Free Shelter from the Storm by Elizabeth Gill Page A

else. Nothing mattered. It was a complete downfall. She couldn’t help crying.
    He kissed her tears and offered to stop but Esther Margaret had forgotten how. She shook her head wordlessly. There were a great many times later when she remembered that he had said did she think that was enough and it was the last chance to say ‘no’ and she wished, even when she knew it wasn’t fair to wish, that he had been as crass as Billy Robson and treated her body like a plaything, but he didn’t. He was cautious, careful, asked her if he was hurting her, treated her as if she were glass. It was impossible to blame anybody who behaved so well, and that left her with nobody to blame but herself and her parents, and since they weren’t there she belaboured them in her mind for what she did not want to feel responsible about.
    It hurt, it was uncomfortable, her body went into shock, her mind couldn’t accept what was happening, it was messy and he was more close than anyone had ever been and she was not happy. When it was over he wrapped her up in a blanket and held her near and she listened to the rain beating against the window before she fell asleep.
    When she woke up it was the middle of the afternoon and she was hungry. They ate the picnic in bed, giggling, and after that she wanted to be close and this time it was entirely different. She didn’t want to get out of bed for the rest of her life, she didn’t want to leave him, she didn’t ever want her parents to come home, but she knew that they would. Then she was afraid that somebody might see him. It was almost dark when he left. They had to risk it, and even then she clung to him at the outsidedoor. They had agreed to meet at the bridge the following Sunday, and it was an eternity until then.
    Her parents came home and she felt like a different person, older, knowledgeable. She had lied and deceived them and sinned and it was very strange to be that new person. They tried talking to her and she tried talking back but it was nothing to do with her and they seemed strange, so much farther away. Her parents had always been everything in the world to her and now Dryden Cameron mattered more. He was the only person who mattered. She loved him. She knew what love was, how it felt. She wanted to run out of the door all the way to Mrs Clancy’s boarding house and claim him for her own. Her mother questioned her about dinner with the Robsons, having assumed that she had been, and Esther Margaret could see the shocked look on her face when she confessed that she had not. She lied again, said she didn’t feel well, and her mother understood that; sometimes she had pain when she was due to bleed. Thinking no doubt of her father, she did not question her further.
    The week went by on slow old legs and it would never be Sunday, Esther Margaret thought. She went dutifully to church though she didn’t hear a thing and it lasted for ever and when it was over there was Sunday dinner to get through and she couldn’t eat.
    ‘You’re not still unwell, are you?’ her mother asked her when she was leaving the dining room.
    ‘A little. I think I might go for a walk.’
    ‘I think that’s a very good idea,’ her mother said. ‘Don’t be too long.’
    Esther Margaret’s heart felt like a flag flying in front of her. She tried not to run, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, but her footsteps quickened. He was waiting and she had to force herself not to grab him. They walked, away from the village and into the country, to a certain barn that Dryden seemed to know, and there they spent the afternoon. She realised that she should get back but the more she should the less she wanted to and shewas in tears long before she reached her house, so when her mother came into the hall, concerned, she said, ‘I’m not a child!’ and ran up the stairs.
    After a short time her mother followed her, saying softly as she walked in, ‘You’re not ill, are you?’
    ‘I’m not ill,