Enduring Love (6 page)

“Really? Do ye suppose she’s going to set up a home here, then?”

“I should think so. Her husband lives here.”

The sun rested just above golden hills, turning the sky pink and then red. John laid his arms on the top rung of the stock pen and gazed at the bronzed fields. They looked like soft yellow velvet, but the beauty of it didn’t touch him. Nothing could break through the brittle exterior of his wounded heart.

Quincy rode in and pulled his horse to a stop in front of John. He climbed out of the saddle. “We’ve a bit of trouble.” He led the horse to the water trough.

“More trouble is something we don’t need.”

Quincy set his hat on a post and then scooped water from the trough and splashed his face, dumping some over his head. Pushing back wet hair, he turned to John. “Know ye don’t need any more worries, but . . . I found the remains of a couple lambs. Looks like a dingo, maybe more than one.” Quincy combed his wet hair with his fingers and resettled his hat on his head. Water ran in dirty rivulets down his face and neck.

“How far out?”

“Half a mile, I’d say. Down in the draw.”

“We can’t leave the beasts to dine on the flocks. We’ll set up a watch tonight and hopefully put an end to them.” John glanced at the house. “I’ll tell Hannah.” Wishing he could avoid her, he hesitated. Conversations between them had become awkward.

“Ye want me to tell her?” Quincy asked.

“No. I’ll do it.” John strode to the house and stepped onto the porch. Instead of walking in, he knocked and then waited.

Her cheeks flushed and dusted with flour, Hannah opened the door.

She looked almost childlike, and John was taken aback for a moment. He struggled to find something to say. “Bit hot to have the door closed.”

“It’s either the heat or the flies.” She gazed at him. “What can I do for you?”

“Just thought you ought to know Quincy and I will be out tonight. Dingoes took a couple of lambs.”

Thomas pushed past his mother and onto the porch. “Can I go?”

“I don’t see—”

“Of course not,” said Hannah. “You’ll be out much too late, and we’ve studies to see to in the morning.”

“I’ll still do me schoolwork. I promise.” He gazed up at Hannah, hope making his blue eyes brighter than usual. “Please, Mum.”

“I don’t like you out and about at night.”

“I’ll be with Dad and Quincy—no harm’ll come to me. One day I’ll need to know how to take care of trouble like this.”

Hannah folded her arms over her chest.

“I’ll see that he’s safe,” John said. “And I figure there’s no reason he can’t do his studies later in the day.”

Hannah didn’t answer immediately, but finally said, “All right, then. Go ahead.”

Thomas grabbed a hat, said a quick thank you, and hurried out the door.

“I expect him home in one piece.”

John tipped his hat. “No worries. He’ll be fine.” He wanted to kiss away the hurt he saw in Hannah’s eyes. But that was no longer possible. Instead, he walked away. “I’ll get him back as soon as I can,” he called over his shoulder.

With Jackson tied in the barn and the sun disappearing in a fiery display on the horizon, John, Quincy, and Thomas rode through pale yellow grasses.

“Ye think it’ll take long to find them dingoes?” Thomas asked, his voice lit with excitement.

“Can’t know. Just have to wait and see.” John looked at Quincy. “It’d be a good idea if we kept an eye out for the other mob we’ve got out on the flats.”

“True.”

“All right, then. I’ll take the mob in the draw, and you go along to the batch we’ve got grazing east of here.” John glanced at a clear sky. “Moon ought to be of help.”

Quincy reached into his pack. “Brought some bread and some tack. Figured we’d be hungry before the night’s through.” He handed a portion to John.

“If I hear you fire your musket, we’ll come your way, and you do the same for us.”

“Right.” Quincy rode off, quickly blending into the darkening landscape.

John and Thomas moved on, riding toward the gully. Long before they could see the flock, the baaing of sheep settling in for the night carried over the hills toward them. When they reached the mob, John stopped, dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree. Thomas did the same.

“Ye think we’ll have to wait long?” Thomas squatted in the dry grass beside his father.

“No telling.” John stared into the darkness searching for dingoes but thinking of Hannah. She’d be lighting the lamps and settling into her chair for the evening, her sewing basket in her lap. He longed to be with her.
Lord, there must be a way
. . . something we can do.

“Ye figure I ought to have me own musket soon?” Thomas asked, breaking into John’s thoughts.

“You’ve a way to go—your shoulders need to broaden some and you need more height. A musket’s not meant for a boy.” Thomas seemed especially young and vulnerable in the shimmer of moonlight. “You’ll need a couple more years yet.”

“I’m big for me age.”

“True enough. And you’re stout. But you’re not yet ready . . . maybe soon.”

Stillness settled over the land and the murmuring and rustling of the sheep quieted.

“Why’d ya move into the barn?” Thomas asked.

“Your mum and I decided it was best.”

“Why? You’re married. I thought married people lived in the same house.”

“They do . . . usually, but things are different now.” John searched his mind for a reasonable answer.

“It’s Margaret, isn’t it?” When John didn’t reply, Thomas pushed. “Do ye love her instead of Mum?”

John took in a breath. “I don’t love her, but . . .” How could he explain?

“I don’t like her. I want her to go away.”

“You don’t even know her, Thomas. And I can’t tell her to leave . . . she’s my . . . wife.”

Silence, like a long slow blink, hung between father and son. Finally Thomas asked, “How can she be yer wife? Yer married to Mum.”

“Yes . . . but I was married to Margaret a long time ago . . . when I lived in London . . . before I knew your mum.”

“That doesn’t change nothin’. I don’t want her ’ere.”

John wished he could quiet the desperation he heard in Thomas’s voice. He placed the butt of his musket on the ground. “It’s not as easy as that. She wants to stay.”

“I don’t understand how ye can be married to Mum and to her.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

John pressed fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes before looking at Thomas. “According to the law, Margaret’s my wife because I married her before I met your mum.”

“Then why did ye marry Mum?”

“I thought Margaret was dead.”

His voice quiet, Thomas asked, “Can’t ye pretend she’s dead?”

“Can’t. Wouldn’t be right.” But John couldn’t help wishing it was possible or that Margaret had never found him.

“What’s right ’bout leaving Mum alone?” Thomas sounded angry.

“I’m not going to leave her. I’ll take care of her . . . and you.”

“How ye going to do that?”

John gazed at the dark sky with its countless stars. “I don’t know . . . not just yet anyways.”

5

Hannah added hot water to the half-filled laundry tub, set the bucket aside, and lifted a pair of Thomas’s trousers from a basket of clothes. She dunked them into the water, then using a bar of soap, worked the cloth against a scrub board.

How in heaven’s name does he manage to find so much dirt?
She considered his active life and smiled. How could he not get dirty? There wasn’t a tree he didn’t think needed climbing, nor a lizard or rabbit that didn’t need chasing. He spent a fair amount of time digging for worms to dangle from his fishing pole, plus he often worked alongside his father.

In spite of the tragedy that had befallen the family, Thomas had managed to push aside the turmoil and had attempted to go on as usual. Was it possible their lives could remain as they were? Hannah knew it wasn’t. Change would come, but just how soon she couldn’t guess. When it did arrive, what would happen to her and Thomas? Possibilities swirled through her mind, and sorrow brought a swell of despair.

This isn’t fair, Lord. Not for me, nor for John, and especially
not for Thomas
.
He’s made a place for himself here, he has a
family.

Since Margaret had invaded their world, Thomas had been quieter than usual. Everyone was. An oppressive cloud hung over the farm and over their lives. Hannah dropped the pants into a basket and picked up another pair.

She scrubbed harder as her mind worked on their troubles. Soon her arms and her back ached. She didn’t mind—physical pain relieved some of her mental anguish. When she’d completed Thomas’s clothes, she lifted the basket and, resting it against her hip, walked toward the river where she would rinse them.

Thomas leaped out from within a grove of eucalypts and galloped toward her. “I’ll carry that for ye.” He met her, smiling, and squinted against the morning sun. “And I’ll rinse them too.”

“Why thank you, Thomas. That will be a great help.” Hannah handed him the basket. “I’ve still more wash to do.” She tousled his hair. “You’re growing into a fine young man.”

His eyes registering gratification, he turned and headed toward the river.

With her heart twisting, Hannah watched him go.

Her mind flashed back to the day he’d first come to them, orphaned and hostile. He’d made it clear that John and Hannah would never be his parents. If not for John’s unfailing commitment to the boy, he’d have gone his way.

Shame washed over Hannah as she remembered how harsh she’d been. John had believed in God’s power and authority, while she’d feared failure. In spite of her faithlessness, they’d become a family, and now . . . now only God knew what would become of them. Even though John continued to state that all would be well, she understood that his bravado was a façade. There would be no easy answer to their dilemma. But was this too much even for God?

These days John kept mostly to himself and spent little time in the house. She missed his presence. She longed for the quiet evenings they’d once shared in front of the hearth reading or working—the dangers of the world shut outside their sturdy home. She slept poorly and sometimes in the night would lay her hand on the place where John used to lie beside her. She’d imagine he was still there, his muscles warm and supple beneath her fingers.

A sound came from the barn and Hannah turned to look. John stood outside the door, balancing a wagon wheel against the ground. His eyes rested on her. Feeling as if he could read her thoughts, her face burned.

He smiled but was unable to disguise his sadness before turning his attention to Thomas. His look of sorrow deepened as he watched the lad move toward the river. With only a glance toward Hannah, he rolled the wheel toward the tool shop.

Hannah returned to the washtub and lifted one of John’s shirts, and with a glance toward the shop to make sure he wasn’t watching, she pressed it to her nose. She loved the smell of him, even the odor of sweat and toil.

She plunked the garment into the water and scrubbed at it, holding back negative thoughts. No matter how painful the circumstances, things were what they were, and there was nothing she could do about any of it.

She worked the fabric against the washboard, adding more and more soap as if she could wash away the sorrow and resentment. Finally, with the shirt as clean as she could manage, she sat back on her heels, gripping the washboard. She wanted to cry, needed to, but she’d already shed more tears than she knew she possessed. Would the time come when they stopped, a time when the hurting ceased?

Although John usually took his meals alone, she’d invited him to join her and Thomas for dinner that night and had planned something special, one of his favorites—roasted beef with cabbage. She’d also prepared custard for dessert. Maybe a good meal would spark a little of the old happiness.

She knew such an idea was silliness. Food couldn’t fix this problem. It would take a master—The Master. She closed her eyes for a moment.
Lord, if it is not your will for John and me
to share our lives, then I ask that you remove my love for him. I
shan’t be able to bear it otherwise.