by Bonnie Leon
His rudeness persists, Hannah fumed. “Thomas, I want you to come in and eat at the table.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’ll do as you’re told.”
He glared at her over his shoulder. “I don’t have to. Yer not me mum.”
“Why must you rail against me? I know it hurts to lose one’s parents—I lost both of mine. But there’s no call to be spiteful or rude.”
Thomas set his bowl aside and stood. His expression was hard. “How can ye say it is I who rails against ye? It’s the other way ’round. Ye can barely stand the sight of me. Ye made that clear right from the beginning.”
“That’s not true.” Hannah fumbled to find the right response. “I confess to having difficulty managing your sulking and your sour moods. And there’s rarely a kind word from you. Not even for dear Lottie who only wants to be your friend.”
“How can ye expect me to be friends with her? She’s a girl.”
“There is such a thing as courtesy no matter one’s age.” Hannah folded her arms over her chest. Thomas glared up at her and jutted out his chin. Hannah had had enough. “All right, then. You can spend the rest of the day in your room, and you’ll not get any cake.”
“I don’t care about yer cake. And I won’t stay in me room. It’s hotter than hades up there!”
“Watch your mouth. And do as you’re told.”
Instead of obeying, Thomas moved down one step. “No. I won’t. Yer not me mum. And ye never will be, not that ye wanted to be anyway. Ye never wanted me. It was only John’s pity that brought me ’ere. I don’t need ye, neither one of ye. I can make it fine on me own.”
Hannah was unprepared for his outburst. “Thomas,” she said, hoping her tone sounded gentler. “Of course we want you. And we don’t wish for you to leave.”
“Yer only saying what ye think ye should. But ye don’t have to worry. I’ll be gone the first chance I get.” His blue eyes were red rimmed and it looked like he was trying not to cry. “Why couldn’t it have been ye that died instead of me mum and dad?”
He kicked the bowl of stew off the step, leaped down from the porch, and ran as hard as he could. He sprinted across the field, cutting through a mob of sheep.
Her heart aching, Hannah sank to the step and watched until he disappeared over a rise. What am I to do?
She closed her eyes and tears trailed from the corners. “I don’t know how to be a mother to him. Perhaps I was never meant to be anyone’s mother.”
Her mind carried her back to her own mum. I miss you so.Why can’t I be more like you? She felt the comfort of her mother’s soft voice, her touch. She was nothing like her. “I need you, Mum. Why did you have to die?”
Opening her eyes, Hannah looked at the last place she’d seen Thomas. How far had he run? Would he return? And if he did, what would she say to him?
She pushed to her feet and slowly walked down the steps. Picking up the bowl and spoon, she gazed out over the field.
She felt lonelier than she could ever remember. She’d not meant to hurt him, yet she had. I’m not the mum for him. Why is hehere, Lord?
Hannah moved back inside, set the bowl and spoon in the sink, and then went to the window, hoping to see him at the river’s edge or walking across the field toward the house.
He was nowhere in sight, but he was out there, somewhere, most likely sobbing out his anguish. “God, let him know he’s not alone. Show him that you love him. And Lord, help me love him the way a real mum should.” Even as she prayed, Hannah knew it was too late. Too much damage had already been done. It would take a miracle to repair the relationship.
She’d not realized how much Thomas needed her. She’d only thought about how much she needed a child of her own and not a sullen little boy. The depth of her selfishness revolted her.
Feeling sick, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. “I’ve let him down so badly.”
Her mind went to John and how much he already loved Thomas. He wanted a son and now he had one. The idea that they could lose him was beyond comprehension.
Show me what to do, Lord.
18
John helped Hannah into the wagon. “You’re sure you’ll be all right on your own?”
“Of course. It won’t be the first time I’ve made the trip to the Athertons’ by myself. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“I’d go with you, but there’s so much to be done here.” He glanced at Thomas who was dumping feed into the pig trough. “He’s getting to be a great help to me. Maybe the rest will come soon.”
“It will,” Hannah said, feeling terrible about what had happened the previous day. She’d not told John all that had been said; she didn’t want to discourage him. She’d simply told him that she and Thomas had an argument.
Thomas still wasn’t speaking to her. And when she’d offered him a piece of cake, he’d refused and gone to bed.
“Try not to worry so.”
“I’m fine, really.”
John smiled up at her. “You’re not good at concealing your emotions, luv. I think your speaking to Catharine is a good idea. She’s wise and has an understanding of these kinds of things.”
Hannah nodded, wondering if John was referring to her being barren. “I’m sure she’ll be of help. I’m just sorry it’s come to this. I wish we’d been able to sort it out ourselves.”
“Well, that’s part of the reason for friends. We can be of help to one another, eh?”
“Yes. Of course.” But as Hannah considered the conversation she’d have with Catharine, her insides churned. It meant revealing truths about herself she’d rather keep secret. “I shan’t be late,” she said, lifting the reins.
“While you’re there, perhaps you and Lydia will have a chance to talk, eh?”
“Perhaps,” she said, but Hannah knew she’d do everything she could to avoid such a meeting.
John watched as Thomas headed toward the barn and then looked at Hannah. “I’ll be praying you along, luv.”
“Thank you.” Hannah took the brake off, but instead of turning the team toward the road, she asked, “John, why do you think our life has become so complicated? Sometimes I feel as if I’m trying to make my way through a bramble thicket. I didn’t expect it to be like this.”
“Like what?”
Hannah moved the reins from one hand to the other. “Things have just not turned out as I’d hoped.” She knew talking about it would do no good, yet she felt compelled. “We were supposed to have children, and I was going to spend time with my closest friend over tea, and my secret was going to disappear into the mist somewhere. And instead it’s—”
“Hannah, we were never assured of tranquility, only that God would see us through whatever life brings our way. I thought we’d learned that long ago.”
“I should have, with all that’s befallen me . . . and you. I guess I just hoped it would be easier.”
John smiled. “I wish it could be so, but instead we must find the good in the life we’ve been given.” He grasped her hand. “One piece of excellent news—Deidre’s not spoken to me recently. Perhaps giving her the bull calf put an end to it all, and she decided enough is enough, eh?”
“I pray so.” Hannah lifted the reins. “I’d best be on my way. The day is going quickly.”
“Safe travel, luv.”
Hannah turned the horses toward the road. The air was already hot and muggy, so much so that even the birds seemed quieter than usual. Along the river the air felt heavy and the flies were thick. Hannah slapped the reins gently over the horses’ hindquarters. “Come on. Faster now.”
Biting flies tormented her. They crawled on her veil and bit her exposed hands. “I should have worn gloves. My hands will be a sight by the time I get there.” She swatted at the flies, but they’d buzz away only to return. “This is ghastly.”
When the Athertons’ drive appeared, relief, like a cool breeze, swept over Hannah. Gwen and Perry met her as she drove up.
“G’day to ye,” Perry said, taking the harness.
“Good day. You two not working?”
“We’re supposed to be.” Gwen smiled lovingly at Perry. “Actually we were sneaking a few moments together.”
“We’ll be married before long and then we’ll have plenty of time together,” Perry said.
“You’ve set a date, then?”
“We have.” Perry draped an arm about Gwen’s shoulders. “We thought March. Seems a fitting time for a wedding, don’t you think?” Before Hannah could reply, he added, “The heat ought to give up a bit by then.”
“That’s a long wait, four months.”
“It seems like forever,” Gwen said. “But I want my wedding to be perfect. I couldn’t bear to be fighting this heat and the awful insects. March is a bit cooler. The world seems lovelier then too.”
“Well, congratulations to you. I can hardly wait. I’m sure it will be a beautiful wedding.” Hannah looked at the main house and hoped she’d not have an encounter with Deidre or Lydia. “Have you seen Mrs. Atherton? I was hoping to have a word with her.”
“She’s on the veranda. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see ye.” Still holding Perry’s hand, Gwen stepped away from him. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see ye later, eh?”
“That ye will.” Perry tipped his hat and strolled toward the shop.
Gwen looked up at Hannah. “I’ll go along with ye. Mrs. Ather-ton will be needing some refreshment ’bout now anyway.”
Hannah clicked her tongue and drove the wagon toward the house. Gwen walked the short distance alongside the wagon. “Ye’ve not been ’round for some time. How are ye and John faring out there on yer property?”
“Good. The lambs are growing and healthy. John managed to purchase a fine ram and some additional ewes. He’s put up another barn and several more stock pens. He and Quincy even built poor Quincy a new cabin, one that keeps out the flying pests and the snakes. And even with all this heat the garden is flourishing. I’m thankful to have the river so near. It’s a wonder what a bit of water can do.”
“Sounds like ye’ve built yerselves a grand place.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but we have made strides.
It’s coming along well.” Hannah hadn’t considered her blessings recently; she needed reminding. “God has been good to us.”
When Hannah pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the Atherton home, Catharine moved from the shadows of the veranda to the top of the steps. She cooled herself with a small fan. “Hannah. How grand to see you!”
“Catharine.” Hannah climbed down from the wagon and walked up the broad steps in the front of the house.
Catharine opened her arms and pulled Hannah against her ample bosom, then held her away and gazed at her. “I can scarcely believe you’ve come all this way in this unbearable heat.” She smiled. “But I’m glad you did. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you terribly.”
“You see me every Sunday.”
“That’s not the same; there’s never enough time for a proper visit.”
“How true.” Hannah’s fears quieted. Just being with Catharine made her feel more tranquil.
“Please, dear. Come and sit in the shade. There’s a bit of a breeze now and again.” Catharine limped to a spindle-backed chair and sat.
Hannah took a seat beside her. The porch seemed buried in greenery and flowers. The fragrance was heady. “One day, I hope to have a veranda as lovely as this one.” She breathed deeply. “The lobelia smells heavenly.”
“I love lobelia,” Catharine said. “But in this heat it’s a chore to keep them watered. And poor Dalton has been given the task of keeping them alive. Some days I’ve seen him watering more than once.”
“I’ve brought tea,” Gwen said, setting a pitcher on an occasional table beside Mrs. Atherton’s chair. “Mrs. Goudy made raspberry tarts. Would ye like some, mum?”
“That sounds lovely.”
Gwen disappeared inside. Hannah sipped the cool mint tea.
Catharine continued to fan herself. “Oh, on days like this I wonder why we ever left England.”
“The cool days there were nice.”
Catharine stopped fanning herself long enough to take a drink of her tea. “I pray all is well with you and John and Thomas.”
Hannah held her glass between her hands. Although she’d come specifically to speak with Catharine about her troubles at home, she wasn’t ready to do so just yet. “We’re doing splendidly,” she said. “John’s working hard and he’s accomplished so much. Our flocks are growing and we’ve a bountiful garden.”
“And Thomas? How is he?”
Hannah turned the glass counterclockwise and then took a sip. “Actually he’s the reason I’ve come. I need . . . guidance.”
Catharine leaned closer to Hannah. “I don’t know that I can help, but I can listen.”
Gwen returned with a tray of tarts. She set them on the occasional table.
“Thank you,” Catharine said.
Hannah picked up one. “They look delicious.” She took a bite. “Mmm. Tell Mrs. Goudy thank you for me.”
“I’ll do that,” Gwen said as she walked indoors.
Catharine turned to Hannah. “So, you were saying something about Thomas.”
“Yes.” Hannah set the tart on the plate. “He’s unhappy . . . mostly with me. He and John seem to be getting along well, but things are not good between me and him. And I’ve been too harsh. I’m having a terrible time being tolerant.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Catharine sat back in her chair. “And what do you think is causing the strife?”
“I’m not sure. From the first day there’s been trouble.”
“How so?”
“First off, John brought Thomas home without consulting me at all. He simply showed up with him. I was quite taken aback and ill prepared when they arrived at the house. And I didn’t handle it well. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and Thomas heard.” She set the glass on the table. “He’s been angry ever since. He told me he doesn’t want to live with us. Never did.
“So, as you can see, we started out quite badly. And I’ve been struggling since, angry one minute, contrite the next, and hopeful and then hopeless.” She brushed damp hair off her face. “Sometimes I feel angry with Thomas without cause.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not been myself since . . . well, since I told John about the baby, about everything.” Hannah clasped her hands tightly together.
“I’m glad you told him.”
“Yes, but we had a terrible fight, and he left. That’s when the convict broke into the house.”
“I thought there was something not quite right when you came to visit.”
“Anyway, when John returned, we talked about it all, and I told him I was afraid that we’d never have children. He assured me that he was confident we would. And that God understood how I’d felt and why I’d done what I did and that he wouldn’t punish me.”
“None of us can know exactly the mind of the Lord, but I tend to agree with John. I don’t think God is punishing you, dear.”
“I’d like to believe you, but why haven’t we had a child?”
Mrs. Atherton turned thoughtful. When she spoke, she chose her words carefully. “Hannah, do you think God was punishing me? I have no children.”
“No. Of course not. You’re a wonderful person.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “I used to wonder why William and I never had children, and I even questioned whether or not there was some sin I’d committed that would cause God to withhold his blessings. But in time, I came to understand that we each have our own path to walk and that path has a specific purpose. We must trust where God leads.”
Hannah nodded, feeling her sadness lift just a bit. “When John told me he thought we’d have children, I believed him. It gave me great comfort to know he believed in me and in us. But when he brought Thomas home, it was as if he
were saying he didn’t believe. I felt he’d lied to me and thought I deserved God’s punishment.”
“Oh, Hannah.” Catharine reached across and placed a hand on Hannah’s arm. “I don’t see that at all. John simply wants children and this boy needed a home. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Catharine poured herself more tea and added some to Hannah’s glass. “I see no cause for you to react so negatively.” “You’re probably right, but . . .” Hannah stared at her hands. “I can’t believe it. Every time I look at Thomas, I see John’s doubt.”
“That’s why you’re having so much difficulty with Thomas, dear. You’re placing the hurt and frustration you feel toward John on that boy.” She cooled herself with the fan. “And is it possible that you’re afraid to love him because that means you agree there will be no children?”
The idea slammed into Hannah. Was that what was wrong?
“It’s perilous to allow our minds to control us, dear. If we give in to every emotional whim, we can cause great harm. Scripture says we’re to take our thoughts captive. We must see things as Christ sees them. Pray and he will reveal his will to you.”
Hannah straightened her legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I know you’re right, but I’m not sure what to do about Thomas. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to live in my house. I’m wondering if he’d be better off living elsewhere. I think he hates me.”
“Of course he doesn’t. He’s just a boy.”
“He does. And . . . I don’t love him. Some days I can scarcely tolerate him.” Hannah’s throat tightened and she could barely speak. “I pray, but it’s not getting better. Some days I think that perhaps we’re growing closer, and then something will happen and things are worse than ever. Just yesterday, Thomas and I had a row and he told me that he’ll leave the moment he can.”
If Catharine was shocked, she didn’t show it. Calmly she asked, “How about John and Thomas? How are they? You said they were getting along.”
“Yes. I think Thomas likes and respects John. And John wants it to work so badly. He loves Thomas but manages to restrain his affection, knowing he must wait until Thomas is ready to be loved.”
