by Bonnie Leon
After placing the bit in the mare’s mouth and settling the bridle over her face and ears, she draped the blanket across her back and then hurried to get the saddle. It was heavy, but Hannah managed to lug it from the tack room to the stall and then hefted it onto Claire’s back. She hooked the left stirrup over the saddle horn, and then, winded, she leaned against the horse to rest. She could feel her child kicking its protest at so much activity. Knowing she’d been pushing herself harder than she ought, she pressed a hand to her abdomen. Was she risking this child’s life? Closing her eyes in prayer, she beseeched God, Please help me, Father. I must find John. Don’t let any harm come to this baby. Taking a deep breath, she straightened. Everything will work out fine. I’m not alone.
Pressing against Claire’s side, she pulled the cinch tight, then dropped the stirrup back in place. She led the mare to the barn door and peered out, afraid she’d see Margaret driving up the lane. How much time before she returned? How would she ever find John and get back without being discovered? She knew Lydia planned to extend the visit as long as possible, but even Lydia had her limits. Please, friend, work your wonders and keep her busy a good long while.
After making sure Claire had a drink from the trough, Hannah pushed into the saddle, more easily than she’d expected, and nearly toppled off the other side. It had been too long since she’d ridden. Adrenaline hummed through her. With no thought to whether her skirts looked decent or not, she set out. Her mind was on John. Where would he most likely be?
Lord, tell me where to go, she prayed, her eyes roaming over nearby pastures and hillsides. Where are you, John? Where?
The stock pens lay to the west. He might be there. She turned Claire in that direction and gave her a gentle kick, holding the reins loosely. The horse was ready to go and with a flick of her tail loped off, finally settling into an easy rhythmic gallop.
The minutes passed, but Hannah saw no one. Where are you?
Soon Claire was in a lather and Hannah’s skin and clothing were wet with perspiration. The sun’s heat cooked the earth and every living thing on it. Hannah soon realized she’d made a terrible mistake. She’d seen to watering the horses but had overlooked her own needs. She’d forgotten to bring water. With each passing minute, she felt hotter and her thirst intensified. Her head throbbed and she longed for something cooling. Still, she continued on.
Even though the urgency to find John had not diminished, Hannah knew she must slow to a walk. She couldn’t risk damaging Claire or even killing her by pushing too hard.
In the distance, she thought she saw something through the haze. Two men worked at a stock pen. Oh, let it be them! In the rising heat waves they were only shadows, but who else could it be?
With a click of her tongue, Hannah leaned forward in the saddle and Claire stepped into a lope. As she approached the men, Hannah could see it wasn’t John and Quincy. She didn’t recognize them. They looked like they could be prisoners, with their tattered clothing and suspicious gaze. Why had John hired such impoverished men? Could she trust them?
They might know where John is. She gently kicked Claire and moved forward, fear feeling like prickles of cold in the heat. What if they were escaped prisoners? She kept moving. She had to know if they’d seen John. She studied them, looking to see if they had weapons.
As she approached, the men stopped their work and watched her approach. Neither of them spoke. Alarm clanging in her mind, she moved toward them.
When she was only a few yards from them, she reined in Claire. Her mouth nearly too dry to speak, she said, “I . . . I’m looking for John Bradshaw. Have you seen him?”
The shorter of the two asked, “John Bradshaw?” He tipped his hat up. “Don’t think I’ve met him.”
“What about Quincy? Have you seen him?”
“Quincy.” The man nodded and his posture relaxed. “Yeah.”
Hannah was encouraged.“So, you’ve seen him,” she said, her voice laced with anticipation. He didn’t reply. “Quincy, you’ve seen him, then? Where?”
The other man spoke up. “He put us to work and then rode off.”
“Do you know where he was going?”
“Said he had to check on a mob of sheep up that way.” He pointed to the north. “Figured he’d be back by now.” He wiped his shirtsleeve across his wet forehead.
Hannah felt jubilant. At least she knew what direction to head. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t know if I’d take off in this heat, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying. It’s real hot.”
“Thank you for your concern. I could use something to drink.”
“Wish we had something. But we finished off the last of our water awhile ago.”
Hannah brushed aside disappointment. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She turned Claire toward the north and rode on.
Although she knew what direction to head, the open landscape was frighteningly empty. Hannah glanced at the sun, hoping it would help her keep her bearings and continue in the right direction. I’ll come upon him soon, she told herself, trying to quiet her uneasiness.
Her thoughts turned to Margaret’s betrayal. How will I tell John? She could imagine what she’d see in his eyes—another wound to tear him down. Margaret must have no heart, she thought, hatred for the woman burning like a hot coal in the pit of her stomach. She was so convincing.
Hannah contemplated what she’d say to Margaret when she had the opportunity. In her mind, she could see how she would approach her and exactly what she would say. Resentment and rage flamed, becoming more powerful as the image took hold. It would be gratifying to tell her what she thought. I won’t harm her, Lord, but I need to speak my mind.
The truth of God’s Word penetrated Hannah’s loathing. She understood that when bitterness was allowed to fester, it could become a vicious and devastating disease of the heart. She knew she should forgive Margaret and Douglas. But for now she relished the hatred and held onto it and wondered what Margaret might be capable of if she’d planned her own husband’s murder.
Thomas! The little boy’s trusting face came to Hannah’s mind. Was he in danger? If Margaret didn’t love John, how must she feel about Thomas?
Like a fire out of control, fury burned hot in Hannah. It raced through her. She’d tried to be kind; she’d accepted Margaret and had graciously given the woman what she thought was her rightful place at John’s side. And she’d fought against hatred, but now . . . now she had reason. This is righteous anger, she told herself. Even God allows righteous anger.
The sun’s heat grew more intense, but Hannah kept searching. Each acacia, each gum tree beckoned her to seek refuge in the shade of its limbs, but she forced herself to continue. Her mouth and throat were so dry that each time she swallowed it felt as if dust coated her throat. The pounding in her head grew worse, but she dare not stop.
Hannah stared at burnt fields with rising waves of heat dancing above the cooking grasses. Show me where he is, she prayed. Help me find him. Please.
She kept moving, wondering if she was still heading in the right direction. Was she lost?
A new kind of fear set in. Would she perish on the empty grasslands? No one knew she was here.
Water. If only I had a bit of water. Verses from Psalm 42 meandered through her mind. “As the deer pants for the water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.”
Hannah closed her eyes. Had she ever sought God as intensely as she now longed for water? No. Until now she’d not fully understood the magnitude of the image of thirsting for God.
Forgive me, Father. She smiled. And now that I understand the meaning of the Scripture more clearly, please show me a way to safety.
Her head pounding and feeling faint, she stopped and patted Claire’s neck. “I haven’t done us in, have I? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get us lost.”
It was then that she saw a dust cloud in the distance. Could it be a mob of sheep? Perhaps John was there. With re
newed hope, she moved toward it.
Soon she heard the bleating of sheep and watched as bundles of moving wool appeared from the cloud. In the midst was a man on horseback. “John! Thank the Lord!”
She hurried toward him, but it wasn’t John. It was Quincy. Was John with him? She peered through the dust and dirt, hoping to see him, but he wasn’t there. Disappointment washed over Hannah, but only for a moment. At least she’d found someone. She and Claire wouldn’t perish, not today anyway.
Quincy cantered toward her. “Hannah, what are ye doing all the way out here?” he asked, hauling back on the reins. “Ye look done in. Ye’ve had too much sun.” He climbed down from his horse, lifted a flask that had been draped over the saddle horn, and opened it. “Here, ye best have a drink.”
Hannah took a big gulp, then another.
“Not too much, now. Ye’ll make yerself sick.” Quincy took the canteen. “Let me help ye down.” He draped the flask over his shoulder and assisted Hannah from her horse. “Ye come out ’ere with no water? Ye daft?”
“Evidently so,” she answered, then explained, “I was so distraught that I forgot. I didn’t think of it.”
Nearly overcome by the heat, she swayed and kept hold of Quincy’s hand. “Thank you. I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d not found you.”
“’Ere, let’s get ye out of the sun.” Quincy held her arm and guided her toward a lone acacia.
Still hanging onto his hand, Hannah sat and leaned against the rough bark of the tree. “Thank you. I’m obliged.” She closed her eyes, savoring the relative coolness of the shade.
Quincy gave her horse a drink, then sat across from Hannah. He lifted off his hat, and swiped back damp hair. “Now, tell me why yer out ’ere by yerself. It’s a foolish thing to do.”
“I know that now, but I thought John might be with you.”
“Ye came all the way out ’ere looking for John?”
“Yes. I must speak to him. I’ve discovered something, something horrible.” She pointed at the horse. “In the pack . . . there are documents.” Her voice cracked.
Quincy offered her another drink and she took it, the wetness soothing her parched throat.
“What papers could be so important that ye couldn’t wait ’til he got back?”
“Where is he?”
“Sydney Town.”
“Sydney Town?”
“Don’t look so panicked. He’ll be back tomorrow. Ye can talk with him then.” Quincy eyed Hannah. “What is it? Ye look scared out of yer wits.”
“They’re going to kill him.”
“Who?”
“Margaret and that Mr. Douglas.”
“Weston Douglas?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Never met him. But that’s who John went to see.”
22
The world spun, and Hannah thought she might be sick.
“Hannah, ye all right? Yer white as a ghost.”
Fighting nausea, she tried to focus on Quincy. “We’ve got to find John! They’re going to kill him! They might . . .” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh Lord, they might have done something already.” Saying it out loud made the reality all the more horrifying. What if John was already dead? Stop thinking like that! He’s fine. He’s fine.
“John left a couple of hours ago. Said he had errands in Parramatta and then he’d be heading for Sydney Town. Yer saying Margaret and this Mr. Douglas want to kill him? Why?”
“They want his money.”
“What? He’s got little of that.”
“No. That’s not true. John’s wealthy. And he doesn’t even know it yet. That’s what I was saying about the documents. I found them in Margaret’s room. It’s a will from his uncle who died. He gave John everything. From what I can see of the property listed, he was an extremely wealthy man.”
“Why would Margaret want to kill him? She’s his wife. She’ll share in the prosperity.”
“Yes, but she’s in love with Weston Douglas, or it seems she is. They want the money for themselves.”
Understanding dawned in Quincy’s eyes. “Lord, no. Yer sure?”
“I am.” Hannah pushed to her feet. The world tipped, and she pressed a hand against the tree. “Did he say why he was seeing Mr. Douglas?”
“No, just something about legal papers—for Margaret, something to do with her family inheritance. I think he was going to sign some documents.”
“They’re going to kill him. I know it.” Hannah’s head throbbed. She couldn’t think clearly. She moved toward Claire. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to tell him. Before he . . .” Hannah swallowed, unable to say more. Lord, save him. Please save him.
“Calm down, Hannah. I’m sure John’s fine.” Concern furrowed his brow. “I’ll go after him. And see that he’s all right. We’ll sort this out.”
Hannah nodded, but her heart still battered beneath her ribs.
“I might be able to catch him on the road—depends on how long he was in Parramatta. He wanted to make it into Sydney Town before the sun set, so I figure he’s got a good head start.”
“I’m going with you.” Hannah grabbed hold of the saddle horn, shoved her foot into the stirrup, and pushed herself up and into the saddle. “We can’t wait a moment longer. He could be heading straight into trouble.”
“I’ll go. You stay with Lydia. I can ride faster alone.”
“I can keep up, don’t you worry about that.” Tears burned. “And I have to go. John will need me. When he hears . . .” She blinked back the tears. “How will he abide more treachery?”
“Figure if what ye say is true, he’ll be glad to be rid of her.” “Maybe so.” Hannah felt a spark of hope. Perhaps John would see it as a reprieve rather than betrayal.
“I left the Athertons’ buggy behind the barn at the house. Margaret will see it when she returns. She’s probably there already. She’ll know that we know.”
“We’ll think of something.” Quincy climbed into the saddle and turned his horse toward the house. He glanced at Hannah. “We’ll say ye came for the mare. Margaret won’t take that news well.” He grinned.
“Does she ride?”
“Almost never. But I figure knowing that ye’ve got something she sees as hers will get under her skin. I’ll be glad to see that.”
“Will she believe you?”
“Don’t see why not. And what does it matter? Even if she suspects something, she’s got no place to go. She’s not going to set off for Sydney Town on her own. And where can she go that the law can’t find her?” He picked up his pace. “Right now, all we need think ’bout is finding John before he meets up with Douglas. And I’ll be happy to deal with that man.”
Urgency pushed Hannah. All thoughts of the heat forgotten, she leaned forward and gave Claire her head. Help us find him, Lord. Give us wings like eagles that we might run and not grow weary.
When they approached the house, Hannah saw that Margaret had returned. She’d left her buggy next to the house at the front steps, allowing the horses to bake in the sun. She has no consideration for anyone or anything. Her stomach tightened. She hated the woman. I’ll not be able to hide it from her. She’ll see. “So, we’ll tell her I came for the mare and that I wanted to speak to John about it?”
“Right. But let me talk to her,” said Quincy. “It could be fun.” He grinned, a gleam in his eye.
“Gladly,” Hannah said. “I’m too angry. And I’m sure I’ll say something to give us away.” She took a deep breath and tried to relax tight muscles, but she felt as tense as a drawn bow. “She deserves what she gets.”
“That she does. But for now, we’ll have to hold our tongues, eh?”
As they approached, Margaret stepped onto the porch. Arms folded over her chest, she waited, unable to disguise her rancor. Coolly she assessed them. Gone was her friendly smile.
Her eyes settled on Hannah. “I’ve been wondering just where you’d gone to. I saw the buggy. When I looked about, you were nowhere t
o be found.” She looked at the mare. “And I see you’re riding Claire. What was so urgent you couldn’t wait for me or John?” Margaret’s nostrils flared slightly.
“She didn’t mean to worry ye,” Quincy said. “She’s been longing for her mare and came to see if she might take her back to the Athertons’ with her. When she found no one home, she figured a ride would do her and the mare good, and then it was just natural to look for John. After all, she’d have to ask him if she could take the animal.”
“The horse doesn’t belong to her. It’s mine. She has no right to it.”
“Well now, I’m not sure that’s quite right.” Quincy nudged his hat up slightly. “John gave the horse to Hannah. I figure Claire belongs to her.”
Margaret clenched her jaw. “Well, we’ll have to ask John about that . . . when he returns.”
There was something in her eyes that alarmed Hannah. Margaret didn’t expect John to return. When Margaret looked at her, Hannah met the brazen gaze with one of her own, unable to keep her anger completely in check.
“Hannah wants to take the horse to the Athertons’ and I think she should.”
“No. Not until she speaks to John.”
Quincy pushed up in the stirrups. “She has a right to her. And I know John would agree.”
Margaret’s lips became a tight line. “That animal belongs to this farm. And I shan’t have someone . . .” Momentarily she seemed lost for words. “I shan’t have someone coming up here and taking whatever they wish.”
Margaret eyed Hannah, her look suspicious. “Strange you’d come today and then go looking for John in this heat.”
Fury boiled inside Hannah so intensely she feared she’d erupt. “I had the day off,” she said tersely.
“Well, look at the poor animal. You’ve nearly run her to death. Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”
Quincy quickly replied, “The horses wanted to run, so we gave them their head. I expect poor Claire’s tired of being locked in the barn.”