The two girls moved across the vast expanse, clutching their shawls to protect themselves from the wind. It was not too cold for a mid-winter’s day, and at first their walk was relatively pleasant, passing through rolling green hills and woodland. The air was so much fresher here than in Whitby, filled with smells of earth and plants and winter. Birds soared up from the fields in song. Occasionally a rabbit shot out of a bush nearby and sped away, while the girls pointed and watched. As they came up from out of a valley and entered a large patch of heathland, they stopped for a moment and turned, to take in the view. The land spread out in every direction: endless hills with grass and heath, broken up by the occasional wood. The low mid-winter sun and clouds covered the hills and valleys under a patchwork of magnificent light and shadows. Both girls breathed in deeply and watched, mesmerized by the splendor of the world they had seen so little of, and daunted by the vastness of it. In the distance they could see a moving trail of black smoke where a train was crossing the moors.
“Do you think they’re in there, comin’ after us?” Alice asked.
“They’ve probably not yet realized we’ve left Whitby. And even so, they won’t expect us to have gotten off at Goathland.” Anne reassured her. “They won’t find us. Not until we are in Middlesbrough, and we contact them.” She looked at her sister. “When we’re independent.”
Alice gave her a small nod and started walking again. Yet Anne felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she thought of poor Elijah searching all over Whitby for them, probably growing more desperate by the hour, and of poor father, who would go through agonizing terror when they wouldn’t return home night after night. What if it would kill him? But she took a deep breath. She had made up her mind to stick with Alice, and with that thought in mind, she turned and followed her sister.
The initial ease and pleasantness of the walk soon wore off. Whenever they crossed heathland, they were slowed down by the necessity of having to search for a natural path, which often led them more north or more west than they wanted. When they decided to cross the moors straight, they found that their skirts would get tangled in the heather plants, and Alice ripped the rim of hers; and the heavy steps they were forced to take, made it just as time-consuming and more exhausting than having to look for a path. They began to feel tired and hungry. Neither of the girls had had time to eat their breakfast that morning. Every ascent became heavier, and with every descent they struggled more to keep their trembling legs beneath them. Anne noticed how Alice was starting to look pale and her breathing became heavier. Her steps became more unsteady, and at one point, she slipped and nearly sprained her ankle.
“Let’s rest for a moment.” Anne suggested. She wished she had food on her. She would gladly give her own share to her sister to strengthen her. She now understood why poor Alice had seemed weak and sickly and hungrier than usual as of late.
“T’ ground is wet. We can’t sit ‘ere.” Alice said, and she struggled on stubbornly. Anne sighed and followed her.
Soon they met a river and were forced to follow it a mile or two up north, until they found a makeshift bridge consisting of two tree trunks. It met a little path through the fields on the other side, which they followed, until it bent north, and they left it to continue straight through another patch of heathland. On and on they toiled, breathing heavily, and forced to stop every so often to untangle their dresses.
“There’s a road there, Alice!” Anne suddenly exclaimed. She pointed at the sandy road in the distance, winding between fields and patches of moorland.
It took longer to reach it than they had hoped, but once they were on it, the walking was easier, and even though the road did not quite take them north-west, they followed it without discussion, tired as they were.
And then at last there was a farmhouse along the road: a brick, two-story building with small white paneled windows. Its yard was surrounded by a low wall. Just beside the door stood two baskets with eggs and apples. The girls stretched their necks to get a better view of the windows, but when they saw nobody within, they slipped into the yard and quickly grabbed an egg, cracked the top and sucked out its content. They were so hungry that they did not even consider taking the food to a saver location before eating. Instead, they dropped the empty shells and took another egg. Neither of them had ever stolen as much as a sweet, or a pencil from school before. But they were on the run and had already traveled on a train illegally, and they had walked miles on an empty stomach. And so all the strong morals their parents had taught them, and the sense of dignity and fear of hell instilled in them, seemed distant and irrelevant. When they exchanged glances, they did not look fearful or ashamed, but they were grinning with delight, for getting a whole egg was a rare treat at home.
Alice had just helped herself to her third, when they heard rushed footsteps coming from within the house. Alice dropped the egg, and ran, but Anne snatched a few apples, before she chased after her sister.
A woman came running out of the house carrying a wooden stick. “Why ye little thiefs! Get back here!”
But the girls darted out of the yard, crossed the road, and ran into the opposite field as fast as they could. After a while they stopped and looked back.
The woman had stopped on the road, but was waving the cane at them. “Leave! And stay away!” she shouted. “Or I’ll send t’ dog after ye.” The girls turned and ran on.
They ran until they were far enough to feel safe, and then they sank down in the field, no longer caring that it made their dressed muddy. Anne looked at her sister. Alice was no longer pale, but had a red blush on her cheeks from running. Some strands of her copper hair had come loose. She looked at her younger sister, mouth half open and eyes wide as if still recovering from the shock. Suddenly Anne grinned at her, took the apples from her pocket and held them up. Alice gasped and then began to laugh. Anne began to laugh as well. And soon they were laughing and resting and enjoying apples that tasted all the better for being stolen.
In the end, they were forced to continue their walk, for it was too cold to sit on the ground for long and they knew they would have to find shelter for the night long before it got dark. More strands of Alice’s hair were falling down from her bun, and suddenly the girl reached up and untied it. Immediately her hair flew free in the wind. Anne gasped, but Alice merely grinned at her. Then suddenly, Anne took her long red braid and untangled in, laughing.
“Who is here to see!” Her sister shouted in encouragement. Anne threw up her arms and began to run, her long hair waving around her head. Alice ran after her. There was something liberating about doing such forbidden things as running away and stealing food and untying your hair and running around like you were half-wild. “We’re moorland children now, Alice! Like in t’ stories!”
The girls finally stopped running, panting and grinning at each other and giggling. Anne felt a strange rush of excitement where there should probably be fear. But how could she be afraid and worry over the pain she was causing to her loved ones, when there was this delicious new sense of freedom and agency?
“I’m loosening my corset!” She suddenly stated. “Help me!” She turned around.
Alice hesitated and looked around, but finally reached under her sister’s clothes to loosen it. Admittedly, Anne felt a little unsure of her movements without the garment to support her. Yet at the same time she felt stronger.
Suddenly, Alice turned around. “Help me with mine.” Anne grinned devilishly and helped her sister. “Ugh, ye have no idea how I’ve been sufferin’ tryin to hide me stomach while the bairn grew,” Alice complained while her sister loosened the garment. She took a cloth out from under her corset, which she had apparently wrapped around her waist to make the swelling of her lower tummy less obvious.
Everything made so much more sense now. Anne had been wondering why Alice had been growing bigger around the middle while her face still seemed pale and thin and worn. Equally, she had wondered why her sister had not wanted to sleep against her anymore at night to share warmth. But now that she could see the vague outline of a bump, it all made sense.
“Can I… feel it?” Anne asked.
Alice took her sister’s hand and placed it on her stomach.
“It hasn’t quickened yet. I don’t know. I haven’t felt it yet,” she explained.
“How long?”
“About four months.”
“It will be a moorland child like us!” Anne said with a grin.
“It will be a Middlesbrough child, hopefully.”
Anne wrapped her shawl tighter around her body and began to walk again. She didn’t feel fear anymore. She felt courageous. The heroine of her own story. The arbiter of her own destiny. They were free.
It had to be a strange sight indeed, a scene from a folk tale almost: two fishing girls in the middle of the moors, their red hair dancing in the wind, walking freely side by side, apparently without a care in the world.
They did not see the fog that was rolling in from the sea, approaching fast.
“Do you think they’re in there, comin’ after us?” Alice asked.
“They’ve probably not yet realized we’ve left Whitby. And even so, they won’t expect us to have gotten off at Goathland.” Anne reassured her. “They won’t find us. Not until we are in Middlesbrough, and we contact them.” She looked at her sister. “When we’re independent.”
Alice gave her a small nod and started walking again. Yet Anne felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she thought of poor Elijah searching all over Whitby for them, probably growing more desperate by the hour, and of poor father, who would go through agonizing terror when they wouldn’t return home night after night. What if it would kill him? But she took a deep breath. She had made up her mind to stick with Alice, and with that thought in mind, she turned and followed her sister.
The initial ease and pleasantness of the walk soon wore off. Whenever they crossed heathland, they were slowed down by the necessity of having to search for a natural path, which often led them more north or more west than they wanted. When they decided to cross the moors straight, they found that their skirts would get tangled in the heather plants, and Alice ripped the rim of hers; and the heavy steps they were forced to take, made it just as time-consuming and more exhausting than having to look for a path. They began to feel tired and hungry. Neither of the girls had had time to eat their breakfast that morning. Every ascent became heavier, and with every descent they struggled more to keep their trembling legs beneath them. Anne noticed how Alice was starting to look pale and her breathing became heavier. Her steps became more unsteady, and at one point, she slipped and nearly sprained her ankle.
“Let’s rest for a moment.” Anne suggested. She wished she had food on her. She would gladly give her own share to her sister to strengthen her. She now understood why poor Alice had seemed weak and sickly and hungrier than usual as of late.
“T’ ground is wet. We can’t sit ‘ere.” Alice said, and she struggled on stubbornly. Anne sighed and followed her.
Soon they met a river and were forced to follow it a mile or two up north, until they found a makeshift bridge consisting of two tree trunks. It met a little path through the fields on the other side, which they followed, until it bent north, and they left it to continue straight through another patch of heathland. On and on they toiled, breathing heavily, and forced to stop every so often to untangle their dresses.
“There’s a road there, Alice!” Anne suddenly exclaimed. She pointed at the sandy road in the distance, winding between fields and patches of moorland.
It took longer to reach it than they had hoped, but once they were on it, the walking was easier, and even though the road did not quite take them north-west, they followed it without discussion, tired as they were.
And then at last there was a farmhouse along the road: a brick, two-story building with small white paneled windows. Its yard was surrounded by a low wall. Just beside the door stood two baskets with eggs and apples. The girls stretched their necks to get a better view of the windows, but when they saw nobody within, they slipped into the yard and quickly grabbed an egg, cracked the top and sucked out its content. They were so hungry that they did not even consider taking the food to a saver location before eating. Instead, they dropped the empty shells and took another egg. Neither of them had ever stolen as much as a sweet, or a pencil from school before. But they were on the run and had already traveled on a train illegally, and they had walked miles on an empty stomach. And so all the strong morals their parents had taught them, and the sense of dignity and fear of hell instilled in them, seemed distant and irrelevant. When they exchanged glances, they did not look fearful or ashamed, but they were grinning with delight, for getting a whole egg was a rare treat at home.
Alice had just helped herself to her third, when they heard rushed footsteps coming from within the house. Alice dropped the egg, and ran, but Anne snatched a few apples, before she chased after her sister.
A woman came running out of the house carrying a wooden stick. “Why ye little thiefs! Get back here!”
But the girls darted out of the yard, crossed the road, and ran into the opposite field as fast as they could. After a while they stopped and looked back.
The woman had stopped on the road, but was waving the cane at them. “Leave! And stay away!” she shouted. “Or I’ll send t’ dog after ye.” The girls turned and ran on.
They ran until they were far enough to feel safe, and then they sank down in the field, no longer caring that it made their dressed muddy. Anne looked at her sister. Alice was no longer pale, but had a red blush on her cheeks from running. Some strands of her copper hair had come loose. She looked at her younger sister, mouth half open and eyes wide as if still recovering from the shock. Suddenly Anne grinned at her, took the apples from her pocket and held them up. Alice gasped and then began to laugh. Anne began to laugh as well. And soon they were laughing and resting and enjoying apples that tasted all the better for being stolen.
In the end, they were forced to continue their walk, for it was too cold to sit on the ground for long and they knew they would have to find shelter for the night long before it got dark. More strands of Alice’s hair were falling down from her bun, and suddenly the girl reached up and untied it. Immediately her hair flew free in the wind. Anne gasped, but Alice merely grinned at her. Then suddenly, Anne took her long red braid and untangled in, laughing.
“Who is here to see!” Her sister shouted in encouragement. Anne threw up her arms and began to run, her long hair waving around her head. Alice ran after her. There was something liberating about doing such forbidden things as running away and stealing food and untying your hair and running around like you were half-wild. “We’re moorland children now, Alice! Like in t’ stories!”
The girls finally stopped running, panting and grinning at each other and giggling. Anne felt a strange rush of excitement where there should probably be fear. But how could she be afraid and worry over the pain she was causing to her loved ones, when there was this delicious new sense of freedom and agency?
“I’m loosening my corset!” She suddenly stated. “Help me!” She turned around.
Alice hesitated and looked around, but finally reached under her sister’s clothes to loosen it. Admittedly, Anne felt a little unsure of her movements without the garment to support her. Yet at the same time she felt stronger.
Suddenly, Alice turned around. “Help me with mine.” Anne grinned devilishly and helped her sister. “Ugh, ye have no idea how I’ve been sufferin’ tryin to hide me stomach while the bairn grew,” Alice complained while her sister loosened the garment. She took a cloth out from under her corset, which she had apparently wrapped around her waist to make the swelling of her lower tummy less obvious.
Everything made so much more sense now. Anne had been wondering why Alice had been growing bigger around the middle while her face still seemed pale and thin and worn. Equally, she had wondered why her sister had not wanted to sleep against her anymore at night to share warmth. But now that she could see the vague outline of a bump, it all made sense.
“Can I… feel it?” Anne asked.
Alice took her sister’s hand and placed it on her stomach.
“It hasn’t quickened yet. I don’t know. I haven’t felt it yet,” she explained.
“How long?”
“About four months.”
“It will be a moorland child like us!” Anne said with a grin.
“It will be a Middlesbrough child, hopefully.”
Anne wrapped her shawl tighter around her body and began to walk again. She didn’t feel fear anymore. She felt courageous. The heroine of her own story. The arbiter of her own destiny. They were free.
It had to be a strange sight indeed, a scene from a folk tale almost: two fishing girls in the middle of the moors, their red hair dancing in the wind, walking freely side by side, apparently without a care in the world.
They did not see the fog that was rolling in from the sea, approaching fast.
