Sitting at the table in the small, dark cluttered kitchen in London Road illuminated by the soft welcoming glow of the range, Emma swung her legs in an idle rhythm under the table, her bright grey eyes followed her mother as she laid the table for supper.
Mary Hardwick walked with laboured, weary steps her body swollen with the unborn child. “For supper or the barn”, she teased. Her pale, drawn features lifting briefly
“The barn of course”.Emma dropped her head on one side and gazed longily as her mother ran her fingers over the swelling that promised so much.
“God willing not much longer”.
Stopping suddenly Mary groaned gently, clutching her stomach as she clung to a chair back for support. Emma shot upright, eyes wide and filled with concern.