Enduring Love (5 page)

He buried his face against her shoulder. “What will become of us?”

Hannah didn’t have an answer, at least not one she could speak of. “We’ll work out something. The Lord hasn’t forgotten us.” She caressed his hair. It felt hot and damp. Gently placing a finger under his chin, she lifted his face and smiled at him. “Now, will you be a good lad and fetch me some cheese from the springhouse?”

Thomas wiped at his tears, leaving dirty smudges on his cheeks. He stood for a long moment staring at her, then with his hands in his pockets, he scuffed his way down the track leading to the river.

Hannah watched, anguish permeating her soul.
God, this
is not justice. He deserves better than this. He’s already lost so
much. How can you take another family from him?

Fighting for control, she straightened and, with a glance at the barn, walked up the steps and into the house. It needed a good cleaning. Hard work had often set things to rights for Hannah. She counted on it now.

She swept the floors and then scrubbed them. But this time, no matter how hard she scoured the wooden boards, there was no relief, no balm to soothe her. She scrubbed harder, determined to lift away every fragment of grime and hurt.

Rather than there being a quieting in her spirit, she felt a boiling over of emotions and a rising wave of agony and fear, until it all became a flood of tears she couldn’t stop. They washed from her eyes, ran down her cheeks, and dripped from her chin, mixing with the soapy water on the floor. Sobs like great heaves of agony rose from inside Hannah. Dropping back onto her heels, she let them come. “I’ve lost him . . . forever.”

She sat there for a long while, and when there seemed to be no tears left, her mind turned to Lydia. She needed her friend. In the past Lydia had always been there, making the bleakest moment feel tolerable.
I’ve got to go.

She pushed to her feet, leaving the bucket and scrub brush as they were. Her eyes stinging and still wet, she was barely able to see as she walked outside. Dabbing at the moisture with the edge of her apron, she strode to the barn. John and Thomas were cleaning stalls. Pitchforks in hand, they stared at her. “I’m going to see Lydia. I’ll be home before dark.”

His expression cheerless, John asked, “You all right, luv?”

Hannah stared at him.
Of course I’m not all right.

When she didn’t answer, John moved toward her.

“No. Stay where you are. It’s not you I need now.”

He stopped and stared at the barn floor. “It’d be best if I slept out here from now on.” He shoved the tines of the pitchfork into the ground. “I’ll move my things out before you get back.”

Feeling as if she were suffocating beneath the weight of anguish, Hannah couldn’t respond. John was right.

“So then, do you agree?”

“It’s the only thing to do,” Hannah managed to say before turning and walking back to the house.

Although thinking she’d cried herself empty, there were more tears to be shed, and Hannah wept nearly all the way into town. However, when she drove through Parramatta, she managed to put on a pleasant expression, even nodding and saying hello to those she passed. When she reached the apothecary and surgery, Hannah pulled the wagon to a stop. Drained and feeling weary, she tied off the reins and climbed down. Stepping into the apothecary, the pungent odor of herbs and medicines stung her nose. No one seemed to be about.
They’re most likely
in the surgery.

“Lydia,” she called softly. When there was no answer, she called again. “Hello. Is anyone here?”

A door leading to the back of the building opened. Lydia emerged, wearing a bloodied smock. “I thought it sounded like ye.” Her smile faded almost instantly. “Hannah, what’s happened? Ye look terrible.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I want to help, luv, but I’m needed just now. Can ye wait while we finish with a surgery? We’re nearly done.”

“Yes. I’ll wait.”

“Good. I shan’t be long. I promise.”

As Lydia stepped back through the door, Hannah envisioned a patient lying on the surgical table exposed and helpless, his body being invaded by the doctor’s hands. She would gladly have changed places. The invasion of one’s body was more tolerable than the invasion of one’s soul.

Unable to abide waiting in the small shop with its noxious smells, Hannah stepped outside. It was hot, so she sat on the bench beside the office door. A merchant on the opposite side of the street cleaned the window of his establishment. He turned and, with a smile, nodded at her. She wondered if he knew. How many knew?

Hannah couldn’t sit still, so she walked the quiet streets of Parramatta, wishing something would distract her from the anguish roiling inside. Two boys chased after a rolling hoop. They’d catch it and then send it off again, using a wooden rod to control its direction. An old man walked slowly toward her, following a dog that appeared to be even older than his owner. The man nodded as he hobbled past.

Hannah turned and watched him, wondering what it would be like to be old. Would the hardships of life feel less painful? Did the old look forward to death? If death were to come to her now, it would be a relief.

The voice of a little girl called, “Hannah.”

She turned to see Lottie running toward her. She wore her usual bright smile, but when she approached, she sobered and threw her arms around Hannah’s waist. “I heard. I’m so sorry, mum.”

Hannah pulled her closer and stroked the little girl’s red hair, fighting tears.

Lottie stepped back and looked up at Hannah, her brown eyes grief-stricken. “Is there nothing to be done?”

Hannah gazed back down the street. “I don’t believe so.”

“But God can do anything, mum. Ye remember how he took care of us on the ship and got me a mum and dad, then brought us back together again. He can do anything. I just know he’ll fix this too.”

Poor Lottie had lost her mother while onboard the prison ship. Alone, she found Hannah. They’d needed each other and for a while it had looked like they would be a family, just the two of them. A fresh wave of grief swept over Hannah. She’d lost so much. Forcing down the rush of emotions, she knelt in front of the little girl. “Of course God can do anything, but sometimes our desires aren’t the same as his. And then we simply must trust him.”

Lottie’s eyes brimmed. “I know, mum, but I don’t think this is what God wants. He loves ye too much for that.”

Hannah pulled her close again, feeling renewed strength as the little girl’s arms tightened about her neck. “We’ll just have to give this mess to him and know that he’ll see us through.” She held the little girl away from her and smiled. “Perhaps we can have a picnic soon, just you and your mum and me and Thomas. Would you like that?”

“Oh yes, indeed.”

Hannah straightened. “Where is your mum?”

“She’s at the millinery shop, trying on hats. I truly don’t like shopping for a new hat; it’s not interesting in the least. Mum said I could take a stroll ’bout town. But I’d best get back. She’ll be wondering after me.”

“You wouldn’t want to worry her.” Hannah smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Say hello to your mother for me, eh?”

“I will.” Lottie gave her another quick hug. “I love ye.” With that, she trotted off down the street.

Hannah turned back the way she’d come.
Perhaps they’ve
finished.
She ambled toward the apothecary.

When she was barely more than a block from the mercantile, the door opened and Margaret stepped out. She didn’t notice Hannah. A man followed closely behind her. He said something that must have been humorous, because Margaret laughed. She didn’t seem a bit distraught.
Of course she wouldn’t
be. She’s certain of who she is—John’s wife.
The thought rolled over Hannah like a dark, burling cloud.

The man was stocky and rather good looking. He placed a hand on Margaret’s back as they set off up the street. He acted rather too familiar. After all, Margaret was a married woman.

I wonder who he is. I don’t recall John mentioning that she had
brothers.
Hannah watched them until they moved out of sight, then continued to the apothecary.
It was foolish of me to come.
There’s nothing Lydia can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

No longer wearing the bloodied smock, Lydia stepped onto the street. She moved toward Hannah and, without saying a word, pulled her into strong arms. “I’m sorry to have kept ye waiting.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I probably shouldn’t have come.”

Lydia held her back a bit. “Of course ye should have.”

“Is your patient all right?”

“Yes. He’ll be fine, but what a mess. He drove a spike into his leg.”

“Oh, my word. Who was it?”

“The smithy. Good thing he has another man working with him. He’ll be off his feet for a while.”

“Sounds ghastly. I’m not sure how you do it.”

“I rather like it. David says I have a natural way in surgery.” She moved toward the door. “Would ye like some tea? I’ve made some.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

Lydia walked indoors.

“I’ll wait out here.” Hannah glanced inside. “The odor is a bit much for me today.”

“Really? I barely notice it anymore.” She smiled and disappeared inside.

Hannah sat on the bench and watched the street. The heat felt oppressive, and she longed for a cooling breeze.

Lydia reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a tray. “This ought to do it, then.” She sat on the bench and set the tray between her and Hannah. “I thought a lemon tart might be nice. It’s my first try at them. I hope they’re not too bitter.”

“They look good.” Hannah didn’t feel much like eating, but to be polite she picked up a tart and took a bite. “It’s quite good. You’re not only talented in the surgery but the kitchen as well.”

Lydia smiled. “If I recall, ye like just a bit of sugar with yer tea.”

“Yes, if you have it.”

“I do.” Lydia lifted the lid off a small container, spooned out a chunk of sugar, and added it to Hannah’s tea.

Taking the beverage, Hannah stirred until the sugar dissolved, then set the spoon on the saucer. She wasn’t sure what to tell Lydia now that she had the opportunity. When she left the station, she’d only known she needed her friend.

“So, did ye speak to the reverend?”

“We did.”

“And . . . ?”

Hannah sipped her tea. Even with sugar it tasted bitter.
Appropriate.
Hannah worked to keep her emotions in check and her tone impersonal. “Reverend Taylor said John is married to Margaret and that our marriage is invalid.”

Lydia sucked in a breath. “That can’t be true.”

“It is, I assure you.” She set her cup on the saucer. “When John inquired about a divorce, the reverend asked if there was just cause. There isn’t, and so there is no way John can divorce her.”

“But what about all that happened in London?”

“It seems John misjudged Margaret. The trouble was all his cousin’s doing.”

Lydia broke off a piece of tart. “He’ll still seek a divorce, won’t he?”

“He’s going to try . . . but Reverend Taylor is certain any request will be denied.”

“She doesn’t deserve him.”

“She does. She’s his wife, and she traveled all the way from England to find him.” Hannah shook her head. “That’s the awful thing . . . I can’t hate her.”

“Just the same, John ought to ask her if she’d agree to a divorce. He loves ye.”

Hannah stared at the street with its dust and rising heat waves. The situation felt unreal. If only it were a terrible dream and she could wake up.

“It’s not right. There must be a way for ye to repair this thing.”

Hannah sighed. “I’ve prayed. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Ye could talk to Margaret. She might understand. John doesn’t love her, he loves ye. Why would she want a man who is in love with someone else?”

“Even so, that doesn’t change the fact that they’re married.” “John must convince her to release him.”

“He’s an honorable man. He won’t go against the law.” Hannah wiped at a stray tear. “That’s one of the things I love about him—his integrity.”

“But what about ye, Hannah? John cares ’bout ye too.”

“He’ll abide by the law. And although he’s going to pursue a divorce, the law is the law.” Hannah brushed a crumb off her skirt. “I won’t be a party to destroying a marriage. And I won’t live with a man who is married to someone else.”

Lydia’s eyes teared. “Oh, but Hannah . . . what will ye do, then?”

She set the tart on the tray. “God hasn’t forgotten me. He’ll show me what I’m to do.” Her words sounded convincing, and although Hannah was certain God was looking out for her, inside she quailed at what lay ahead.

The shopkeeper across the street draped a rug over a railing and then beat the dirt from it. “I’m like that rug. God uses what he must to accomplish his will within the hearts of his children—to clean them and shape them. I’m being changed by this.” She choked back tears. “I trust that he’ll do what’s best.”

“He doesn’t intend to beat ye. Ye have no need of that.” Lydia took Hannah’s hand. “I want to help. Please tell me what I can do.”

“There’s nothing now. Except to pray.” Hannah compressed her lips, barely able to continue. “John’s moving out of the house.”

“Where is he going? How can ye make a go of it out there all on yer own?”

“He’s living in the barn and will continue to work the farm.”

“And what of Margaret?”

Hannah couldn’t let her mind travel to the next step. The image of John sharing a life with another woman was more than she could bear. But of course that’s what was coming . . . and soon. The hurt inside twisted like a knife ripping through flesh.

“I don’t know just how it will happen, but he and Margaret will have to learn to share a life again.” Holding back tears, she said, “Please pray for us, for me and Thomas—he’s hurting terribly. And for John. This is dreadful for him.” She let her cup and saucer rest in her lap. “We must pray for Margaret as well. This can’t be easy for her, either.” Hannah remembered how happy Margaret had seemed. Was this truly a trying time for her?

Studying the golden liquid in her cup, she said softly, “I saw her. She’s here in town.”