Page 48 of A Provincial Peer

She had known that the rainfall earlier this morning would make for a wet walk, and she could have put off visiting Hester until another day, but then she would have had to contrive another activity sufficiently all-encompassing that it would capture her full attention. After a fretful night filled with images of Benedict and memories of her unsettling reaction to his nearness when he’d helped her dismount the day before, staying busy had been imperative. She had no desire for those disquieting thoughts to continue.

It had been more than a week since she’d had tea with Hester and Molly at Sarah Trilby’s house, and with how uncomfortable Hester had been then, Caroline truly hoped she had delivered her child by now. Visiting her new friend had seemed to be an ideal outing; taking a crock of Nora’s pea soup with her had seemed to be an equally good idea. Neither decision felt particularly wise anymore.

She shifted her basket from one hand to the other, wishing she’d learned her lesson when she’d carried a similar container to Sarah’s house. When the flour shortage abated, she would take a loaf of bread with her when she visited neighbors. It was far easier to transport and would be equally well-received. She frowned. Hester and Molly had suggested that food was as scarce in their homes as it was in Sarah’s. If Hester was truly in need, Caroline hoped her new friend would tell her so. The first few weeks after the birth of a baby was a terrible time to go hungry.

A cluster of three cottages came into view, situated on a low rise. Caroline veered right, heading toward a gate that connected to the lane. Exiting the pasture, she paused long enough to wipe off her shoes with a couple of large dock leaves growing in the hedgerow, and then she did her best to avoid the puddles as she continued toward the humble homes.

Her father had told her that the Simkinses lived in the last cottage in the row. She took the final cottage’s short garden path and knocked on the dark-green door. As she waited, she studied the tidy little garden. A carefully trimmed privet hedge separated the strip of lawn from the lane. Roses in a variety of hues grew beneath the windows, their perfume mingling with the scent of mint, thyme, and sage coming from a small herb garden at the far side of the cottage.

An infant cried. Caroline heard slow footsteps, and moments later, the door opened a crack. Someone peered out.

“Caroline!” Hester pulled the door open all the way. She wore a shawl tossed over her shoulders, which covered the upper portion of her shift. Her hair hung loose in a tangled mass, and her pale complexion accented her freckles, the lingering redness of her facial scar, and the dark circles beneath her eyes. She tugged at the ends of her shawl. “Forgive me. I’m not dressed fer company.”

“I should hope not,” Caroline said. “You are supposed to be resting.”

Hester offered a wan smile. “Little Robbie don’t seem to agree.”

“Robbie? Is that what you named your baby?”

“Robert James Simkins,” she said. “Robbie fer short. ’E arrived three days ago.”

“I’m so glad. It’s a fine name.” The infant’s cries were increasing in intensity. “And it sounds like he has a fine set of lungs also.”

Hester groaned. “I’d best fetch ’im. They’ll be ’earin’ ’im in the village soon.” She moved away from the door. “Come in, Caroline. Please excuse the mess. I’m barely able t’ keep up w’ Robbie’s demands; housework is beyond me.”

She crossed the tiny entry and started slowly up the stairs and toward the crying baby. Caroline followed her indoors, but rather than going into the small parlor, she walked down the narrow passage to the kitchen. The door was open. A clothes horse loaded down with tiny cloths stood in front of the stove. Dirty dishes littered the table, and a fly buzzed over an empty pot that appeared to contain the last scrapings of porridge.

Moving a couple of dirty bowls to one side, she set her bonnet and the basket containing the crock of soup on the table and picked up the kettle on the stove. It was empty. She needed water and a washtub. Guessing that the Simkinses had some source of water behind the cottage, she carried the kettle across the room and opened the outside door. Sure enough, a barrel full of rainwater stood to the right of the doorstep. She filled the kettle and then hurried back inside to set it on the stove. Grateful that the stovetop was warm, she scoured the room for a washtub, finally spotting one behind a chair in the corner.

The baby’s cries were drawing nearer. Caroline hauled the washtub to a spot near the stove and then looked up to see Hester in the doorway.

“Caroline?” She held a tiny, squirming bundle in her arms. “What are ya doin’?”

“Which would you prefer?” Caroline asked. “I can take the baby so that you can rest, or I can wash the dishes whilst you hold him.”

Hester’s lower lip quivered. “Yer willin’ to stay fer a bit?”

“Not just stay,” Caroline said. “I want to help.”

Hester sniffed. “My ma’s gone. She died three years past. An’ all I ’ave fer family are two brothers. My husband, Jim, ’as been marvelous to take a turn in the evenin’s, but ’e ’as t’ be up at the farm durin’ the day. ’Specially now, when they’re doin’ the summer prunin’ in the orchard.” Robbie had been crying so long, he was beginning to sound hoarse. Hester stopped her rhythmic bouncing and offered him to Caroline. “Will you take ’im? ’E cries all the time, an’ I can ’ardly think straight, I’m so tired.”

Caroline accepted the baby. “Go to bed. I will bring him to you when he needs to eat.” Robbie must have sensed his transfer from one set of arms to another because he paused his crying to turn his head toward Caroline, his tiny mouth searching for something to suck. She offered him one of her knuckles, and his mouth latched onto it immediately. “Is he hungry?”

“Always.” Tears filled Hester’s eyes. “I . . . I cannot produce enough milk fer ’im.”

An ache filled Caroline’s chest. “What have you eaten today?”

“I had some porridge this mornin’,” she said.

“What else?”

Hester wiped the moisture on her cheeks with her hand. “I ’ave a cabbage an’ some beans, but I ’aven’t ’ad a chance t’ do anythin’ with ’em yet.”

Caroline did not need to look at the clock on the wall to know that the afternoon was wearing on. It was no wonder Hester appeared so weak. She would likely collapse if she did not eat something soon. And her baby would be in dire straits if he did not receive more sustenance.

“I brought soup,” she said. “You must have some. Now. Before you rest.” She moved toward the basket. “It just needs to be warmed a little in a pan.”

Hester swept her gaze across the cluttered kitchen. If there was a clean pan in the room, she likely did not know where to find it. “There’s no need t’ warm it,” she said. “I’ll eat it just as it is.”