Enduring Love (22 page)

“That I am,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He closed his eyes and fell into a restful sleep.

Hannah put an arm around John’s shoulders and helped him sit up. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Your fever broke only this morning. I’d hate for you to overtax yourself.”

“I can’t bear this bed another minute.” He eased his legs over the side, leaning heavily against Hannah. He grabbed hold of the headboard. “I’m a bit unsteady yet.” He took several deep breaths. “Give me a moment, the room is spinning.”

“You’ve been abed for five days with nothing to eat and barely enough to drink to keep a body alive. I can hardly believe you’re even attempting to get out of bed.”

“I’ll just sit here a moment. Can I have more water? I’ve a thirst that can’t be satisfied.”

Hannah gave him a glass of water, and he drank it down.

Holding the empty glass, he said, “Oh, that tastes good.”

Hannah set the glass on the bed stand. This was unbelievable. Only yesterday, she’d feared he would die. “I thank the Lord you’ve rallied, but you’d best be careful so not to relapse.”

“I’ve things to do. And I’ll never regain my strength if I stay in this bed.”

“Do you think you can make it to the chair?”

He nodded and scooted to the edge of the mattress. As John pushed to his feet, Hannah braced him by pushing her shoulder under his arm. He wobbled, but managed to maintain his balance.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

With a nod, John rested his weight on Hannah and took a step. “I think the porch is a fine place to rest.”

The porch?
Inwardly Hannah chided John but knew better than to scold him. He wouldn’t hear it anyway.

John looked at the window. “I want to smell fresh air—the heated fields and the gum trees.”

“Are you certain you can make it? If you were to fall . . .”

“I’ll not fall.” He straightened slightly and took another step and then another. Sweat beaded up on his face.

By the time John reached the porch chair, he leaned heavily on Hannah and made a huffing sound with each breath. Hannah worried he’d done too much.

“Do you need a blanket?” She helped him sit.

“In this heat?” He smiled. “Now you’re being silly.” His gaze went to the field and then to the river. “I wondered if I’d ever see it again.”

Hannah rested a hand on his shoulder, unable to speak, her words choked off by emotion. John grasped her hand. Although knowing it was inappropriate, Hannah let her hand remain in his. Just for the moment it would be all right; for the moment they need not ignore their love. They’d survived a tempest together. This was a time to rejoice together.

Finally, Hannah released his hand. “I’ll see to your bedding. It badly needs changing.”

John caught hold of her arm. “Wait.”

His grip was surprisingly firm. Hannah felt her heart quicken. She moved so that she stood in front of him, but was unable to meet his eyes. “John, it’s—”

“Hush.” He pressed the back of her fingers to his lips.

Hannah didn’t have the will to extract her hand.

“Dear Hannah, thank you. Without you, I would have died. You put your life in jeopardy for me.”

She found the courage to look at him. His expression was tender, his eyes filled with love. For a moment she was swept away.
Please, don’t look at me like that.

As matter-of-factly as possible, she said, “Someone had to take care of you. Poor Quincy was beside himself. He had no idea what to do.”

John grinned. “I much prefer your nursing over his.”

Hannah smiled. “He’s the one who went for the doctor . . . after Margaret left.”

A question touched John’s eyes. “And then he got you.” He took her other hand and pulled her closer. “I’m convinced I would have died if you hadn’t come.”

“I did what I could, God did the rest. You should thank him for your life.”

“And I do.”

A buggy rolled up the drive. It was Lydia.

Hannah snatched her hand back and stepped away from John.

Lydia stopped in front of the porch and quickly climbed down from the buggy. “John? I declare, I can hardly believe what I’m seeing! David said you were terribly sick.”

“I was, but this morning I woke up nearly feeling like a real person.” John’s voice trembled, and he sounded breathless, but he managed a smile.

“I convinced him to let me come for a visit as long as I stayed outdoors.” She glanced at her abdomen and rested her hands there. “He wants me to be especially careful now, with a little one on the way.”

“As you should be. To do otherwise would be a sin.”

His statement assailed Hannah. She’d had those same thoughts before coming to care for John, but . . .
I had no choice.
Did God see it as a sin, or had it been an act of faithful obedience? She chose to believe the latter.

“Hannah, David told me you were here. How kind of you to help John.”

“I did what anyone would have.” The topic of her presence here made Hannah uncomfortable. It really wasn’t her place. She glanced at John. Her time here had only strengthened her love for him.
Perhaps I should have asked someone else to stay
with him. This was a mistake.
Now she’d have to return to the Athertons’ and learn to live without him once more.

“I suppose I’ll be returning to the Athertons’ in a day or two. Of course if Margaret comes home, I won’t be needed.”

“Margaret?” Lydia huffed. “Where is she? Shouldn’t she be here now, caring for her husband?” She leveled green eyes on John. “Why hasn’t she returned from Sydney Town?”

John shook his head. “I can’t be sure. I supposed she’s unaware of my condition.”

“Unaware?” Lydia folded her arms over her chest and tossed a glance at the road. “I think not. Word was sent. She knows full well you’ve been ill. What kind of wife deserts her husband when she’s most needed?”

“Lydia,” John’s voice was sharp, “I’ll not have you speak of her in such a tone.”

“I don’t mean to offend, but someone must speak their mind. It just as well be me.”

Hannah was surprised at her friend’s outburst. It was a bit much even for Lydia.

“I’m sure she has good reason for not returning,” John said.

“And has it occurred to you that she might also have fallen ill? I’ve been more concerned than anything else. I’ve been hoping to hear of her situation.”

Lydia’s eyes remained heated. “I’d also be interested to know how she’s passed the time these last days.” Her lips tightened into a line. “I suppose it’s possible she’s ill. But then I’d expect we would have heard something.”

“Perhaps,” John said tersely.

Lydia leaned against the porch railing, her expression softening. “I don’t mean to be harsh, but sometimes my ire gets up and . . . well, ye know I tend to speak my mind.”

“I know.” John managed a smile. “No harm done. But please give poor Margaret the benefit of the doubt.”

Lydia held out a basket. “I brought soup, fresh bread, and peach jam. Thought ye might like some when ye were feeling better, which it seems ye are.” She moved up the steps, setting the basket on the table.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” John lifted the cloth protecting the contents of the basket and peered inside. “Thank you. I’m hungry. And I think my throat will accommodate a meal.” He smiled and sat back, looking weary and pallid.

“I’d invite you in,” Hannah said, “but as you said, you don’t dare, not yet. The house will need a good scrubbing.”

John looked up at Hannah. “You go along and have a visit. It’s time you did something other than look after me.”

Lydia eyed John and then Hannah. A knowing smile played at her lips. Hannah didn’t like it. She knew Lydia could see the love between them.

“John, would you like to eat first?” she asked.

“I can manage on my own, thank you. I think I’ll try the bread and preserves.”

“Well, let me get you a knife and spoon, then.” Hannah quickly retrieved the items, and then she and Lydia started down the steps. “I’ll be close if you need me.” She turned and looked at him. She’d not let him out of her sight for days, and now it didn’t feel right to leave him on his own. What if he were to relapse suddenly? “Are you sure there’s nothing you need?”

“I’m fine right here in the shade where I can look out over the farm. It’s good to be outdoors.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It smells good too, like roasting chestnuts.”

“That’s the sun cooking the fields,” Lydia teased. “Ye better be praying for rain.”

“It will come. I have no doubt.” Peace emanated from John. Hannah understood. When death comes close, life is more precious.
And when love is lost, one holds it more dear.

She moved down the steps and linked arms with Lydia. They strolled toward the river. “I’m glad you came. I’ve needed you.”

“Ye look a bit done in. And John, I can see he’s been through an ordeal.”

Hannah took in an uneven breath. “For a time, I thought he would die.” She glanced back at the house. “He’s lost to me, but I’m grateful for his life.”

Lydia placed a hand over Hannah’s. “I can see that ye still love each other. My heart breaks for ye both.” Her eyes turned hard and she squared her jaw. “Margaret doesn’t deserve him.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t matter, not really. She’s his wife.”

“A loving wife would have been here to take care for her husband.”

“We’ve no reason to doubt her love. There are a number of reasons that would explain her absence. We ought to be praying for her. Especially if she’s ill. I’ve seen how dreadful this disease is.” She shuddered. “It’s horrid.”

“I’ve word she’s fine and in the company of a man named Weston Douglas.”

“Who told you such a thing?”

“People come in and out of the store—they talk.”

“I thought David had banned you from the apothecary and his office.”

“That’s true. But he hired a woman to oversee when he’s gone. She’s friendly with people and she hears a lot.”

“It’s just gossip and you shouldn’t listen,” Hannah said, although her own curiosity was piqued. Was there something behind the rumor?

Lydia steered Hannah toward a tree at the river bank. “Mrs. Stevens came in to get medicine for her husband’s gout, and she said that a man who works for them had seen Margaret.”

“And what does he know about her?” Hannah didn’t know why she was defending the woman, except that she couldn’t bear to discover that she was deceitful. John had suffered too much already. It could devastate him.

“Word gets out ’bout people. She’s new here, and I’ll admit a bit striking in appearance, and there’s always talk ’bout a newcomer. Plus everyone knows what happened to ye and John because of her.”

“I daresay, people are quick to gossip and such talk can’t be trusted. Did this man see Margaret with this Mr. Douglas?”

“Indeed he did. And he said they seemed quite friendly toward each other.”

Against her will, suspicion grew in Hannah. What if Margaret was unfaithful to John? But why would she do such a thing? John was noble and handsome, and he owned a fine piece of property. She turned to Lydia and challenged, “If Margaret doesn’t love John, then why would she travel all the way from England? I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“People don’t always have reasons for the things they do, we’ve lived long enough to know that.” Lydia’s eyes glinted with mischief. “If she is up to no good, I’d like to see her get what’s coming to her.”

“Lydia. You’ve decided she’s guilty of some sort of evil, when you’ve no idea if anything you’ve heard is true or not. If she was seen with a Mr. Douglas, there’s no reason to assume she’s done something wrong. He could be a business acquaintance.”

Lydia threw her arms down, slapping the side of her skirt. “Why won’t you believe any of this? I’d think you’d be glad for it. If she’s straying, that would be grounds for divorce. And then you and John could—”

“No. I will not wish heartache on John so that I can be happy.” Feeling abysmal, Hannah moved to a gum tree and leaned against its smooth bark. It felt cool in the heat. “He’s suffered enough, as have I.”

Lydia plucked a stem of dried grass and, standing beside Hannah, pressed her back to the tree. She stared at the slow-moving river. “I don’t want John hurt, but I do want life to be fair to him and to you. And it’s not been.” She turned her green eyes on Hannah. “I’ve watched ye be strong and noble. And I’ve admired ye for being so, but that doesn’t make any of this right. And what if Margaret is up to no good . . . if she escapes the consequences of her misdeeds, it will only cause more injury.” She twirled the dry grass between her fingers. “And I’ve had some worries . . . that she might even wish some kind of harm toward John.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know that she’s done anything, but what if she’s come for reasons we know nothing about?”

“Lydia, you can’t throw out accusations with no basis.”

Lydia was quiet for a long moment. “I just have a feeling is all.” She shrugged. “I think she’s wicked.”

“Until there’s proof of wrongdoing, it’s falderal. And I won’t bring more hardship to John or Margaret because of a feeling and a few gossips.” Without looking at Lydia, she added, “I’m not unhappy. Thomas and I have a fine life.”