Enduring Love (7 page)

“Smells delicious.” John sat at the table, looking a bit awkward.

He belongs here
, Hannah thought.

“Thank you for inviting me to sup with you.”

“You’re always welcome at our table. I never have liked your coming for a meal and then going off and eating it alone. There’s no sense in that.”

“S’pose you’re right there.”

“Mum made custard.” Thomas glanced at a covered crock sitting on the cupboard.

Hannah settled in a chair across the table from John. She acted serene, but inside she wanted to scream. They were acting as if life were normal, that all was as it should be, but it wasn’t and never would be.
He remains with me because he must.
He’ll never walk away from his duty to me. Only I can do that,
by giving him permission to move on.
The idea of a permanent split cut into her heart.

John grasped Thomas’s hand and then took Hannah’s. “Shall we thank the Lord for this meal and for the woman who cooked it?” He bowed his head.

Hannah heard none of his prayer, all she knew was the rough comfort of his hand. Oh, how she missed him. She could see a dark tunnel of loneliness—years to come without him. How could she endure it?
God, I don’t have the strength.

“Amen.” John looked up and smiled at Hannah. Inside she ached. He belonged here, and yet he didn’t.

She picked up John’s plate and served him two slices of beef and a pile of cabbage. Thomas held up his plate. Hannah dished his meal, then took one slice of beef and a small amount of cabbage for herself. She sought a safe topic for discussion. “Have there been any more sheep killed?”

“No. I figure we took care of the problem.” He winked at Thomas. “Did a fine job, eh?”

Thomas leaned his arms on the table, fork in one hand and knife in the other. “Yer a fine shot. Don’t figure we’ll have any more trouble.”

“Hopefully not. We’ll have to keep a watch, though.” John took a bite of cabbage and chewed. “Delicious, Hannah.” Picking up his knife, he sliced off a bite of beef. “Heard of a man not far from here who has a couple of dogs guarding his sheep.”

“Dogs?” Hannah offered a bowl of rolls, and John took two.

“Called a Kuvasz.”

“A what?” Thomas grabbed a roll and bit into it.

“Kuvasz. They’re from Belgium. They’re guard dogs, not herding dogs like Jackson. He’s got three, two males and a female. The female’s ready to whelp any day. I was thinking it would be a fine idea to get one of the pups. After what happened, it might be wise to have a dog guarding the flocks.”

“How do you train it?” Hannah cut into her meat.

“You don’t, really. If I’m understanding things correctly, they simply know what to do—guard. They live with the sheep, just like one of them.”

“Can they stand up to a dingo?”

“They’re brave and big—over a hundred pounds.”

“Wow!” Thomas’s eyes looked bright. “That’s a lot bigger than Jackson.”

“Are they tame? What if one were to attack Thomas? Or turn on the sheep?”

“No worries. They’re loyal and easy tempered, but protective.”

“And they’re not sheepdogs?” Hannah dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, wondering just how she was going to bring up the subject that truly needed to be discussed.

“They can do a bit of herding when needed, but generally they’re not inclined.”

“That’s why we have Jackson,” Thomas said with a grin.

“Having a guard dog out among the sheep would give me peace of mind. I figured if one worked out that maybe we’d get another.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Hannah said, considering how long it would take a puppy to grow up enough to be a guard dog and thinking it strange to be speaking as if their lives would continue on just as they had.

“When can we get one?” Thomas asked.

“The pups aren’t born yet, but they’re due any day.”

Thomas grinned. “I’d like to have a dog like that. Could he be my friend too?”

“Of course, but you won’t be spending hours with the sheep.”

Thomas pushed his nearly empty plate away and rested his chin on his hands. “How ’bout we do some fishing after dinner?”

“There’s milking that needs done, then we can go.” John pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair. “Me, Quincy, and Mr. Connor are planning a boar hunt, two weeks hence.” He looked at Thomas with approval. “I’d say you’re old enough to join us.”

Hannah felt a rush of concern. “Boar hunting is for men. He’s only eleven.”

“One day he’ll be a man and will need to know how to safely hunt the beasts.”

“One day he will be a man, but right now he’s a boy.” Hannah set her fork on her plate. “I don’t want him going.”

“Oh, Mum, I’ll be safe enough with Dad.” Thomas looked to his father. “Won’t I.”

“I’ll make sure he stays with me. He’ll never be out of my sight. And of course he’ll not handle a musket. I’d just like him to experience a hunt.”

“It’s dangerous.” Hannah studied Thomas. He so wanted to be like his father. She looked at John and suddenly realized the reason for the invitation. He was afraid he’d not have another chance to take Thomas! The thought tore at her. Working to keep her voice steady, she said, “All right. But I expect you to bring home some meat then, eh?” She smiled at her son.

“Right we will!” Thomas nearly jumped out of his chair.

“Thomas, calm yourself.”

The rest of the meal passed quietly, with Thomas and John discussing fishing and the upcoming hunt. When they finished eating, Hannah cleared away the dishes. “Would you like your custard now?”

“I’m afraid I’ve overeaten.” John scooted his chair back. “How ’bout after the milking and after we’ve caught ourselves a fish or two, eh?” His hazel eyes rested on Hannah.

A shiver ran through her and she felt passion ignite between them. “I’ll have your dessert ready for you when you return.”

Hannah sat on the veranda and watched while John and Thomas swaggered up the path from the river, fishing poles resting on their shoulders. She smiled. The two of them were good together. She stood. “Did you catch anything?”

“Only a couple of small ones, barely a mouthful.” Thomas shrugged. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”

John clapped him on the back. “That we will.”

Thomas hurried up the porch steps. “Can we have our custard now?”

“Well, I don’t know . . . you did come back empty-handed.” “Mum!”

Hannah laughed. “Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

John and Thomas took their places at the table while Hannah dished out three servings of the sweet dessert. “Here you are, then.” She set a bowl in front of each, accidentally brushing her hand against John’s as he reached for his bowl. A jolt of energy passed between them. Hannah pulled back her hand as if she’d been burned. Still feeling his touch, she retrieved her helping of custard and then sat at the table.

As the three ate, the room turned quiet. While preparing the evening meal, Hannah had felt almost as if life had been set right. If only it were possible to go on as if nothing had happened. She found it curious that Margaret hadn’t pushed herself on John. Or maybe she had and Hannah was unaware that she had.

Thomas quickly devoured his custard, scraped up the last remnants, and licked his spoon clean. He stifled a yawn.

“It’s time for you to be in bed,” Hannah said.

“Do I have to? I’m not tired, not a bit.”

“You’re not, eh?” John grinned. “Looks to me like you’re ready to fall asleep right where you sit.” He stood. “I’ll take you up.”

Hannah dropped a kiss on Thomas’s cheek and watched while John and the boy climbed the steps to the loft. They were as close as any father and son. Her heart warmed at the thought.

She cleared the bowls from the table and washed them. With things tidy, she went to her chair in front of the hearth and picked up her sewing basket and a pair of socks that needed mending.

A few moments later, John descended the ladder. “He’s nearly asleep already.”

“He had a busy day.” Hannah put her sewing aside, wishing she could invite John to stay.

He stood at the bottom of the steps. “I guess I ought to get off to bed myself. Tomorrow holds enough work for two days.” He moved to the door and opened it.

Hannah crossed to John, intending to close the door behind him.

He turned to her. “Good meal, Hannah. Thank you.” His voice sounded unsettled and his eyes searched hers.

Hannah recognized the look of desire and felt her own passion flare. She didn’t want him to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Right.” John bent and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Without intent, his lips found hers, barely caressing at first, then pressing gently and demanding nothing. When Hannah responded, his lips became possessive.

Hannah’s responsiveness and emotions merged with his. She couldn’t think. All she knew is that she couldn’t say good night to John at the door. She needed him.

He pushed the door closed, lifted her into his arms, and moved to the bedroom. Hannah clung to him, beyond thought.

He set her gently on the bed and dropped down beside her. “I love you,” he whispered, covering her mouth with his.

Hannah lay in the crook of John’s arm, feeling as if she were wrapped within a haven of love. He kissed her forehead and caressed her hair. “I love you. I can’t stop.”

She snuggled closer. “I love you too.”

Quietness covered them in a mantle of peace. Minutes passed, and Hannah slowly emerged from the warm cocoon. She didn’t want to surface, to face the real world, and tried to remain, but something dragged her toward the truth.
What
have I done? I’ve lain with a man who isn’t my husband.

“I want to move back in,” John said. “We belong together.” Reality hit Hannah like a fist. She pushed herself upright, pulling the sheet about her. “No!” Clinging to the sheet, she left the bed. “We can’t.” She stepped back. “What have we done?” She picked up her clothing and started to dress.

“We’ve done nothing wrong. You’re my wife. I’m your husband.”

“No . . . John, you’re not.” The truth engulfed Hannah. “I’m not . . . I’m not your wife. Margaret is.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I have to leave. I can’t stay here. We can’t live this close anymore.”

“Hannah.” John pulled on his trousers and moved toward her. “I want us to be together. We belong together.”

Buttoning the top of her dress, she moved toward the front door. “I have to go.”

He gaped at her. “In the middle of the night?”

“We knew this time was coming. I should have left the day we talked to Reverend Taylor. This is my fault.”

“Nothing is your fault. We’ve done no wrong here.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” Hannah hurried to the door and opened it.

“Hannah. No. If anyone leaves it will be me. I built this house for you.”

“John, this is your farm. Not mine.”

He stared at her, his eyes filled with disbelief. “No. I’ll go. I can stay with David and Lydia. They’ve room.”

“And what will become of this place?”

“I’ll work here every day and then stay with David and Lydia at night.”

Hannah fumbled through her mind. Could it work?

He moved toward her. “Please, Hannah, let’s not do this.”