The Healing Stream by Connie Monk Page A

Monday’s shopping requirements should be different from any other, but instinct made her just nod in agreement with his remarks. It was suddenly important to her that this kindly, middle-aged couple liked her.
    That was the first visit of many to Chagleigh. Soon she found herself working as hard as Naomi and Tessa. Skimming off the scalded cream to fill the cartons or transferring eggs from the wicker basket to the trays, first making sure none were cracked, she worked as fast as the others – and found satisfaction even greater than theirs in what she did.
    At other times the two girls ‘attacked the shops’, something most of their contemporaries might take for granted. Of course there was no quick cure for Deirdre’s moods of self-pity and depression, but her scowl appeared less frequently and usually she accepted the wheelchair as nothing more than an inconvenience when shop doorways were too narrow. She learnt to laugh – or perhaps more truthfully she forgot her misery and the smile she had given the world before her accident surfaced from where it had been buried deep in her resentment.
    Except at lunchtime Tessa saw nothing of Julian Masters. His manner was always courteous but distant. Lunchtimes were very different at Fiddlers’ Green from the chatty half hours spent around the table in Chagleigh Farm’s kitchen. Although in the evening Deirdre and her father dined alone, Miss Sherwin – and now Tessa, too – joined them for their midday meal and lively conversation was never on the menu.
    ‘I was in Deremouth this morning,’ he said as the maid disappeared, leaving Miss Sherwin to ladle the soup from the tureen, ‘in Houghton and Parkes. You know the shop I expect, Tessa?’
    ‘Yes, I do. But I’ve not lived here very much longer than you have, and until Deirdre and I started exploring I hadn’t really known the town. It’s a long way to cycle unless there’s some special reason.’
    ‘Ah, yes. It seemed to me a very good shop. An outfitting department for ladies on the first floor and a good-sized lift. Deirdre, my dear, it’s quite time you took over the choosing of your own clothes. Let Tessa be your guide and find yourself some pretty things to wear, humph?’
    If he’d made such a suggestion a month or so previously, it would have been met with a sulky glare and shrug of her shoulders. Now, though, Deirdre turned to him, her eyes shining with pleasure.
    ‘Gosh, Daddy, thank you! How much am I allowed to spend?’
    ‘Just find things you like and spend whatever is necessary. I have opened an account and arranged that you may use it. So you have a free hand.’
    ‘Gosh! Let’s go this afternoon Tessa. Gosh!’
    That afternoon proved a milestone. With various items to try, Tessa wheeled the chair into a cubicle and even though Deirdre had to be content with fitting what she could while she was sitting, they had a lot of fun. By the time she wheeled the chair up the ramp and secured it, the passenger front seat was piled with parcels.
    It was when they returned to Fiddlers’ Green that Tessa saw a car following them up the drive. ‘It seems you have a visitor,’ Tessa said, looking in the driving mirror. ‘A green sports car.’
    ‘That’ll be Giles. He must be back from London. Giles Lampton – he writes books.’
    ‘
The
Giles Lampton?’ If Deirdre had said the visitor was St Peter himself Tessa wouldn’t have been more impressed. ‘Have you read his books? You know what? I got one out of the library when I came home from school – came home for good, I mean, when I left school. It wasn’t a just-published book; it was the first of the series about Burghton village and the people there. I felt as if I knew each one of them. After that I bought all nine of the series. Have you read them?’
    ‘I don’t read much. Daddy was always going on at me that I ought to spend my time reading. I suppose he meant because I couldn’t do proper things like other people. That’s what