Enduring Love (18 page)

Hannah didn’t speak but waited to hear what else Margaret had to say.

“I’d like us to be friends. I admire you greatly for your stalwart support of John through all this. And I can see you’ve a kind spirit. No woman should have to experience what you have, and yet you’ve managed to do so with grace.”

Hannah was taken aback. She hadn’t expected kindness from Margaret. Also, she knew that inside she was none of the things Margaret had said. Self-reproach nagged at her.

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, and I quite agree we should maintain a good rapport. It will make life more pleasant for all of us.” Even though she spoke calmly and with grace, Hannah felt a tumult inside. She didn’t want to be friends with this woman.

“You can’t imagine how relieved I am to hear you say that.” Margaret smiled. “I want to give you something to show my high regard for you.” Margaret opened her reticule and took out a small gift box. She handed it to Hannah.

“That’s very kind of you, but not necessary.”

“It pleases me to give it to you.”

Hannah looked at the floral decoupage box. “It’s lovely.” She opened it and inside lay a delicate sachet. “How charming.” She lifted out the cloth packet, smelling its delicate sweet bouquet and wondering if this were a ploy of some kind.

Margaret smiled. “I picked the most fragrant flowers I could find and dried them myself.”

“Thank you.” Hannah settled the sachet in its box. She felt a flush of shame. Did she no longer trust anyone? She’d allowed the cruel rumors to tarnish her thinking. “I do hope we can be friends.”

Margaret’s dark eyes warmed. “I look forward to more visits, then.” She stood. “Now I’d best be on my way. I’m sure John is anxious to get home. There’s much to be done.”

Hannah followed her to the door. “Margaret . . . I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” She strolled toward the wagon, where John and Thomas already waited.

What an odd turn of events,
Hannah thought, glancing at the box in her hand, now more convinced than ever that Margaret was a decent person.
She’ll be good for John and for Thomas.
John assisted Margaret into the wagon, and against her will, a painful stab of loss pierced Hannah. Although she was convinced she could accept the change and Margaret, she also understood that she’d never stop loving John.

John clipped away the last of the wool from a distressed ewe and then set her free to scramble toward an outside pen. He straightened, pressing a hand against his aching lower back, and wiped sweat from his brow. “I could use a drink.”

“I’ll get ye some,” Thomas said, hurrying to a water barrel and scooping out a dipperful. He splashed water as he rushed back to his dad. Handing the ladle to John, he asked, “Can I have a hand at shearing?”

John downed the water and looked at the enthusiastic eleven-year-old. “You think you’re strong enough?”

“I am.”

John smiled. “I think you need a few years’ growth yet.”

“I’m strong for me age. Ye said so yerself.”

“True, and you are, but this work is for men. And I’ll not have you handling clippers.” He held up the ones he’d been using. “Your mother’d never forgive me if I sent you home minus a finger. Besides, I need your help with the wool. It takes a good eye to clear it of dirt and bugs.”

The light dimmed in Thomas’s blue eyes. “Next year, then?”

“We’ll see.” John clapped him on the back.

Thomas gathered up the wool at John’s feet and carried it to the sorting table.

Quincy joined him. “Nasty work, eh.”

“That it is.” Thomas looked through the white thicket of wool, picking out most of the filth.

“I’d say it’s time for a rest and some food.” Quincy glanced at John. “Yer dad looks done in.”

“You’re right there,” John said. “I could do with a break.”

Margaret stepped into the shed. “I’ve got lunch set out. You best come and eat before the flies get to it.” She wrinkled up her nose. “It stinks to the rafters in here.”

“What else would you expect with a barnful of sheep?” John grinned.

Margaret moved to him. “You’re working too hard. You should rest.”

She put an arm about his waist, and John fought the impulse to pull away. He wasn’t used to the familiarity.
She’s your wife,
man. And she needs more from you, more than you’ve offered
her.
He gave her a quick sideways hug. “You’d better keep your distance. I’m filthy.”

Margaret eyed him. “You are at that.” She stepped back and turned to watch some of the helpers. They were grubby and sweating, each with a bawling ewe pinned against them or against the floor and their clippers steadily cutting away heavy wool coats. “This is too much,” Margaret said. “The noise and smell . . . how does one manage?”

“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.”