by Bonnie Leon
Catharine sipped her tea and sat back. “Although John made a commitment to the lad without your consent, once he brought him home, you were also committed. You can’t send him back, even if there were a place to send him to. Thomas deserves better than that.”
She leaned closer to Hannah. “The Holy Spirit lives inside of you, and he will provide the love you need. But you must be willing to allow it to bloom. And as to whether or not there are any babies—that’s God’s choice.”
“I know he can do all things, but sometimes I doubt he will do them for me. I want my own children so badly . . .”
“As did I.” Catharine’s tone was sharp. “I waited too long, hoping that one day I’d be able to give William a child of his own.” She shook her head sadly. “By the time I realized I was waiting on the wrong dream, it was too late to adopt a child. We were too old.” She smiled softly, her eyes glistening with tears. “It doesn’t have to be like that for you. This child is a gift, if only you would see him as such.”
“Even if I do, that doesn’t change the fact that he hates me.” “He doesn’t hate you. He’s hurt and angry. The people he loved the most in the world were taken from him, and he’s been shuffled about and hasn’t felt wanted. How would you respond?”
Hannah knew how it felt, but it seemed she was still unable to overcome her own problems. “I want it to work, but so much has happened. I doubt he’ll ever forgive me.”
Catharine grasped Hannah’s hand. “I don’t think you’re giving God enough credit. He can do anything.” She squeezed gently. “You pray and listen to his leading. He’ll do what he must. That boy needs a mother and you need a son.”
Blinking back tears, Catharine cleared her throat and sat back. “Now, tell me why you’ve been staying away and why you and Lydia aren’t speaking to each other.”
Hannah was taken off guard. She hadn’t intended to share any of that. She didn’t want to talk about it.
Catharine waited.
“There is something.” Hannah picked up her tea and took a sip. “It has to do with Deidre.”
Catharine raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Lydia told Deidre about what happened in London and about the baby.”
“It’s not like her to carry tales.”
“She only meant it to help,” Hannah admitted. “Deidre made her think that she cared about me, and Lydia told her. Now Deidre’s threatening to expose the truth. She’s been demanding we provide her with . . . things. If not, she’ll speak up.”
“Things, like what?”
“Food and livestock.”
“Oh dear. And you’ve been giving in to her demands?”
“Yes. We didn’t know what else to do.”
“You mustn’t give her another thing. People like her will never be satisfied. I’ll see to it she’s terminated immediately.”
“Oh no. Please don’t. If she knows I’ve said anything, she’ll speak to the church elders.”
“That may be true, but I doubt she has the courage. You can’t allow this to go on.” Catharine stood. “I knew there was something not right about her, but I’d hoped . . .” She looked out over the grounds. “I’ll tend to it.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t say anything. She’s quite vindictive.”
“All the more reason. And remember, if she speaks out, she’ll be exposing her own treachery.” She moved toward the steps. “I doubt she’s got courage enough for that.” She took the first step and then stopped. With her hand on the railing, she turned back to Hannah. “I’ll consider what you’ve said, dear. But I don’t know that I can keep that woman in my employ.”
“Do what you think is right,” Hannah conceded.
Catharine took another step, then looked at Hannah again. “You know Lydia’s been sorrowing over the loss of your friend-ship far too long. You were the best of friends. You need each other.” She smiled and then moved slowly down the stairway.
John tossed hay from a loft and then climbed down a ladder. Thomas pushed a pitchfork into the feed and carried some to a crib. “Fine job,” John said, taking off his gloves. “I could do with some lunch. How ’bout you?”
“I’m hungry.” Thomas pushed the pitchfork into the hay pile.
“Hannah set out bread and cheese before she left this morning. I say we take some down to the river and eat, then have a swim.”
Thomas smiled. “Sounds fine to me.” He followed John to the house.
John gathered up the cheese and bread and placed it in a cloth bag. “Fruit would be good too, eh? We’ve some plums.” “I’d like that.”
John added several plums, grabbed a flask of water, and walked out the door. “On a hot day like this, a swim will be just the thing.” He winked at Thomas.
Thomas nodded and grinned. “I know how to swim. Me dad taught me.”
“Good.” John hurried toward the river, anxious to eat and get cooled off. He stopped beneath a large gum tree, then sat with his back against the tree, legs bent. Reaching into the bag, he took out a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese and handed them to Thomas. He took some for himself. The two sat quietly eating, enjoying a cool breeze.
“Wonder where the flies got to,” Thomas said, looking about.
“Speak quietly; they’re never far off,” John teased, enjoying the time with Thomas. It felt good, as if they were father and son.
Thomas sat with his legs crossed and quickly ate his simple meal. “I could do with a bit more. Is there any?”
“There is.” John started to reach inside the bag when he noticed a ripple in the grass behind Thomas. “Be still. Don’t move.” The boy stiffened.
Then John saw it—a large brown snake, one he knew to be deadly. It slid through the grass and straight for Thomas. He had no time to find a weapon, so John lunged for the viper, grabbing it directly behind the head. He pressed it into the ground and pushed the boy aside.
Thomas jumped to his feet. “Blimey! What is it?”
John grabbed his knife out of its sheath and quickly sliced the head from the body. He tossed both parts into the river. The body writhed on the surface for a moment and then sank. He wiped his knife in the grass and pushed it back into its sheath.
“That was a big one,” Thomas said.
“It was at that.” John smiled and tried to hide the tremor in his lips.
Thomas looked around. “Do ye think there are more?”
“No. They’re solitary creatures.”
Thomas sat down, and John handed him another hunk of cheese and bread. Thomas stared at the food, then looked at John. “Why’d ye do that?”
“He might have bitten you. I had to kill him.”
“But ye could have been bitten yerself. Ye could have died.”
“I guess I could have at that.” John took out a plum and bit into it. Juice squirted and he wiped it from his chin.
“Ye risked yer life.”
John heard something new in Thomas’s voice—wonder. He stopped chewing. “What is it, lad?”
The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “No one ’cept me mum or dad would have done that for me.”
“Well, we’re family, Thomas. I see you as my son. I’d defend you with my life.”
“Ye would?”
“Yes.”
Thomas took a bite of his bread and then a bite of cheese. “And what ’bout Mrs. Bradshaw? I think she hates me.”
“Of course she doesn’t.”
“But she doesn’t want me ’ere. She never will. It’s something she can’t change.”
“That’s not true. I’ll admit you were a surprise to her. And she’s not used to being a mother, not yet, but she’ll come ’round.”
“How can ye know that?”
“Because she’s got a good heart, and her life belongs to the Lord.” He leaned over and ruffled Thomas’s blond hair. “We’re your family now. You’ve no need to worry, you’ll see.”
19
Hannah walked down the steps of the Athertons’ home
and headed to the wagon. Just as she prepared to climb onto the seat, she spotted Lydia. She carried a basket of clean clothes against her hip and walked toward the end of the house.
Hannah rested a hand on the wheel and pondered what to do. The right thing would be to mend the relationship. God’s Word was clear about that.
Mrs. Atherton is right. I need to talk to her. Hannah watched as Lydia disappeared around the end of the house. What canI say? Although less angry, Hannah still felt the hurt of what Lydia had done, but she also missed her friend. I need to forgiveher and to tell her so.
Until Deidre had given away her past, Hannah had always liked Lydia’s recklessness; she’d found it endearing. She admired her lack of pretense. She couldn’t have known what would happenwhen she told Deidre.
Hannah took a deep breath. “All right, then. It’s time.” Although the words were meant to boost her courage, they had little effect. Even in the heat, she nearly shivered with trepidation. What if she were too late? Lydia wouldn’t necessarily forgive her harshness and her bitterness. Even though it was
Lydia who had made a mistake, it was Hannah who had purposely been unforgiving.
When Hannah rounded the corner of the house, Lydia had her back to her. She folded the waist of a pair of underdrawers over the line and secured it with a wooden pin. She reached into the basket, took out an identical pair, and did the same.
She even hangs laundry in a capable way. The last of Hannah’s anger faded and suddenly all she could see was her own sin— her unfair judgment of a friend and lack of forgiveness.
Lydia bent and reached for something else in the basket. “Lydia,” Hannah said, her voice barely audible.
Lydia didn’t respond. Instead she lifted out a crinoline and placed it over the wire.
Hannah cleared her throat and tried again. “Lydia.”
Holding the crinoline in her hands, Lydia turned. Her eyes locked with Hannah’s. Silence cut the air between them. Finally, Lydia said a stiff “Hello.”
Hannah took a step toward her. “I was hoping we might talk.”
Lydia turned back to her work, hanging the crinoline alongside the underdrawers, then lifted an underskirt out of the basket. “I thought we had nothing to say to each other, that our friendship was beyond saving.” Her tone was indifferent.
“I was wrong. I’m sorry. I want us to be friends. I miss you.”
Lydia hesitated, but then secured the underskirt to the line. When it was in place, she kept her hands on the line.
Hannah moved closer. “I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. And I’ve been utterly cruel.” She took another step. “Can you forgive me?”
Lydia turned and faced Hannah. Her eyes brimmed with
tears. She compressed her lips, then smiled tremulously. “Of course I forgive ye.”
The two friends embraced. Hannah could barely contain her sorrow and her joy, which spilled over in tears. She hugged Lydia tightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” She stepped back. “I’m truly sorry.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Lydia said. “All of this is my fault. If I’d just kept my mouth closed. I wish there were some way to take back my words. I never meant any harm.”
“I know that. It’s just that my hurt got in the way of my intellect. I know you’re a true friend, the dearest a person could have.”
They hugged again.
Lydia wiped away tears and smiled. “After I finish hanging these clothes, can ye join me for lunch?”
“I’d like that.”
Hannah felt comfortable sitting at the table in the small cottage she and Lydia had once shared. “It feels good to be here. I can’t tell you how I’ve missed you. Everyone needs a good friend.”
“I’ve missed ye too. I’ve been lonely.”
“There’s been no one to share my thoughts with, except for John, of course. But he’s a man and although he tries . . . well, he’s a man.”
Both of them laughed.
Still chuckling, Hannah said, “He truly doesn’t care a bit about my sewing projects or new recipes, although I’ve tried talking to him about them. And I don’t dare speak to him about other female topics.”
Lydia chuckled. “I should say not.” She set cups on the table. “Would ye like some sugar?”
“Are you sure you’ve enough to spare?”
“Mrs. Atherton sees to it that we have sugar.” She set a bowl of it on the table.
Hannah chose a small chunk and stirred it into her tea. She sipped and looked out the window. “It feels like another life when I last sat in this place.” Suddenly overwhelmed at what she’d nearly lost, Hannah gazed at Lydia and said, “I’ve felt adrift without you. I’ve been so foolish.”
“Guess we both have.” Lydia stirred her tea absently. “I know that I tried to tell ye exactly what happened with Deidre, but I’d like to explain it more now that—”
“You don’t have to. I know you thought you were helping. Deidre did seem like someone you could trust, at least to most people. Although I must admit, I never liked her.”
“Thought I was a decent judge of character, but clearly I’m not. Is she still giving ye trouble?”
“Not recently, but I’ve no certainty that she won’t. Most likely she’ll be back with her hand extended. She’s successfully robbed us of two ewes, a lamb, a sow, food staples—”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Deidre was looking for a trusting soul and she found you.” Hannah reached across the table and patted Lydia’s arm. “You’re kind. And she could see that.”
Lydia furrowed her forehead. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t know that anyone can. Catharine’s convinced she’ll continue with her evil deeds. She wants to discharge her.”
“As she should.”
“I asked her not to, and she said she’d give it some thought.”
“Why, Hannah? After what she’s done, she doesn’t deserve to work for fine people like the Athertons.”
“I agree, but if Catharine dismisses her, she’ll only become worse. I don’t know that I’m ready for what may come.”
“Well, I’ll tell her then. She’s a no-good.”
“Please don’t—not a word. John and I will see to her . . . somehow.”
“What are ye going to do?”
Hannah picked up her spoon and stirred her tea again, trying to dissolve the last grains of sugar. “I’m very close to telling her she’ll not receive anything more. I’m just afraid it will mean the end of things for John and me here in Parramatta.”
“But if ye don’t, she’ll just go on and on, demanding things from ye. It will never end.”
“You’re probably right. And I know I ought to speak to the elders myself, tell them the truth. Perhaps they’d be merciful.”
“Reverend Taylor is a kind man, and so are the others. I can’t see them penalizing ye too terribly.”
“They may feel they have no choice, especially if Scripture calls for it.”
Lydia leaned on her elbows. “I think ye need to stand up to her. And let God see to the rest.”
Hannah took a drink of her tea. “When I think about what could happen . . . I absolutely quake inside. What will become of John and me? We could be ruined.” She stood and walked to the window. “Still, I know it’s time to put an end to her thievery.” She looked back at Lydia. “Catharine thinks she’d be too frightened to speak up because she’d ruin her own reputation along with mine.”
“That’s possible.” Lydia sat back in her chair. “How is Thomas? Is he getting on all right?”
Hannah returned to her place across from Lydia. “He and John are doing quite well. But he and I . . . well . . . we’ve our differences. He doesn’t much like me.”
“How could he not?”
“I’ve not been a good mother to him. But I’m going to do better. We’ve had some difficulties, but I’m the only mum he’s got. I’m g
oing to do my best by him. I just hope it’s not too late.”
“All things work together for good. Have faith.”
Hannah sighed. “Pray for us.”
Hannah knelt beside Thomas’s bed while John prayed. She’d sensed something different between the two ever since she’d returned that afternoon. They seemed very much like father and son. If only she felt like a mother.
When John finished, he stood, then bent over the bed and smoothed back the lad’s blond hair. “Good night, Son.”
“Good night, sir.” Thomas snuggled down.
“Good night, Thomas,” Hannah said.
He mumbled something unintelligible.
Feeling wounded, Hannah allowed John to steer her toward the stairway leading down from the loft. “Can I get you your pipe?” she asked as John settled into a chair at the table.
“Thank you.”
John had only recently taken up smoking. Hannah didn’t mind. She liked the aroma. She filled the pipe with tobacco and tapped it down. Handing it to John, she lit a stick in the embers in the hearth and held it to the bowl while John puffed. The tobacco glowed red and smoke rose into the air.
John moved the pipe to the corner of his mouth and said, “Thank you, luv.”
Hannah tossed the stick into the hearth, then moved to a rocker and picked up a sewing basket she kept beside it. Taking out a pair of socks she’d been mending, she went to work darning. John continued cleaning his musket.
“I’ll be glad when this hot spell passes,” Hannah said. “I prefer the weather cooler and a cheery fire burning in the hearth. And the fire helps light the house.”
John set the gun on the table. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll open the door. It might allow a breeze inside.” He lifted the latch and swung it open. Even in the darkness the loud buzz of cicadas filled the night.
John returned to the table. “The heat’s hard on the sheep. Shearing should help.”
“Do you have anyone to assist you?”
“I’ve a couple of shearers coming in. We’ll be fine. I’m a bit worried about the stream, though. It’s down some.” He removed a bolt from the musket, and the stock fell away from the barrel. He set them both on the table.
