by Bonnie Leon
“Ye think it’ll take long to find them dingoes?” Thomas asked, his voice lit with excitement.
“Can’t know. Just have to wait and see.” John looked at Quincy. “It’d be a good idea if we kept an eye out for the other mob we’ve got out on the flats.”
“True.”
“All right, then. I’ll take the mob in the draw, and you go along to the batch we’ve got grazing east of here.” John glanced at a clear sky. “Moon ought to be of help.”
Quincy reached into his pack. “Brought some bread and some tack. Figured we’d be hungry before the night’s through.” He handed a portion to John.
“If I hear you fire your musket, we’ll come your way, and you do the same for us.”
“Right.” Quincy rode off, quickly blending into the darkening landscape.
John and Thomas moved on, riding toward the gully. Long before they could see the flock, the baaing of sheep settling in for the night carried over the hills toward them. When they reached the mob, John stopped, dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree. Thomas did the same.
“Ye think we’ll have to wait long?” Thomas squatted in the dry grass beside his father.
“No telling.” John stared into the darkness searching for dingoes but thinking of Hannah. She’d be lighting the lamps and settling into her chair for the evening, her sewing basket in her lap. He longed to be with her. Lord, there must be a way . . . something we can do.
“Ye figure I ought to have me own musket soon?” Thomas asked, breaking into John’s thoughts.
“You’ve a way to go—your shoulders need to broaden some and you need more height. A musket’s not meant for a boy.” Thomas seemed especially young and vulnerable in the shimmer of moonlight. “You’ll need a couple more years yet.”
“I’m big for me age.”
“True enough. And you’re stout. But you’re not yet ready . . . maybe soon.”
Stillness settled over the land and the murmuring and rustling of the sheep quieted.
“Why’d ya move into the barn?” Thomas asked.
“Your mum and I decided it was best.”
“Why? You’re married. I thought married people lived in the same house.”
“They do . . . usually, but things are different now.” John searched his mind for a reasonable answer.
“It’s Margaret, isn’t it?” When John didn’t reply, Thomas pushed. “Do ye love her instead of Mum?”
John took in a breath. “I don’t love her, but . . .” How could he explain?
“I don’t like her. I want her to go away.”
“You don’t even know her, Thomas. And I can’t tell her to leave . . . she’s my . . . wife.”
Silence, like a long slow blink, hung between father and son. Finally Thomas asked, “How can she be yer wife? Yer married to Mum.”
“Yes . . . but I was married to Margaret a long time ago . . . when I lived in London . . . before I knew your mum.”
“That doesn’t change nothin’. I don’t want her ’ere.”
John wished he could quiet the desperation he heard in Thomas’s voice. He placed the butt of his musket on the ground. “It’s not as easy as that. She wants to stay.”
“I don’t understand how ye can be married to Mum and to her.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
John pressed fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes before looking at Thomas. “According to the law, Margaret’s my wife because I married her before I met your mum.”
“Then why did ye marry Mum?”
“I thought Margaret was dead.”
His voice quiet, Thomas asked, “Can’t ye pretend she’s dead?”
“Can’t. Wouldn’t be right.” But John couldn’t help wishing it was possible or that Margaret had never found him.
“What’s right ’bout leaving Mum alone?” Thomas sounded angry.
“I’m not going to leave her. I’ll take care of her . . . and you.”
“How ye going to do that?”
John gazed at the dark sky with its countless stars. “I don’t know . . . not just yet anyways.”
5
Hannah added hot water to the half-filled laundry tub, set the bucket aside, and lifted a pair of Thomas’s trousers from a basket of clothes. She dunked them into the water, then using a bar of soap, worked the cloth against a scrub board.
How in heaven’s name does he manage to find so much dirt? She considered his active life and smiled. How could he not get dirty? There wasn’t a tree he didn’t think needed climbing, nor a lizard or rabbit that didn’t need chasing. He spent a fair amount of time digging for worms to dangle from his fishing pole, plus he often worked alongside his father.
In spite of the tragedy that had befallen the family, Thomas had managed to push aside the turmoil and had attempted to go on as usual. Was it possible their lives could remain as they were? Hannah knew it wasn’t. Change would come, but just how soon she couldn’t guess. When it did arrive, what would happen to her and Thomas? Possibilities swirled through her mind, and sorrow brought a swell of despair.
This isn’t fair, Lord. Not for me, nor for John, and especially not for Thomas. He’s made a place for himself here, he has a family.
Since Margaret had invaded their world, Thomas had been quieter than usual. Everyone was. An oppressive cloud hung over the farm and over their lives. Hannah dropped the pants into a basket and picked up another pair.
She scrubbed harder as her mind worked on their troubles. Soon her arms and her back ached. She didn’t mind—physical pain relieved some of her mental anguish. When she’d completed Thomas’s clothes, she lifted the basket and, resting it against her hip, walked toward the river where she would rinse them.
Thomas leaped out from within a grove of eucalypts and galloped toward her. “I’ll carry that for ye.” He met her, smiling, and squinted against the morning sun. “And I’ll rinse them too.”
“Why thank you, Thomas. That will be a great help.” Hannah handed him the basket. “I’ve still more wash to do.” She tousled his hair. “You’re growing into a fine young man.”
His eyes registering gratification, he turned and headed toward the river.
With her heart twisting, Hannah watched him go.
Her mind flashed back to the day he’d first come to them, orphaned and hostile. He’d made it clear that John and Hannah would never be his parents. If not for John’s unfailing commitment to the boy, he’d have gone his way.
Shame washed over Hannah as she remembered how harsh she’d been. John had believed in God’s power and authority, while she’d feared failure. In spite of her faithlessness, they’d become a family, and now . . . now only God knew what would become of them. Even though John continued to state that all would be well, she understood that his bravado was a façade. There would be no easy answer to their dilemma. But was this too much even for God?
These days John kept mostly to himself and spent little time in the house. She missed his presence. She longed for the quiet evenings they’d once shared in front of the hearth reading or working—the dangers of the world shut outside their sturdy home. She slept poorly and sometimes in the night would lay her hand on the place where John used to lie beside her. She’d imagine he was still there, his muscles warm and supple beneath her fingers.
A sound came from the barn and Hannah turned to look. John stood outside the door, balancing a wagon wheel against the ground. His eyes rested on her. Feeling as if he could read her thoughts, her face burned.
He smiled but was unable to disguise his sadness before turning his attention to Thomas. His look of sorrow deepened as he watched the lad move toward the river. With only a glance toward Hannah, he rolled the wheel toward the tool shop.
Hannah returned to the washtub and lifted one of John’s shirts, and with a glance toward the shop to make sure he wasn’t watching, she pressed it to her nose. She loved the smell of him, even the odor of sweat and toil.
>
She plunked the garment into the water and scrubbed at it, holding back negative thoughts. No matter how painful the circumstances, things were what they were, and there was nothing she could do about any of it.
She worked the fabric against the washboard, adding more and more soap as if she could wash away the sorrow and resentment. Finally, with the shirt as clean as she could manage, she sat back on her heels, gripping the washboard. She wanted to cry, needed to, but she’d already shed more tears than she knew she possessed. Would the time come when they stopped, a time when the hurting ceased?
Although John usually took his meals alone, she’d invited him to join her and Thomas for dinner that night and had planned something special, one of his favorites—roasted beef with cabbage. She’d also prepared custard for dessert. Maybe a good meal would spark a little of the old happiness.
She knew such an idea was silliness. Food couldn’t fix this problem. It would take a master—The Master. She closed her eyes for a moment. Lord, if it is not your will for John and me to share our lives, then I ask that you remove my love for him. I shan’t be able to bear it otherwise.
“Smells delicious.” John sat at the table, looking a bit awkward.
He belongs here, Hannah thought.
“Thank you for inviting me to sup with you.”
“You’re always welcome at our table. I never have liked your coming for a meal and then going off and eating it alone. There’s no sense in that.”
“S’pose you’re right there.”
“Mum made custard.” Thomas glanced at a covered crock sitting on the cupboard.
Hannah settled in a chair across the table from John. She acted serene, but inside she wanted to scream. They were acting as if life were normal, that all was as it should be, but it wasn’t and never would be. He remains with me because he must. He’ll never walk away from his duty to me. Only I can do that, by giving him permission to move on. The idea of a permanent split cut into her heart.
John grasped Thomas’s hand and then took Hannah’s. “Shall we thank the Lord for this meal and for the woman who cooked it?” He bowed his head.
Hannah heard none of his prayer, all she knew was the rough comfort of his hand. Oh, how she missed him. She could see a dark tunnel of loneliness—years to come without him. How could she endure it? God, I don’t have the strength.
“Amen.” John looked up and smiled at Hannah. Inside she ached. He belonged here, and yet he didn’t.
She picked up John’s plate and served him two slices of beef and a pile of cabbage. Thomas held up his plate. Hannah dished his meal, then took one slice of beef and a small amount of cabbage for herself. She sought a safe topic for discussion. “Have there been any more sheep killed?”
“No. I figure we took care of the problem.” He winked at Thomas. “Did a fine job, eh?”
Thomas leaned his arms on the table, fork in one hand and knife in the other. “Yer a fine shot. Don’t figure we’ll have any more trouble.”
“Hopefully not. We’ll have to keep a watch, though.” John took a bite of cabbage and chewed. “Delicious, Hannah.” Picking up his knife, he sliced off a bite of beef. “Heard of a man not far from here who has a couple of dogs guarding his sheep.”
“Dogs?” Hannah offered a bowl of rolls, and John took two.
“Called a Kuvasz.”
“A what?” Thomas grabbed a roll and bit into it.
“Kuvasz. They’re from Belgium. They’re guard dogs, not herding dogs like Jackson. He’s got three, two males and a female. The female’s ready to whelp any day. I was thinking it would be a fine idea to get one of the pups. After what happened, it might be wise to have a dog guarding the flocks.”
“How do you train it?” Hannah cut into her meat.
“You don’t, really. If I’m understanding things correctly, they simply know what to do—guard. They live with the sheep, just like one of them.”
“Can they stand up to a dingo?”
“They’re brave and big—over a hundred pounds.”
“Wow!” Thomas’s eyes looked bright. “That’s a lot bigger than Jackson.”
“Are they tame? What if one were to attack Thomas? Or turn on the sheep?”
“No worries. They’re loyal and easy tempered, but protective.”
“And they’re not sheepdogs?” Hannah dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, wondering just how she was going to bring up the subject that truly needed to be discussed.
“They can do a bit of herding when needed, but generally they’re not inclined.”
“That’s why we have Jackson,” Thomas said with a grin.
“Having a guard dog out among the sheep would give me peace of mind. I figured if one worked out that maybe we’d get another.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Hannah said, considering how long it would take a puppy to grow up enough to be a guard dog and thinking it strange to be speaking as if their lives would continue on just as they had.
“When can we get one?” Thomas asked.
“The pups aren’t born yet, but they’re due any day.”
Thomas grinned. “I’d like to have a dog like that. Could he be my friend too?”
“Of course, but you won’t be spending hours with the sheep.”
Thomas pushed his nearly empty plate away and rested his chin on his hands. “How ’bout we do some fishing after dinner?”
“There’s milking that needs done, then we can go.” John pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair. “Me, Quincy, and Mr. Connor are planning a boar hunt, two weeks hence.” He looked at Thomas with approval. “I’d say you’re old enough to join us.”
Hannah felt a rush of concern. “Boar hunting is for men. He’s only eleven.”
“One day he’ll be a man and will need to know how to safely hunt the beasts.”
“One day he will be a man, but right now he’s a boy.” Hannah set her fork on her plate. “I don’t want him going.”
“Oh, Mum, I’ll be safe enough with Dad.” Thomas looked to his father. “Won’t I.”
“I’ll make sure he stays with me. He’ll never be out of my sight. And of course he’ll not handle a musket. I’d just like him to experience a hunt.”
“It’s dangerous.” Hannah studied Thomas. He so wanted to be like his father. She looked at John and suddenly realized the reason for the invitation. He was afraid he’d not have another chance to take Thomas! The thought tore at her. Working to keep her voice steady, she said, “All right. But I expect you to bring home some meat then, eh?” She smiled at her son.
“Right we will!” Thomas nearly jumped out of his chair.
“Thomas, calm yourself.”
The rest of the meal passed quietly, with Thomas and John discussing fishing and the upcoming hunt. When they finished eating, Hannah cleared away the dishes. “Would you like your custard now?”
“I’m afraid I’ve overeaten.” John scooted his chair back. “How ’bout after the milking and after we’ve caught ourselves a fish or two, eh?” His hazel eyes rested on Hannah.
A shiver ran through her and she felt passion ignite between them. “I’ll have your dessert ready for you when you return.”
Hannah sat on the veranda and watched while John and Thomas swaggered up the path from the river, fishing poles resting on their shoulders. She smiled. The two of them were good together. She stood. “Did you catch anything?”
“Only a couple of small ones, barely a mouthful.” Thomas shrugged. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”
John clapped him on the back. “That we will.”
Thomas hurried up the porch steps. “Can we have our custard now?”
“Well, I don’t know . . . you did come back empty-handed.” “Mum!”
Hannah laughed. “Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”
John and Thomas took their places at the table while Hannah dished out three servings of the sweet dessert. “Here you are, then.” She set a bowl in front of each, acc
identally brushing her hand against John’s as he reached for his bowl. A jolt of energy passed between them. Hannah pulled back her hand as if she’d been burned. Still feeling his touch, she retrieved her helping of custard and then sat at the table.
As the three ate, the room turned quiet. While preparing the evening meal, Hannah had felt almost as if life had been set right. If only it were possible to go on as if nothing had happened. She found it curious that Margaret hadn’t pushed herself on John. Or maybe she had and Hannah was unaware that she had.
Thomas quickly devoured his custard, scraped up the last remnants, and licked his spoon clean. He stifled a yawn.
“It’s time for you to be in bed,” Hannah said.
“Do I have to? I’m not tired, not a bit.”
“You’re not, eh?” John grinned. “Looks to me like you’re ready to fall asleep right where you sit.” He stood. “I’ll take you up.”
Hannah dropped a kiss on Thomas’s cheek and watched while John and the boy climbed the steps to the loft. They were as close as any father and son. Her heart warmed at the thought.
She cleared the bowls from the table and washed them. With things tidy, she went to her chair in front of the hearth and picked up her sewing basket and a pair of socks that needed mending.
A few moments later, John descended the ladder. “He’s nearly asleep already.”
“He had a busy day.” Hannah put her sewing aside, wishing she could invite John to stay.
He stood at the bottom of the steps. “I guess I ought to get off to bed myself. Tomorrow holds enough work for two days.” He moved to the door and opened it.
Hannah crossed to John, intending to close the door behind him.
He turned to her. “Good meal, Hannah. Thank you.” His voice sounded unsettled and his eyes searched hers.
Hannah recognized the look of desire and felt her own passion flare. She didn’t want him to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Right.” John bent and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Without intent, his lips found hers, barely caressing at first, then pressing gently and demanding nothing. When Hannah responded, his lips became possessive.
