by Bonnie Leon
Hannah grasped him tightly and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. John was almost certain she was crying.
Her eyes wet, Hannah looked up at him. “We’ve been married long enough. And I’m afraid. What if it never happens?”
“It will. Trust in the Lord.” John smiled, but fear tugged at him as well. “Perhaps you’re already with child and just don’t know it yet.”
“Perhaps.” Hannah didn’t sound convinced. “It’s been six months since our wedding.”
A musical laugh carried across the yard. Deidre stood happily amidst a group of men, each waiting for a turn to dance. “She certainly turns heads, doesn’t she?” John said with a laugh.
“She does at that. But I doubt her charm touches the inside.”
“Why do you feel that way? From all I’ve heard she works hard and she seems to have an agreeable disposition.” He leaned back and looked intently at Hannah. “You said you’re not jealous. Are you? You’re much prettier than her, you know.”
“You’re overly kind, husband.”
“I’d not give Deidre a thought. I’m sure she’s innocent enough.”
Hannah studied the blonde beauty. “Innocent? I think not.”
6
Looking through a blur of tears, Hannah swept hot ashes out of the oven and into a metal firebox. Grasping the handle, she headed for the door. As she reached for the latch, it lifted and the door opened. John stepped in.
“I’ll take that,” he said, reaching for the handle. “My stomach’s already grumbling. Hope dinner’s nearly ready.”
“Nearly.” Hannah released the box.
“Good. I can smell fresh hot bread already.”
“That you’ll have to wait for until morning.” Without meeting his eyes, she moved to the hearth where a flat wooden shovel rested against the stone face. She carried it to the table and set it beside rising bread.
“Hannah?”
Still not looking up, Hannah sprinkled cornmeal on the peel and placed two mounds of bread dough on the shovel. “What?” She glanced at John.
“You look a bit down.”
“No. I’m well.” She carried the bread to the oven and set it inside, carefully sliding it off the wooden peel.
“Hannah.”
“I’m fine.” Hannah set the oven door in place and returned the paddle to its spot beside the hearth. How can I tell him? She took in a breath and forced herself to meet her husband’s gaze.
“Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” she said. But everything wasn’t all right. Her menstrual flow had come. No baby. I know I’m not meant tohave babies.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. I’m just busy.” She made an effort to lighten her tone and managed to smile.
“All right, then. I’ll dispose of this, and then I’ve a bit of work still to do. Plus Patience needs milking before I can put her away for the night.”
“That’s fine.” Hannah turned to the hearth where a pot of beans hung from a pole above the fire. Careful to hold her skirt away from the embers, she used a wooden spoon to stir the meal. “Dinner is nearly ready. I’ll set it on the table.” Hannah didn’t look at him; she didn’t want him to see her grief.
Holding the firebox at arm’s length, John leaned close to Hannah and peered over her shoulder. “Looks good.”
He rested his hand on her back, and she kept stirring. Abruptly, he straightened and said, “All right, then. There’ll be fresh milk for dinner.”
“Can you fetch butter from the springhouse?” Hannah asked, trying to keep her voice cheery. She set a lid on the pot.
“Right.” John opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “It seems we have visitors.”
“Who would come out so late in the day?” Hannah joined him on the front step and watched a buggy bounce up the drive. Having callers would normally have delighted her, but today she had no heart for company. All she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep away her misery.
“Good day,” John called jovially as David Gelson pulled his buggy to a stop.
Lydia sat beside David. “Good day to ye,” she called.
David climbed down and then assisted Lydia.
Stepping from the porch, John held out a hand to David. “This is a fine surprise.”
With a glance at Lydia, David said, “Lydia wanted to see Hannah and insisted she couldn’t wait.” His sapphire blue eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled.
Hannah put on her best greeting face. “So glad you’ve come.” She moved down the steps and hugged her friend. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you out this late in the day.”
“I know, but the weather is fine, and there’ll be a full moon to see us home.”
John placed an arm around Hannah’s waist. “I’d fancy a drive by moonlight with my lady.”
Hannah couldn’t resist his charm and leaned in close to John. “It does sound nice.”
Lydia glanced at David, her cheeks looking pinker than usual.
“Please, come in.” Hannah led the way up the steps.
Lydia followed Hannah inside and glanced about the room. “It looks grand. You’ve made this look nice and homey.”
“There’s still a lot to be done, but John’s working hard.” Hannah smiled at John.
“We’re doing it together.” He smiled down at Hannah. “We were just about to have dinner. Will you join us?”
“We’d love it if you could,” Hannah added. “It’s nothing much, just bread and beans, but there’s more than enough.”
David glanced at Lydia. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No intrusion. It’s a pleasure to have your company,” John said. “Please, stay.”
“I’d love it . . .” Lydia looked at David. “As long as ye don’t mind.”
He smiled. “I didn’t realize it, but I’m starved.”
“Fine, then,” John said. “I was just on my way out to milk the cow and to fetch some butter.”
Now that Lydia was here, Hannah warmed to the idea of company. She needed someone to talk to, and Lydia’s cheerful countenance was a pleasant distraction.
Lydia smiled over her shoulder at John. “I think ye ought to give David milking lessons. I doubt he’s ever done any farmwork.”
“Is that true?” John asked.
“Afraid so.”
“Well then, I suppose I can teach you if you’ve a mind to learn.” He grinned.
“I suppose it’s not a bad idea.” He shot a glance at Lydia. “My family always had servants, and they did that sort of thing.”
“Milking might be something you’ll need to know. One day you may receive a cow as payment.” John laughed. “It’s not so difficult, especially now that I have a stanchion for Patience.” “Patience?” David asked.
“That’s what Hannah calls the cow.”
“You’re naming the cows now, eh?” Lydia grinned.
“And what’s wrong with that?” Hannah folded her arms over her chest, submitting a friendly challenge. “She’s a bit difficult, and I thought the name might help.”
“And has it?” Lydia’s smile widened.
“No. Not at all. But with the stanchion, she’s forced to remain in one place until I’ve finished.”
John opened the door. “We best get to it if we’re to have milk with our meal.” He held the door for David and the two stepped outside.
“Dinner will be ready by the time you return,” Hannah called after them.
“Good. My stomach’s grumbling.” John gave Hannah a crooked smile and then closed the door.
Lydia sat at the table and gazed about the room. “This is a fine house.” Her eyes moved to the oven. “And to think ye have yer own oven. What a pleasure that must be.”
“Indeed.” Hannah suddenly felt gratitude rather than disappointment. “If not for you and all the others, we’d still be living in that tiny cottage. Thank you for all you did.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“No. You did. I remember how much you hated the cabin. I’m certain you had a lot to do with all the assistance we received.”
“Me and some others.”
“There are still mornings that I awaken and am startled to realize I live in such a grand house.” Hannah sat across from Lydia. “I’ll always be thankful to you and for everyone who helped us.”
“It was great fun, especially the planning. But I must say I had some difficulty keeping the secret.” Lydia smiled. “I wanted to tell ye so badly.”
Hannah nodded, still unable to completely shake off her doldrums. “How are things for you and David?”
Lydia didn’t answer right away. She glanced out a front window. “All right, I guess.”
“You sound as if there’s some sort of trouble.”
Lydia took in a deep breath. “I’m a bit worried.”
“Can you tell me?”
“I just don’t know that it’s going to work out between us.” Lydia’s voice quaked.
“You seem so happy.”
“Do we?” She closed her eyes for a moment. “He’s not been himself lately. Or perhaps he’s more himself than before.” She glanced at Hannah and then at the tabletop. “He grew up in a fancy house with servants and all that sort of thing. And he’s well educated, obviously. If he were in London, he’d not be seen with the likes of me.” Lydia smoothed the surface of the wooden table with her index finger. “I think he wants me to be someone I’m not.”
“What do you mean? I thought he liked you quite well.”
“And he did—anyway, I thought he did. But the last few times we’ve been together, he’s been impatient with me, wanting me to behave more genteel. I don’t think I’m refined enough for him.”
“I like that you don’t put on airs.” Hannah smiled. “And I’m glad you speak your mind and use plain language. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”
“Thank ye. But yer not David.”
“I’m sure he likes you just fine as you are.”
“No. He doesn’t. And I don’t know any other way. Acting genteel . . .” Lydia’s eyes welled up with tears, something Hannah had rarely seen. “I’m afraid if I don’t change, he’ll not want me and . . . I love him. To lose him would be an unbearable wound.”
“Oh Lydia.” Hannah reached across the table and grasped Lydia’s hand. “I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about. Of course he loves you.”
Lydia stood and walked to the front window. With her arms folded across her chest, she watched the men. “I think in the beginning he liked me because I wasn’t like the women he’d known in London. And perhaps it was exciting to spend time with . . . with someone like me. But I have to be honest with myself. I’m nothing more than an ill-used convict.”
“Stop it. That’s enough of that kind of talk.” Hannah pushed away from the table and moved to her friend. She rested a hand on Lydia’s arm. “You’re a fine person, and if David Gelson can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“I doubt he thinks so. He’s always asking me ’bout the way I dress. He even offered to purchase fabric for me. And he’s forever correcting my speech. Not just the words, but the way I say them. He tells me I ought to speak more gently and less often.”
“Perhaps he believes life would be easier for you if you were more refined. He might be thinking about your well-being.”
“I doubt he’s thinking ’bout me. It’s himself he’s thinking of. I’m probably an embarrassment to him.” Lydia twirled a lock of hair that had fallen out of place. “I’ve seen him . . . with Deidre, more than once.”
“Where?”
“At the Athertons’.”
“Why was he at the Athertons’?”
“The first time, a fellow fell out of the hayloft and broke his shoulder. And the last time a chap was sick with a fever and chills.” Lydia squared her jaw and her eyes turned hard. “He didn’t even come to see me. But I saw him with Deidre.”
Hannah searched her mind for a plausible explanation. She stepped in front of Lydia, blocking her view. “Perhaps he couldn’t find you. And you know how Deidre can be. She’s forward, always seems to be hunting for a man.”
“I trusted her. I thought we were friends.”
“I don’t know that Deidre has any real friends, especially when it comes to competing for a man.”
“I should have known not to trust her.” Lydia turned and faced the room. Her voice hushed, she said, “She’s no more genteel than me; she just pretends to be. But she is a lot prettier.”
“David must care about you. He’s here with you now. He drove you all the way from the Athertons’. He’d not do that without good reason. I’m sure he fancies you.”
“Coming to see you was my idea. He only offered a ride after I told him how much I was missin’ ye.”
“But he offered.” Hannah moved to the hearth and stirred the beans. “You’re not usually so pessimistic.” She set four bowls on the table. “You’ve always been the one who had faith.”
“It’s different this time.” Lydia chewed a nail. “From the beginning I’ve wondered why he was interested in me.”
“Lydia—you’re being too hard on yourself. You’d make a fine wife for any man.”
“Ye think so? Then why is it I’m not married?”
“Perry would have married you.”
“Perry? He’s not for me.” Lydia moved to the cupboard. “I hope yer right ’bout David and I’m fretting over nothing.” She picked up a partial loaf of bread. “Would ye like me to slice this?”
“Thank you.”
“A knife?”
“There, on the shelf.”
Lydia took the knife, sliced the last of the bread and set it on a plate, and then placed it on the table. “And how ’bout ye? How have ye been?”
“I’m fine. Happy.”
“Oh? Ye didn’t look fine when I arrived. I saw something else, something not right.”
“I’m well. What have I got to be gloomy about? I’ve a splendid home and a wonderful husband.” Hannah tried to sound cheerful, but a lump stuck in her throat, nearly choking off her words.
“All right, then. What is it?” Lydia moved to Hannah. “Tell me what’s troubling ye?”
Using the corner of her apron, Hannah dabbed at unbidden tears. Oh, why can’t I control my emotions? “Nothing really. Nothing at all.”
“Then why the tears, eh?”
Hannah lifted the beans and set them on the table. “I’d hoped that maybe this month . . . but . . .” She looked at Lydia. “I’m afraid I’ll never have a child.”
“Ye will. It takes longer for some than others.” She hugged Hannah. “Babies happen when God decides the time is right.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Why would ye be afraid of that?”
Hannah glanced outside to make sure the men weren’t near the house. They walked along the river, hands in their pockets, looking as if they were deep in conversation. The pail of milk had been left by the barn.
“I know God’s forgiven me for what I did.”
“What ye did?”
“The baby and all of that.” Hannah pressed the palms of her hands together. “But sometimes, even though we’re forgiven, there are penalties to be paid. I’m afraid God’s decided not to bless me with children. He gave me a child once, and I wanted it to die.”
“God knows our hearts. Ye were in trying circumstances, living in torment. I don’t believe for a moment he’s punishing you.” She gently held Hannah’s shoulders. “Having a baby doesn’t always happen right away. Why, there’s a woman I know in Sydney Town who waited three years before she and her husband had their first. And now they’ve four.”
“Really?” Hannah felt a glimmer of hope. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to quell her fear and heartache. “I’m so afraid. Every month I wait and I pray, but each month there’s no baby. Why would I conceive a child with Mr. Walker when . . . it was only that one time? And it was
so brutal, so awful.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it happens like that.” Lydia folded her arms over her chest. “Have ye told John ’bout the rape and the baby?”
“No. I can’t tell him. He’d never forgive me for keeping such a secret.” Hannah set out flatware. “And now that there are no babies . . . he’ll know it’s my fault.”
“I thought ye would have said something by now.” Lydia set a hard gaze on Hannah. “Yer not honoring him. He’s a better man than ye give him credit for. Ye’ve been dishonest with John and it’s time he knew the truth.”
“I can’t. And it’s not that I don’t honor him. I do.”
“Ye married him under false pretenses, Hannah. Ye didn’t trust him.” Lydia softened her tone. “John loves ye. When ye tell him, he might be a bit angry at first, but he’ll come ’round.”
Hannah tried to envision what it would be like to confess to John. She could see the disappointment and revulsion in his eyes. She couldn’t bear that. “I’m afraid.”
“Tell him. He’s yer mate. He’ll support ye.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
Hannah wanted to believe Lydia. John was kind and he loved her. Did she dare speak up?
“All right. I’ll tell him. But I’ll have to wait for the proper time.”
7
Hannah did her best to stuff her petticoat and skirts into stirrup stockings John had purchased for her. They were the most uncomfortable and most unattractive thing she’d ever worn. Barely managing to get her skirts inside the unwieldly, thigh-high leggings, she looked at John. “Must I? They’re hideous and awkward.”
“I’m sorry, luv, but I won’t have my wife riding astride without them. There’s decency to be considered.” John studied the loose-fitting stockings. They were two yards wide at the top and truly ungainly looking. He tried not to smile.
“I shan’t wear them. They’re antiquated and unnecessary.”
