Enduring Love

by Bonnie Leon

  “I rather like it,” Thomas said, standing beside his father.

  John rested a hand on Thomas’s head. “It gets in your blood.”

  “Well, it’s not in mine, not yet.” Margaret’s voice sounded shrill. She looked as if she were trying to calm herself and then said more cordially, “You and the others should eat. I’d hate for my hard work to go to waste.”

  “I’ll be there directly.” John wondered if Hannah would have complained or been put off by the smell and grime. He knew the answer. She’d be grateful for it. She’d see the reward of hard work and do everything she could to help.

  “Come on, then.” Margaret strode out of the shed, swatting at flies buzzing about her head. “Oh, these bugs are merciless.” She glanced back at John. “If we were in England, I wouldn’t have had to cover all the food.”

  “We’ll be there straightaway.” John was unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. Margaret’s eyes registered her hurt. “I’ll tell the shearers,” he said more kindly.

  “Thank you.” Margaret headed for the house.

  “My stomach told me it was time to eat hours ago,” Quincy said with a grin. He called to the others, “Lunch! Soon’s ye finish the sheep ye’ve got, come and get something to eat.” He started for the door. “Mrs. Bradshaw’s a fine cook.”

  One by one, the men finished. Each stopped at the water barrel to quench their thirst before heading to the house. Some splashed their faces and rinsed grime from their arms and hands.

  His celebratory mood gone, John watched. He grabbed up armloads of wool and set them on the table.

  Thomas stuck his head in the door. “Dad, come on.”

  “I’ll just do this first.”

  Thomas stared at him. “Everything all right?”

  “Fine. You go ahead. There’s one last ewe in this batch. I’ll finish her up and then I’ll be in.”

  “All right.” Thomas turned reluctantly and walked toward the house.

  John moved to the pen. The ewe stood with her face to a corner as if she were hoping to be overlooked. Afraid he’d have to chase her down, John headed toward her. She remained still, and he was able to grab her. “Come on, then. Your turn.”

  He hefted the sheep and carried her to the shearing floor. Bracing her against his leg, he started clipping away wool. Bleating, she struggled to get free, but he held her firmly. Finally she settled down and allowed herself to be shorn.

  John’s mind was elsewhere—with Hannah. This was their dream, not his and Margaret’s. Hannah would have worked alongside him, and she’d not have fussed about the inconveniences. In the past, she’d cleaned and skirted the wool, saying it was better than having to sleep on it the way she’d done at the Female Factory.

  He turned the ewe onto her other side and clipped away the rest of her fleece. She was quiet now. He finished as quickly as possible and carried her to the chute to join the rest of the naked mob.

  He picked up the wool and hauled it to the table and started cleaning it. Feeling as if he were being watched, he turned to see Quincy standing just inside the door studying him.

  His expression was serious. “You’d better come get something to eat before it’s gone. Those men are hungry, and they’ll not think to leave anything for ye.” He grinned.

  “I’m coming,” John said with a sigh.

  “What’s wrong, eh? This is a good day, one ye’ve been working toward a long while.” He looked at the bundles of wool. “Ye’ll make a fine profit. The quality’s good, and so are the prices.” He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. “I remember when ye first moved onto the place; ye had a mere fifty acres and a shack.” He chuckled. “A real land baron ye were then.”

  “I remember.”

  “Ye’ve a fine farm here, John. One might even call it an estate, eh?” A smile played at Quincy’s lips. “Figure it’s time I had a better house.”

  “You deserve one. I’ll see to it that you get it. As soon as I get paid for this latest batch of wool, we’ll start work on a new place for you.”

  “Suits me fine.”

  John smiled, but he couldn’t rid himself of the heaviness of heart. He lifted his hat and swiped back his hair. “It’s not the way I imagined it.” He pushed his hat back on his head and squatted with his back pressed against the barn wall.

  Quincy hunkered down beside him. “What’s wrong, eh?”

  John didn’t know whether to say anything or not. What good would it do? But Hannah’s presence was almost palpable. He longed for her. “Hannah’s supposed to be here. I started this with her; it was supposed to me and her, not . . .”

  “Not Margaret?” Quincy glanced at the men sitting in the shade eating their midday meal. “She made a fine lunch for all of us.”

  “Yeah. I know; she’s trying.” John shrugged.

  “So it’s not what ye planned, it’s still good. Ye’ve a fine place and a beautiful woman who loves ye. I’d say ye ought to be grateful for what ye’ve been given. A woman like her would never give me a second look.”

  John blew out a breath and smiled. “I know a few gals ’round who’d like you to come calling.”

  “That so?” Quincy grinned. “I don’t mind calling, just don’t want them to follow me home.”

  “There’s a lot to be said for having a woman beside you, makes life more agreeable. But it’s got to be the right woman.”

  “Who’s to say Margaret’s not?” Quincy picked up a piece of straw and rolled it between his fingers. “When ye lived in London, she’s the one ye picked. If ye’d not been arrested and never met Hannah, ye’d be right pleased to have her . . . wouldn’t ye?”

  The question hung in the air. In the beginning he’d loved her, then he’d grown used to her. And after a time, they chose different paths. She was enticed by merrymaking and shopping and everything else that London offered. He’d wanted to explore the world and eventually settle down to a quiet life.

  “What I wanted then is of no consequence. I have to live with what’s happened, even if it means accepting less than I’d hoped for.”

  14

  Catharine walked alongside Hannah, her limp more pronounced than usual. Offering an arm to her friend and employer, Hannah said, “I can get you a remedy from Doctor Gelson while I’m in Parramatta.”

  “Thank you dear, but he left a powder for me when he visited last.” With a shake of her head, she added, “Sadly, there are days it seems to do little good.” She turned her attention to Dalton and the buggy. “I think it would be wise if Dalton drove you into town. I’m always a bit nervous when any of you gals go off on your own.”

  “Parramatta’s not far and I’ve heard no reports of aboriginal trouble nor of prison escapes.” Hannah knew having an escort would be wise, but today she wanted to be alone, to travel the road with her thoughts and no one else’s.

  “And with the quinsy going around—perhaps you should wait. There have been at least three cases so far, two in Parramatta and another at the Female Factory. You can buy fabric when we’re sure it’s safe to be in town.” She turned concerned eyes on Hannah. “You’ve been a bit under the weather recently and may be vulnerable.”

  “I’m perfectly healthy,” Hannah said, knowing Catharine was referring to the queasiness and vomiting she’d experienced early in her pregnancy. That had passed and she now felt quite robust. “Whatever it was, I’ve had no recent trouble. You worry too much.” She offered a reassuring smile.

  “I care about you.” Catharine patted Hannah’s hand.

  “It warms my heart to know that, but if I were to stay home every time some malady or other was going around, I’d never leave my house.”

  Catharine gave her a dour look. “You know well enough that quinsy is not just a ‘malady,’ it can be dreadful and deadly.” She pressed a hand to the base of her throat. “I’ve known entire families who have succumbed to it.”

  “Yes, but that can be said of many diseases.” Hannah kissed Catharine’s cheek
. “I’m glad for your concern, but try not to worry. I’ll be careful and do only what I must, then come straight home after seeing Lydia.” She set a hand on the wheel of the buggy. “It will be pure pleasure to shop for fabric. My head is already awhirl with design ideas for dresses. I can scarcely wait to begin sewing for the ladies at the Factory. I remember how receiving a new dress lifted my spirits. We had so little.”

  “I wish I could do more to help those poor women.”

  “When you visited the prison, it felt as if an angel had come to us. And not just because of the dresses, but because you looked kindly upon us. Most didn’t care a whit about us or the conditions. Sadly, there are still few who give the unfortunate souls in the prisons any thought.”

  Catharine gave Hannah’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, dear.”

  Hannah climbed into the buggy. “I’d better be off or I’ll have no time to visit with Lydia.”

  “Be watchful,” Catharine warned.

  “I shall.” Hannah tightened the sash of her bonnet. “I’ll be home by early afternoon.” She slapped the reins, and the horses set off.

  It felt good to be on her way somewhere, anywhere. The Athertons were kind and her cottage was more than adequate, but traveling, even if only to Parramatta, distracted Hannah from the shadow of sadness that had been with her these past months.

  As the roadway disappeared beneath the wheels of the buggy, heat and biting flies besieged her. The peaceful, pleasurable trip she’d imagined wasn’t to be. Instead, she swatted at flies and urged the horses to a faster pace, hoping to create a cooling breeze.

  A barge loaded with crates and bags of grain moved upriver. Two men drove poles into the muddy river bottom and pushed it forward. The image carried Hannah back to her journey inland from Sydney Town. The Female Factory and its squalor had awaited her. She envisioned the poor souls imprisoned there now. Rosalyn’s and Marjorie’s tragic ends and Abigail’s plain angular face came to mind. Abigail had always seemed resilient, but the last time Hannah had visited the Factory, she could see that years of deprivation had taken a toll on the sturdy woman.

  Hannah put the image from her mind. This was to be a time of rest for her—to think on pleasantries. She let her eyes roam over the trees and bushes along the riverside. They were alive with squawking, trilling birds, each contending to have its voice heard. Hannah tried to count them but stopped at forty. There were too many, most dressed in bright feathers—reds, yellows, oranges, and myriad shades of blue. They lit up the foliage.

  Hannah listened to the songs, thinking it must feel good to have something to sing about or to be free to let out whatever emotion you felt without thought or care to what someone might think. It would be rather nice to be a bird.

  In spite of the heat and bugs, Hannah enjoyed her drive to Parramatta. Once there, it didn’t take long to complete her errands. Her arms laden with bundles of cloth and a bag of thread and new needles, she walked toward the buggy, anxious to meet with Lydia.

  Her empty stomach grumbled, and she hoped Lydia would be able to join her for lunch. She’d had no opportunity to send a message.

  After placing her purchases in the buggy, she strolled down the street toward the apothecary. She felt a strange fluttering sensation in her abdomen and stopped. It came again. What is it? she wondered, then realized the cause. “The baby,” she whispered, wonderment filling her. My baby.

  “Mum, how grand to see ye!”

  Hannah looked up to see Lottie running toward her. The little girl’s red curls bounced as she ran.

  She threw her arms about Hannah’s waist and hugged her. “Oh, I’ve missed ye.”

  “Lottie. What a surprise.” Hannah gazed at cheery brown eyes and a freckled face. She knelt in front of the little girl. “How about a proper hug, eh?” She opened her arms.

  Lottie smiled and moved closer, wrapping her arms around Hannah’s neck and holding her tightly. “I’ve not been in church and I’ve missed seeing all me friends.”

  “And why haven’t you been there? Have you been on holiday?”

  Lottie loosened her hold and stepped back, glancing at her mother, who walked toward them. “Mum’s been sick and then Dad.”

  “Nothing serious I hope.”

  “Oh no. Everyone is well now. Good as gold is what Mum says.” She smiled. “What are ye doing in town?”

  “I had errands to run for Mrs. Atherton, and I hope to visit Lydia.”

  “Is Thomas with ye?”

  “No. He decided to stay at the Athertons’ and help Perry. He’s learning toolmaking and he quite likes it.”

  “Oh. It would be nice to see him.” Lottie sounded disappointed, then brightened. “Tell him hello from me, then.”

  “I will. Perhaps you and your mum can come for a visit soon.”

  “I’d like that.” She looked at her mother as she approached. “Good morning,” Grace Parnell said. “How nice to see you out and about.”

  Feeling a momentary flair of irritation, Hannah wondered if her separation from John meant she was expected to remain in seclusion. Knowing Grace would never purposely insult anyone, she smiled and said, “Life goes on.”

  “You’re quite right. It does.” Grace glanced at Lottie. “Charles and I were sad to hear the news, though. You and Thomas have been in our prayers.”

  “Thank you. Your prayers are welcome.” Hannah looked up the street toward the apothecary, anxious to move on. The subject of what had happened between her and John still brought spasms of pain. “Thomas and I are getting along quite well. We feel at home at the Athertons’. And as I was telling Lottie, Thomas is learning toolmaking. Perry Littrell has taken him under his wing. Thomas is quite good and may well grow up to be a toolmaker like John.”

  “That’s grand news. It’s a good trade, indeed.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled between the women. Grace finally said, “Lottie and I will be taking our midday meal at the café. Would you care to join us?”

  “I’d love to, but I already have plans to spend lunch with Lydia.”

  “Mum,” Lottie said, “can we visit Hannah and Thomas soon?”

  “Of course. I’ll send a note to Catharine.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you. And I’m sure Thomas will as well.”

  “Just as soon as possible, then.” Grace caressed Lottie’s curls. “I fear we may all be locked in our homes soon with this dreadful outbreak of quinsy.”

  “There’s an outbreak? I heard there were only three cases and one of them is at the Female Factory.”

  “We can’t be too careful.” Grace looked up the street as if she might spot someone with the dread disease walking toward them. “I wasn’t certain I should come into town at all, but some things must be done. I pray it doesn’t become widespread.”

  “I’m sure Doctor Gelson has everything well in hand. He’s a fine physician.”

  “He is, at that.” Grace took Lottie’s hand. “It was a pleasure to see you. Say hello to Catharine for me.”

  “I will.” Hannah accepted a quick one-armed hug from Lottie. “I look forward to your visit.”

  “Me too.” Lottie smiled. “I’ll see ye at church this Sunday, eh?”

  “See you then.”

  Lottie and her mum walked toward the café.

  Hannah continued on to the apothecary. When she stepped inside, a pungent odor like the dampness of an English forest settled over her. With the smell came a childhood memory. She and her mother and father had gone on a picnic outside the city. She’d explored the shadowed woods and then lay down in cool fragrant grasses, staring up through the limbs of a monstrous tree. When she rolled to one side, a giant fungus that resembled a face of a troll she’d once seen drawn in a book was only inches from her. Startled, she’d shrieked and jumped to her feet. Her father had laughed and then shown her it was nothing more than a growth coming from the tree. She could still smell its sharp odor.

  Lydia stepped into the room. “Hannah! How good to see ye
.” She pulled her friend into a tight hug, then releasing her, said, “I’d planned to come visit ye this afternoon. And here ye are.” Her green eyes looked brighter than usual.

  She closed the door behind Hannah. “Do ye have errands to do?”

  “I’ve finished already. I found some beautiful fabric. Mrs. Atherton wants me to make gowns for the women at the Female Factory and some for the poor ladies in the Sydney Town prison.”

  “So she’s still watching out for the women, then.”

  “She is.”

  Lydia smiled. “I remember well her kindness, the Lord bless her.” Moving toward a door that led to her living quarters, she asked, “Can ye stay for tea?”

  “I was hoping for more than that. Can you join me for lunch at the café? I’ve been putting a little aside from my wages just for a special occasion.”

  “Lunch out is a grand idea. I’ll tell David. I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll be right back.” Lydia disappeared into the house.

  Hannah roamed the small shop. David was committed to taking good care of the people in Parramatta, and so the small store contained most any kind of elixir or remedy one might need. An earthenware bowl sat on the counter, a pestle still lying in it. An herb of some sort had been ground up and waited to be bottled. Hannah bent over it and sniffed. The odor was sharp, making her nose sting. She straightened and pinched her nostrils closed.

  The door to the house opened, and Lydia stepped out. Pinning her bonnet in place, she said, “Actually, I’m not allowed in the apothecary these days. David’s concerned about my health.”

  “Your health?”

  “It’s the quinsy. He’s worried an ill patient will come for medicine. He’s nearly locked me in the house.”

  “Does he think it’s a serious outbreak?”

  “He’s not greatly alarmed, but he’s had several calls from people who are scared they have it and some who do. I doubt we have much to worry ’bout, though.” She smiled and, placing a hand on Hannah’s back, steered her toward the door. “I’m starved. And it will be good to get out of the house.”