Maggie's Child Read Online Free Page B

romance had been her luxury.
    For the ceremony itself there were no fineries, no gold band, only solemn words. Her parents gave their approval to the nuptials for the official documents. Her mother attended and signed as a witness. When all formalities had been completed, she pulled her shawl around her shoulders and walked away. Not a glance or a word was offered to her daughter. She did not say goodbye, or offer her congratulations, to her new son-in-law. The woman simply nodded at the vicar and returned home to her husband. Maggie was left with a stranger.
    She looked around at the empty church. Her wedding day, and not one person congratulated her. Even the vicar had taken his coin and left for home without a word or acknowledgement for the young bride.
    Bride . Maggie gave an inward sigh. No pretty gown for me . Maggie wore the same shabby dress she pulled on every day. Ridding it of field aroma, she had rubbed it down with rosemary the evening prior to the ceremony. It smelled fresher but she struggled to get it any cleaner; a pathetic outfit for a young girl’s wedding attire. She glanced around, trying to make a memory of the day. The light shone through the beautiful stained glass windows, and cast shadows of colour across the white stone. It gave her little comfort but she stared at them nonetheless. A cough echoed around the sanctuary, and she noted her husband beckoned her to leave the building with a abrupt movement of his arm towards the main entrance.
    ‘We’ve finished here.’ His voice echoed and made Maggie cringe. He showed no reverence or respect of where they were. Apart from saying the few words the parson required, he had said nothing else. His impatient tone made Maggie relieved he never said any more, and just left the building.
    Maggie inhaled deeply.
    Courage, Maggie. You are a married woman now. A married woman!
     Mrs Sawbury. Maggie mulled over her new title, shook her head in disbelief, and stepped out of church behind the man who had given her his name. They walked in silence along Churchway, and onto a winding lane that would take her to her new home. Jacob tut-tutted when she stopped to pick a bunch of Stinkwort and Milkweed, but even he could not resist picking a few juicy blackberries. Maggie gathered several for later in the day. The only worldly goods Maggie owned were in a tied piece of flannel: a pinafore that had seen better days, a few strips of rags for her monthly cycle, a pressed flower taken from the garden she had left behind, and now, a few blackberries. The June day was warm, the sky clear, and Maggie in her innocence saw the world in a different light to her new groom. While she collected the juicy fruit, Jacob removed his cap and mopped his brow.
    ‘Ruddy heat, it will bring about a storm and the crops will suffer.’ He kicked a stone into the ditch beside him.
    ‘What crops do you grow, sir?’ Maggie was relieved he had broken the quiet spell.
    ‘You can call me Jacob or husband, none of this sir lark. We have wheat, barley and potato fields. Our cows earn us our squire’s rent with their dairy, and the pigs and sheep are the finest around. You’ll be in charge of the hens.’
    He strode on, muttering. ‘Wasted a perfectly good morning because of your mother and her wedding clap-trap. That parson was as bad, dragging out his pompous sermon. All for a scrap of a girl to clean for me.’
    The more he muttered, the faster he walked. Maggie broke into a trot to keep up with him, but found herself lagging behind when they reached the brow of the hill leading to her new home. At the top, she took in her surroundings and let her lungs settle. She had arrived at Windtop Farm.
    A patchwork of rust-gold and green fields spread out before her, ablaze with ripened produce that swayed in the wind either side of the meadow. The scene took her breath away. Heads of wheat and barley rippled as if waves along the surface of a river. Wild flowers of every colour lined the