Longings of the Heart (11 page)

John and Jackson took off after two mulish ewes that seemed determined to go their own way. When John came back around, he said, “That was a fine meal Mrs. Langton served, but I’m already hungry.”

“I quite like Ella. She’s very nice and friendly. I hope we’ll have an opportunity to visit again.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ll most likely be doing business with Charles in the future, especially now that we have use of the adjoining property. Good of Mr. Jones to lease it to us.” John rested a hand on his stomach. “What did you plan for dinner?”

“I’ve fresh bread and a stew warming over the fire. That should see to your chronic hunger.” She smiled. “I don’t know where you put it all.”

The drizzle had slowed and a breeze parted the clouds, exposing a deep blue sky. “Perhaps it will warm up a bit,” Hannah said.

“I’d rather have the rain. We’ve a need.” John glanced up at the brim of his hat where droplets dripped onto his face.

Quincy rode up alongside John. “There’s a stream just ahead. Ye want to stop and let the sheep drink?”

“Good idea.”

Quincy rode off and with Jackson’s help headed the sheep toward the stream.

Hannah and John separated and rode along either side, helping guide the flock. As if knowing their way, the animals waded into the calm stream, put their noses into the water, and drank.

Hannah and John dismounted and led their horses to the water.
This would be a good time
, Hannah thought. Quincy was farther downstream. They were alone.

She glanced at her stirrup stockings. “We’ve not seen a soul. Do you mind if I take these things off?”

John glanced about. “I don’t see any harm. I doubt anyone will be traveling this way today.”

Hannah gratefully removed the hideous attire and handed the leggings to John. He rolled them up and tied them behind her saddle. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad to be rid of them.” Her gaze fell over the mob. “These Merinos seem a bit more gentle than the last ones you brought home.”

“They’re good stock. And with these we’ll have fifty—long as they stay healthy. Quincy said he spotted a couple of dingoes eyeing the flock a few days ago. They could do some damage, especially when the lambs come.”

Hannah’s mind wandered to what she ought to say to John. How could she phrase her confession so that he’d understand?

“Where are you, luv?”

“What do you mean? I’m right here.”

“I’ve been talking to you, but you’ve not heard a word I’ve said.”

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something Lydia said when she came to visit.”

“Any sort of trouble going on?”

Now. Tell him now.
“No. No trouble. Except that David wants her to be more genteel. And she’s worried that he’s spending time with Deidre.” Hannah’s horse yanked up a mouthful of grass, pulling on the reins. “Do you think she has reason to fret?”

“Can’t say, really. David didn’t mention anything. But Deidre might be a temptation to a single gent like him.”

Hannah suddenly felt angry. “Why?”

“She’s comely.” John looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“Why is it men care only about a woman’s outer beauty?”

“That’s not true. There are a lot of other things that matter to us.”

“There’s so much more to a person than their appearance.”

“I agree.” He took Hannah’s hand. “But beauty is of some consequence. I fell in love with you, but as a man I can’t help but appreciate your beauty.” He smiled devilishly. “And would you want it any other way?”

Hannah’s anger dissolved, but she didn’t answer John’s question. Instead she returned to Lydia and her troubles. “I do hope he doesn’t break Lydia’s heart. She truly loves him.”

“I’m sure he must see what a fine woman she is.” John’s eyes settled on something in the distance.

Hannah’s heart picked up. “What is it? Aborigines?”

“No. A kangaroo. Looks like a fine one too. We could do with a bit of fresh meat.”

“Must you? I’d rather eat rabbit. Or perhaps we could butcher a sheep.”

“You don’t like kangaroo?” John shot her a surprised look. “You’ve never said anything.”

“It’s not that.” Hannah followed her husband’s gaze. “Sometimes they seem almost human. They’re intelligent and . . . well, I find it hard to look into their eyes and then kill them.”

“You don’t have to do any killing. That’s my job. And it makes more sense to take something wild than to butcher one of our ewes. I paid dearly for them and can’t spare a one. When the lambs are born, we’ll slaughter some of the tups, though.”

“Lambs are so dear. Must we kill them?”

“We don’t need a flock of rams. And no sheep remains
dear
forever. By the time they’re big enough for butchering, they’ll have lost their cuteness.”

His eyes remained on the kangaroo. “You stay here.” John moved to Quincy, spoke to him a moment, and then set off in the direction of the kangaroo. He slipped into a grove of gum trees and moved closer to the unsuspecting animal.

Hannah knew John was doing what he must, yet her stomach ached as she watched him. He disappeared inside the grove. An excellent hunter, Hannah knew he’d manage to get off a good shot.

She heard the blast of the musket and saw the animal fall. She ought to be thankful for the meat, but the sight of the motionless creature only made her feel sick.

This is foolishness. A kangaroo is only an animal and good for
our table. I ought to be helping my husband.
Tying the horses to a tree alongside the creek, she hurried toward Quincy. “I’m going to give John a hand. Watch over the sheep.”

“Glad to, ma’am.”

She moved toward John. When she was close, she thought he looked distressed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She ran toward him.

John stood. “No. Stop. Best you don’t come near.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Ignoring his order to stop, Hannah rushed to him. “What is it?” She looked at the animal and then saw what John had seen—a joey, its head draped over the edge of its mother’s pouch.

“Oh no!” Hannah knelt beside the kangaroo and lifted the baby out of the warmth of his home. He struggled and kicked at her, but she bundled him inside her petticoat and held him close. “Calm down, now. I’ll not hurt you.” She stood, still holding the little one close. He quieted. “What shall we do with him?”

“There’s nothing to be done.”

“What do you mean? We can’t just leave him to die.”

“Put him down. I’ll end it.” John’s voice was heavy.

“No. You can’t. He’s a baby.”

“He’s an animal with no mother. There’s nothing to be done.”

“If it was a lamb or a calf, you’d do everything you could to save it.” Hannah held the creature protectively.

“He’s a wild animal. And too little to live without his mum.” “I’ll take care of him.”

“You can do all you know to do and he’ll still die. I’ve never heard of anyone who has successfully tended one this young. He needs only what his mother can give him.”

Hannah looked at the tiny creature in her arms. “We can’t just give up. I’ll give him milk and keep him warm.” She cradled the little thing the way she would an infant.

John’s expression was somber. With a heavy sigh, he surrendered. “I suppose it won’t hurt to try.” He turned back to the mother. “I’ll take care of her. You go on.”

Hannah kept the tiny kangaroo bundled tightly against her the rest of the way home. That evening, she tried to feed it, but each attempt was refused. As the hours passed, the poor creature became weaker and less responsive.

“I don’t know what to do,” Hannah told John. “He’s dying.” John spoke quietly. “I tried to tell you. They don’t live without their mums.”

Hannah made a bed out of a box, putting wood chips and hay in the bottom and settling the joey inside. She placed him near the hearth and then sat up and watched over him. She tried to coax him into eating, but he wouldn’t accept even a drop of milk. In the early morning hours, the joey stopped breathing.

Hannah hugged it to her and sobbed, wondering why she felt such heartache for an animal.

John climbed out of bed and kneeled beside her, laying an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close to him. “I’m sorry, luv.”

“It’s gone. I couldn’t save it.”
I can’t save anything.

John took the limp creature out of Hannah’s arms. “I’ll take care of it.” He carried the joey across the room, opened the door and stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him.

Hannah stared at the dying embers in the hearth. She’d not wanted her own child. Perhaps it had been her wish for its death that had killed it. Now this creature had been placed in her care, and she’d been unable to save it. How could God trust her with a child of her own?

There’d be no babies for her. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Why, Lord? Why can’t I have a child? Please, please don’t leave
me barren
. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed, knowing that no matter how much she longed for a baby, she’d never have one.

8

Hannah set a plate of sliced bread on the table and then moved to the hearth. She hooked a cooking pot and lifted it away from the fire, then grasping the handle with a heavy cloth, she carried it to the table and set it in an iron trivet. She lifted the lid and steam carried the aroma of vegetables and cooked meat into the air. Rather than kindling her appetite, the aroma served only to remind her of the previous day’s distress. Using a wooden spoon, she stirred the stew and replaced the lid.

John will be hungry. It certainly won’t trouble him to eat this
fare.
Although Hannah knew she had no valid reason for being angry, she could still feel it stir in her belly. Every time she thought about the joey and how it had died, the hurt she felt over the innocent’s loss was renewed and an ache rose in her throat.

You’re being foolish. John didn’t purposely kill that little joey, so
why am I so angry about all this?
Her next thoughts came unbidden. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t John she was upset with—it was herself. She hadn’t killed her child, but she’d wanted it to die, which was utterly wicked and deserved punishment.

She moved to the door and opened it. John had gone to the barn to milk Patience. Nightfall had draped itself over the land, and all she could see was a small light penetrating the darkness from inside the barn. She took a wrap down from the hook near the door, pulled it about her shoulders, and bundled inside the wool shawl as she headed down the steps. Holding her skirts up out of the mud, she walked into the darkness. It pressed in on her from all sides and she suddenly felt afraid. Was she being watched? She glanced about.
There’s nothing.
Stop being foolish.
She hurried to the barn.

Stepping inside, the familiar smells of animals and hay welcomed her, and she felt protected. Patience stood passively in a stanchion, chewing contentedly. Hannah leaned on a railing and watched her husband.

Intent on his work and unaware of her, he kept his forehead pressed against the animal’s rounded side while his strong hands brought forth milk. When he’d finished, John straightened and patted the cow’s side. “Good girl.” He grasped the pail handle and then stood, grabbing the stool with his other hand. When he turned, his eyes fell upon Hannah. They lit up with appreciation. “Hannah. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I wanted to tell you dinner is ready. Might I help?”

“If you’ll take this, I’ll get her into a stall.” John handed Hannah the pail and set the stool against the wall. After releasing the cow from the stanchion, he led her to a stall and tossed hay into a crib.

Doing all she could to keep her voice and spirits lively, Hannah said, “She’s producing a good deal of milk, don’t you think? More than we can use.”

“I was considering taking some of it down to the Female Factory. I’m sure they could use it.”

“I daresay they could, but I doubt they’ll get any. Most likely the gaolers will take it home with them.”

“I doubt that. The chaps I know would rather have a pint than milk.” John tilted his lips in a sideways smile.

“Perhaps we should take some butter, then, too.”

“We’ve more than enough in the springhouse.”

With the quiet of the night surrounding them, John and Hannah silently walked back to the house. The previous day’s hurt still lay between them. The warmth of the fire and the smell of stew met them when they stepped inside the house.