Longings of the Heart (29 page)

Her eyes found the river and she considered wandering down to its quiet banks. Perhaps Thomas was there.
If he is,
he’ll not take kindly to my searching him out. Anyway, he’s most
likely with John. And they’ll be back soon.

Hannah decided to leave the milking to John, went inside, and set to work fixing dinner. She cracked eggs into a pot, whisked them with a fork, and then set them in the dying embers left from the morning’s fire. She sliced bread and cheese for a platter, which she put on the table along with butter. She set out plates and flatwear. And there was cake left. It would do nicely for dessert.

The familiar sound of a dog’s bark carried in from outside. “Jackson! That must be them.” Hannah hurried out to the front porch. She spotted John and Quincy, silhouetted against the red sky, and young Jackson frolicking, his tongue hanging out. He headed straight for the watering trough and lapped up a stomachful of water. Thomas wasn’t with them. Like a fire out of control, alarm swept over Hannah. Where was Thomas?

“Sorry we were out so long, luv,” John said. “The sheep were cantankerous, and we and Jackson had more trouble than usual.” He threw a leg over and dropped out of the saddle. The dog danced about him. John patted his head. “I’ll feed you in good time, boy.”

“Thomas,” Hannah blurted. “He’s not with you?”

“No. He was supposed to stay here and help you. He’s not here?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I’d hoped he was with you.”

“What happened?” His tone was accusatory.

“This morning we had another quarrel and he stormed off across the field. He’s been gone since. I’d hoped he’d found you and Quincy.”

John scanned the darkening landscape and then whirled around to Hannah. “What did you do? I thought you were set on being a mum to him? You promised to try.”

“I did.” Hannah felt as if she’d been slapped and she deserved it. “He refused to help me. He was angry because he had to stay behind; he wanted to be with you. I made him breakfast, but he refused to eat it. When I tried to force him, things got worse.” Hannah put her palms against her cheeks. “It was awful.” She was close to tears. “He said he hated me and I . . . I told him that maybe he ought to live somewhere else.” She shook her head. “He’s out there . . . alone.”

Hannah covered a sob with her hand. “It’s my fault. All of it. We’ve got to find him.”

“We will.” The harshness was gone from John’s voice. He took Hannah’s hands in his. “It’s not your fault. People quarrel. I’m sure he’s fine. Most likely he’s not far from the house, probably hiding in a tree somewhere. He might even be watching us.”

“I don’t think so. He was really angry . . . and hurt. I saw no sign of him all day.” Hannah remembered how he’d stomped off, acting like he was tough when all the while he felt small and trampled upon. “Please find him, John.”

“We will.” John climbed back into the saddle.

Hannah gazed up at him, barely able to see through a blur of tears. “If something happens to him—”

“Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll find him. Which way did he head?”

Hannah pointed toward the west. “He ran through the fields.”

“All right, Quincy, you go that way and I’ll see if he’s on the road somewhere. We’ll need lanterns.”

“I’ll get them.” Quincy hurried to the barn.

Hannah gazed into the gathering gloom. “John, there’s so much out there—dingoes, snakes, convicts . . . the river. He’s just a little boy.”

“He’s a clever lad. He’ll be all right. You’ll see.” John offered an encouraging smile. “Take heart.”

Hannah watched Quincy and John ride away. Their lanterns cast an eerie glow in the darkness. Quincy moved across the field and John headed west on the road. Hannah stood on the porch and watched until they disappeared. She remained there a long while, staring into the darkness. Finally she went indoors. The bread and cheese remained on the table where flies feasted. She shooed them away and covered the food with a cloth, then stirred the eggs. They were burnt and inedible. She lifted the pan out of the coals and set it on the stone lip of the hearth.

A forlorn mooing came from outside. Patience needed milking. Hannah grabbed a washcloth and a lantern and hurried to the stock pen. She hooked a lead on Patience and walked her to the barn and to the stanchion.

Once Patience was secured, Hannah grabbed an armful of hay and set it in the crib. Patience buried her nose in the sweet-smelling feed and was soon grinding it between her teeth. Hannah moved the stool alongside the bovine, her mind outside in the darkness with Thomas. With a pat to Patience’s side, she sat and wiped the udder clean with the cloth. Setting the bucket beneath her, she grabbed two teats, and soon milk flowed.

She pressed her forehead against the cow’s side, her mind filled with thoughts of Thomas and the stricken look on his face when he’d run off. Sorrow and regret rose up and engulfed her in a large wave. “What have I done? Oh, what have I done?” She sobbed against Patience’s rounded belly. “My little boy is lost and it’s my fault.”

In the midst of heartbreak, the knowledge that she truly loved Thomas swept over Hannah. He was, indeed, her son.

Patience swished her tail and stomped a foot, seemingly irritated with Hannah’s delay. The truth swamping her, Hannah straightened, keeping a hand on the cow’s side. God had given her a child once and she’d spurned it. And yet God had forgiven her. Then she’d cried out and asked him for another and he’d given her Thomas. Once again, she’d turned her back on the gift. “I deserve nothing from you, Lord, but your wrath. But Thomas deserves more. He needs a family. Please bring him home. I love him.”

Through tears and prayer, Hannah continued milking. She pressed in close to Patience, and as the bucket filled, the sound of splashing milk quieted. When she’d finished, she moved the stool and bucket aside and led Patience to her stall. After giving her a handful of grain, she picked up the lantern and stepped into the darkness. The howl of a dingo echoed across the empty countryside. Hannah stopped and listened. How close was it? What if he went after Thomas?
He’s a smart lad.
A dingo’s no danger to him. He’ll surely climb a tree if need be.
She moved on to the house. She stepped inside, and the dingo’s mournful cry came again.

Hannah strained the milk and poured it into a container. She placed a cloth over the top and left it so the cream could rise. She’d churn butter tomorrow. Thomas would like that. He liked fresh butter on his bread.

She took her Bible down from a shelf and sat in the dim lantern light, turning to Psalms. The songs of David would comfort her. She turned to Psalm 17:8.
“Keep me as the apple
of your eye; hide me under the shadow of your wings.”

Hannah closed her eyes. She could feel the Lord’s presence. He loved her in spite of all she’d done. He would not forsake her, nor would he forsake Thomas. She was certain of it.
You
know where he is. Keep him safe. Spread your wings of protection
over him. And please bring him back to us.

Hannah read several more Scriptures and prayed until she fell asleep. When she stirred awake, the candle had burned down considerably. She glanced at the clock—1:00 a.m. Was John back? She moved to the window and gazed out—there was nothing but darkness and the sound of buzzing cicadas and the rustle of hot grasses. Hannah returned to her chair and prayed for her son’s safe return.

She didn’t know how long she’d been praying when she heard the sound of horses. Her heart pounding, she pushed out of the chair and crossed to the door.

Taking a hopeful breath, she opened it. A light illuminated the barn. Someone was there. “John?” Hannah stepped off the porch and hurried toward the barn.
Oh Lord, please let Thomas
be with him.
“John? Thomas?”

She moved as quickly as the darkness would allow. It must be them. It had to be. She stepped inside. Whoever it was, they were in the back. “John,” she said and moved inside, walking toward the stalls. “Is that you?”

He stepped out of a stall. “Hannah.” He looked tired, the lantern light deepening the shadows on his face.

Hannah’s spirits dropped. “You didn’t find him?”

He rested a hand on the gate. “No. I did. Thomas.”

The lad peered around the stall door.

“Haven’t you something to say to Hannah?” John urged.

Thomas stepped out into the open. “I’m sorry, mum. I shouldn’t have run off like I did. It was wrong of me to worry ye so.”

Love swept through Hannah. “Oh Thomas, it’s me who is sorry.” She stepped toward him. “I was wrong. I’ve been wrong from the beginning. I never meant to hurt you. And I’m sorry I did.” She knelt in front of him and studied his dirty, beautiful face. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Thomas gazed at Hannah, his blue eyes wide and pooling with tears. “I forgive ye. Can ye forgive me?”

Hannah smiled, her heart brimming with joy. “Of course.” She took his face in her hands and couldn’t imagine loving him more if he had come from her own flesh. “I love you, Thomas.”

A broad smile replaced his look of bewilderment. Hannah scooped him into her arms and held him close. When his arms went around her neck and hugged her back, she was certain she’d never felt such joy, and she hugged her son more tightly.

21

Hannah set two candlesticks with red-tinted candles in them on the mantel and stepped back to admire them. They looked lovely, especially the candlesticks—a wedding gift from the Athertons. They reminded her of a set her mother once had. Caroline would bring them out only at Christmas. Although they had very little in the way of possessions, Christmas had always been a time of rejoicing and thanksgiving. Hannah smiled at the memories.

When her father had been alive, he’d arrive home on Christmas Eve with gifts tucked under his arms—one for Hannah and another for Caroline. He always made the presentation of the gifts a grand affair, teasing and acting as if he’d forgotten Christmas altogether. Afterward, they’d eat a special meal and sometimes sing carols, which was especially fun when friends joined them.

This would be her first Christmas as a mother and their first as a family. It would be a special day, indeed.

Thomas galloped down the stairs from the loft. “Good day, mum.” He smiled and ran to Hannah, hugging her about the waist.

“Good day to you.” Hannah’s arms went around Thomas. She smoothed back his blond hair, and he looked up at her. It had been two weeks since he’d run off, and the wonder of a mother’s love remained with Hannah. Why had she resisted for so long? Her willfulness had nearly cost her a son.

Smiling down at Thomas, she said, “You slept late. Are you hungry? I’ve made eggs and toast.”

“I’m starved.” Thomas strode to the table and sat down. “Has John gone off already?”

“Yes, but he said he’d be back for you later this morning. He wants to show you a new fishing spot he found.”

Thomas clasped his hands together and rested them on the table in front of him. “Perhaps we’ll have mullet for dinner, eh?”

“That would be nice.” Hannah looked at the candles. “Do you like the new candles I made?”

“They’re nice. Red’s a fine color.”

“Thank goodness we’ve had cooler days. Gwen was able to show Lydia and me how to make candles with dye so they’d be special for Christmas, which is only two weeks off.”

Thomas studied the candles. “Why did ye make them red?” “Well, for me, red represents Jesus’s shed blood. Do you know about that?”

“I do. Me mum told me.” Sadness touched Thomas’s eyes, and Hannah knew he was remembering and missing his mother. He continued, “I was only six when I understood ’bout Jesus dyin’ for us. Mum told me that because he did I get to go to heaven. That’s where she and me sister and me dad are.”

“My mother and father are in heaven too. I miss them terribly, but one day we’ll be together again.”

“I just wish me mum and dad were here now. Why do ye think God took ’em like he did?”

“I don’t know for sure. But although heaven’s a world we can’t see, it’s a place where there is only rejoicing and no sadness. And our loved ones live there. We should be happy for them.”

“I am, but I miss ’em.”

“I know. It’s something we must trust God with, eh?”

“I guess so.” Thomas rested his cheek in his hand. “Will we be having Christmas, mum?”

“Indeed we will.”

Thomas smiled broadly. “And will there be presents?”

“Most certainly.” Hannah felt a quiver of excitement. John had been working in the evenings to make a new fishing pole for Thomas. He’d also found a copy of
Robinson Crusoe
, which had been one of his boyhood favorites. He couldn’t resist and bought it. Hannah had made Thomas a pair of new socks and a warm blanket for the winter months.

She set a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. “It will be a fine Christmas.”

“I don’t much like it being so warm.” He picked up the toast and took a bite. “I used to go skating with me friends.”

“It does seem a bit odd, but I don’t miss the cold London winters. They could be brutal.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of snow. Sledding would be nice.”

“Yes . . . but now you’ve fishing instead. And that’s grand too.”

Thomas nodded and took another bite of toast.

The sound of a buggy carried in from outside. Hannah wasn’t expecting anyone. She hurried to the door and stepped onto the porch to find Lydia alone and driving the Atherton buggy. Something must be wrong. She hurried down the steps and ran to meet her.

Lydia didn’t look at all distraught.

“Good day,” Hannah said.

“Good day.” Lydia seemed to glow from inside. “I couldn’t wait to tell ye the news.” She tied the reins and climbed down from the seat. “Mrs. Atherton was kind enough to let me borrow her buggy.”

Hannah knew that whatever Lydia had to say must be important. “What is your news?”

Lydia didn’t answer right away. Instead, she hesitated, as if letting go of her secret might diminish some of its delight. Finally, she held out her left hand. A gold band encircled her ring finger. “David asked me to marry him!”