The Sweethearts Collection. Pam Jenoff
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topography, and Colenso found the time passed quickly. When they finally reached Godolphin Hill where they were to stop for the night, her brain was buzzing with facts and their little van filled with the makings of a good supper and a goodly supply of sticks for the stove.
The kumpania set up camp and once again Colenso was amazed at the way the travellers quietly pulled together. Soon the appetizing aroma of supper simmering in a pot over the yag filled the air. Later, when they sat down to eat it in the gathering shadows, she couldn’t help contrasting the serenity with Karla’s steamy outhouse.
‘Did you enjoy your supper?’ Mara asked when they’d finished their potage.
‘I still can’t believe you can eat so well on a few leaves.’
‘It’s what you do with them,’ Mara laughed. ‘The alchemy.’
‘Like turning raw sugar into glistening jewel-like confections,’ she replied.
‘You’re learning, girl. Of course, the food we forage is far more nutritious, although you do need to supplement it with bread or potatoes or your stomach would be growling from here to Goldsithney. Now do you want to sit on the Giant’s Chair before we turn in?’ When Colenso nodded, they climbed up the steep-sided hill and ambled over to a mass of rock rising out of the gathering darkness.
‘Goodness, it really does look like a huge seat,’ Colenso said, surveying the smooth hollow with the back slanting off at an angle.
‘Let’s see if we can follow the giant’s example and hurl these blocks of granite to Prospidnick. It’s only about four miles as the crow flies,’ she laughed.
‘Might have known you’d have another yarn to tell me,’ Colenso snorted. ‘Come on, time for bed,’ she said, holding out her hand as the woman yawned.
It was only later, when Colenso looked back on that evening, that she realized it marked the turning point in their relationship.
Raindrops drumming on the roof of the van woke Colenso. Peering through the window, all she could see was grey, swirling mist. Mara was still sleeping, her blanket rising and falling along with her gentle snoring. Dressing quickly, Colenso unbolted the little stable door and slipped outside. Ears whickered softly and, shivering in the cold wet of the morning, Colenso fondled his soft muzzle and gave him some oats. Then after a quick rinse in the stream, she filled the kettle and hurried back inside.
After feeding kindling into the stove, she set the pan to boil and began making breakfast. How she’d grown to love this cosy little kitchen which, although basic, had everything necessary to prepare and cook their meals. Humming softly, she made their pancakes and was just tipping them out onto their plates when noises from outside told her the kumpania was making ready to strike camp.
‘Come on, lazy bones,’ she joked, leaning over and shaking the woman gently. ‘The others are preparing to leave and you don’t want to be left behind now, do you? I’ve made us tea and bokoli, although there’s no bacon or cheese so I’ve flavoured it with herbs.’
‘Taking over my kitchen now,’ the woman grumbled, climbing out of bed and peering through the curtain. ‘Mizzly as misery out there, but you’re right, the others are almost ready to leave,’ she added, quickly pulling on her skirt and winding the red scarf around her hair.
‘Don’t worry, Mara, I’ve seen to Ears so we only have to hitch up,’ she soothed. ‘I’ll steer the van if you like.’
‘And we all know what happened last time you did that,’ Mara snorted, taking a bite of her breakfast. ‘Not bad, though a bit more seasoning would have helped.’ Seeing the woman was out of sorts, Colenso turned her attention to her own food.
By the time they were ready to leave, the rain had stopped and the other vans were already trundling off into the distance.
‘Good job Ears knows the way,’ Mara said when Colenso took the reins.
As they wandered along, the mist slowly began to lift, and by the time they reached Marazion the sky was bright blue. Colenso stared at the white-tipped waves sparkling to the left of them then peered at the island that rose prominently out of the rocky bay.
‘Oh, that is so beautiful,’ she sighed, breathing in the sea air. ‘I suppose that mount was named for St Michael.’
‘Doesn’t take a genius to work that one out,’ Mara retorted.
‘Just interested,’ Colenso replied, deciding to humour her. It worked, for the woman turned and smiled.
‘Then we shall continue with your education. The Archangel St Michael is said to have appeared on the west side of the island and warded fishermen from the danger of the rocks. Ever since, pilgrims, monks or people of any faith really, have visited to pray and give praise.’
‘It looks so peaceful. I can’t wait to visit for Litha,’ Colenso replied.
‘I agree there is something mystical about the island – all this area, in fact,’ she said gesturing around.
‘This is glorious,’ Colenso murmured as they joined the kumpania on a field overlooking the wide expanse of water. Out in the bay, fishing boats were hauling in their seine nets, the inevitable seagulls swooping low. ‘It’s just like being back home.’
‘Miss it, do you?’ Mara asked.
‘Sometimes,’ she nodded. ‘Especially Kitto. Although I still couldn’t face seeing Father and Mamm.’
‘Well, that’s hardly surprising,’ Mara exclaimed. ‘I think spending the summer here will do us both the world of good. Rest, sea air and a bit of dukkering to keep the wolf away,’ she sighed contentedly.
‘Are we really staying that long?’ Colenso asked, excitement rising. Mara nodded.
‘We don’t usually, but Jago suggested we try it. He reckons the railway brings lots of day-trippers and holidaymakers here.’ She pointed ahead to the steam of a train chugging out of the station, little puffs of white clouds rising into the blue sky above. ‘And they’re people with money to spend.’
‘That sounds like Jago,’ Colenso laughed. ‘So what’s that big yard for?’
‘To store and transport the perishables from surrounding farms and harbours. Talking of which, we’d better start unloading.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Colenso said as Mara struggled to free the canvas and poles from their racks beneath the van.
‘Blooming rains made them heavy as Hades,’ she muttered. Colenso frowned down at the equipment that was bone dry, then up at Mara. Despite having ridden all the way here, she was looking fatigued.
‘Want some help, ladies?’ Jago said as he pulled up in his van. Relief flooded through her, for she could see Mara was struggling.
‘Always managed before,’ Mara replied.
‘Come on, Mara, let Jago do his manly bit,’ Colenso quipped, shooting him a grateful look.
‘I’m parched. Don’t suppose you’ve got the wherewithal for a cuppa?’ he asked.
‘Course I have,’ Mara snorted, climbing back into the van.
‘Come on, I know where she likes to do her dukkering,’ Jago said, hoisting up the little tent and setting off across the field towards the water. ‘Swears blind that Mount over there transfers some of its spirituality to her,’ he added. Colenso stared at the island rising like a magical castle out of the sea, and nodded. She couldn’t wait for midsummer to explore it.
The days flew by in a frenzy. With Mara still frail, Colenso had taken over the chores. In the mornings, when the tide was right, she would forage the shore for its rich pickings of sea beet, kale or the spear-leaved orache for their evening meal. She’d then return to the