Enduring Love

by Bonnie Leon

  After they’d finished their meal, Margaret cleared away the dishes. “Would you like your cake now?”

  John rested a hand on his abdomen. “I’m so full I can barely eat another bite, but how can I refuse? It’s one of my favorites.”

  She sliced two pieces of the heavy dessert and placed them in bowls. Setting one in front of John and another in her place at the table, she crossed to a cabinet and took out a pitcher. “Would you like cream?”

  “That’s the way I like it best.”

  “I remember.” Margaret lifted one eyebrow as if sharing a secret. “There are many things I remember about you.”

  Her statement was innocent enough, but it implied intimacy. John was unnerved and wished she would leave the past alone, at least for now.

  Margaret poured cream over both servings and then sat.

  John cut into the cake with his spoon and took a bite. The flavor of apples and cinnamon was tasty, but he felt satisfaction that it wasn’t as good as Hannah’s. Questions whirled through his mind and were joined by a jumble of mixed emotions. Although he remembered how things had once been between himself and Margaret, he hadn’t forgotten how ugly it could be as well. And he knew he’d never escape memories of Hannah.

  “I’m still puzzled at why you’ve come to New South Wales at this late date, especially when you believed me to be in prison.”

  “I explained that to you. I didn’t have the funds to come sooner, not until my parents’ death. And it didn’t matter to me if you were in gaol.”

  “And what would you have done if I was still a prisoner? I was given a life sentence.”

  “Just being close to you would be enough. And I knew that prisoners are sometimes given pardons.”

  John nodded slightly. “Try to understand, Margaret, I’m not even certain of who you are.” She started to speak, but John held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

  Margaret waited.

  “For so long I thought you’d betrayed me, you and Henry. I hated you. And I do have a wife, legal or not, whom I love.” He could see the statement wounded her, but he continued, “You must give me time.”

  “I’ll try, but I’ve yearned for the life we once had. I want to be at your side, sharing in the work at the farm—”

  “You hate country living. You always have.”

  “You forget I was raised on a farm. I want only to take my place as your helpmate. And if that means living far from London or any city for that matter, here in New South Wales, then that is where I belong.” She moved her bowl aside and leaned closer to John. “Do you still believe I did those horrible things?”

  “It’s not so much what I believe but that I still feel the betrayal. My head understands, but my heart has not yet caught up to my mind.”

  She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “We should be together on the farm.”

  John knew she spoke the truth but couldn’t imagine sending Hannah and Thomas away. Lord, I don’t understand. It’s all such a mess. How can this be happening? Hannah’s a fine woman, undeserving of this. How can I leave her? How can you expect it?

  “You seem far away.” Margaret studied John’s face, then captured both of his hands in hers. “I want to be us again. The way we were.”

  “It’s not possible. We aren’t the same people. And there’s Hannah, plus I have a son, Thomas.” He pulled his hands free and stood, moving to the window.

  “I know your feelings for Hannah are deep, but she’s not your wife. I am.”

  John couldn’t think. He had no answers.

  “If you like, Thomas can live with us.”

  Bleakness, like a black cloud, bore down on John and sucked the air from his lungs. “He belongs with his mother.” John was angry now and whirled around to face her. “And where would you have me send them?”

  Margaret took a step back. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful or hard of heart, but Hannah must make a new life for herself. You’re not responsible for her.”

  “Not responsible?” His anger billowed. “I’m to blame for her present situation. She’s my wife! And Thomas is my son!” He balled his hands into fists. “I’m responsible for the whole lot of you. You, because you’re my wife, Hannah because she was my wife, and Thomas because he has no one else . . . and because I love him.” He moved toward the door and grabbed his coat off the rack. “Do you think I ought to abandon everyone for you?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, I’m just trying to be practical.” She stepped closer to him. “There is no easy answer, John. You must make a decision—now or later—but either way it will have to be made.”

  He knew that to be true, but each time his mind took him to that reality he felt as if he would be swept into a black pit—an empty place that would take his life from him.

  His eyes found Margaret’s imploring ones. She’s my wife.

  He pushed his arms into the coat sleeves. “No matter what you say, the farm is no place for you.”

  “Of course it is. You’ll be there.” She stepped toward John, but didn’t touch him. “It will be difficult in the beginning, but we’ll prosper. I believe in you. You’ve always been a fine businessman. It will be a good place for us, especially as our family grows.”

  Children. The thought took him by surprise. He’d forgotten about children. He’d told Hannah he trusted God for them, but he was no longer certain. They’d been married nearly two years. Shouldn’t Hannah have conceived by now? He stared at Margaret. Although they’d not had any children while in London, she’d promised him that one day they’d have a family. He loved Thomas and had thought the lad was enough for him . . . but a child he’d fathered himself was appealing. She could offer him something Hannah couldn’t—offspring of his own.

  8

  “Shouldn’t be long now,” John said, watching a laboring ewe. “She’s been at it awhile.”

  Thomas leaned against the gate. “Will she be all right?”

  “I figure so. Just have to watch her.” John rested his hand on Thomas’s blond head. The ewe strained through a contraction. “We’ll soon have another lamb to care for.”

  Two tiny feet appeared and the ewe pushed, producing front legs and finally expelling a soggy lump of wool. The newborn lay on the hay-covered floor, wet and helpless. The mother immediately set to licking it. The lamb didn’t stir. John stepped in closer to have a look.

  Its breaths were shallow. “You need a bit of help, eh.” Using a rough cloth, John rubbed the animal all over. It remained quiet and unresponsive.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Thomas’s voice was strident.

  John swung the lamb up onto its feet, stopping abruptly to increase the flow of air to its lungs. The animal’s breathing increased markedly, and the newborn shook himself from head to toe. “Ah, that seems to have done it.”

  He moved the lamb closer to its mother. Although tottering, it came fully awake and made an effort to suckle. John stepped back and watched, arms folded over his chest.

  Quincy shook his head. “New lambs seem set on dying the moment they’re born.”

  “Is it gonna be all right?” Thomas asked.

  “I’d say so.” John draped an arm over Thomas’s shoulders and looked over the lambing pens. “The Lord has blessed us. We’ll have a good number to add to the flock.”

  Folding his arms on top of the gate, Thomas rested his chin in the bend of his elbows and studied the lamb. “He’s eating well now.”

  “That he is.” Exhaustion had set into John’s very bones. Lambing had started in earnest two days earlier, and he’d spent nearly every hour since in the lambing shed. He didn’t mind the weariness, though. Each new lamb meant more prosperity for the farm. He smiled at Quincy. “We’ve had twenty born since last night. ’Course that includes four sets of twins.”

  “It’s a good lot, all right.” Quincy lifted his hat and then resettled it over his short-cropped hair.

  Thomas stepped closer to the ewe and her baby, watching as t
he little one ate, its tail flicking back and forth. The ewe worked to clean every inch of him.

  “Can I have one of me own?” Thomas asked.

  “And what would ye do with it?”

  “Why . . . I’d feed it and pet it, and take it for walks.”

  John grinned. “I know it sounds like fun, but it’s a lot of work. Do you think you’re old enough for such a responsibility?”

  “I’m eleven, nearly a man.”

  John couldn’t keep from smiling. Nearly a man. You might think so, but you’ve a ways to go. “Fair enough,” he said. “But you wouldn’t want to separate a lamb from its mother.”

  “No. I guess not.” Thomas frowned. “What ’bout if we lose a ewe? Could I care for its lamb, then?” He rested his hand on the back of the tiny sheep.

  “And if we lose others? Are you prepared to care for them as well?”

  Thomas thought for a moment. “I suppose. Do ye think there will be many lost?”

  “I pray not.”

  Thomas pulled himself to his full height. “I can do it.”

  “All right, then. I’ll put you in charge of the ones without mums.”

  Thomas smiled, his blue eyes coming to life. “I’ll do a fine job. I know what it feels like to lose yer mum.” Sorrow stole the light from his eyes.

  John felt a pang of sadness. Thomas did know. He’d not only lost his mother but his sister and father as well. He gently squeezed the boy’s shoulder.

  Thomas squatted beside the ewe and its baby, watching closely. “This one’s real hungry.” The lamb butted its mother’s udder, hoping for more milk. “He’s going to be a strong one.” John chuckled. “Could be. He started out a bit slow, but looks like he’s making a go of it.” He glanced around the lambing shed. “Any more nearing their time?”

  “I don’t think there are any coming in the next hour,” Quincy said. “Ye look done in. Why don’t ye get some sleep? I’ll watch over them.” Using his thumb to push up his hat, he scratched his scalp. “With Thomas here to help, we’ll be fine.”

  “I could do with a bit of sleep. But there’s a lot else that needs to be done.”

  “What good will ye be if ye give way?”

  John looked at the house. How fine my bed would feel. It had been a good six weeks since he’d moved to town. But since lambing had begun, he’d been allowed to spend most nights in the barn. As he’d settle down to sleep at the end of each day, his mind went to Hannah. He missed her presence beside him. If only things could be as they were.

  He trudged to the water barrel, dipped out a ladleful, and drank it down. Filling the dipper again, he sipped from it, then poured some into his palm and scrubbed his face. It refreshed him a bit. After hanging the ladle back in its place, he turned to the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hannah. She didn’t appear.

  “Mum made lemonade. Would ye like some? I’ll get it for ye. Maybe we could rest on the porch for a bit, eh?”

  “Don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  Thomas scowled. “Yer not even trying to make things better. Ye ought to talk to her. She’s alone a lot. And she does most of the work on her own.”

  “I’m here nearly every day . . . I do my best.”

  “Ye left her . . . and me.”

  “It’s not what I wanted.” John reached for Thomas, pulling him to within arm’s length before the lad balked. “I’m here now.”

  Thomas kicked at the ground, then looked at his father. “It’s not enough.” He glanced at the lamb, which had settled beside its mother. Thomas looked back at his father with an accusing gaze. “She made the lemonade for ye.”

  “I doubt that. You can drink enough for two people.” John’s attempt at levity fell flat.

  “She made a whole pitcher full. More than me and her can drink.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked his father in the eyes. “Talk to her.”

  John’s insides tightened. That’s what he wanted—time with her, laughter, love, and real conversations the way it used to be.

  Working to keep the emotion from his voice, John said, “Your mother’s made it clear I’m to keep my distance. And she’s right.” John hated the reality of the statement, but he knew it to be true. With him and Margaret seeing each other and working toward reconciliation, it wasn’t respectable to visit with Hannah even in an innocent way. And if he had any chance of putting his first marriage back together, he couldn’t cozy up with her. “It’s not proper for your mum and me to spend time together, Thomas. We’re not together anymore.”

  “Ye could be.” Thomas stomped off. He stopped and glared over his shoulder. “Ye could be . . . if ye wanted to,” he shouted and ran toward the river. He pumped his arms up and down as he sprinted away.

  The familiar ache settled around John’s heart as he watched the boy go. If only he could make Thomas understand. How can I do that? I don’t even understand. This isn’t right, none of it is. He felt pressure on his shoulder and the squeeze of Quincy’s hand.

  “He’ll be fine. Give him time.”

  John blew out a heavy breath and turned back to the shed. “I better have a look at some of those ewes.” Frustration cut through him like a cold winter wind as he walked to the next pen.

  Dishrag in hand, Hannah stepped onto the porch and watched Thomas run toward the river. She knew how much he liked working with his father and how excited he’d been about helping with the lambing. She’d expected him to spend every possible moment in the lambing shed.

  He loves the river as well, she reasoned, but detected an intensity in his stride that alerted her to trouble. I wonder if he and his father had words. Thomas had made it clear that he loathed the present arrangement between his parents. Lord, help him to understand that we’ve no choice. And give him peace in the midst of this storm. Hannah wished the same for herself. She felt as if she’d been caught up in a maelstrom.

  She returned to the kitchen and stared at the pitcher of lemonade on the counter. Thomas had convinced her to make enough for the both of them plus John and Quincy. She couldn’t lie to herself; she’d hoped John might share some with her and Thomas. She removed the towel draped over the top of the pitcher and poured herself a glass.

  After replacing the towel, she returned to the veranda and set the glass on a side table. A breeze blew up from the river, making the cool air feel almost cold. Pulling her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, she sat and closed her eyes, enjoying the fragrance of eucalyptus driven on the wind. She felt almost at peace.

  The sound of a buggy carried up from the roadway, and she looked to see who was passing by, or perchance visiting. She hoped Lydia had come to call. It had been too long. Hannah stood and watched to see if the traveler turned onto their drive.

  A buggy headed toward the house. Lydia wasn’t driving. It was Margaret! A tremor shot through Hannah. Why is she here?

  She sat down, not wanting to appear distressed and hoping the shadows might hide her. Perhaps Margaret would go directly to the lambing shed and she’d not have to speak to her.

  Instead, the buggy headed straight for the house. Hannah’s heart raced and she fought to slow her rapid breathing. What can she want with me? When the buggy stopped in front of the porch, Hannah was forced to stand out of politeness. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

  Margaret wore a painted cotton gown with blue flowers on a white background. It was stylishly snug through the torso, emphasizing her tiny waist. She had thrown a dark blue shawl over her shoulders and looked as if she were going to tea at the home of a gentlewoman. She’ll not find nobility here. This is a simple farm, and if she plans to visit the lambing shed, she’ll have difficulty keeping that fine skirt out of the muck. It would serve her right.

  Knowing her thoughts were spiteful, Hannah couldn’t help herself. No matter how much she told herself Margaret had every right to be with John, her presence here in New South Wales had cut off Hannah’s life with the only man she’d ever loved. There will never be anyone e
lse for me.

  Margaret tied off the reins and set the brake. Peering from beneath a broad-brimmed bonnet, she carefully stepped from the buggy. Auburn tresses fell from beneath the hat and onto her shoulders. Hannah couldn’t help but admire the color and sheen of her hair. Self-consciously she tucked up loose curls. She’d always considered her hair to be one of her flaws; it was too dark and too fine.

  “Good day,” Margaret said, in a friendly tone.

  “Good day.” Or it was until you arrived. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She moved to the railing.

  “I was hoping I might have a word with John. And I’ve brought him something to eat. He’s been working so hard, I thought he was in need of a good meal.”

  He’s fine. If he needs something, I can provide it, Hannah thought, but said, “Of course. I’m sure he’s hungry by now.” She glanced at the partially clouded sky. “It’s nearly midday.” She felt plain and disheveled in comparison to Margaret. “He’s at the lambing shed. Just up there.” She pointed toward the small barn.

  Margaret remained where she was. “He’s been spending a great deal of time here recently.”

  “He has no choice. Lambs are fragile creatures, they need extra care. If not for John’s diligence, we’d lose a good deal of them.” Hannah realized she’d used the term “we” and corrected it, saying, “I mean John would.”

  “Of course.” Margaret looked as if she were about to return to the buggy, then stopped and instead walked to the bottom of the steps. “Might I have a word with you?”

  Hannah moved back, wishing for a way to avoid having a conversation with this woman. Don’t be a coward. No matter what she’s got to say, stand up to it. Certainly it can’t be worse than what’s happened already. Her mind carried her grudgingly onward. And she deserves respect, she’s John’s wife.

  “May I get you some refreshment? I made lemonade just this morning.”

  “That sounds lovely. Thank you.” Margaret climbed the steps.

  “I’ll be just a moment.” Hannah moved inside, finding it ironic that the lemonade she’d hoped to share with John would be drunk by his wife instead. Hands trembling, she poured the tangy drink into a glass, spilling some of it. She wiped up the mess, her mind awhirl with questions about why Margaret would want to talk to her.