by Bonnie Leon
He rode to the porch, talked with Margaret for a moment, and then headed off at a full gallop. Hannah could still feel the warmth of his hand against her skin. She covered the place with her own and watched until all she could see was the dust raised by his horse. Lord, carry him safely. And I beg you to bring back my son.
12
Guilt held a tight grip on John as he headed toward Sydney Town. Leaning forward in his saddle, he urged his horse onward, faster and faster. He had to find Thomas. The road flashed beneath rider and animal.
I should have gone to see him. I should have made the time. Self-recrimination served no good purpose now. He needed to focus on finding his son, needed to focus on the road, focus on a way to get him back.
He’ll be fine. He’s a strong lad, he told himself, pushing the horse harder. I’ve got to catch them. But he wondered what would happen when he did overtake them. How would he persuade Lucinda to relinquish the boy?
His horse in a lather, its sides heaving, John knew he’d have to slow his pace soon or he’d kill the animal. Still, he kept moving. He must convince Lucinda to let Thomas stay. He’s not meant to live in England. When I explain to her, she’ll see reason.
Even as the thoughts rolled through his mind, John had little hope. If the woman who had taken Thomas was truly his aunt, she had rights to him. And according to Hannah, Lucinda was not predisposed to accommodate Thomas’s New South Wales family.
To the west, dark clouds billowed and piled into great dark mounds. A wall of rain moved toward him. John slowed and took a coat out of his saddle pack and pushed his arms into the sleeves. He moved his hat forward, tipped his head down, and continued on.
The rain started in big droplets, splattering the brim of his hat and the shoulders of his coat. Dry ground quickly turned wet. When the wall of moisture reached John, he peered through a wet haze. The horse trudged forward, splashing through fresh mud and water that flowed into ruts, creating small rivers. Rain dripped from his hat.
Wretched miles passed, but John never came upon a carriage. They had too great a lead, he conceded. When his horse slipped and nearly went down, he stopped beneath the broad mantle of an acacia. Dusk had already reached the nearby valleys and crept toward the road and the river.
Miserable and wet, John sheltered beneath the tree until the rain stopped. Darkness was fast approaching, and John decided it would be too dangerous to continue. He’d stay put for the night and set out early in the morning.
He led his horse to the river to drink, then tethered him. “Sorry I rode you so hard,” he said, giving the animal a pat. The evening haze crept over the hillsides and up the river as John removed the saddle and blanket. He set them in the driest spot he could find, beneath the sprawling branches of the acacia, then gathered a handful of dry grass from the base of the tree and with great effort managed to bring a fledgling fire to life. He added dry bits of bark and tinder and finally pushed back the darkness and warmed his sodden body.
Miserable and cold, he sat on the ground and rested his back against his saddle and drank from a flask, wishing he’d thought to bring food. His empty stomach grumbled. He stared at the fire for a long while, then lay down and tried to sleep. A breeze stirred the trees, and birds fluttered within the branches, their calls quiet and throaty as they settled for the night.
John’s mind returned to Hannah and Thomas. They’d all been through so much. Lord, why this? Haven’t we had trials enough? He stared at blue and orange flames licking at the wood. What purpose can there be in this? Certainly Thomas belongs here. Hannah needs him.
He turned onto his back and gazed at the dark sky, wishing God would speak to him. The only sounds he heard were the chirp of frogs, the quiet flow of the river, and the pop of burning wood. Where was God?
Frustration and fear were a blight. Unable to lie still a moment longer, John pushed to his feet. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared into the fire, then paced back and forth in front of it. What if he couldn’t convince Lucinda to leave Thomas? What if he never saw the boy again? He looked up at the sky where clouds had parted, revealing a glimmer of light from a full moon. “And what if I never stop loving Hannah?”
Suddenly angry and overwhelmed by the weight of his life, he shouted, “I can’t do this! I can’t! Don’t ask any more of me!”
He squatted right where he stood, covered his head with his arms, and sobbed. Why would God require so much from him? Why?
Spent and knowing sleep would not come, John decided to move on. His horse had rested; the clouds cleared, revealing a round, yellow moon to light his way. After putting out the fire, he saddled his horse, climbed onto his back, and set off toward Sydney Town.
The moon illuminated fields and rolling hills, but they were mostly in shadow and looked ominous. From time to time he’d see lantern light from inside a barn or a house. There was an occasional mournful howl of a dingo and the flutter of creatures in the darkness.
The eerie cry of a curlew cut through the night—wer-loo, wer-loo. The hair on the back of John’s neck prickled, and he thought it an absurd response to a gangly, harmless bird. The familiar thump of a kangaroo on the road ahead caused his horse to balk. The gelding tossed his head and wouldn’t move. “Get on with you. There’s nothing to fear from a roo.” He kicked the horse’s sides, and the animal pranced forward.
He gazed into the darkness, barely able to make out vague shapes of trees and other vegetation. The sharp snap of a breaking branch fractured the hush. Continuing on probably hadn’t been a good idea. John stared at the shadows, wondering what had made the sound. He hoped it was nothing of consequence. He rested a hand on his pistol. Aborigines and escaped prisoners were known to travel during the night so as not to be seen.
When the lights of Sydney Town finally winked at John from the distance, he felt relief and a renewed urge to find Thomas. The search would have to wait until morning, however. To look would be of little use at this hour. And he could do with a bit of sleep. Most likely she’s got him at the boardinghouse. I’ll go over first thing.
John led his horse into the livery. “I’ve need of a stall,” he told a boy sitting on a hay-strewn floor dozing with his back pressed against the wall.
The lad jumped to his feet, looking bleary-eyed. “That one there’s empty,” he said, pointing at a stall just beyond the door.
“Thank you.” John led the horse into the enclosure and removed the saddle, blanket, and bridle, then fed him a handful of grain. Running his hand along the animal’s side, he said, “Thank you for carrying me so faithfully.” With a pat, he walked out and asked the boy, “Can you see to it that he gets a drink?”
“I can do that all right.”
“And feed him in the morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll pay you tomorrow before I leave.” John walked out and headed down the street toward the hotel. Stepping into the lobby, he wondered if Lucinda Davies was anywhere about. He walked to the front desk. “I’ll need a bed for the night.”
“What’s left of it,” the clerk said tersely. “Sign the register.” His eyelids drooping, he turned the ledger so it faced John and handed him a quill.
John glanced down the list of names but didn’t see a Lucinda Davies. As I thought, she’s at the boardinghouse. Or she might have used a different name. He leaned on the counter. “Can you tell me if a woman and a boy checked in earlier?”
“Not that I know. Never saw no one like that. Why you looking for them?”
John sought a suitable answer. “I’m supposed to meet them here. I’m certain they’ll arrive tomorrow. Must have been held up by something or other.” He signed the registry, accepted his key and a candle, then walked up a dimly lit stairway and down the corridor to his room.
Opening the door, John set the candle on a bureau and dropped onto the bed, exhausted. He closed his eyes and his mind immediately went to Thomas. The lad must be frightened and longing for home. Lord, how am I going to convinc
e Lucinda to let him stay? Tell me what to say.
Knowing he’d need his wits when he met with Lucinda, he blew out the candle, pulled a blanket up to his chest, and rolled onto his side, hoping for sleep. Even at this late hour, sounds of revelry from a pub drifted up the street. John turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Quiet is what he needed, not just in the world but in his soul.
He threw off the blanket and moved to the window. His eyes went to the harbor where a ship lay at anchor. Light from port windows shimmered in the darkness, reflecting off flat waters. Was this the ship, the one that threatened to carry Thomas across the sea? The thought skewered his insides.
He stared at it, and memories of his own passage rushed at him—a dark hold teeming with noxious smells, death, and despair. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to rid himself of the images; he had a new life now.
Back then he’d not been able to imagine that goodness waited for him. Yet, he now had a family and a fine farm. He’d make a name for himself and Hannah . . . “Hannah.” For a moment he’d forgotten she’d been lost to him. As if he’d only just realized the terrible truth, sorrow swelled and threatened to bury John in misery. He looked at a cloudless sky. The moon disappeared beyond the horizon and stars flickered. If only it were Hannah and me. He squeezed his eyes shut. Lord, I’ve tried to love Margaret. But I don’t. I can’t create something that doesn’t exist.
John knew he was pitying himself and tried to stand against it. Marriage isn’t just about love. It’s about commitment and creating something for the future. Margaret and I can do that together.
He returned to his bed, stretching out on his back, hands clasped over his stomach. In the morning he’d rescue Thomas and take him home.
A tiny thought crept into the back of his mind. Margaret and I can have others. Loathing himself for allowing such an idea even a moment of consideration, he said, “Thomas can’t be replaced.”
But you’d best make peace with the possibility of his going.
John knew life didn’t always give a man what he desired, but Scripture reassured him that all things had a purpose. It was time that he accepted his new life—time to fully commit to Margaret.
He pulled the blanket over him and fell into a fitful sleep.
He woke to the gray light of morning and was immediately fully alert. He threw off the blanket and moved to the pitcher and bowl on the bureau. Pouring water into the bowl, he splashed his face and patted it dry with a rough towel, then stared at himself in a distorted mirror. “You must find a way to convince her.”
He dressed and headed for the boardinghouse. A buxom woman with blue eyes and graying brown hair met him at the door. “It’s a bit early to be looking for a room, but I’ve got one if ye have a need.”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone. I believe they’re staying here.”
The woman’s expression turned suspicious. “And might I ask your intentions?”
“My son is with a woman called Lucinda Davies. Her intention is to take him out of the country.”
“That sounds like real trouble.”
“That it is. She’s not asked my permission or proven to me that she has legal claim to him.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she lifted a brow. “What rights can she have if he’s your son?”
“I adopted him,” John admitted reluctantly.
“I see.” She glanced up the staircase. “You can wait in the parlor. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Thank you.” He watched as the woman climbed the stairs. She made a small “oof ” sound with each step, her extra weight adding a burden to the climb.
John moved to the parlor, remembering that this was the place he’d met with Margaret when she’d first come to Sydney Town. At the time he’d been distracted and hadn’t really looked at the room. It was tidy and simply furnished. A fire burned low in the hearth, and a woven rug hugged a scarred wooden floor. A harpsichord sat in one corner. John wondered if anyone ever played it.
He crossed to the window and stared out at the street. In the soft light of morning, all seemed serene. He walked to the doorway, his footsteps echoing against the wooden planking, and looked up at the empty staircase. With a sigh, he returned to his post at the window. A dray lumbered past.
John’s muscles felt tight, and he rolled his shoulders, hoping to loosen them and gentle his nerves. What should he say to Miss Davies? After much thought, he was still uncertain how to approach her.
The rustle of skirts preceded her. John turned as a small, plain-looking woman walked through the door. Her light brown hair was disheveled and her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
“Are you John Bradshaw?” she asked.
“That I am.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re here.”
John was taken aback at the greeting. He’d expected they’d be at odds. “My wife . . . I mean, Hannah said you’re Thomas’s aunt and that you intend to take him with you when you return to England.”
“That’s true.” She moved to the divan and sat. “I have every right to take him. He is my nephew. My father and I are his only blood relatives.” She clasped and unclasped her hands and gazed at the window. Her voice barely more than a whisper, she said, “There’s been a bit of a trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Yes. He’s gone.” Anxious eyes met John’s. “When I arose this morning, his bed was empty. I can’t find him.” Her voice sounded strident.
“You’ve no idea where he is?”
Her eyes glistened with tears. “I can only speculate. My best guess would be that he’s making his way back to Parramatta.” “When did you last see him?”
“I slept little during the night. I checked him at 3:00 a.m. He seemed to be sleeping.” She stood and walked to the hearth. “The ship will be leaving tomorrow with the tide, and I haven’t the least idea of how to find him. I’ve booked passage for us both.”
John didn’t know what to say. He hoped Thomas was far from Sydney Town, yet he knew a lad traveling the road alone could be in danger.
Using a handkerchief, Lucinda dabbed at her tears. “I shouldn’t have come. I’ve made a mess of things. My father insisted Thomas return to England.”
“Perhaps if I spoke to him.”
“That’s impossible.”
“But why not?”
“He’s in England.”
“He sent a woman alone?”
“No. Of course not. I have an escort—Garrett Bradley. He works for my father.” Her eyes glinted with defiance. “However, if I’d have chosen to travel on my own, I would have done so. I’m quite capable. Since my brother left, it’s just been me and my father. The management of the farm has been my responsibility.”
Her tone softer, she continued, “Father would have come, but his health is not good.” She tucked her handkerchief into a pocket of her dress and tipped up her chin. “I’ve not seen my brother in many years, but I know he was a good man. He didn’t deserve to be transported. He was hardworking and honest. Difficulty with a debt was his undoing.”
“He had a fine reputation.”
“My father’s never gotten over his arrest or his death. Having Thomas with him will ease his suffering.”
John felt sorry for the woman, but knew he had to think about Thomas. “That may be, but your father’s at the end of his life. Thomas is only just beginning his. He has a fine life here. And you must consider that, if his father wanted him to live in England, he would have returned after serving his time.”
Indecision flickered in Lucinda’s eyes.
“It seems clear to me that Thomas has no desire to live in England. Otherwise he wouldn’t have run off.”
“I must admit that after spending time with the lad, I’ve come to understand how much he loves you and your wife. He doesn’t want to leave.” A button on her cuff had come undone, and she pushed it back into place. “If it were up to me, I’d not be here at all.” She met John’s gaze. “Please believe me when
I say that I have no wish to cause you or Thomas harm. I find him to be a bright and upstanding lad.”
She held her hands primly in front of her and glanced toward the window. “Something terrible could happen to him here. This is a wild place.”
“I’d say there are more dangers to consider traveling across the seas than he’ll find here.”
Lucinda’s expression registered her agreement. “Can you find him?”
“And bring him back here to you?” John shook his head. “He’s a strong-willed lad. If you try to force him, he’ll only run again.”
Lucinda closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the ceiling as if saying a silent prayer. When John had first seen her, she seemed frail, but now he could feel her strength of will.
“I know that.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “All right, then. I’ll see to it that the papers are transferred, allowing you legal rights to adopt him. My father will have to accept it.”
“Thank you.” John was surprised she’d surrendered so easily and wondered if she could be trusted. He was uncertain of just what to do. Should he go after Thomas or make sure Lucinda took care of the legal matters as she’d said she would? “You’ll go to the governor’s office today?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And leave the papers with the solicitor?”
“I pledge that I will.”
John studied her, trying to discern if she were telling the truth or not. He had little choice but to trust her. He needed to find Thomas. At any rate, the boy wouldn’t be going to England. “All right, then. I’d better get after Thomas and find him.”
She reached out a hand toward John. “From time to time will you send word to me of his well-being? And if ever he desires to travel to England, please tell him he is welcome to visit our farm.”
“Of course.”
She moved to a desk, sat down, and took out pen and ink. “I’ll leave my address with you.” She wrote the information on the paper, blew on the ink, and handed it to John, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Remind him of his aunt Lucinda and his grandfather Davies.”
