To Love Anew (27 page)

Mrs. Atherton stepped out of the house and crossed the lawn. “Hannah, I have a number of errands I need you to do for me.” She handed Hannah a sheet of paper.

John returned to his work. Best not be caught eavesdropping.

“John and Patrick, one of the roustabouts, are traveling into Port Jackson this morning. I thought you could ride along. There are several items I need.”

Hannah stared at the paper and finally said, “Most days I’d be happy to take care of these. But today is washing day. Gwen will need me. There’s too much for her to do alone.”

“Not to worry. Lydia said she’d help.”

“Oh.” Hannah fingered her mother’s cross. “Well then, of course I’ll go.”

“Credit the items to our account. William will look after the bill the next time he’s in Port Jackson.” She started back to the house and then stopped. “Oh, you best take an overnight bag. You’ll most certainly need to spend the night.”

“Yes, of course,” Hannah said. Her voice sounded tight.

John couldn’t keep from smiling. Two full days with Hannah. It was more than he could have hoped for. He whistled while hitching up the horses.

Carrying a small bag, Hannah approached the wagon. “Good day, John,” she said, using a formal tone. She nodded at Patrick whom she barely knew.

“Good day.” John glanced at Hannah’s bag. “So, you’ll be accompanying me?”

“Yes. It seems Mrs. Atherton needs me to do some errands for her. I hope I’m no bother.”

John glanced at Patrick. “He’s a good bloke, but you’ll add some gentility to the trip.”

“I’ll be glad for yer company,” Patrick said with a grin. “Two blokes together can get tiresome.” He climbed into the back of the wagon. “Figure it’s a fine day for a nap,” he said, leaning against the side and folding his arms over his chest.

John gazed at Hannah warmly. “Your company’s always welcome.”

“This is business, not pleasure,” Hannah said, keeping her tone reserved, but looking disconcerted.

Feeling only slightly deflated
,
John took her bag and set it in the back of the wagon and then moved around to the front and offered her a hand up.

Hannah settled on the wooden seat, keeping her back rigid and her eyes straight ahead. Her jaw was set.

Perhaps she’ll be less standoffish as we go along,
John hoped.
If not, I don’t know how I’ll manage a genuine conversation with
someone who’ll barely look at me.
Discouraged and trying to come up with a way to thaw her mood, he climbed onto the seat beside her. He lifted the traces. “We’re off, then.” He flicked the reins lightly, the horses plodded forward. “Warm for August, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“I heard that August is generally one of our cooler months.”

Hannah looked at John with a puzzled expression. “You said
our
cooler months. Do you see this place as home?”

“I hadn’t thought on it, but yes. I do.” He looked at the patchwork of forest and fields. “I quite like it here. I’m not inclined to return to England.”

“But I thought you said you wanted to go back, that is, if you are given a pardon.”

“Don’t expect I’ll have to give that much thought. A life sentence means life.” John was unable to keep the dejection out of his voice.

“What about Henry Hodgsson? You spoke of finding him one day.”

John found the discussion unsettling, but any conversation was better than none. He glanced back at Patrick. His eyes were closed and he seemed to already be asleep. “If I were pardoned and had the opportunity to find him, I don’t think he’s worth the journey.”

“I’m glad you’ve given up your vendetta.”

“I didn’t say that. If I ever have a chance, I’ll take my revenge.”

Just the thought of Henry and what he’d done made John angry. He hated his cousin. Although aware it did little good to harbor resentments, nurturing the rage felt gratifying. John didn’t want to let it go.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two travelers. Finally, John asked, “Have you plans when you’ve served your time?” Hannah tightened the sash on her bonnet. “I haven’t decided. It’s a long while until then. I only left London nineteen months ago. I’ve another twelve and a half years to serve.” She was quiet a moment, then continued, “When my sentence is fulfilled, I’ll no longer be young.”

A bird squawked loudly from within the woods. Hannah threw a glance toward the sound. “I’ve no one left in London. My mum is dead and the friends I had may well be dead by then as well.” She sighed heavily. “I suppose I’ll live out my years here. If the Athertons will allow me to stay in their employ, I’ll remain in Parramatta. It wouldn’t be a hardship. They’ve been very kind.”

“They’re fine people. Have to admire those who set out on a venture like they did. There was very little here when they arrived. Heard stories of starvation and Aborigine attacks.” John clicked his tongue and slapped the reins, urging on lagging horses.

Once more, John and Hannah turned to their thoughts. The only sound was that of the groaning wagon, the heavy footfalls of the horses, and an occasional squawking of birds. Patrick seemed to be in a deep sleep, undisturbed by the lurching of the wagon.

John couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind was stuck on his facing a life sentence. Even if Hannah consented to marry him, he’d remain a prisoner his entire life. What could he offer her, except a cottage on someone else’s farm?

Unable to endure his thoughts or the silence any longer, he said, “This road is appalling. Next time we should consider going by river.” The words were barely out of his mouth when one of the back wheels thumped into a deep hole. The wagon dropped with a jolt.

“Aye, what’s happened?” Patrick asked, sitting up.

“Hit a hole is all,” John said. The horses tried to move forward but the wheel was fixed. “Get on with you,” John called, flicking the reins. The animals strained in their harnesses, but the wheel remained wedged.

“I’ll have to help them.” John handed Hannah the reins. “Hold them steady.”

Hannah looked at the traces in her hands. “I’ve not driven a team before.”

“Keep the lines taut. If the horses decide to move ahead more than a foot or two, hold them firm.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hannah said with uncertainty.

John jumped down and made his way around to the back wheel. Patrick joined him. Together, the two men gripped the wheel. “When I say go, slap the reins over the horses’ rumps,” John said.

“All right. Now,” he said, and he and Patrick pushed against the wheel.

Hannah shouted for the horses to move and slapped the reins. The men pushed. The wheel nearly came free and then fell back.

“Try again.” Once more John and Patrick strained against the wheel, and with a sudden jarring, it broke free. The horses rapidly moved forward and didn’t stop.

“Pull back on the reins,” John called, running to catch up. With the wagon still moving, he clambered onto the seat and took the traces from Hannah. “You did well,” he said with a laugh.

Hannah looked flushed, but pleased. “It was quite exhilarating. I’d like to do it again one day.”

“Well, here you are.” John handed back the reins.

“Oh no. Not now. I . . .” Hannah shut her mouth and gripped the reins. “All right, then. Will you show me?”

Patrick climbed into the back and stood behind the front seat. “Ye sure she’s up to it?” He grinned and nudged his hat back off his forehead.

“She’s up to it,” John said, then patiently demonstrated how best to manage the team and instructed Hannah in the skills of driving, taking the reins only when the roadway became too challenging.

The rest of the trip passed rapidly and pleasantly. Patrick returned to snoozing while John and Hannah settled into casual conversation, chatting about home, music, horses, their daily lives, and even some of their dreams.

When they arrived at Port Jackson, John wished they had farther to go. He stopped the wagon in front of an inn. “You can get settled while Patrick and I see to the team. I’ve business to take care of. Do you need assistance?”

“No. The millinery shop is just down the street and the mercantile is nearby. I’ll make my purchases and ask the proprietor to have them ready to be picked up tomorrow morning.”

“Very well. I’ll see you then in time for dinner, eh?”

“That will be fine.”

John watched as Hannah stepped into the inn. He wished for more days like today.
If only she’d allow my devotion.
He turned the horses toward the stables.
No use thinking on it.

John left Patrick to care for the team, and he walked down the street toward a company Mr. Atherton had recently started doing business with. He’d explained to John that the proprietor had offered the best prices to distribute tools and lumber and was also willing to export raw logs.

Like much of Port Jackson, the building was new and unpretentious. John opened the door and stepped into an office. The room was small and a bit shoddy, but that was of no consequence. Businesses here had little use for pretense. A man worked at a desk in the back.

“I’ll be right with you,” he said without looking up.

John tensed. The voice sounded familiar. He knew the set of the man’s shoulders and the way he bent over his work.

The proprietor looked up. “Sorry ’bout that, I . . .” The color drained from his face and his jaw went slack.

Rage thundered through John.

Henry Hodgsson straightened and then stood.

John wanted to lunge at him; put his head through a wall. Somehow he managed to maintain a composed exterior. He needed to think rationally. How could he best make use of this encounter?

“Henry.” He pushed his hands into his pockets and loosened the set of his shoulders.
Stay calm
, he told himself. “What an unlikely place to find you.”

“Yes, indeed.” Sweat beaded up on Henry’s upper lip. “Glad to see you looking so fit. Didn’t know what had become of you.”

“Is that right?” John’s tone was caustic.

“After that night, I waited for you.”

“You did, eh?” John clenched his teeth. “Didn’t strike you as odd that I just disappeared? You saw no need to inquire as to my whereabouts?”

“Of course. I was gravely concerned. I searched for you. Later I found that you’d been transported so I liquidated the business.”

“You liquidated before I was transported, long before.”

“I’m sure that’s not correct.”

“It is.” John barely managed to keep his fury reined in.

“I can’t imagine how that could have happened.” Henry grabbed hold of the edge of the desk.

“You managed to get your hands on the funds before my trial.” John seethed inside. “My attorney tried to access them and discovered that the accounts had been emptied.”

Henry fidgeted and looked toward the door as if contemplating escape. “That’s not how it was. Your attorney must have made an error, or the people at the bank.” He took a step toward the front of the room. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember how it all happened.” Folding his arms over his chest, he asked, “So, how is it that you came to be free?”

“I’m not. I’m under bond to Mr. Atherton. He sent me here on business.” John mulled over the idea of giving Henry a thrashing, but common sense won out. Prisoners who caused trouble were severely punished. He didn’t want to hang for someone like Henry Hodgsson. Still, the idea of smashing his fists into the man’s face was tempting.

Henry’s look changed from fear to superiority. “A convict, eh? Quite a change of status for you.”

“That it is.” John took a step closer to Henry. “I suppose my money paid for this venture?”

“It was our money, John. And with you in prison, what was I to do?”

“Perhaps my wife would have wanted a bit of it.”

“Yes. But poor Margaret succumbed to fever.”

“I got word of that while I was in the gaol in London.” John stared at the little man. He loathed him. But now was not the time to take revenge. He’d find a way that would punish Henry without jeopardizing himself.

“What can I do for Mr. Atherton?” Henry asked.

“He said he’d corresponded with you about a shipment of logs, as well as the distribution of milled lumber and tools.”

“Right. I recall receiving an inquiry from him.” He moved to a file cabinet. Opening a drawer, he thumbed through several files. “Here it is.” He scanned the letter. “I can have his supplies shipped in good time and at a fair price.” He handed John several documents. “Have him look these over, and if he’s so inclined, he can sign them. Get them back to me. I’ll make sure his wares are well taken care of.”

John took the papers and quickly looked them over. The prices were good. Perhaps too good. He studied Henry. Could he be trusted? “I’ll see to it that he gets them,” he said, then turned and walked out.

John strode up the street, barely able to contain his anger.
That loathsome beggar deserves to die. I have a right to retribution.
There must be a way to give him what he deserves. Lord, I
must have my revenge.

That night over dinner, John still hadn’t completely reined in his anger. It consumed his thoughts. He’d looked forward to time alone with Hannah and had even managed to sidetrack Patrick. Now all he could think of was Henry. He sat glumly across the table from Hannah.

She set down her fork and knife and looked at him. “What is it? You’ve barely said two words since we got here and you look quite distressed.”

“I saw him today.”

“You saw who?”

“Henry Hodgsson.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yeah.” John picked up his knife and stuck it into the wooden table. “Never a word from him. He’s been traveling about, spending my money.” He clenched his teeth. “And it seems he’s prospering.”

“Dear heavens. What is he doing in Port Jackson?”

“He’s transporting goods, and Mr. Atherton is doing business with him.” John stared at the knife. Calmly and deliberately he said, “I want him dead.”

“He may deserve it, but you’ll hang if you touch him. Leave it be, please.” Hannah lifted her napkin off her lap, folded it, and set it on the table. “Perhaps Mr. Atherton can have someone else deal with these business matters.”