The Colour by Rose Tremain

tilt of the raft and again he tried to rear up and the cart tipped and almost fell and the ferryman swore and one of the shafts slammed into Harriet’s elbow.
    Trying not to cry out with pain, Harriet turned the donkey and led him in a circle on the dry bank, stroking his neck under the cloak and trying to soothe him with human words. He started coughing and she felt him shivering and some of his fear passed into her and she began to feel cold, but she had to bring him back to the river and this time the ferryman loped off the raft and helped her to pull the animal on, keeping his head low so that he wouldn’t rear and trying all the while to steady the cart.
    And so the donkey had a footing at last and Harriet held tight to the animal’s neck, while the ferryman, always chewing, with his jaw muscles moving and twitching, tugged on the pulleys and the raft floated out into the surging river.
    Harriet saw long-legged birds land on the further bank and stare at the approaching apparition. And she thought how, if everything capsized and all of them were drowned, the accident would go unregarded, except by birds she couldn’t even name, and she said a prayer that she wouldn’t die here, because she knew that her future life would contain wonders and she wanted to remain alive to see them.
    The ferryman swore again as the rope tightened on its opposite mooring and burned his blistered hands. Harriet could see the water becoming shallow, and lifted her head when the birds flapped clumsily away.
    The raft was nudging the bank now. It was tied up and Harriet coaxed the donkey on to the shingle and uncovered its head and then put on her cloak and pulled it round her. She rested for a few moments and ate some of the dried fruit she’d brought for the journey and let the donkey graze on a patch of straggly grass. She waited until her heart was still again before going on.
    She arrived at Orchard House as dusk was falling. Eight-year-old Edwin, who had made his own house in a titoki tree, was the first person to see her, this stranger driving a donkey cart and the animal’s head drooping from weariness, and he climbed down and ran to bring her in.
    â€˜Mama,’ he said, as he escorted her into the sitting-room, where Dorothy was doing her household accounts, ‘this is Mrs Blackstone and her hands are very cold.’
    Dorothy Orchard looked up at Harriet, who was struggling to pile her brown hair back into the neat knot from which it had escaped, and said: ‘Ah. Oh yes, what a nuisance long hair is in this country! What I advise is, cut it off. I broke my arm on a ride and could not, could not dress my hair, and so I gave Toby the scissors and . . . oh but my goodness yes, your hands are frozen solid. Come to the fireside. And Edwin, take Mrs Blackstone’s horse to the stables, dearest, and give him some oats.’
    â€˜It’s a donkey, Mama,’ said Edwin.
    â€˜Oh, a donkey. Well, take the donkey then, sweet boy. You rode a long way on the donkey, Mrs Blackstone?’
    â€˜No. There’s a little cart . . .’
    â€˜You crossed the Ashley?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And you were not swirled away? They pretend that raft of theirs is safe, but of course there have been drownings. Now come along to the fire and I will call our maid, Janet, and she will bring us some brandy wine.’
    Harriet looked at Dorothy Orchard, whose hair was indeed cut short and stuck out at a rebellious angle from the nape of her neck. Her face was wide and square and slightly flat, as though her jawbone were a sail, set squarely to the wind, but her eyes were large and beautiful. When Harriet began apologising for arriving unannounced, Dorothy said: ‘You were not unannounced. That is to say, we heard from our cadet, from whom you bought your mutton, that you had built a house near the Okuku and that you were high up and I said to Toby when the snow came: “I think we