Longings of the Heart (24 page)

“I’m going to speak to her.” Hannah pulled her arm free.

“No. I’ll tell her . . . no more.”

“What makes this different from the last time?”

The light in John’s amber eyes was gone. “I don’t know.”

“We must put a stop to this.” Hannah glared at Deidre’s back. “I don’t believe she’ll say anything. If she does, everyone will know what she’s done. She’d not be able to show her face in town.”

“And if she doesn’t care about that? What then? Your reputation will be ruined.”

Hannah stared at John. She knew he was worried about her, but there was more to it than that. “Is it possible that what you’re most troubled about is
your
reputation? People will know that you’re married to . . . to someone like me. You’re ashamed of me.” Hannah couldn’t keep her voice from trembling.

“I’m not.” John started to say something more, then closed his mouth. “It’s true that I do care what people will think. I don’t want you hurt.” He glanced at the church. The reverend closed the door and casually walked down the steps. “But I’ll admit to being apprehensive about how it will affect my standing in the community. I’ve only just started our place. It could ruin us.”

Hannah knew she was asking a great deal of her husband, but she needed John to love her so much that the consequences of that love didn’t matter. “I need you to not care about that. I need you to care about me.”

“I do. But loving you also means taking good care of you, being able to provide for us.”

It wasn’t what Hannah wanted to hear. Dejected, she walked to the wagon and climbed up onto the front seat. She sat with her spine straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She stared down the road, her vision blurred by unshed tears.

When she’d married John, all she could see was a bright future stretching out before them. Now life had become complicated and overwhelming. What had happened to their plans— to their dreams?

17

Hannah pushed her fingers underneath a weed, loosened the soil, and then pulled. It came free in her hand, and she shook the dirt from it, then tossed it into a wooden box before moving down the row of carrots. Although the garden was doing well, there seemed to be as many weeds as vegetables. She wriggled another weed loose and dropped it into the box.

Sitting back on her knees, she breathed in the rich fragrance of soil and vegetation. She liked working in the garden. It quieted her soul. She glanced at the blistering sun. The day was heating up quickly, and she’d soon be forced to take refuge in the shade.

She stared at the long row of vegetables ahead of her, then looked out over her garden. The potato vines were thick and green, the beets and turnips were nearly ready to harvest, and the cornstalks were sprouting tassels. They’d need attention soon. With her household duties, it was difficult to find time to properly tend the garden. And today it needed watering. She dare not let the plants go thirsty in this heat.

She rubbed at a sore spot behind her right shoulder and wished John were here to help her. He’d left early to attend an auction where he hoped to find good prices on ewes and a ram. They’d had a successful lambing, and the flock was growing. John had plans for a significant venture, which meant purchasing more animals. A good ram could make the difference between vigorous lambs and substandard stock.

A clattering came from the barn. Hannah shaded her eyes and looked to see what might be making the racket. Thomas didn’t appear. Before John left that morning, he’d told Thomas to clean the stalls and pitch in new hay.

Thomas had wanted to go with John. When he’d been told he’d have to stay behind and work, he’d grumbled a bit but had not openly defied John. A bond, of sorts, seemed to be developing between the two, which pleased Hannah. She wished something similar were happening between her and Thomas. He still had little to say to her.

She let out a long breath.
In time. It will happen.

Life in general had settled into a more comfortable rhythm. John and Thomas usually set out in the morning to share chores, then came in for breakfast. Most days they worked somewhere on the farm while Hannah saw to the needs of home.

While she’d adjusted to having Thomas with them, she still had to bite her tongue and pray through his sullen moods, and there were times when she could barely tolerate him. But that was happening less often. She was still convinced that he loathed her and wondered how long it would take before he could let go of that first day when he’d overheard her say she didn’t want him. John continued to encourage her to be patient and seemed certain that Thomas would learn to love them both.
What if he never does?

Hannah swatted at a fly buzzing about her head. How grand it would be to have a son to love and raise, a child who returned her affection. Was it possible that Thomas would become her son fully just as John had said? There were times she did feel like his mother, but it happened rarely. And he’d still not responded to her in the same way.

The clatter of wagon wheels and harnesses carried up from the road. Hannah stood and looked to see who was traveling the highway.
Most likely someone passing by.

She kept watching. It had been some time since she’d had a visitor. When the wagon came into view, she couldn’t make out the driver right away. As it drew closer, she realized it was Lydia.

“Not today.” She pushed her fingers deep into the soil and lifted out a handful. “I’m not ready.” She watched, hoping that by chance Lydia was simply traveling past on the way somewhere else. Instead, she turned the horses up Hannah’s drive and the wagon rattled toward the house.

Hannah tossed the dirt aside. Jackson, who had been sleeping in the shade, stood and barked, then approached the cart, his tail beating the air.

Lydia stopped the team in front of a stock pen, pulled the brake, then looped the reins around the lever and climbed down. Shading her eyes against the sun, she searched out Hannah and headed toward the garden, ignoring the eager dog.

Hannah’s stomach tightened as she watched the sturdy woman stride toward her. Lydia walked like someone with a purpose. Hannah readied herself for an assault. Although she’d missed the friendship she and Lydia had once enjoyed, Hannah was still angry and didn’t feel she could trust the woman. Brushing dirt from her hands, she waited.

Lydia stopped a few paces away. Her green eyes looked spirited as she studied Hannah and planted her hands on her hips. “It’s time we talked. I’ve waited and waited, and I can’t wait any longer. I miss ye and I’ve told ye how sorry I am. I’m here to tell ye again. I’m truly sorry. And I hope ye’ll forgive me.”

A tightness formed around Hannah’s heart. She longed for the friendship, but she couldn’t think about what Lydia had done without growing angry. Each time, the wound felt raw and exposed. “I know you meant me no harm, but I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

“Hannah, please.”

“You hurt me. You betrayed me. How can I trust you? I can’t.” She watched a spider drop from a cornstalk and climb across a broad, green leaf. She turned her attention back to Lydia, meeting the woman’s intense gaze. “How can we be friends? I can never again share something from my heart with you. I’ll always be afraid you’ll tell someone.”

Lydia’s gaze didn’t flinch, but her eyes filled with tears. “I thought ye knew why that happened. It was only meant to help ye.”

Hannah knew. But she was afraid.

“What I did was wrong, but we’ve been through so much together. We’ve seen the worst and the best. We’ve kept each other alive, prayed for one another, and held each other up when there was no one else. I can’t believe our friendship is beyond healing.” When Hannah didn’t reply, Lydia continued, “It was a slip of the tongue. And not meant to hurt you.”

“What you shared was private and much more than a slip of the tongue. You told Deidre my darkest secret—one that I could barely think of in my own mind.” Hannah shook her head. “I still can’t believe you said anything.”

“I told ye that, when I spoke to her, I didn’t know what kind of person she was. I was worried ’bout ye, and she said she wanted to pray and to help. I believed her.”

“That may be, but what you did was wrong. You knew it then and you know it now. There’s no explanation, no excuse.”

Lydia shook her head slightly, defeat in her eyes.

“What you did could quite well ruin my life and John’s too. We may have to move. Deidre is still making threats and demanding goods from us. Your indiscretion has cost us dearly.” Hannah turned and crouched alongside the row of carrots and went back to pulling weeds.

Lydia stood there for a long while, saying nothing. Then, in a voice of one succumbing to loss, she said, “I shan’t ask again.” She walked away.

Hannah continued working, pulling weeds and dropping them into the box. She didn’t know what else to do. Not until she knew the wagon had reached the road did she look up. Her heart heavy, she stood and watched it rumble away. She knew she was wrong but felt powerless to change her feelings. Her pride wouldn’t allow it, and forgiveness seemed out of reach. When she could no longer see the wagon, the hurt that had lodged inside grew. She’d lost her closest friend, forever. God had pardoned her of so much and yet she was unable to forgive Lydia this.

Why? How must God see me? Please forgive me.
Hannah stood in the same spot for a long while, staring at the road. Finally, in resignation, she wiped away the tears and returned to work.

Thomas walked out of the barn and approached Hannah. He kept his hands in his pockets. “Was that yer friend?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t she stay?” he asked as if he really cared.

“It’s not something you’d understand.”

“I might. I’m nearly a man.” His tone was more kindly than usual.

“I’d hardly say being ten makes you a man.”

Thomas set his jaw and stared at her.

Oh dear, I’ve done it again.
“Thomas, I didn’t mean that you’re opinion isn’t valued, it’s just that you’re a bit young still.”

Ignoring her statement, he said, “I finished cleaning the stalls, put in new hay, and set the tack to rights. And the stock’s been fed. Is there something more ye’d like done?” His tone and expression had returned to the customary sullenness.

Guilt pricked Hannah. He’d tried and she’d been harsh. She stopped working and looked at him. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go with John. I know you wanted to. There was just too much that needed to be done here.”

“I don’t mind working, it’s just that . . .” Thomas looked toward the road. “I wanted to go. He’s good to me. Sometimes when I’m with him, I forget me troubles.”

Hannah felt unexpected tenderness toward the boy. She stood. “Why don’t you go off and play for a while and I’ll make lunch for the two of us.”

“Fine by me.” Thomas headed toward the river, his hands swinging freely at his sides. He looked at the ground as he walked. Often, he’d find what he called treasures—unique rocks, bugs, or four-leaf clovers.

“Be careful,” Hannah called after him. “The Parramatta might be slow moving, but she still has a hunger for young lives.”

Thomas glanced back at her and kept walking.

Hannah pressed a hand over her mouth.
Of course he knows
that. His father drowned in that river.
She wished she could take back the warning.

When he reached the bank, he stood for a while staring at the water and then walked along the bank until he found the right gum tree to climb. He settled on a branch reaching over the river.

Dusting dirt from her hands, Hannah trudged through the field to the house. Perhaps she could make something special for lunch or a dessert for dinner? If the fire in the hearth was still hot enough, she’d have time to make a lemon pound cake. She calculated what she’d need and was certain the larder contained all the necessary ingredients.

A pot of chicken and vegetables was still warming in the hearth. Thomas would like that. She stirred the coals. There was still enough heat to bake a cake. All she needed was to add a bit more wood.

Although adding wood to the fire would make the inside of the house intolerable, Hannah did it anyway.
It’s worth it
, she thought, knowing Thomas and John would appreciate the treat.

Taking a bowl down from the shelf, she beat a pound of butter until it was like thick cream, then added twelve egg yolks and a cup of milk and stirred the mixture well. She beat in a pound of flour and added a pound of sugar. She’d been saving the sugar for a special occasion, but what could be more important than making Thomas feel loved? After squeezing in the juice of two lemons, she poured the batter into a cooking pot. Moisture beaded up on her face, and she dabbed at it with the corner of her apron before setting the pot in the coals to cook.

She stirred the meat and potatoes, then went to the door and called Thomas. She watched as he clambered down from the tree. He seemed to be feeling a bit more like the boy she’d heard he’d been before his father had died.

Hannah went to the cupboard, took down two bowls, and filled each with soup. She set them on the table along with spoons and two mugs for milk. She quickly sliced bread from a loaf and put that on the table as well. It was a fine lunch.