The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  “Well, all this sitting around is making me tired. Would anyone care for a game of cards?” Mother rose. “I shall see if this place affords such things. Catherine? Julia? Would you care to join me?”

  Apparently Catherine did care to join her, and Julia bowed to their looks of entreaty—not a little persuaded by Charles beginning to fuss as well. “Of course.” With an apologetic smile for her husband, she collected Charles, who immediately calmed, and joined the other ladies and young Elizabeth in the little parlor beyond the dining room, leaving the two men to quietly converse.

  “Really, I never thought I would see the day when a man would stoop to holding his child in that manner,” Mother complained.

  Julia bit back her initial response, dragging in a breath to calm her voice to sweetness. “How would you prefer Thomas to hold Charles?”

  “I just think it most undignified, and unnecessary, when we have Crabbit whose job it is to do so.”

  “I think it shows a wonderful degree of affection,” said Catherine.

  “As do I,” Julia said. “Love and affection should never be demeaned, as they can be all too hard to find in this world.”

  “Well, I suppose such things are preferable to violence, after all,” Mother conceded.

  “Very true,” Julia agreed, smiling at her sister-in-law.

  And they began their game of cards in a new spirit of accord.

  The new spirit of accord between Jon and himself continued to both amaze and humble Thomas. Even Lady Harkness seemed to be slowly thawing towards him; something that must truly be accounted another miracle of God.

  “I hope McKinley can be found soon,” Jon said, the ease in his features melding into a frown. “I can’t help but feel a little anxious that there has been nothing communicated yet about his whereabouts. And while Hawkesbury is very good to have us stay here, I cannot like to think how too many more days of being housebound will affect everyone’s spirits.”

  Thomas nodded. He didn’t like it either. But giving voice to those concerns seemed only to give voice to doubts, and he wanted to trust God not his instincts.

  “But enough of those matters.” Jon smiled. “Have you given any more thought to the future?”

  “I … I intend to visit my father in Norfolk as soon as we are freed from here.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes. I am hopeful he will be amenable to seeing reason.” And amenable to forgiveness.

  “He is sure to be charmed by your growing family.”

  Thomas forced a smile. He was certain Father had never been charmed by anyone or anything in his life, much less anything of Thomas’s doing. But the way matters had been left long ago, he could not be truly certain about anything regarding his father.

  “I know you will do what is right and good for Julia. I will hold you to it.” But Jon’s smile told him such accountability would not come at the price of earlier suspicion.

  “Thank you. I am—” Movement outside the window distracted him. “What—?”

  Jon frowned. “Did you see something?” He got up, peered outside. “There is nothing now.”

  “I might have been mistaken,” Thomas admitted. “It would not be the first time.”

  “It was probably a bird, or perhaps one of Hawkesbury’s men.”

  Thomas nodded. He pushed awkwardly to his feet. Thank God he would soon not need these wretched sticks. “Shall we find the ladies?”

  “I’m sure they’d appreciate our company,” Jon said with a smile.

  He led the way to the dining room, where he’d assumed they’d be. “Julia?”

  No answer.

  “Julia? Where are you?”

  Nothing. Not even a muffled cry from Charles.

  He limped into the parlor, and the sticks fell from his grasp.

  McKinley stood there, with a knife held at Julia’s throat.

  Julia saw the way Thomas whitened, his look of horror, the way his still frail body seemed to buckle. Saw Jon move suddenly. Felt the prick of steel against her throat.

  “No, Jon!”

  Thomas stayed Jon with an arm, his coffee-colored eyes on her, eyes that held a promise that he would do all in his power to save her. “McKinley, please, leave them out of it. Release the ladies, and the children. You know it is me you want.”

  “Of course it is you! It’s always been you. You with your cursed principles, and good fortune, and inexplicable luck. Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” The arm hugging Julia tightened. “You and Hawkesbury are such fools, thinking I wouldn’t know to follow him.” The knife jerked towards Jon.

  “You followed me?” Jon said, in a voice that sounded far away.

  McKinley muttered something about Jon’s intelligence, something further about tracking Jon’s servants. “Then waited, like in Poona days, until Hawkesbury’s men could be knocked out.” He laughed. “No one is coming to help you. You’re out of luck now.”

  “I don’t believe in luck.” Thomas shook his head. His gaze flicked to Julia before returning to McKinley. “I will do whatever you want. Please, leave Julia alone.”

  “Then come here.”

  Horror filled her as Thomas stepped closer, a willing sacrifice. “Don’t do it, Thomas!” She had to do something to save him. Thomas was still too weak; he could never last in a fight.

  Behind her she heard the whimpers from the children, Catherine’s soft pleas, Mother’s outraged gasp.

  “Killing someone won’t solve anything,” Jon called.

  “But it will make me feel better.”

  “Not when you’re hanging on a hangman’s noose!” Julia struggled to remove his arm. His grip remained as iron. “Thomas, please.”

  “Julia, I would rather die than see you hurt.” He smiled sadly at her. “I love you more than life. I always have. I always will—”

  “Thomas, no!”

  She felt the moment McKinley’s grip loosed, saw the flash of steel as his arm swung at Thomas, and she twisted free and elbowed him in the chest.

  He released an oof of pain, and stumbled back, clutching at her, but Thomas grasped her arm, jerking her to safety behind him.

  “Leave her.” Thomas turned slightly, drawing McKinley’s attention as he staggered upright, his eyes fixed on Thomas, thus enabling Jon to steal past and hurry Catherine, Mother, and the children from the room. “Leave them. They have nothing to do with this.”

  McKinley slashed again with the knife, forcing Thomas to lurch backward, nearly stepping on Julia as he did so.

  “Julia, you need to get out,” he muttered.

  “But—”

  “Please!” he said, eyes still locked with the intruder, who sliced the air again as they slowly circled the room in a treacherous dance. “Just go.”

  Perhaps there was a time to obey her husband, but it wasn’t now. From the slight tremble in his legs and voice it was evident he was fast losing strength. She snatched up Thomas’s wooden walking sticks, passing him one. “Here!”

  He grabbed it, eyes trained on his prey.

  “You come at me with a stick?” McKinley swore before hurtling forward, knife poised for attack, and dragging Julia to his side.

  She screamed, then clamped her lips together, holding in the fear. She could not frighten Charles or the others anymore than they already were. The foul stench of stale sweat and desperation reeked from the man’s body. He wrapped a thick arm around her neck, pinning her to himself. She could not move, she could barely breathe.

  Jon edged back into view, his face holding fear she had never seen him wear before.

  “Stay away!” McKinley panted past her ear, and then drew the knife closer. “I will hurt her.”

  The knife was drawing nearer, nearer. She tried pushing his wrist away, but he was too strong, too strong!

  Thomas inched closer, stick leveled, his gaze fixed on Julia.

  The arm pinioned around her neck tightened. Air constricted. Black dots swam before her eyes. “Thomas!” she gasped.
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br />   In a move startling in both its abruptness and ferocity, Thomas raised the stick and smashed McKinley’s shoulder. A cry like a wounded animal ripped from the man beside her, his clutch around her eased, and the knife clattered to the flagstones in front of the fireplace. Then they were falling, falling …

  Until they crashed onto the cold hard floor.

  The next minutes were filled with chaos and sensations both horrific and tender.

  Pain ricocheting through her head from where she’d slammed into the floor.

  The feeling like she might suffocate as she lay beneath McKinley’s smothering weight.

  Thomas’s cry of “Julia!” before he dragged her free.

  A glimpse of Jon’s white face as he rushed to tackle McKinley while demanding to know if she was unharmed.

  Her husband’s “Oh, thank God!” as he wrapped his arms around her.

  The sight of one of Hawkesbury’s men running in, joining Jon to bind then drag a bloodied, cursing McKinley from the room.

  Her mother’s screech of “Julia!” before Catherine’s soothing tones drew her away.

  Thomas’s thundering pulse as she nestled against his heart.

  She held him close, he held her closer. “My dearest Jewel.” Thomas’s voice was shaky. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no.” She shuddered.

  “The baby?”

  Dear God … “Oh, no!”

  “Come.” He gently led her from the room to the drawing room and a sofa, his solicitude, his tender touch curling warmth inside. “You need some tea.”

  “No. I just need you to hold me.”

  He thumbed away her tears, pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead, then held her for a long, long time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Norfolk

  THE HOUSE THEY now stood before might appear unprepossessing to some, but for her it looked like the cottage of her dreams. Not too large nor small, the square fronted red brick house possessed three levels of windows, from the large-paned glass windows either side of the central door to those tucked up in what must be the servants’ quarters beneath the eaves. A sweet-looking house, with rose vines growing across the doorway, and a stone-walled garden filled with old varieties of plants, and a lovely outlook to the sea. A house big enough for the child she held, and the one her daily nausea promised, nestled still safely within.

  Julia adjusted Charles, weighty in her arms, and glanced at Thomas.

  “Baby Charlie, do you think you can make your Papa smile?”

  His gurgle of assent drew a small smile from Thomas, whose stern countenance had barely changed since he had gruffly agreed to visiting the town of his boyhood, Caister-on-Sea. Such a place did not seem to equate with what he nor his sister had said, the memories she sensed he had no wish to revisit. But in recent weeks she had seen something new in her husband, a willingness to face problems, to accept consequences, demonstrated in the aftermath of McKinley’s attack, now finally settled after the evidence of Lord Hawkesbury, Jon, and Thomas saw the former soldier imprisoned. Thomas’s commitment had also been evident in his interviews with her mother and brother when the couple had explained their need to leave the London town house and settle elsewhere. Mother’s gratitude for Thomas’s actions meant that what would once have secured her hostility now resulted in her cautious approbation. Yet traces of her former manner remained in the questions about their future, the careless comments that left Julia in tears and him with flushed face. Yet through the stilted conversations she had come to see and appreciate anew Thomas’s strength and resolve. He might still be weak in body, but his spirit seemed more mature than she recalled.

  Perhaps that was fostered by his new faith. Instead of getting angry he had been gentle, returning a soft answer, and then retreated, allowing Mother’s irritability to finally dissipate. Such gentleness she now recognized as a quality of strength, which only served to make Julia love him all the more.

  Even Jon seemed to have recognized the changed man in his former friend, a status which seemed to have altered once more, given the frank conversations they’d had prior to Jon and Catherine’s return to Gloucestershire. Their conversations had left Thomas feeling happier, more settled, which only helped to ease her heart, too. Reconciliation seemed the order of things, as their journey from London had involved a brief stop to visit Thomas’s sister, Jane, a happily married mother of three, who had given her brother one glance before clasping him to her ample bosom, amid tears of joy.

  Their reunion had been all too short, their reminiscences bringing Thomas’s boyhood to life, whilst fueling some level of concern for the future. Had Julia been wrong to push for a close to this estrangement? She could only offer prayers that things might be sorted at last.

  Thomas glanced at her, ruffled Charlie’s auburn curls, then knocked on the great wooden door. “I cannot promise a favorable outcome.”

  “At least you will finally know.”

  There came a scuffling sound from within, then the sound of locks being withdrawn, before a wizened face appeared. “Yes?”

  Julia stared. The man looked most unlike what she had imagined, and held no trace of Thomas in his features.

  Thomas coughed. “Who are you?”

  “I take exception to a stranger knocking at my door and asking such a bold-faced question.” The small man scowled at them. “Who are you?”

  “Your door?” Thomas’s voice held an edge. She heard him take an audible breath. Saw him adopt a conciliatory expression. “Forgive me. I am Thomas Hale. Charles Hale is my—”

  “Father! Well! I’ll be.” The man lifted a hand to stroke his chin. “The black sheep of the family returns at last.”

  Julia placed a hand on Thomas’s arm, felt the corded muscles relax.

  “Well, you won’t mind me saying that you don’t look much like him, do you?”

  “We were never accounted as being terribly similar, that is true. And you are?”

  “I be Josiah Peachtree,” he announced, thumbs in his braces, as if that name alone should provide clue enough.

  “Mr. Peachtree,” Julia interposed, “is Mr. Hale at home?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” She sensed Thomas starting to withdraw, and she clasped his arm tighter. “Could you please tell us when he might be expected to return?”

  “That I can’t do.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I can’t be saying what will never happen.”

  “What do you mean?” A terrible thought struck, eliciting a gasp. “Is he—?”

  He chuckled. “No need to be looking like that, young lady. He’s alive still, but after that last bout of apoplexy, hasn’t been right in the head.”

  She noticed a muscle contract at the side of Thomas’s mouth, and hastened to say, “Could you tell us where we might find him?”

  He gave them direction to a local hospice, for which she thanked him, as Thomas remained silent. She moved to go when Thomas stayed her, turning to Mr. Peachtree. “And can you tell us why you are living here?”

  “Oh, I don’t live here. I just come in once a week to check everything is as it should be.”

  “Then the house is vacant.”

  “Aye, that be so.” His lips twitched into something approaching a smile. “Which is such a shame really, as it boasts such a nice view of the sea.”

  WITHIN A SHORT amount of time they had met his father, and Julia understood why Thomas had avoided coming home all these years. The Reverend Charles Hale might be somewhat senile, and his paralysis evoked pity, but his manner of address was everything she knew would rankle Thomas’s soul. She completely understood now why her husband had avoided church attendance for so many years.

  “You! I know you,” Caister’s former reverend said to his son. “The death of your mother, the plague on our existence all these years.”

  Thomas seemed to sag, before straightening. “I am sorry you still think so, Father.”

  “And I be sorry
, too. To think—”

  “I would like to ask for your forgiveness,” Thomas continued quietly.

  His father’s eyes bulged. “My what?”

  “Your forgiveness. I am sorry for my actions that led to estrangement between us.”

  “Oh! Right, well, I don’t know … I …” He seemed to draw himself up. “I cannot forgive where God cannot. God hates sinners, you remember!”

  “God hates sin,” Thomas gently corrected. “It may interest you to know that I have sought God’s forgiveness, and have made my peace with Him.”

  “Really?”

  Thomas’s head bowed in acquiescence.

  The visit did not last much longer, a coughing fit wracking his father, and leading the doctor to insist that they leave. They left, but not without obtaining permission to visit again the next day.

  That night, in the privacy of their bedchamber at Caister’s small inn, Julia tried to be encouraging. “He does at least acknowledge you as his son. That is something at least.”

  Thomas nodded. “He remains as contrary as ever. I thought, I’d hoped, that saying something of my belief might help restore matters a little more than it seemed to.”

  “You cannot know what is in his heart. Perhaps God is even working in him now.” She drew him close. “Only God knows the extent of a man—or woman’s—regrets.”

  Her words fueled his anxiety. He didn’t want to doubt, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder over whether she referred to her own regrets—with him.

  “Is there something you regret, Julia?”

  “You mean for the past two years to be undone?”

  Pain filled his chest. She did not want to be with him?

  She sighed, her head drooping into his neck. “Please don’t misunderstand, I’m still glad we got married, but I wish we had done things differently, that we hadn’t all this tension with my family, that we could have done things so they approved.”