It seemed that Ada had been prey to much the same thoughts. When Sarah came down to a late breakfast, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, she found Ada already at the table with a sheet of paper set before her, a list written on it in her neat copperplate hand.
‘How did you sleep?’ Ada gave her a concerned look.
‘Not well.’ Sarah rubbed her eyes hard with the heel of her palm. ‘There was a lot to think about. And many questions I want to ask. But first, you ought to know that we had a lot of visitors while you were away, all in need of your help.’
She cast a glance out of the window, where a clear, cold blue sky promised a much brighter day than of late. ‘I’m sure that some of them will be back now that the weather has improved. But these are the ones who came,’ and she reeled off the list that she had memorised.
‘Goodness!’ Ada seemed quite taken aback. ‘Let me have the names again, but more slowly this time so that I can write them down.’
Once she had finished she looked over the list, and shook her head. ‘It will be a lot of work,’ she said, clearly thinking of all the remedies that would be required. Then she looked at Sarah. ‘This brings me to something that I have been wanting to say to you.’
Sarah had cut herself a slice of bread and was about to butter it but laid down her knife at the seriousness of Ada’s tone.
‘Don’t look so worried. There’s nothing to fear.’ Ada paused. ‘Now, I know you have just got married and so you can expect your husband to provide.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t wish to speak out of turn but, since your husband’s work will take him away a great deal your income may, perhaps, be … unreliable.’
It was clear to Sarah that her grandmother was picking her words with unusual care.
‘And if, God forbid, an accident should befall him, well … in a few months’ time you will have an extra mouth to feed. And I won’t be here for ever.’
Ada held up her hand as Sarah started to protest. ‘No, I’m not as spry as I used to be and, after what has befallen the family in the last week, well, it has made me think how important it is for you to learn some skills, so that you are able to earn money and look after yourself in the future, should the need arise.’
Sarah interrupted her. ‘I had been thinking much the same thing. While you were away I was so worried. What if you never came back? And it made me cross with myself that I had never learned to read and write. I had no way of making contact with you. I could have made that list for you –’ she gestured at the piece of paper ‘– if only I had learnt my letters. But, apart from learning how to read and write now, what else can I do?’
‘Well, I have a plan.’ Ada drew towards her the piece of paper that had been on the table when Sarah came down for breakfast and outlined the idea that she had formulated during her long hours of vigil over her daughter and granddaughters.
‘I will teach you how to read and write. And I will instruct you in the art of herbalism. I won’t be able to do what I do for ever and someone must take over from me when I am gone. There is much to learn but I am sure that you will be up to the task.’
Ada made the last declaration in the manner of someone who was trying to convince herself.
‘But do you really think I can?’ Sarah was doubtful. She knew that her grandmother was disappointed in the lack of interest that she had shown in her profession; collecting herbs as instructed and decanting remedies into bottles made up the extent of her knowledge to date.
‘I don’t think there’s an alternative, do you?’ Ada said, after a short pause. ‘Not with a baby on the way.’
They were both silent, considering her words. Then Sarah spoke.
‘We must make a start today. Letters each morning, herbal instruction in the afternoon. Does this sound possible?’
‘Indeed it does.’ Ada managed a small smile, the first one since her return from Manchester. ‘Now, let’s eat something. You’ll need a good breakfast inside you before we make a start.’
So it was that Sarah, for the first time in her life, applied herself to work in a way that she never had before. Each morning, once the basic chores were out of the way, she and Ada sat down at the table and Sarah, with a grim determination, focused on learning how to read and write. She was encouraged and delighted to find that learning her letters proved relatively easy, and that she could write and recite the alphabet with ease by the end of the first week. But when it came to putting letters together into words, and words into sentences, Sarah’s delight turned to despair.
‘I don’t think I will ever be the master of this,’ she said, flinging her slate and chalk down on the table. ‘It makes no sense to me. I can neither see nor hear how the letters are strung together into words.’ Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. ‘And if I can’t do it that means I will never learn to be a herbalist, either. If I can’t write a label for a remedy, or note down how to make it, or record what has been prescribed for a patient …’ Sarah broke down in sobs of frustration, her head in her hands, overcome by the enormity of what lay ahead.
‘Ssh. Ssh,’ Ada soothed. ‘Don’t let difficulties over one kind of learning be a bar to another. You can learn the ways of herbalism without needing to write down a word. So much of it has been passed on over the years by word of mouth. How do you think I learnt my skills? Although it is the way today to expect that everything must be written down, why, women have known these things for generations and passed them on, mother to daughter.’
Sarah stopped crying and considered. She’d never thought about how Ada might have come by her knowledge.
‘Take your great-grandmother, Catherine Abbot, my mother. She was famous for miles around. Not just for her remedies, mind, but she was the one all the mothers turned to when their time had come. She must have delivered every baby in the area for nigh on twenty years. And she did all of this without knowing how to read or write.’
Ada must have noticed the frown that was furrowing Sarah’s brow. ‘But it’s still a skill you should have,’ she added hastily. ‘Times have changed and folk around here respect the written word even if they don’t understand it. I’m just trying to show you that you needn’t think you can’t learn one without the other. Reading and writing will come with time. You don’t need to try to hurry things.’
Sarah didn’t fully believe her. She was struggling to see how anyone could make sense of the strange combinations of letters; they clearly meant something to some people and this just confirmed her lack of self-belief. She must be stupid and incapable of learning. This was the reason, no doubt, why she had failed to learn her letters before. Sarah was forced to acknowledge to herself that her problem with reading and writing was due to her dislike of getting something wrong. Instead of resolving to learn how to get it right she became stubborn and turned away from it. If she was going to succeed, this was something she would have to learn to overcome.
Herbalism, though, proved to be another matter entirely. Sarah found herself looking forward to the afternoons; partly because it meant that the torture of the morning, the effort of forcing her unwilling brain to comprehend, was at an end. But also because she had discovered a genuine interest in what her grandmother did.
During the first week, the afternoons were spent in creating remedies for all the visitors who had called by while her grandmother was away. Ada seemed to know without needing to enquire further what they would need and, for the first time, Sarah concentrated