The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  The rush of tears surprised her as much as the breathlessness, which preceded the sweetest sensation stealing across her heart, something which felt a lot like …

  Peace.

  “Julia?” Thomas’s arm was around her. “Julia, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry—”

  “No—”

  “Sweetheart, please.” A note of desperation filled his voice. “I never meant to cause further pain.”

  He drew her close, the gush of emotion dampening his shirt, until finally her shuddery breaths allowed speech.

  “No, Thomas, it’s not you.” She lifted a tear-drenched face, saw the concern writ in his eyes. She exhaled. “I’m sorry I have held this against you, when it’s obvious I did not know all. I was angry and hurt, and allowed you to feel that—”

  “It was deserved.”

  “No, you did not deserve that. I have always been too headstrong, and followed my feelings rather than what is right.” She managed a broken smile. “And my feelings are all too susceptible to circumstances.”

  “As are everyone’s.” His face shadowed. “But I assure you, as far as Spain went, I had no feelings about her—”

  “Oh, I know! I believe you.”

  “You do?” His eyes lit with hope.

  “I heard you last night, when you talked in your sleep, you were begging her to stay away.” He winced. “And I knew you had no thought of her, not the way you think of …” Her cheeks heated.

  “Not the way I think of you. I could never think of anyone like I do you, Jewel of my heart. You were the promise that kept me alive back in Spain, up in Edinburgh. When I despaired, I thought of you, I remembered us, and wished to see you, to be here, like this, holding you, feeling like you loved me—”

  “I do love you. I’m so sorry for saying what I did yesterday. I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s forgiven.”

  She clasped his hands, well, one of them, they were so much bigger than hers. “I love you, Thomas.”

  “Really? Even despite … everything?”

  “Really.” She gave a smile of reassurance. “Truly.”

  Then his face was against hers, his arms around her, his lips pressed to hers. He whispered of his thankfulness, of his joy, of his love, of her beauty.

  She chuckled. Love was truly blind if he thought her reddened eyes and nose were beautiful.

  “My dearest, I’m sorry I did not believe you about little Charles.”

  What? Oh. “It must have been strange, I know. To suddenly see me with a little child you must have known could not be yours.”

  “You were right; Meggie had no further relatives I could find. So we will raise him, as our child, as she wished.” He hugged her close. “My kindhearted, courageous wife.”

  Except—she stiffened—not so courageous. God forgive me. She had to tell him about his child. She opened her mouth to speak—

  “Here you are!”

  Mother. Julia stifled the groan as her parent advanced into the room. She caught Thomas’s amusement as he gently disengaged his arms from around her, but grasped her hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

  “Well? What have you to say for yourself?”

  “Mother, please—”

  “No. I want to know what he’s been saying—” She stopped, peered closer at Julia. “He’s made you cry! Well, that’s it. I demand—”

  “No, Mother. Thomas has not made me cry.”

  “He has in the past!”

  Julia felt him stiffen. “But not today.” She squeezed his hand for reassurance, and eyed her mother. “God made me cry today.”

  Her mother blinked. “God?”

  “Well, not God so much as … as my recognition of my need for Him, and for God’s forgiveness.” The wonder of such grace rushed through her again, and it was another moment before she could speak. “I have held on to such things that have made me bitter, and caused me pain, and led me to make choices that hurt others for far too long.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry that some of those choices have hurt you.”

  “Oh! Well …” Mother glanced at Thomas, her features sharpening again.

  “But I am not sorry for marrying Thomas, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”

  “But he betrayed you!”

  “And Julia has forgiven me, Lady Harkness. I hope that one day you will, too.”

  She shook her head, her gaze fixing on Julia. “Tell me this isn’t true.”

  “It is. I love him. He has my forgiveness, just as I have God’s.”

  “You … you believe?” Thomas said, recapturing her attention.

  “Yes.” She smiled, as that peace once more filled her heart.

  Joy suffused his features, and he kissed her hand with fervor. “I’m so glad.”

  “I am, too.” With God’s help, perhaps their frayed marriage might have a chance to heal. Especially if …

  She turned back to her mother, eyeing them both narrowly. “Life is too short for estrangement, would you not agree?”

  Her mother flushed before muttering something in the affirmative.

  “If you do not show your support and cease from making accusations against my husband, then I’m afraid I will have to take what measures I must to preserve the happiness of myself, my husband, and our children.”

  “Our children?” Thomas echoed, puzzlement in his eyes.

  “Oh, so she hasn’t told you?”

  “Mother.” Julia pushed to her feet. “I need to speak with Thomas. Alone.”

  “Apparently you do!” And with a swish of skirts, Mother exited, in high dudgeon.

  Julia released a shaky breath.

  “Julia?”

  She turned. “Oh, Thomas, I should have told you. I was going to, then …” She shrugged helplessly.

  “Told me what?”

  “Charles will not be our only child.”

  He smiled. “You cannot know how much that thought gives me hope.” He pulled her down beside him, wrapped his arms around her, and leaned his cheek against her hair. “Are you saying you would like to try for an addition?”

  A chuckle escaped. “I would like to try, yes, but there is no need to try, if you take my meaning.”

  “Never tell me you have another friend who wishes you to adopt her child?”

  “No.” She placed a hand on her abdomen. “I’m saying that you will be a father.”

  He stared at her. “You are expecting?”

  She nodded.

  “How?”

  Heat scampered up her neck, across her cheeks. “The usual way.”

  “But when?”

  “That night you returned to London.”

  “I will truly be a father?”

  “Yes.” She sighed, snuggling close. “Is that not truly wonderful?”

  Truly wonderful. And truly humbling. And a little daunting.

  But he would be a good father, someone who not only would teach their children right from wrong but would demonstrate that with grace and love. And if—when—he failed, relying on a merciful God’s forgiveness would help, as would trusting in His guidance for their future. Lord, have mercy.

  The remainder of the afternoon passed in a kind of dream: Julia snuggled in his arms, Charles sleepily blowing bubbles as he glanced between them. They had talked, and prayed, and talked some more, until his heart felt as though it might burst. How merciful was God to allow such mercy to flow to him? Never had he expected these amazing revelations of love, shown through the offering of forgiveness and the promised gift of a child. Never had he expected God to answer his prayers for his wife quite so quickly. Such undeserved gifts were so very humbling, making him prone to a degree of weakness in his emotions to match that of his legs, feelings he sought to hide, conscious Lady Harkness already viewed him somewhat askance.

  For the first time in what seemed like forever he felt himself relax, as the peace infusing the room filled his heart. He glanced at the coppery curls of Charles, sleeping between them, gold lashes fa
nning the chubby cheeks, thumb stuck in his mouth. His heart tugged. Warmth filled his chest. Protectiveness surged within. So this is what it felt like to be a father. He couldn’t wait until his and Julia’s child was born.

  “I might return this sleepy boy to his room,” Julia said, as she moved to get up.

  “Here, let me.” He gathered the sleeping Charles in his arms, before remembering he was barely in a condition to walk, let alone carry another, baby though he might be. Still, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he struggled to get upright, he would prove himself—

  “Thank you, but you should rest,” Julia said, neatly scooping Charles away. “I’d prefer you to save your energies for later.”

  “Later?”

  “Later,” she said with a wink that made his heart beat faster.

  She carried Charles through the doors, and he slumped back against the cushions. In the absence of others he need finally not pretend to be stronger than he was, that the past days—or was it years?—of subterfuge and scurry had not taken their toll. It was really over. He closed his eyes. It was really over, wasn’t it? McKinley was yet to be discovered, and certain matters pertaining to their future—like the matter of a house—still remained to be resolved, but even in these things he felt a kind of certainty that God would somehow provide.

  “Ah.”

  His eyelids snapped open. Jon. Wearing an expression that could almost be called sympathetic. He pushed himself upright.

  “No, don’t bother,” Jon said, gesturing him to relax as he claimed a seat opposite. “I imagine you must be quite exhausted.”

  “Yes.” Thomas eyed him. Despite Jon’s earlier words at the dining table, he still remained uncertain as to what Julia’s brother really thought of him. He cleared his throat. “I hope you know how much I appreciate your forbearance in allowing me to stay.”

  Jon’s eyes narrowed. After a moment he said, “You are not being sarcastic.”

  “I know you do not like me and probably still wish me at the devil, so I really do appreciate you looking past your antipathy at this time.”

  Jon sighed. Shook his head.

  Thomas’s chest tightened. He wasn’t going to do such things?

  “I see now that I … I have not exactly behaved in a manner that was warranted.”

  After a moment of surprise, Thomas said, “Oh, I’m pretty sure it was.”

  A corner of Jon’s mouth lifted. “Regardless, I want you to know that I am sorry for the hard words I have spoken, and for my un-Christlike attitude that has brought division between us in recent years.”

  “I do not blame you. How can I?” His lips twisted wryly. “If Julia were my sister I would have done everything in my power to stop a rogue like me from absconding with her.”

  “But you are not a rogue anymore, are you?”

  “I …” A rush of emotion clamped his throat, surprising him into the need to blink away heated moisture. “I am trying to live a different way now, trying to trust God with my future.”

  “Trying is all any of us can do.”

  “Julia and I both have a lot to learn about doing things God’s way, but I sense His leading.”

  “Wait—are you telling me Julia believes?”

  Thomas nodded. “This afternoon. It seems God has been challenging her, too.”

  Jon’s eyes grew shiny. He swallowed, ducked his head, and drew in a long breath before exhaling slowly. “I … I thought my methods might have scared her from seeking truth, and to think it was you who helped her realize—” He broke off, cleared his throat, before adding gruffly, “Thank you, Hale.”

  Thomas savored his friend’s acknowledgment, before saying, “I think Catherine sowed more seeds than I did. She is a good woman.”

  “Yes.” Jon eyed him a moment longer, then reached out his hand. “Welcome to the family, Thomas Hale.”

  Stupid weak emotion forced him to clamp down on an unsteady lip as he shook his friend’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Jon exhaled heavily, then eased back against the sofa. “Well! This Christmas certainly has given us some wonderful surprises.”

  “That it has,” Thomas said, still dazed by his friend’s acceptance.

  “I know such a place,” Jon gestured to their surrounds, “is not exactly what my wife and mother envisaged as our locale for this season, but—”

  “’Tis better for everyone’s protection,” Thomas finished. “We shall have to pray that this sad business with McKinley is resolved soon.”

  “Indeed we shall. I cannot like thinking my family is in danger, no matter how many men Hawkesbury has employed to guard the place.”

  “McKinley is a weaselly cur, but I assure you, I would rather die than let him hurt anyone in my family.”

  Jon smiled. “I know.”

  THE REMAINDER OF the evening and the following Christmas morn passed as something beyond his dreams, the message at the Christmas Eve service and that of this morning touching his heart anew, humbling him with God’s grace, and the undeserved favor he received from his wife, Jon, and Catherine.

  Throughout the midday meal of roasted goose and sweetmeats, and the exchange of gifts that Jon had somehow forwarded on from London, Thomas had been aware of their efforts to include him, to make him feel part of a family the likes of which he’d never known. He had struggled at times with the fact he had nothing to offer—his lips twisted wryly, such seemed to be his way—but they had proved gracious as ever, Catherine even going so far as to slip him a wrapped parcel with whispered instructions to give it to Julia when the time drew near. Such thoughtfulness had proved a gift in itself, as Julia had exclaimed over the silk gloves and given him a kiss that held nothing of shame, conducted as it was in front of her family, and not stolen as one had been before under the mistletoe that graced the hall.

  Now, Lady Harkness having followed Jon and Catherine’s lead and retiring to her room, he and Julia had the drawing room to themselves, and could relax once more. Outside, snow padded softly against the window. Inside, the fireplace crackled with welcome warmth.

  He wrapped an arm around her. “Have you enjoyed today, Jewel?”

  Julia burrowed deeper into the space between his neck and chin, before placing the lightest of kisses on his neck. “It has been practically perfect.”

  “Practically?”

  “I am thankful my brother seems to have warmed towards you. His recent manner gives me hope. Now, if only my mother can see reason.”

  Another battle he would face, remembering the grace of God, remembering God said he was forgiven, even as he faced the opposition of others. He prayed a prayer for strength, for compassion to lace his words. “I cannot blame her. Letting go of hurts held for so long is very hard.” He tugged her closer. “But you have enjoyed today?”

  “I have enjoyed time with you all, and the food, and my gifts, but you know, there is only one thing that I want,” she whispered.

  “Really? What is that?” Anything. He’d give her anything.

  “I want us to be a family again. Somewhere without my mother’s or brother’s interference, somewhere like when we first were in Scotland, and felt so happy and free. Somewhere we can just be, without others watching, where we can talk without ears listening. I wish we had our own house somewhere.”

  Anything except that. His spirits plunged, his mind racing as he struggled to think of ways he could provide the one thing he knew she had always dreamed of. But as always, nothing came to mind. Heavenly Father … ?

  A thought pricked. No. That would be the last option. She would not wish to—he had no desire to. Such a thing would be so difficult, anyway. He sighed. But how many more options were left open to him?

  “You know, I have always wondered …”

  “Always wondered about what?” he murmured against her hair.

  “I’ve always wondered where you grew up.”

  He froze. Had she read his mind?

  Dear God, help me. Would the battles from his past ever ceas
e?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  BOXING DAY ARRIVED, a day normally set aside for the giving of boxed goods to the neighboring poor, a day when the feasting and celebrations of Christmas might culminate in a local ball. But here, in this unfamiliar part of the country, guarded as they were, they knew none of their neighbors, much less any of the poor, though the provisions brought from London had a sufficiency with which they could well afford to be generous.

  Still, Julia thought, there could be worse ways of spending time than with one’s family, with this new joy in her heart, a peace that underlay her thoughts and reminded her to trust God instead of worry. She glanced across the drawing room at her husband, still so frail and bruised, but the haggard look from three days ago had quite gone. Perhaps its disappearance was due to Jon’s acceptance, their reversion back to the genial tease of former days as welcome to Julia and Catherine as it puzzled Julia’s mother.

  This long-awaited improvement in relationships was so very pleasing, and helped combat the slight strain of unease she still sensed.

  “How much longer do you think Hawkesbury intends to keep us locked up as prisoners?”

  “We’re hardly prisoners, Mother,” Julia murmured.

  “I’m sure Lord Hawkesbury’s intention is to keep us safe until other matters are sorted.”

  “Hmph. Well, we would not be in this mess if it wasn’t for—” She cast Thomas an angry glare that would have quailed a lesser man. But—Julia noted with satisfaction—she had not married a lesser man, as evidenced by the fact that Thomas did not acknowledge the slight, his gaze remaining focused on little Charles.

  Her heart warmed anew. How wonderful it was to see him hold Charles, to see the equally dark gazes lock on each other as they engaged in something like silly baby babble, conducted in a low voice on Thomas’s side at least. How excellent a father he would be. Last night they had spoken more about the future, about his need to see his father and do what he could to bring a painful past to a healed resolution. About their need for a house of their own she had not pressed Thomas further, conscious that he would wish to provide rather than depend on the funds she felt sure Jon would now release to them. How could this resolve? What would he do for finances? The worries rose. She drew in a silent breath and exhaled. She would have to trust God for their future.