Enduring Love (10 page)

Margaret smiled, her eyes alight with devilishness. “I remember a time when you knew exactly what to do.” She pressed her lips to the palm of his hand.

John felt old passions flair. He had loved her, once. Was it possible to reclaim that love? Hannah’s gentle smile and warm brown eyes cut through the thought. He took back his hand. “We can’t create love.”

“Of course not, but it was ours once.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Margaret’s eyes welled up. “All the more reason to give ourselves time to rediscover it.” She pushed her plate aside and rested her arms on the table. “I’d hoped being here together would spark some of the old feelings.” Her expression hardened. “It seems you’ve set me aside.”

“Margaret . . .” John stopped to collect his thoughts. He didn’t want to misspeak. “I remember when we first met—our love, indeed, was fervent. But in time, that changed. I don’t recall you having any passionate loyalty or love for me—I remember you going into the city too often, where you spent time with your friends. And I remember your extravagant expenditures in the London shops. I’m not familiar with this new domesticity. And . . . if I’m to be honest . . . it’s a change I don’t completely trust.” He met her gaze, hoping to see what really lay behind Margaret’s dark eyes. “Have you someone else? And if so, would you be agreeable to . . . divorce? That way you’d be free to marry anyone of your choice. You’re a handsome woman. I’m sure there is a goodly number of gents hoping for your attention.”

“Divorce?” She pressed a hand to her throat. “How can you ask that, after what I’ve told you? I don’t want anyone else—only you. There never has been anyone but you.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “How can you hand me off so easily?” She stood. “This is impossible.”

“Margaret, please.” John pushed to his feet. “I don’t want to hurt you, but these matters must be discussed. The idea of divorce is no reflection upon you. I just needed to make sure you weren’t hoping for your freedom.”

“If that’s what you wish for us, then so be it.” She sniffled and tried to quiet a quivering chin. “However, I doubt the governor would grant a divorce in any case.”

Flustered, John didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry. It’s not my intention to cause you grief.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

Taking the handkerchief, Margaret patted her eyes and face. “When I thought I’d lost you, all I could think about was how to find you again. I wanted to be with you.”

“As you’ve seen, life in Parramatta is nothing like London. There are no fine shops or restaurants, no debutante balls or visiting royalty.”

“I don’t want any of those things. I just want you. Why can’t you believe me?”

“It’s not easily done. I believed something else for so long.” “That’s not my fault.” She blew softly into the handkerchief. “We must find a way.”

John nodded. He didn’t want to hurt her more. And if what she said was true, he would do the right thing.

Margaret glanced at his plate. “Have you finished?”

John looked at his partially eaten meal. He wasn’t hungry but didn’t want to risk offending Margaret further. “This is too delicious to let even one bite go to waste.” He returned to his place at the table.

Margaret managed a smile and sat back down.

John cut off a bite of carrot and put it in his mouth. “This is quite good.”

“Thank you. I believe it’s the art of patience that makes the difference.” She took a sip of wine. “You sure you wouldn’t like a bit of wine? It’s not the finest, but it is tasty.”

“I suppose a bit wouldn’t hurt.”

Margaret fetched another glass, filled it, and handed it to him. She set the bottle on the table. “I understand you have a farm not far from here.”

“Yes. It’s small but growing.”

She smiled. “I can barely imagine you a farmer.”

“It’s not farming exactly, although we do have a garden and other stock. Raising sheep is something altogether different from farming.”

Margaret sipped her wine. The red of it nearly matched the color of her lips, reminding John of the passionate moments they’d once shared.

“What plans do you have for the estate?”

“It’s not an estate by any measure, but I’ll continue to increase the flock, which will mean more wool to sell. I’ve also been making tools for chaps ’round about, but I’ll do less of that. I suppose I’ll keep after it for a while, though.”

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 the 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.”