“Never mind, you are far enough away to be secure from bodily apprehension, and the other thing will not matter,” said Bertha, and then she went on with a laugh that was meant as a cloak for a good deal of feeling which was under the surface and must be kept there. “Are we not a widely separated family, just three sisters, and we each live in a different continent?”
“Some people get on better the wider apart they are; anyhow, I am glad that Anne does not live within visiting distance of us at this present time,” said Tom, and again he heaved a great sigh of relief to think that Bertha would not leave them in their present difficult circumstances.
But Bertha was secretly uneasy until that banker’s draft had been sent back to Anne. She had a miserable distrust of herself, and it seemed to her that at any moment her courage might give way, and she would take the chance of escape which lay ready to her hand. There had been no weak looking back, however, for she was stronger in purpose than she believed herself to be, and she was gaining in power every day; so that what had tried her so sorely at the first was now only a very bearable sort of activity.
It was even possible to enjoy life a little this summer, and, as she had learned to drive, she took turns with Tom in driving to meeting on Sundays. One Sunday she went with all the children packed into the wagon beside her, and the other Sunday she took care of Grace while he went. There were weekdays also when it was possible to get away from work this year, even though the outing might only be to the house of a neighbour, where there was about the same amount of work to be done as she had left behind her; yet it was a change of a sort, and she had come to that happy frame of mind when she could be satisfied with a very little. Of course the talk was all of wheat, just as it had been last year, only perhaps it was a little more so, for last year had been a very successful time, and the farmers had done extremely well in that district.
At last came the Sunday immediately before the starting of cutting. A lovely, peaceful day it was, although so intensely hot that it made Bertha feel as if she were passing through a furnace when she drove the children to meeting in the morning. It was not her turn to go, really, but Tom was going to Rownton the next day, and he might even have to go as far as Gilbert Plains if he did not find his new binder waiting for him at the depot, and so, as he was very tired, he had decided in favour of staying with his wife, while Bertha took the children to Pentland Broads to church. Just outside the door of the meeting-house she encountered Eunice, who looked ghastly pale.
“You are not well; what is the matter?” asked Bertha, with quick sympathy, for of all the acquaintances and friends that she had made in the West she loved Eunice Long the best.
“I feel rather bad,” said Eunice, speaking slowly and with a very apparent effort; then she asked abruptly, “Do you believe in visions or dreams?”
“I might if I had them, but I sleep so soundly now that I can’t get in time for anything of the sort,” Bertha answered, with a laugh, as her mind went back to the old days when sleep was often a terror of weird dreams.
“Neither do I, as a rule, and that is why I am disposed to think that it was a warning from Heaven that was sent to me last night,” said Eunice, with a little gasping breath. “Oh, Bertha, I dreamed that the wheat was all destroyed!”
A cold chill of apprehension crept over Bertha. Had they not, all of them, been living at a terrible rate of tension for the last six weeks or so? She thought of Grace, and the wistful looks the invalid cast out over the plains of waving grain, and of the tension on the face of Tom, which grew more strained with every day that passed; and again the old impatience seized her. Why did these men sow all their ground with wheat and nothing but wheat? Suppose something dreadful happened to the crop before it could be harvested. There had very nearly been disaster last year, and this year it was hotter still; there had been no rain for weeks, and oh, what an awful thing it would be if something happened now when harvest was so near! But, after all, there was no sense in being frightened out of one’s senses by a dream, so she rallied her courage and said cheerfully, “You are out of sorts this morning, dear, or you would not be so scared by a simple dream. Have a sleep this afternoon, if you can, and then you will feel better.”