by Jody Hedlund
He smiled in return, and she was relieved when the light danced back to life in his eyes. “Mayhap I can join you tonight…”
His suggestion shocked her, and her lips stalled, unable to find a suitable response.
He quirked a brow.
“What do you mean?” she finally squeaked.
“I’ll join you in prayer. What did you think I meant?”
She could feel herself flushing, and he laughed, clearly enjoying her insinuation. “You’re still in the habit of nightly prayer, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then we shall meet and pray together.”
The idea was entirely appealing. But was it appropriate? “I don’t know…”
“On the other hand, if you’d rather meet for other reasons”—his tone was nonchalant—“then I suggest we have a hasty wedding.”
“John,” she said, in shock once again.
His laughter rumbled between them, and she couldn’t keep from giving him a playful push. He feigned a stumble backward, allowing himself to fall into a mound of hay.
She reached out a hand to help John back up, but when he caught it, he tugged her down, leaving her little choice but to fall into the hay next to him. He tossed a handful of straw, and she threw a handful back at him. Soon they were both laughing and covered in bits of straw.
She was glad to know that though John may have changed in some ways, he was still the fun-loving, mirthful man he’d always been. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, his hand was next to hers in the hay, and suddenly his fingers brushed hers. His touch was soft and tentative at first. When she didn’t move away, he slowly, almost gingerly, laced his fingers through hers. The slide of his skin against hers was so exquisite that she had to close her eyes at the pleasure.
His head brushed hers, and she could hear the heavy drag of his breath close to her ear. All she needed to do was turn ever so slightly and her lips would meet his. She almost trembled with her need to kiss him. But she instead reveled in the feel of his warm palm, his fingers fitting together with hers, and his calloused skin.
“I love you,” he whispered again in a thick voice that did strange things to her body. His words contained a finality that told her he wasn’t expecting her to respond, that he simply wanted her to know of his undying adoration.
Her own declaration of ardor welled up from deep within, but before she could find the words, several giggles at the stable door alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone. Susanna had apparently held off everyone else for as long as possible.
The rest of the evening passed in a whirlwind of seeing John and being near him, but never having another moment alone. She was all the more grateful to Susanna for somehow orchestrating a few stolen moments with John.
When Billy came by after dinner, he was understandably angry to see John. Neither man spoke to the other, and the tension between them was palpable. Billy’s expression lightened only after Newton made the announcement that he was heading back to Liverpool the next morning. Her father nodded his approval and invited John to visit again during the summer if he had the chance before setting sail. Later her father beckoned John to his office to talk. She lingered outside the closed door for only a few moments to assure herself that this time the conversation was more pleasant than John’s last visit.
When she finally made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, she couldn’t keep from smiling at the remembrance of her conversation with John about joining her tonight. The thought of praying together with him was as delightful as the thought of spending the night wrapped in his arms.
“You love him,” Susanna whispered, stepping out of her bedroom into the dark hallway. “I can see it in your smile.” Polly started to shake her head, but Susanna cut her off with a grip that was so tight Polly winced. “Daniel never loved me the way John does you. And Billy doesn’t love you that way either.”
Even though Polly couldn’t see Susanna’s features clearly, anguish radiated from her tense hold and in her voice.
“Don’t let him go.”
Polly didn’t have to ask to know that Susanna was referring to John. “But he can’t provide for me.” Once the words were out, Polly realized how selfish she sounded, and she hung her head.
“Wealth and prestige won’t make you happy,” Susanna said harshly. “Look at me.”
“Billy’s a kind and loving man too.”
“Maybe. But are you willing to settle for a man you don’t love, simply to have the kind of lifestyle you think will make you happy?”
“No man is perfect,” she retorted. “John has his faults the same as Billy.”
“The difference is that John wants to change. Billy sees no need for it.” Susanna’s quick answer silenced Polly. After a long moment of silence, Susanna finally sighed and released her. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did, Polly.”
“I know.”
“Then think about what I said.”
Polly nodded. “I’m scared of making the wrong decision.” Could she give up everything to be with John? Or should she give up John’s love in order to have everything?
June 1748
Polly played the last note on the pianoforte before looking up at John, who’d come into the drawing room while she was immersed in the song. She’d already indulged him by singing last night when the whole family was gathered. His eyes had been bright as he watched and listened. She tried not to pay attention to his delight, but she adored knowing that she still had the ability to please him with her singing.
“Did you compose the music?” he asked, nodding to his mother’s songbook that was open above the keyboard.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Then yes,” she responded with a smile, “I’ll take credit for writing it.”
“Thanks for taking such good care of the book while I was gone.”
As much as she’d wanted to bury the book at the bottom of her chest of drawers in her efforts to forget about John, she hadn’t been able to. Every once in a while on a trip home, she’d pulled it out and fingered the worn pages. And then after Captain Newton’s visit last month, she’d been unable to resist keeping it out and had even written music for another of the songs.
“I should give it back to you now,” she said.
“Nay. It has a good home with you. I want you to have it.” He grinned somewhat nostalgically, the sadness suddenly putting her on edge. “Besides, maybe I’ll write my own hymnal. I’m working on a new song, one about God’s grace. I have a couple of verses completed.”
“I should like to hear the song,” she responded, trying to dampen her eagerness. “Perhaps I can compose the music.”
“It will have to wait for another day,” he said, clutching his hat in his hands. “If you’ll allow me another day?”
Her heartbeat tapered to silence. He was getting ready to leave. He really was doing the responsible thing this time. He’d dallied for the past couple of hours since their morning toast and tea, and she’d begun to wonder if perhaps his old habits were harder to break than he expected.
She wanted to promise him another day. She wanted to promise him all her days. But even after her sleepless night, she didn’t think she could make that promise, not after having visions of sinking ships and sad spinsters.
“How long will you be gone this time?” she asked.
He looked at his hat, at the black brim that his fingers were busy twisting. “It’ll be awhile. Eight months. Maybe a year.”
Her throat tightened so that she could hardly swallow. “That’s so long,” she whispered, not daring to meet his eyes lest he see the torture in her own. How could she wait a whole year to see him again? How could she spend the rest of her life this way, being with him for a few hours, a few days, a few weeks only to have him leave her for months at a time? And how could she live with the constant worry that he may never come back?
“I know I have no right to ask.” His voi
ce had dropped to a hoarse whisper too. “But will you wait for me?”
Everything inside her longed to tell him yes. But she couldn’t make herself say the word. She hung her head.
After a long moment she felt him move behind her. He bent, pressed a kiss against her head, and then spun and left the room without another word. She heard him in the hallway say good-bye to Mother and Eliza, and then finally the door closed behind him.
She sat unmoving on the bench. Her chest ached and her throat burned with the need to sob. She loved him. She probably always had. But love was too painful. It was filled with too many heartaches and disappointments and good-byes. She wanted to run up to her bedroom, close the door behind her, and stay there forever. Why bother with relationships at all?
The faint yipping of the neighbor’s dog floated in through the open front window. What about Miss Donovan? The picture of the spinster neighbor on the day she’d lost her dog came back to Polly, the downtrodden, defeated, and disheveled appearance. Miss Donovan certainly was miserable.
But the thought of ending up in an unhappy marriage like Susanna’s was frightening too. There were no guarantees that marriage would bring fulfillment. Whether she chose Billy or John, she could very well still end up miserable.
Cool fingers brushed her neck accompanied by the scent of rose water. “I can’t presume to know all that you’re going through right now, my darling,” her mother said quietly. “But I have a suspicion that John’s lack of means is at the forefront of your mind.”
Polly nodded and squeezed back the tears.
“I know there have been times when you’ve been discontented with what your father could provide for you.”
“I’m sorry, Mother—”
“The truth is, if we’re focused on material possessions, no matter how much we have, it will never be enough.” Mother’s fingers skimmed Polly’s hair and brushed back loose strands. “Many people spend their whole lives trying to gain more status and wealth, but in the end they’re shallow and empty.”
“But John has nothing.”
“He has everything now,” her mother responded. “He has the wealth of God’s grace in his life. And that counts for so much more than anything here on this earth. That’s the lesson your father has learned, and I’m proud of him for living according to his principles, even if that means we have to go without the luxuries many of our friends have.”
Polly nodded. She deeply admired her father, and she’d always wanted to find a man like him. Was John now that man?
“I’m not saying your father is perfect. No one can expect a perfect marriage. Both partners are sinful human beings, and we bring those sins with us to marriage. However, when two people are committed to growing in holiness, there is hope for any problems that arise.”
Polly’s head bent again under the weight of her own sins. She’d tried so hard over the years to throw off the weight through her regular prayers. She’d tried charity. She’d tried to live a good life. But none of it had taken away the feeling that somehow she was always falling short. “I don’t know if there’s any hope for me. I’ve tried to connect to God, but he always seems out of reach.”
Her mother’s gentle combing came to a standstill.
Once her confession was out, Polly wished she could retract her blasphemy. “I’m sorry, Mother. I shouldn’t have spoken—”
“Polly, look at me.” Her mother’s fingers came under her chin and gently prodded her head up.
When she met her mother’s gaze, she expected censure for her doubts. But instead she saw tenderness. “My darling, none of us can earn God’s favor with our own efforts. Whether we’re a sinner who’s strayed far from God, like John. Or a saint who attempts to please God, like you. None of us can stand before God on our own merit. We all need his grace.”
His grace. What did that mean?
“Perhaps you’ve been trying to earn God’s love,” Mother said in answer to her unspoken question. “But we can’t ever be good enough on our own. Instead, God offers to love us in spite of our failures and imperfections.”
Was that what had happened to John? Had he somehow come to accept God’s love in spite of his shortcomings? Perhaps there was still hope for her to learn to connect with God like that too.
“So do you think I should tell John that he may visit me again?” Polly asked.
“Your father and I agree the decision is yours.” Mother took a step back. The warm June sunlight streaming in the front window illuminated her fading blond hair. “Whatever you do, my darling, don’t let fear enslave you.”
As Mother left the room, Polly was tempted to call her back and beg her to tell her what to do. But except for Miss Donovan’s barking dog next door, silence enveloped her.
Was she letting fear enslave her? The fear of marrying wrong or not marrying at all?
Maybe she’d have an easier, more comfortable life with Billy. But should she let her fear of poverty or an uncertain future hold her back? If God could change John’s life and free him from his past insecurities, could he not do that her for as well?
She slid off the bench to her knees and bowed her head. She didn’t know all the answers, but she could pray and start by asking God to free her from her fears. And she could run after John and tell him that even if she didn’t know what the future would hold, she did want to see him again. She truly wanted to see him. In fact, she couldn’t imagine life without him in it.
Sudden desperation pushed her to her feet. She needed to run after him and speak to him before he left town. Her heart pulsed with a new urgency, and she darted across the room and into the hallway.
Her mother was already standing next to the door as though she’d been waiting for Polly. “His coach is leaving from the Gull Inn,” Mother said, opening the door and shoving a hat into Polly’s hands. “If you hurry, you’ll catch him.”
Polly rushed outside and ran. Behind her she heard her mother call for Susanna to accompany her. But Polly didn’t wait. She sped as fast as her heavy skirts and hoops would allow her. The Gull Inn was on the road that led to London, and the quickest route was to cut across the fields on the old sheep path that she and Susanna had always used. She didn’t let the overgrowth slow her down. Instead she pushed forward frantically, stumbling over roots and clawing at bramble that clutched her gown in her effort to reach John before he was gone.
If she didn’t stop him, he would leave thinking that she never wanted to see him again. She couldn’t allow that, not when it was the furthest thing from the truth. With each frantic step she took, she knew she wasn’t ready to let John go.
“Oh God,” she prayed, her breath coming in gasps. She fought her way through the last of the branches and nearly fell into the clearing onto the road. Her hair had fallen loose during her run and filled her vision.
She scraped the loose strands back. In the distance she caught sight of a man striding swiftly away. His rolling gait, the strength of his stature, the tousled hair all belonged to John. His broad shoulders were slumped, not just from the weight of his bag slung there.
A chord of despair clamored through her chest. She’d discouraged him. She’d pushed him away. What if he didn’t want her now? She wouldn’t blame him.
Her breath came in uneven gulps, and she wasn’t sure she could speak past the burning in her lungs. Did she dare stop him? What if letting him go was for the best after all?
She gulped for air and pushed aside the hesitations that threatened to make her a coward. If, after all that had happened, he could summon the courage to come to her, then she could do likewise. She could go to him now and show him that she didn’t have to cling to the easy and secure way of living. She could step out and be brave, just as he had.
“John!” Her voice was weak from her exertion. When he didn’t pause, she stopped in place and called again, louder. “John Newton!”
He glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw her, he halted. Slowly he pivoted, his shoulders still slumped and dejectio
n evident in every limb.
She waited a moment for him to run back to her, to grow excited at seeing her, or to even say something in response to her presence. But he stood unmoving and silent.
A lump of uncertainty wedged in her throat. But she forced her feet to move forward toward him, hoping she stepped toward a future with him, a future quite possibly filled with many more good-byes.
When she was finally a dozen paces away, she stopped. The wind caught her loose hair and tossed it into further disarray. But she clutched at her skirt, unable to move her hands for fear he’d see them tremble.
“John?” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
He didn’t respond except to lower his bag away from his shoulder.
What should she say? How could she explain all her confusion? The heartache she’d experienced while he’d been gone? The fresh pain that shredded her insides at the thought of him walking away from her again?
No matter how much anguish his leaving now would cause, the alternative was worse. Tears stung her eyes. “I lost you once. I thought you were dead to me. I prepared myself to live without you, even though it nearly killed me to do so.”
Other than a slight flicker in his eyes, he didn’t seem to react.
The despair rising in her chest threatened to choke her. But she forced out the words she knew she must finally say. “Even though I loathe the thought of being parted from you every time you leave on a voyage, even worse is knowing that if I let you walk away, I’m losing you again. This time forever.”
She wished he’d say something—anything. But he watched her with an unreadable expression.
“The truth is,” she said, admitting to herself what she’d known all along, “it’s always been you. And that will never change.”
He studied her face, his features taut.
Her hands shook again, and she buried them deeper into the folds of her skirt. “John,” she finally whispered in the silence that hung thickly between them. “Say something.”
He let his bag drop with a thud and then crossed the distance between them with determined steps. When his sights fixed upon her lips with a steel set of his jaw, her stomach tumbled with strange anticipation.