Free Cherry Tree Lane by Anna Jacobs Page A

school.’
    ‘I can’t impose.’
    She began coughing again and he gave her a clean handkerchief, holding her as the spasms racked her. ‘You don’t really have a choice. You can’t even sit up on your own.’
    She stopped coughing and he waited. When her breathing became deeper and she said nothing, he realised she’d fallen asleep, cradled against him. He looked down at her pale face and that pretty marigold-coloured hair, and felt tenderness suffuse him. ‘I wonder who’s hurt you so badly and where your family are,’ he murmured. Perhaps they were all dead. She’d had a grieving look on her face when she said there was no one left now.
    After he’d propped her against the pillows again, the impulse to stroke her cheek was irresistible, and the skin was indeed as soft as it looked. Then he drew the blanket up carefully and tiptoed out into the kitchen, with a feeling of certainty that she wasn’t going to die. He was surprised at how pleased he felt about that.
     
     
    A few hours later, Mattie woke again, to find the little girl sitting beside her.
    The child’s face brightened and she leant forward. ‘Are you really awake?’
    Mattie moistened her lips. ‘Yes. Is there … ? I’m very thirsty.’
    A small hand patted her shoulder and as the father had said, the child seemed to regard her as a pet. ‘I’ve got a glass of water here. Dad said not to fill it too full. Shall I help you drink?’ Tongue sticking out of one corner of her mouth, so deep was her concentration, she did so, then set the nearly empty glass down.
    Mattie felt like smiling at her young helper’s earnestness, but didn’t because it wouldn’t be polite.
    ‘Dad said I should warm up some porridge because you need something to eat. It won’t take me long. We made extra this morning. I can put honey on it, if you like.’
    ‘That’d be nice.’
    ‘My name’s Sarah.’
    ‘And mine’s Mattie.’
    ‘Dad told us, but you didn’t tell him your other name, an’ me and Luke can’t call you Mattie, can we?’
    ‘Why not?’
    The child’s grey eyes widened in surprise. ‘You’re a grown-up! We have to call grown-ups Mrs or Miss something. It’s not polite to call a grown-up by her first name.’
    ‘Well, I don’t mind. Just call me Mattie.’
    A man’s voice interrupted. ‘Sarah, love, don’t pester our visitor. It’s not good manners.’
    ‘But I was only—’
    ‘Leave it, Sarah!’
    ‘She wants something to eat.’
    ‘Go and warm her porridge, then.’
    Lips pressed together in a stubborn line, resentment of unjust treatment showing in every line of her body, Sarah marched out of the room.
    Jacob came to stand in front of the fire, warming his hands, bringing a breath of cool, fresh air and a smell of the outdoors to the room. He must have left his boots at the door but hadn’t waited to find his slippers. ‘You look a bit better than you did this morning.’
    Mattie nodded. ‘Still weak, though.’
    ‘Miss Newington will be here in a minute or two to help you have a wash. I saw her walking down the lane from the big house.’
    ‘Miss Newington?’
    ‘She lives in the big house, owns half the village.’
    Shortly afterwards there was a knock on the back door and it opened almost immediately. Brisk footsteps came towards them. A thin older lady entered, clad in muddy-coloured tweeds that flapped around scrawny ankles poking out of sensible boots. A shapeless felt hat was pulled down over her grey hair, which was dragged back into a tight bun.
    She studied Mattie. ‘You’re awake and have come to your sense. Good.’ Then she took over.
    Half an hour later, after she’d helped Mattie to use the commode and washed her as if she was a baby, she hesitated, then said, ‘Just so that you don’t say anything that upsets him: Jacob’s wife died over a year ago. There are only him and the children living here now. He’s a good man, won’t hurt you.’ She called him back in and sat down on one of the