clump or two when weeding, for the pleasure they gave him.
    This time, she was aware of her surrounding and gasped in fear at the sight of Jacob, her eyes darting to and fro as she tried to work out where she was. He sat perfectly still and asked calmly, ‘How are you feeling now?’
    She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a croak.
    ‘You’re probably thirsty,’ he said. ‘Shall I get you a drink? My son brought in some fresh water from the well before he went to school.’
    ‘I remember … a child. A girl?’
    ‘Yes. My daughter Sarah. She’s been helping me look after you. My son found you lying unconscious in the lane during the storm.’
    ‘Storm?’ She repeated the word, with a dubious glance towards the sun streaming in through the window.
    ‘A really bad one, too. Trees uprooted, roofs damaged, and some of my seedlings battered into the ground.’ He brought the water and helped her drink, then asked, ‘Would you like a cup of chicken soup? Miss Newington brought some yesterday. I can soon warm it up. They say it’s very nourishing and you’ve been quite ill.’ She still was, but he didn’t say that, wanted her to think she was recovering.
    She nodded.
    It didn’t take long to warm up a cupful. When he brought it back, he thought for a minute she was asleep, but she opened her eyes again, looking at him warily. He felt as if he was dealing with a wild bird that would rather fly away than stay – and for some strange reason he didn’t want her to leave. He set the mug on the hearth. ‘We’ll have to leave that to cool for a minute or two, else you’ll burn your tongue.’
    She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. ‘I feel … so weak.’
    ‘You’ve had pneumonia.’
    She began to cough, fighting for breath until the spasm passed.
    ‘Let me help you sit a bit higher.’
    She flinched back.
    He stilled. ‘I won’t hurt you! What sort of fellow do you think I am?’
    She took a deep, shuddering breath and this time allowed him to slip an arm round her shoulders and ease her into an even more upright position, propped against the pillows. When he held the mug to her lips, she drank eagerly.
    Once she’d emptied it, he stepped back, not wanting to loom over her. ‘From what you said when you were delirious, it was obvious you’re running away from someone. I don’t know who it is, but you’re quite safe here with us, I promise you.’
    The flush had faded from her face now, in spite of the warmth of the room, and she was looking chilled again, her cheeks devoid of colour. Even her lips seemed bloodless.
    ‘My name’s Jacob – Jacob Kemble,’ he said by way of encouragement.
    ‘Oh. Yes. My name’s Mattie …’ She broke off, not giving him her surname.
    ‘Mattie, short for Matilda?’
    She nodded.
    ‘I had an aunt called Matilda. Auntie Tilda, we called her. Have you any family we should tell? Someone who’ll be worrying about you?’
    She shook her head. ‘No. There’s no one left.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed convulsively.
    ‘Then you’d better stay here with us till you’re better, hadn’t you?’
    She regarded him even more warily.
    He smiled. ‘I dare do nothing else but keep you. My Sarah’s decided to adopt you, like she does injured birds and other little creatures. She’ll be fussing over you the minute she gets back from