Enduring Love

by Bonnie Leon

  “I will.” John glanced at the address, then folded the paper and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Graditude filled him. “You can’t know how much this means to me and to Hannah. Thank you. God’s good will to you.”

  “And to you,” she said.

  With a tip of his hat, he hurried to the door. He needed to find his son.

  John hurried from business to business, asking if anyone had seen Thomas. With each answer of no, he became more concerned. Had the lad left town before dawn? He’d be in danger on the highway at night.

  He set out on the road to Parramatta, praying that Thomas was safe and simply in a hurry to get home. Each time he met someone on the road, he asked if they’d seen a boy, but no one had. John began to wonder if Thomas might have decided to hide out somewhere for a time. Still, he moved on, stopping occasionally along the river to see if the lad might be hiding in the rushes along the banks. He found nothing, not a sign of him.

  When night fell, John stopped. He couldn’t take a chance of missing him in the dark. He watered and tethered his horse and settled down beside a small fire to a meal of bread and dried beef he’d procured from an inn. He stared into the flames, wondering just where Thomas could be and if he might have missed him. He wished there were some way to continue his search.

  The hoot of an owl and the chirping of frogs filled the emptiness. Clouds closed out the moon and a cold mist reached a hand over the territory. John bundled inside his coat and moved closer to the fire. He stared into the darkness, imagining how cold and frightened Thomas must be.

  The snap of a branch disrupted the chorus of night sounds. Frogs turned silent. John sat upright, trying to see into the blackness. “Is someone there?” He grabbed his pistol and pushed to his feet. Something moved in the bushes. “Who’s there?” He held up the pistol. “I’ll not hesitate to use my weapon.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Thomas?”

  The bushes trembled and then parted. Thomas stepped into the light of the fire. He stared at John, his gaze bold. “I’ll not go back. Ye can’t make me. And if ye try, I’ll run away again.”

  John smiled at the boy’s boldness and pushed his pistol into its holster. “Come here, lad. You nearly scared the life out of me.”

  Hesitantly, Thomas moved toward him. “I mean it, I’ll not go back.”

  “You don’t have to. Your aunt has agreed to let you stay.”

  “Truly?”

  “As long as you like.”

  A smile broke out on Thomas’s face.

  John held out his arms and the lad ran into them.

  Thomas hugged John tightly. “I’m glad ye came for me.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “I didn’t know. You’ve not come to see me or Mum since we left the farm.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I meant to, but there’s been so much work to be done.” John held him more securely. “From now on we’ll see each other often.”

  Thomas tightened his hold on his father.

  Finally, John held the boy away from him. He tried to look stern. “You shouldn’t have run off the way you did.”

  “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get on that boat. I couldn’t leave ye . . . or Mum.”

  “I know.” John embraced him again. “Your aunt Lucinda cares about you. We have reason to thank her. I’d say a letter is in order, just as soon as you get home.”

  Thomas moved toward the fire. “She was kind to me. Told me all ’bout me grandfather. Maybe one day I’ll get to meet him, eh?”

  “Perhaps.” John took off his coat. “You look cold and your cheeks feel like ice.” He draped the coat about the boy’s shoulders.

  The two settled on the ground, huddling together for warmth. Thomas ate some of the bread and dried beef, then drank half a container of water. John pulled Thomas into a sideways hug. “Your mother will be glad to see you.”

  “I feared I’d lost ye both.”

  “How’d you find me?” John asked.

  “Didn’t really. Ye rode past and I’ve been following.” Thomas grinned, then his expression turned serious. “I was afraid ye’d take me back, so I stayed hidden.”

  “Well, you have no worries there. You’ll always be mine and Hannah’s . . . and Margaret’s.”

  Thomas’s lips tightened into a line. “So yer to make a go of it with her, then?”

  “Yes. She’s my wife. Do you understand?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know for sure. Maybe. But I wish things were the way they used to be.”

  “Margaret’s a fine woman. And she cares about you. Give her a chance and you might grow to love her.”

  “I’ll do me best, but . . . well, I can’t see my lovin’ her. Anyways, not like Mum.”

  John understood all too well. He cared about Margaret, but his heart still belonged to Hannah.

  13

  Hannah smoothed a crease in Thomas’s collar. “Did you pack your bag?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  Although Thomas had spent only two nights with his aunt, it had felt like a lifetime. This visit with his father would be a full week, and Hannah knew she’d miss him terribly.

  “Ye look worried, Mum.”

  “Do I? I’m not. It’s just that I’ll miss you.”

  “I won’t be gone that long.”

  Hannah brushed back his thick blond hair. “I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She held him at arm’s length and studied him. “You’re getting so grown up.”

  Thomas smiled and threw back his shoulders. “Dad said I can help with the shearing.”

  “He has quite a few sheep. He’ll need help.” She tipped his face up so his eyes met hers. “But you’re not old enough to do any shearing. I don’t want you handling the shears.”

  Thomas’s eyes momentarily turned defiant, then cooled. “All right. Anyway, there’s going to be help this year.”

  “I heard that.” Hannah straightened. “Your dad will be here any moment. You’re sure you have everything?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  Thomas glanced out the window. “’Course there’s Percy and the Connors are gonna be there and me friend Douglas. And there’ll be food, lots of it. Dad said Margaret’s been cooking all week.”

  “I heard she’s a fine cook.” Hannah felt a pang of resentment. She and John had planned for this day when the farm had prospered enough to need help with shearing and she’d be cooking for everyone and lending a hand.

  Still watching out the window, Thomas said, “Margaret’s not as good a cook as ye are, though.”

  Hannah smiled, warmed by his loyalty.

  The sound of an approaching wagon announced John’s arrival. Hannah tousled Thomas’s blond mop. “You’re in need of a haircut.” She took his hat down from the shelf. “This will keep the sun off your face.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” Thomas pushed it down on his head and opened the door.

  “Now, mind your manners.” She kissed his cheek. “And have a fine time, eh?”

  “I will.” He stepped onto the porch.

  John pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the cabin. Hannah’s stomach dropped at the sight of Margaret sitting beside him. Hannah hadn’t expected her, but of course she’d want to accompany John whenever possible. Life on the farm could be lonely.

  “Good day.” John climbed down.

  Thomas ran to his father and flung his arms about his waist.

  “I’ve been waiting.”

  “Hello there.” He laughed and scooped Thomas up, even as big as he was. “Sorry for being late.” John smiled at the lad and set him back on the ground. “You’re not a bit eager, are you?” he teased.

  “Just want to get going. I figure there’s lots to do.”

  “True. I’ve plenty of work for you.”

  “I’m ready.” Thomas climbed into the back of the wagon and stood behind the seat. “Hello, Margaret,” he said politely.

  She smiled at him. “Grand to see you, Thomas.”

&n
bsp; Hat in his hands, John walked to the porch steps. “It’s a fine day.”

  Hannah glanced at the blue sky. “A good one for shearing.” She looked into his hazel eyes and immediately old feelings surfaced. She turned her attention to the wagon. “It seems your dream has come true.”

  “I’ve a lot to thank God for.”

  Hannah thought she heard sorrow in his voice. She glanced at him. “We both do,” she said, knowing they were each thinking of the dreams they’d shared together.

  “I’ve still a lot of work to do, it never ends. But the sheep are healthy, and we’ve had no trouble with dingoes.”

  “Good.”

  He acted as if he had something more to say.

  Finally, John tucked his hat under one arm and put a foot on the bottom step. “Margaret was hoping to have a word with you,” he said quietly. “Would you mind?”

  Hannah glanced at the woman, wondering what more she could possibly have to say. The last time the two had spoken, Margaret had made it clear Hannah no longer belonged at the farm. The memory stung. “Of course I’ll speak to her.”

  “Good then. I’ll visit with Perry whilst you two chat.” He resettled his hat on his head and walked to the wagon, giving Margaret a hand down.

  Hannah tried not to watch when Margaret stepped close to John and gazed up at him with admiration. “I won’t be long,” she said, her voice gentle.

  Thomas had jumped down from the back of the wagon and stood beside his father. The sight of the three together was unnerving. “I’ll be back shortly,” John said and walked toward the shop, Thomas at his side. Hannah felt like an outsider.

  She rested a hand on her stomach, feeling the small swell where her child grew inside her. We’ll have each other. One day she’d have to tell John about the baby. Its presence would complicate things.

  Hannah had considered moving away and saying nothing at all to John about the child, but that would be unfair to everyone, especially to the baby who would grow up not knowing its father. She’d know the proper time and would tell him then.

  Margaret walked toward her. She was dressed in a lightweight summer frock and had pinned up only some of her hair, allowing the rest to fall in rich auburn waves down her back. She moved with ease and confidence, holding her reticule close to her abdomen as if it contained something of importance.

  “Good morning,” Hannah said, managing to smile.

  “It is a fine morning indeed, even with the heat.”

  “November’s always quite warm,” Hannah said. I suppose I’ll have to invite her in, she thought, balking at the idea. “Please, come in. Would you like tea?”

  “I would. I’m thirsty after that drive.” She followed Hannah inside. “It’s dreadfully hot.”

  Taking down two of her best cups and saucers, Hannah filled them with tea left from the morning’s breakfast. It felt strange to have Margaret in her home and acting as if they were friends. Why shouldn’t we be? She seems a fine lady, refined. Hannah felt plain in comparison, especially now that she’d taken to wearing shifts to conceal her condition.

  Margaret sat demurely in a chair at Hannah’s small table. She kept her hands in front of her, resting them on her reticule. “This is quite nice. Small, but charming.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah placed the cups and saucers on a tray along with spoons and a bowl of sugar. It was the last of the sugar, but Hannah didn’t want Margaret thinking she was impoverished. “Thomas and I are content here.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that.”

  Hannah set the tray on the table and sat down. She handed Margaret a cup and saucer. “There’s sugar if you like.”

  “I prefer mine with a bit of milk, if you have it.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, but I’ve none in the house right now.” Hannah felt a flush of embarrassment.

  “Not to worry. This is fine.” Margaret sipped. “It’s very good, not at all bitter.”

  Hannah took a drink. She’d have preferred sugar, but it was a luxury she could do without. She didn’t want to take advantage of Mrs. Goudy’s generosity.

  A fearsome silence hung between the two women. Hannah had no idea what to say. If she allowed herself to dwell on all that had transpired since Margaret had come to New South Wales, anger would consume her. If not for Margaret, she and John would still be sharing their lives. Why was she here in her house? What more could she possibly want?

  “I daresay, I don’t know how I’ll tolerate the heat. England is much cooler. And the bugs here are dreadful.”

  “You’ll become accustomed. But December and January will most likely be worse.”

  “That’s not reassuring.” Margaret set her cup in its saucer. “I suppose you’re curious about why I’m here.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “It’s my hope that we can mend any hard feelings between us. I’ve never been comfortable with contentiousness. I’ve always been one to seek out the good in others and to achieve harmony, if possible. And I’m concerned about Thomas. It’s especially important for him that we have a good rapport. He’s such a bright lad and will surely feel any strain that might exist between us.”

  “Of course you’re right. But I assure you, I’ve accepted my new life and I’m quite all right, not the least bit troubled.” Hannah wasn’t about to let Margaret know her true feelings.

  “I thought that you might feel wronged. And if that’s true, I understand completely. If the circumstances were reversed, I would certainly be distraught.”

  Hannah didn’t speak but waited to hear what else Margaret had to say.

  “I’d like us to be friends. I admire you greatly for your stalwart support of John through all this. And I can see you’ve a kind spirit. No woman should have to experience what you have, and yet you’ve managed to do so with grace.”

  Hannah was taken aback. She hadn’t expected kindness from Margaret. Also, she knew that inside she was none of the things Margaret had said. Self-reproach nagged at her.

  “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, and I quite agree we should maintain a good rapport. It will make life more pleasant for all of us.” Even though she spoke calmly and with grace, Hannah felt a tumult inside. She didn’t want to be friends with this woman.

  “You can’t imagine how relieved I am to hear you say that.” Margaret smiled. “I want to give you something to show my high regard for you.” Margaret opened her reticule and took out a small gift box. She handed it to Hannah.

  “That’s very kind of you, but not necessary.”

  “It pleases me to give it to you.”

  Hannah looked at the floral decoupage box. “It’s lovely.” She opened it and inside lay a delicate sachet. “How charming.” She lifted out the cloth packet, smelling its delicate sweet bouquet and wondering if this were a ploy of some kind.

  Margaret smiled. “I picked the most fragrant flowers I could find and dried them myself.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah settled the sachet in its box. She felt a flush of shame. Did she no longer trust anyone? She’d allowed the cruel rumors to tarnish her thinking. “I do hope we can be friends.”

  Margaret’s dark eyes warmed. “I look forward to more visits, then.” She stood. “Now I’d best be on my way. I’m sure John is anxious to get home. There’s much to be done.”

  Hannah followed her to the door. “Margaret . . . I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.” She strolled toward the wagon, where John and Thomas already waited.

  What an odd turn of events, Hannah thought, glancing at the box in her hand, now more convinced than ever that Margaret was a decent person. She’ll be good for John and for Thomas. John assisted Margaret into the wagon, and against her will, a painful stab of loss pierced Hannah. Although she was convinced she could accept the change and Margaret, she also understood that she’d never stop loving John.

  John clipped away the last of the wool from a distressed ewe and then set her free to scramble toward an outside pen. He straightened, pressing a hand agai
nst his aching lower back, and wiped sweat from his brow. “I could use a drink.”

  “I’ll get ye some,” Thomas said, hurrying to a water barrel and scooping out a dipperful. He splashed water as he rushed back to his dad. Handing the ladle to John, he asked, “Can I have a hand at shearing?”

  John downed the water and looked at the enthusiastic eleven-year-old. “You think you’re strong enough?”

  “I am.”

  John smiled. “I think you need a few years’ growth yet.”

  “I’m strong for me age. Ye said so yerself.”

  “True, and you are, but this work is for men. And I’ll not have you handling clippers.” He held up the ones he’d been using. “Your mother’d never forgive me if I sent you home minus a finger. Besides, I need your help with the wool. It takes a good eye to clear it of dirt and bugs.”

  The light dimmed in Thomas’s blue eyes. “Next year, then?”

  “We’ll see.” John clapped him on the back.

  Thomas gathered up the wool at John’s feet and carried it to the sorting table.

  Quincy joined him. “Nasty work, eh.”

  “That it is.” Thomas looked through the white thicket of wool, picking out most of the filth.

  “I’d say it’s time for a rest and some food.” Quincy glanced at John. “Yer dad looks done in.”

  “You’re right there,” John said. “I could do with a break.”

  Margaret stepped into the shed. “I’ve got lunch set out. You best come and eat before the flies get to it.” She wrinkled up her nose. “It stinks to the rafters in here.”

  “What else would you expect with a barnful of sheep?” John grinned.

  Margaret moved to him. “You’re working too hard. You should rest.”

  She put an arm about his waist, and John fought the impulse to pull away. He wasn’t used to the familiarity. She’s your wife, man. And she needs more from you, more than you’ve offered her. He gave her a quick sideways hug. “You’d better keep your distance. I’m filthy.”

  Margaret eyed him. “You are at that.” She stepped back and turned to watch some of the helpers. They were grubby and sweating, each with a bawling ewe pinned against them or against the floor and their clippers steadily cutting away heavy wool coats. “This is too much,” Margaret said. “The noise and smell . . . how does one manage?”