by Bonnie Leon
John raised an eyebrow. “No, but he’s allowed a lot of . . . growing pains in our lives.”
“And has always seen us through every trial.”
John lightly slapped the reins. “All right, but I’ll be nearby. I’ll ride up the side field, out of sight but close to the house. That way I can hear if there’s trouble.” He cupped Hannah’s cheek in his hand. “I don’t want you hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. Everything will be just how it was meant to be.”
When they neared the farm, the constable pulled the wagon to the side of the road, stopping beneath a eucalypt. He took out a flask of water and gulped down a long drink. “I’ll wait until ye call me, but don’t be too long, eh. It’s hot.”
“It won’t take long,” John said. He turned to Hannah. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” Hannah felt inexplicable peace. She knew it was Godgiven. She felt no anger, nor fear. “Margaret is no less deserving of God’s truth than you or I.”
“I know. I’m just not as generous as you.” Handing the reins to Hannah, he said, “All right, then.” He climbed out of the buggy and untied his horse from the back. “Quincy and I will ride up along the draw. We’ll wait there.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Hannah lifted the reins and clicked her tongue. The horses moved forward, carrying her up the drive to the house.
She stopped in front of the veranda. There was no sign of anyone about, and Hannah had a flash of fear. What if Margaret had left? What if she knew?
She tied off the reins and stepped to the ground. Walking toward the veranda, she saw Margaret’s face in the window for a brief moment. Afraid Margaret would spot John, Hannah forced herself not to look to see if he was in sight and walked up the steps. Lord, tell me what to say.
She stood quietly for a moment and took a deep breath. Help me love her. Let there be no malice in my heart. She knocked lightly.
Margaret didn’t answer right away. Hannah waited. Finally, the latch lifted and the door opened.
Margaret stood just inside looking confused. At the sight of her, Hannah felt a prickle of the old hatred. Trust in the Lord. Serve him only.
“Hannah, what a surprise.” Margaret’s voice sounded strained.
“I should have sent word. But I needed to speak with you right away.”
Margaret glanced outside as if expecting someone. “Well then, do come in.”
Hannah stepped into the house. After the bright light of outdoors, it seemed dark. And it smelled of fetid pork. Two bags sat just inside.
Margaret closed the door and crossed the room. “I’m sorry everything is a bit of a mess. I wasn’t expecting a caller.” She sat in the chair Hannah had once called hers. “Please. Sit.” She nodded at a cushioned armchair.
Hannah sat. She pressed her hands together in her lap and couldn’t keep from looking at the bags by the door.
“I’m preparing for a short trip to Sydney Town, just a few days. John is meeting me there.” She tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace.
Feeling a flicker of contempt, Hannah accepted the lie and sought a higher place. She took in a breath. “Margaret, I know your life has not always been what you’d hoped it would be.”
“My life is fine, good, in fact.” Her eyes flickered with irritation. “You needn’t worry about me.”
Hannah wet her lips. This wasn’t going to be easy. “All of us have hardships, and we may act as if life is satisfactory, even when it’s not.”
“What are you implying? That I’m unhappy? I can assure you, I’m quite delighted with my life.”
“I just want to say that . . . God loves you. Just as you are.”
“Well, of course he does. He loves everyone.” She studied Hannah. “Why would you feel a need to give me religious counsel? Isn’t that the reverend’s responsibility?”
“Yes. It is. But there are times when the Lord asks others to speak up. And he expects us to come alongside one another to help in times of trouble.”
Margaret fiddled with her collar. “I know all I need to know. I’ve been going to church since I was a child. There’s nothing you need tell me, and I have no need of your help.”
“Yes, of course. But do you know the Savior?”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Do you know Jesus Christ? The Word says he wants to know us intimately . . . as our Lord. He calls us to spend time with him, in prayer and in worship. He loves us.”
“I know that.” Margaret stood. “What is this? What do you want?”
Hannah expected irritation; instead she felt God’s presence. “I don’t want anything except that you know that even in the gravest of circumstances, God’s love never fails. He knows who we are, even on the inside, and still loves us. And he’d like to be our friend.”
“God a friend?” Margaret pursed her lips. “Whoever heard such nonsense? God is God, and he’s no one’s chum.”
“Christ called his followers friends. We’re his friends too. And he longs for us to know his love and to soothe our hurts.”
“I’m just fine as I am.” Margaret moved to the door. “You should go.” She opened the door. “I must be on my way. I’ve no time for this foolishness.”
Hannah knew she wasn’t going to change Margaret’s mind. She wasn’t ready to hear. For now, there was nothing more to be done. She met Margaret’s dark eyes. “Margaret, I know.”
“You know what?”
“About the inheritance, Weston Douglas . . . and your plan . . . to kill John.”
Margaret let out a small gasp and pressed a hand to her chest. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I know you wanted the inheritance and that you had a lover—Weston Douglas. And that you and he wanted the inheritance for yourselves . . . no matter what it took to get it.”
“You’re not making sense. I can’t believe you’d have such vile thoughts about me. It’s time you left. Please go.”
Her voice was hard, but Hannah heard panic. She was tempted to walk away, but wasn’t willing to give up without one more try. “Please, Margaret, hear me. You need the Lord, now more than ever.”
Margaret glared at Hannah. “You think you’re all high and mighty? One of God’s servants carrying his Word to the lost? Well, you’re no better than the rest of us. And you know nothing about me. Nothing. Get out!”
Hannah moved toward the door, then stopped. “I want you to know that I hold no ill will toward you. I forgive you, and so does the Lord—all you need do is to seek forgiveness, and he will hear your heart.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong! Get out!” She swung the door wide. “Get out! Get out!”
Hannah stepped onto the veranda, and Margaret slammed the door behind her. Looking at the hillside, she saw John. With a heavy heart, she lifted a hand in a defeated wave.
Hannah watched as the constable steered Margaret toward the wagon with a heavy hand. She felt no joy or satisfaction over the arrest. Rather, she felt sorrow at a life lost. Lord, may she remember your words and find you, even in prison.
Margaret didn’t go easily. The constable was forced to bind her hands.
When she reached the wagon, she looked at him. “This isn’t right. I’ve done nothing wrong.” She turned to John. “Please, tell this man that I’ve done nothing. If Weston tried to kill you, it was his idea. He was jealous and wanted me for himself. I had nothing to do with it.”
“All that will be decided in court,” John said, his voice regretful.
“You’ll let me go to prison for something I didn’t do?”
John didn’t answer.
“Fine, then. I wish he had killed you. You deserve to die. I’ve never loved you. Never!”
Quincy helped the constable heft Margaret into the back of the wagon, then tied her cuffs to an inside loop. He stepped back and watched the constable climb onto the front seat. With a nod, the man lifted the reins, turned the wagon toward the road, and rumbled away. Margaret no long
er looked belligerent. Sitting hunched over, she stared at the floor of the wagon bed.
Hannah leaned against John, unable to stop a flow of tears. No matter what Margaret had done, Hannah felt the woman’s wounded spirit. “I wish she would have listened to me.”
John put his arm about Hannah and squeezed gently. “Me too.”
Hannah looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes. I do.”
Quincy strolled toward Hannah and John. “Well, I’ve work to do. In the midst of all the excitement, I’ve neglected the place.”
“Yes. And I’d best get back to the Athertons’. They must be worried about me and you. I saw Perry in town yesterday, so I’m sure he and all the rest are waiting on word of you.”
“Stay,” John said. “Please. Let’s just sit on the veranda for a bit, eh?”
“It’s getting late.”
“Just for a few minutes.”
“I guess it would be all right.” Hannah walked up the steps and sat in one of the cane-backed chairs. “You know I can’t stay. We’re not legally married. And a lot has happened. We’ll need time.”
“I know. And we have time.” John reached across the space between the chairs and took her hand. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Hannah. I have since I first saw you on board that foul ship.” He gazed out over the farm. “And now, with my inheritance, we can have the estate we’ve always dreamed of.”
“I don’t care about that. I’m just thankful for you.” Hannah pressed his hand to her cheek.
“It will be just as it was—you, me, and Thomas. It’ll be grand.”
“That it will be.” Hannah knew now was the time to tell him. She’d been waiting for the right moment, but never imagined circumstance would be so perfect. She allowed her eyes to rest on the golden haze in the sky. “It won’t be just the same.”
“Well, of course things will change—”
“Yes.” Hannah smiled, enjoying hanging on to her secret for one more moment. “Our family will be bigger.”
“What do you . . .” John’s eyes got wide, and he looked more closely at Hannah.
“I’m going to have a baby, our baby, John.”
His shocked expression was replaced by a broad smile. “I thought it looked as if you’d put on a bit of weight. And when you started wearing those shifts, I wondered why . . . but I never imagined.” He kissed her hand. “When?”
“In March sometime.”
John’s eyes pooled with tears. “I thought I’d lost you . . . forever. And now . . . this is more grand than I could imagine.” His eyes turned serious. “I’ve been lost without you, Hannah.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I feel I shall burst with joy.”
“I was afraid for you. Thinking that this horrible thing with Margaret would destroy you. I knew you must love her . . .”
“I haven’t loved her for a long time. I tried because of the circumstances, but . . . no. I couldn’t. I loved you.”
He moved to Hannah and pulled her to her feet. “God brought us together. No man can separate us. We shall be together always.” He drew her to him. “Always.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe Cheryl Van Andel, who works with a superb team of artists, a huge thank-you. Each book in the Sydney Cove series has had a fabulous cover. I also appreciate your allowing me to be part of the process. I deeply admire your work and although we know that “you can’t judge a book by its cover,” your covers have offered great introductions to my stories.
I must thank my usual group of cohorts. Your contributions have helped me create a story I can be proud of. To my critique group, Ann, Billy, Diane, Julia, and Sarah—thank you for working with me through every line of this book. I am truly grateful for each and every one of you and for the expertise you lent to this project.
Once again I must thank Jayne Collins, my research partner who lives in Queensland, Australia. It has been great fun working together, and I’ll miss tossing ideas and questions back and forth across the pond. Although you live far from Oregon, I consider you my friend. Thanks so much.
And to Mary Hawkins, an Australian author who actually lives in Australia, I appreciate your taking the time to read the manuscript of Enduring Love and helping to catch the goofy things that sometimes show up in a book.
And a thank-you also to Lonnie Hull Dupont, senior editor for Revell. Knowing that you’ve read through my manuscript and given it your stamp of approval gives me confidence. I trust your knowledge and your instincts for what’s right and for what’s not.
And to Barb Barnes. Thanks for taking care with my projects. You can’t know how much I appreciate your quality editing and your respect for my story, plus the soft touch you use that allows my writing to be mine and still shine.
Bonnie Leon dabbled in writing for many years but never set it in a place of priority until an accident in 1991 left her unable to work. She is now the author of several historical fiction series, including the Queensland Chronicles, the Matanuska series, the Sowers Trilogy, and the Northern Lights series. She also stays busy teaching women’s Bible studies, speaking, and teaching at writing seminars and conventions and women’s gatherings. Bonnie and her husband, Greg, live in Southern Oregon. They have three grown children and four grandchildren.
Visit Bonnie’s website at www.bonnieleon.com.
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