Page 59 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Sophia became aware of her heavily thudding heart. “No, thank you. I would rather you bring my mother here. Or I could fetch her if it’s a bother.”

“This is my decision. And you have put our family at risk, embroiled as you are in Mr. Burns’ affairs. You could be implicated. My good name is tarnished. There is no hope of you controlling the farm. You have shown yourself to be nothing but irresponsible and lacking in judgment.”

She recognized the twisted truth in this and could not muster the energy to respond. Her mind numbed. She focused on the truest thing her uncle had said. She wanted her mother and would go with him now, but she would make her way back to her farm somehow.

“I’ll be ready shortly.” Sophia walked out to prepare her trunk.

Betsy and Tom wore tight expressions as the cart was loaded. But Sophia felt removed from the action, as if this was happening to someone else. It was impossible that the well-ordered life she’d worked so hard to preserve could fall apart so completely—fall apart and into the hands of her childish cousin. She slumped into the seat atop the cart, almost oblivious to the sting of her departure. Sophia remembered watching her mother drive away in the same seat. Had she felt this way, too?

Soon, the fields came into view. She watched them go by as she drew farther away from her home. As they passed the fields Philip was supposed to have planted, Sophia shouted, “Stop! Stop!” Philip had planted the field, and she wanted to see it.

“I will not. What is wrong with you, child? We still have an hour’s journey.”

Sophia lunged for the reins and pulled back. She jumped from the cart and ran into the field. Wildflowers. Philip had planted acres and acres of flowers. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but white stonecrop, purple hedgerow, yellow oxeye daisy, pink thrift, and bluebells spread over the acres.

She began picking flowers. Deaf to her uncle’s cries, she walked farther and farther from the road until, growing tired of bending over, she seated herself on the damp ground, plucking the surrounding blossoms. Once her hands were full, she took off her bonnet and ripped off the ribbon meant to hold the hat to her head. Using that ribbon, she tied up the flowers. Overcome, she lay down in the middle of the field Philip had planted for her. She set her tattered bonnet over her face and held the bouquet to her chest as hot tears rolled into her ears.

Sophia heard her uncle’s huffing approach but did not stir.

“What are you doing? Get back into the cart immediately.”

“I will not.”

“You will. You will do as I say. This behavior is foolish.”

“You will have to pick me up and drag me into your cart,” Sophia said through her hat.

“You are behaving like a child.”

She shrugged. “You treat me like a child, though I’m twenty-one.”

“My wife had been married three years by the time she was your age, had a child, and had another on the way.”

“More is the pity for her.” With her face still hidden, Sophia pulled a flower head from her bouquet and tossed it in the direction of her uncle’s voice. She almost smiled when she heard it hit him.

He blustered and wheezed. It sounded as if he even stomped a foot. Eventually, he walked away. Thorpe never had been a man who could stand on his feet for long.

Sophia lay in the field until her tears stopped flowing and she grew cold. Carrying a messy arrangement of flowers with a bedraggled bonnet on her head, she made her way back to the cart, wondering where Philip had gone and why he was always away when she needed him most.

London, England

28 May 1753

Dear Sophia,

I’ve made it to London. It was an onerous journey, as you may imagine, with your aunt and my mother. I cannot see why they delight so in vexing one another. However, I am installed in my own apartments while they are in my parents’ London house.

Tomorrow, I meet with the barrister and am hoping for the best. This may be a longer process than I wish, but I hope it will be worth it. Your uncle is intolerable. I was superfluous while visiting you, but I hope I can be of use now.

All my love,

Philip

Chapter 27

28 May 1753

Several days passed since Uncle Thorpe had extricated Sophia from her home. Each morning at breakfast and every evening at dinner, she endured Uncle Thorpe. He seemed to think she’d known Mr. Burns was a smuggler, and he continually blamed her for risking the family’s good name in the pursuit of riches.