by Bonnie Leon
His voice solemn and reverent, Thomas began, “Father in heaven, me life’s been a bit of a struggle, but I’m thankful for all ye’ve done for me. I miss me mum and dad and Catrin real bad, but I love me new home. But there’s something bad afoot. I can feel it.”
Hannah’s heart skipped a beat and she glanced at Thomas. His eyes were squeezed shut.
“I’m feelin’ afraid,” said Thomas. “I know me new mum and dad don’t want nothin’ bad to happen, but I think it might. Please do whatever needs done so everything will be all right. Don’t let nobody or nothin’ hurt us, especially not Mum and Dad. Please, Lord. Amen.”
Hannah swiped away a tear, hoping Thomas wouldn’t see. When she looked at him, he grabbed hold of her hand. “Try not to worry, Mum.”
“I’m fine, Thomas. And I’m certain God will take care of our troubles.” Hannah hugged him. She kissed his forehead and then stood. “Now don’t you worry about grown-up problems. You go to sleep and have little boy dreams.”
“Don’t have those kinds of dreams no more. But I figure maybe one day I will.” He settled down into bed.
John rested a hand on Thomas’s head. “I’d say you’re more grown-up than most lads your age. I’m proud of you.”
Thomas grinned and then pulled a thin blanket up under his chin. “Good night.”
“Night, Son.” John followed Hannah out of the room and down the stairs.
“Would you like the last of the coffee?” Hannah asked.
“Sounds fine to me.” John sat in his chair and picked up a book he’d been reading. “This author’s quite good.”
“Who is it?”
“Joseph Andrews. He writes a rousing story.”
Hannah poured John his coffee and handed it to him, then sat in her chair and picked up her sewing basket. Setting it in her lap, she went to work repairing socks. Occasionally she’d glance up at John and he’d seem engrossed in his story. Howcan he be so unmoved by all that’s happened?
Hannah stitched faster. Now was not the time for an argument. Thomas would hear. She didn’t want to frighten him more than he already was. But she couldn’t get Deidre off her mind. She’d decided that in the morning she’d go to see her.
The minutes ticked by, and when the clock chimed nine o’clock, John set his book on the table beside him. “I’ve a lot to do tomorrow. May even have some new lambs. Quincy’s keeping an eye on the ewes tonight.”
Hannah set her sewing in her lap and looked at John. “I think we need to speak to Deidre. I refuse to give her anything more.”
John stared at her for a long moment. “I agree, but I don’t want your name sullied. I don’t want to risk her speaking out.”
“It’s my name. And I’ve decided that keeping the secret is not worth all of this. I’m going to tell her.”
“But—”
“Thomas knows something’s wrong. And soon he’ll know everything. He’s a smart lad. I don’t want him to see us cowering but rather to know we have faith and that we are strong and courageous.”
“He doesn’t know about you,” John whispered.
“No. But he’s heard enough to understand that we’re paying someone to keep a secret . . . something bad. And I won’t do it any longer.”
“Hannah. No. I don’t want you talking to her.”
“Since I’ve known you, John, you’ve never been afraid of anything. Your faith has always been strong. You’ve been brave and hardworking. I don’t understand why someone like Deidre frightens you so much. What can she do to us?”
“She’ll ruin your reputation.”
Hannah knew the truth, but she couldn’t speak it. She needed John to say what was true.
“Everyone has secrets, dark places they don’t want others to see,” Hannah said. “How many here in Parramatta come from nobility or of good standing? Except for a very few who came in service to the king and their wives, and a handful of businessmen hoping to make their fortunes, most of our neighbors were prisoners. I can assure you there are many secrets being held close.”
“Yes. And that’s the point. They’re private things that no one speaks of. I don’t want people talking about you.”
“It’s more than that.” Hannah waited, hoping John would speak up. When he didn’t, she continued, “This is about you, John, not me. You don’t want people speaking about you and how wretched it must be to be married to a woman of such little integrity—what a fool you were to marry one so sullied.” She stared at him in the flickering lamplight and waited for a response. John remained silent. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me.” Hannah quaked inside. Please let me be wrong.
John stood and walked to the hearth where he poked at dying embers. “All right. It’s true. I don’t want to be shamed. If Deidre speaks up, it will go poorly for the both of us, not just you. I’ve a business at stake. What will happen to it when people know?”
Hannah had known, but hearing it from John made the hurt greater. An ache tightened at the base of her throat. She pressed her lips tightly together and held back tears. “I thought when we married it was for better or for worse. That we were to stand together against anything that might befall us.”
“I’ll stand with you. I am standing with you. I love you, Hannah. I know what happened was not your fault, and I accept your past.”
“Then why are you ashamed of it?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Hannah pushed her sewing into the basket. “I shall speak to Deidre tomorrow. We’ll not give her another thing.” She set the basket on the floor beside her chair.
“Give me more time. I know I can put an end to it.”
“There is no more time.” Hannah walked into the bedroom and closed the door. She suddenly felt calm. Removing her day clothes, she pulled on her sleeping gown and climbed into bed. After blowing out the lantern, she pulled a thin blanket up under her chin.
She heard the front door close. Where would John be going this late? Would he leave her?
Hannah closed her eyes. There were no tears, only determination. No matter what, she’d speak to Deidre first thing in the morning.
23
Inside the Bradshaw house, the temperature was warm, but emotions were cool. John set a bucket of milk on the counter. “We’ve more than we can use.”
Hannah poured the milk through a strainer. “Patience is making enough milk for us and the calf. It’s too bad we had to give away the bull calf.” Hannah knew she wasn’t helping matters but hadn’t been able to keep quiet. “We’ve extra milk in the springhouse that can go to the pigs.”
“Thomas, can you see to that?” John asked.
“And take the slop bucket too,” Hannah said, picking up the broom and setting to work sweeping the floor.
“Right. Will it be all right if I go fishing with Douglas? He said he’d meet me at the river.”
Hannah stopped sweeping and looked at him. “Is your room tidy?”
“It is.”
John glanced at Hannah. “It’s fine by me. A lad needs friends and fun. And Douglas is a fine lad. It’s good he has a mate who lives close. And Douglas is from a good family.”
Thomas looked to Hannah. She nodded and he pulled on his hat, grabbed the slop bucket, and hurried outdoors.
The door had barely shut when John said, “Hannah, I’ve decided you’re right. We can’t give in to Deidre any longer. But I should be the one to go.”
“No. It needs to be me. This is about me.”
John stared at her. “It’s about us.”
Hannah took a step toward John. “No. It affects us, but it’s about me.”
“All right, then. But we need to come up with a way to handle her delicately. Perhaps we can convince her not to say anything.”
“Convince her?” Hannah gripped the broom handle, pressing the straw fibers hard against the floor. “How do you propose we do that? She’s made it clear there’ll be no compromise.”
“I doubt she’s as set on telling the reverend as s
he says.”
“We can hope that’s true, but we can’t be certain of it.” Hannah rested her hand on the top of the broom handle. “I’m convinced she can’t see any capitulation in us—none.”
“You’re right, of course, but we might come up with something she wants more.”
“What can we have that she would want that she hasn’t already asked for?”
“What about her own reputation? I know she acts as if it doesn’t matter to her, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think? We can at least remind her of what she has to lose.”
“I’ve hoped she wouldn’t speak up for that very reason, but I truly doubt she cares,” Hannah said. “What matters most to her is what she can pinch from others. Lydia told me that the day she was let go she was terribly rude to Catharine and even threatened her. She gave no thought to all the Athertons had done for her. She possesses no consideration or gratitude.”
Hannah returned to her sweeping. “We simply must stand up to her and leave the rest to God.” She glanced at John. She hated what Deidre had done to him. She’d never seen him feel small, except in this.
She stopped and turned to him. “The Lord tells us to have courage and not be afraid.”
“Quite true, but he also cautions against folly.”
“By allowing her to coerce us the way she has, we’ve already committed folly.” Hannah caught the look of hurt in John’s eyes, but instead of acknowledging it, she swept the dirt toward the door and out onto the porch. “As soon as I’ve finished here, I’ll be on my way.” She watched Thomas saunter toward the river, the dog prancing along beside him.
“I should go with you. I don’t want you facing Deidre alone.”
“John, if you’re with me, you’ll be tempted to protect me. And Deidre will see that as weakness. I’ve got to go alone.” She walked back inside the house and returned the broom to its place in the corner of the room.
“You’re a good man, John—honorable and brave, but you’ve not yet settled this in your own mind. I’m not afraid.” She untied her apron. “I’m ready to stand up to her. And whatever comes will come, for the Father allows only that which is good for us.” Hannah took her bonnet from its peg alongside the door, put it on, and tied it beneath her chin.
“Let me come with you. I feel as if I’m sending you alone into a pit of vipers.”
“I’m not alone.” Hannah kissed him tenderly.
“I’ll saddle your horse.” His tone was one of defeat and remorse. He led the way to the barn, and after he’d saddled Hannah’s mare, he stood beside the animal and held the reins.
“I’ll not be bothering with any stirrup stockings,” Hannah said, keeping her voice light.
“And you shouldn’t. They’re a ridiculous nuisance.” A grin flashed across his face. Holding the bridle, he offered Hannah a hand up. Once she’d settled in the saddle, John gave her the reins. “I should have stood up to Deidre a long while ago. I’m sorry.”
“I understand.”
“We’re stronger together.”
“Not in this.” Hannah tightened her hold on the reins. “I’ll be back midday.”
Although anxious to have this encounter behind her, Hannah kept her horse reined in. The animal must have sensed her anxiety because she was more fidgety than usual and wanted to run. Hannah didn’t know exactly what she’d say to Deidre. What could she say other than she and John refused to make further payments to her? Lord, I need your guidance and yourstrength. Help me to feel your presence.
She’d tried to sound brave in front of John, but she wasn’t fearless at all. The mare continued to pull against Hannah’s tight hold on the reins. Thinking it might do the animal good to canter, Hannah loosened her grip. The horse immediately set off at a sprint down the road. Hannah fought for control and barely managed to rein her in.
The mare’s sides heaved and her neck was drenched with sweat. Hannah was overheated as well. She and the horse both needed a drink. She looked for a good place along the river for the animal to satisfy its thirst.
Oppressive heat made the air heavy. And traveling along the river brought no relief; it only seemed to make the overheated world more stifling. Hannah stopped, climbed out of the saddle, and led the horse down the bank and to the river. While the mare slurped up water, Hannah drank from a flask.
After quenching her thirst, she dipped her handkerchief into the river and patted her face and neck with the wet cloth. She felt somewhat refreshed as she sat in the grass and thought about what she would say. Squawking and warbling birds flittered among the trees. Some splashed in the shallows.
The horse nibbled on green grasses, carefully chewing around the bit in her mouth. Leaning back on her hands, Hannah closed her eyes, savoring the breeze and the sweet fragrance of a nearby wattle bush. Deidre’s face intruded on her leisure, shocking her back to the present.
She could expect no compassion from her. More likely Deidre would offer a haughty battle. Her insides quivered at the thought of the encounter. Perhaps John had been right and she should approach Deidre with care and hope she chose not to speak out. But even the idea made Hannah feel weak, and she’d had enough of being powerless.
I’ll do what I must. I entrust myself to you, Lord.
A rustling across the river startled Hannah. She sat upright and looked to see what had made the sound. Staring back at her were a dozen pairs of black eyes. Among the rushes on the opposite shore, not more than fifty yards away, stood a band of Aborigine men, each with a spear in his hand. They were nearly naked, their bodies looking as if they’d been dusted with dirt. Their wiry hair framed broad faces. And as always there were no smiles or waves of greeting—only stark, penetrating stares.
Hannah’s heart hammered. Would they cross the river and attack her? She pushed to her feet. What did they want? She could see hate in their eyes, but she’d done nothing to them. Why would they hate her? The reason matters not, they do hateme. I’m white and whites threaten their way of life. Even though she had no influence over the governmental policies affecting the Aborigines, a flush of remorse coursed through her.
Struggling to control her quaking, she climbed onto her horse. Holding the men’s gaze, she eased her way back to the road. The blacks remained still and silent; no one raised a spear or made a threatening gesture. Hannah urged her horse into a gallop and, as quickly as she could, left the band of Aborigines behind her.
When certain she was a safe distance away, she slowed the mare and took in deep breaths, trying to quiet her fear. Her hands shook as she resettled her hat on her head. She could feel the dampness of her scalp beneath the bonnet.
Why did things have to be this way? Would she be forced to spend the rest of her life being afraid? Every time she saw a black man, would she quake? The idea of it was intolerable. Perhaps she and John should consider returning to London. She envisioned the noisy, crowded, filthy city and knew she couldn’t live there. This was her home and she’d have to deal with its challenges.
Hannah approached Deidre’s cottage. It stood away from the road, nearly hidden among the trees. No one seemed to be about—there was no wagon or horse, nor smoke rising from the chimney. Perhaps she’s not home, Hannah thought, uncertain whether or not to be thankful or disappointed.
She urged her horse forward and stopped in front of the house. She studied the shack. It was made of acacia with a thatch roof and looked as if it would fall down at any moment. There was one small window in the front, shaded by a dirty piece of broadcloth. A chair made of woven branches sat on a tiny porch that was sorely in need of cleaning. A ragged blanket had been draped across the chair, and a scraggly, mottled-colored cat lay curled on the rag.
This was nothing more than a hovel. Hannah had seen many like it but was surprised to discover that Deidre lived in such squalor. She felt a twinge of compassion, but knowing sympathy would only put her at a disadvantage, she reminded herself, Poverty doesn’t have to mean filth.
Hannah climbed out of the saddle and ti
ed her horse to a rickety porch railing. The cat opened golden eyes and gazed at Hannah, then bared its claws as it pushed its front legs straight out and then its hind legs in a leisurely stretch. Then with a yawn, it closed its eyes and returned to slumber.
Hannah took in a deep breath, pressed a hand against her abdomen, and then walked to the door. It was rough sawn and filthy, like everything else. She knocked. There was no sound from inside. From the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain flutter. Someone had looked out. She waited, and just as she prepared to knock again, the door flew open.
With one hand on the door and the other on her hip, Deidre stood as if challenging Hannah. She didn’t look lovely at all. Her hair needed combing and her clothing was somewhat out of kilter. It appeared she’d been aroused from sleep.
“I daresay, yer the last person I expected to come calling.” Deidre closed her lids halfway, nearly concealing her muddy green eyes. “I hope ye’ve brought the money ye owe me.”
“I want to speak to you.” Hannah worked hard to control rising anger. “Can you step outside?”
“What? Yer not good enough to come inside?” Deidre opened the door wide. “Come in. I wasn’t expecting visitors, but since it’s just ye, I don’t suppose the mess matters much, eh?” She smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression.
Hannah didn’t want to set a foot inside Deidre’s house, but if she were to keep this meeting civil, she’d have to. With her arms hugging her waist, she stepped through the door. The room smelled of soot, unclean linens, and spoiled food. Flies were thick. The only furnishings were two chairs, a table, and a straw mattress on the floor.
Deidre meandered to one of the chairs and dropped into it. “I’d offer ye tea, but I’ve got none and I don’t expect ye’d take any from me anyways.” She flung an arm over the back of the chair. “Please,” she said in an exaggerated tone of graciousness. “Have a seat.” She nodded at the only other chair.
