Enduring Love (4 page)

John didn’t hurry the team as the wagon moved through Parramatta. Hannah felt as if she were part of a funeral procession. David and Lydia stood in the doorway of the apothecary and nodded encouragement as they passed. Mrs. Atherton stepped out of the mercantile and lifted a hand in a small wave. “All will be well. Have faith.”

Hannah wanted to believe her, but she knew it would take more than human determination. This difficulty required a miracle.

The closer they came to the rectory, the more she trembled. The quaking moved from her insides to her limbs and then to her lips. She couldn’t keep her hands still in her lap and noticed that even John moved the traces from one hand to the other again and again.

He slapped the reins. “Thomas said he’d see to the stock. He’s a good lad.”

“That he is.” Hannah could still see the dread in Thomas’s eyes as they’d driven off. With Jackson at his side, he’d stood on the veranda, gripping the railing until they’d moved out of sight. All morning he’d peppered Hannah and John with questions. But they had no adequate answers, nothing to offer comfort or hope, only more questions.

“I’m afraid for him,” Hannah said. “He’s already been through so much—losing his sister and his mum and dad. Although we’ve become his family, something like this could destroy him. Don’t you remember how hard it was on the poor lad when he came to us?”

“He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“John, he’s terrified. I could see it in his eyes and in his manner. And he’s a right to be.”

“We don’t know that. I’m sure the reverend will have good news for us.” John turned the horses off the main road and onto the drive that led to the rectory. In the shade of a large gum tree he pulled the team to a stop. After setting the brake and tying off the reins, he climbed down and offered Hannah a hand. “I’ll just give the animals a drink before we go in. It’s a bit hot and they’re likely thirsty. I’d hoped for cooler weather by now, but it seems summer will stay for a while longer.”

Why is he prattling on over the mundane? Our life is over.
He won’t allow himself to see the truth.
She watched John dip a bucket into a water trough, then lift it out. “I remember March in London. When the winter cold lifted, it felt like a time of renewal, the earliest flowers would be up and the grasses turned a vibrant green.” She missed the beauty, more now than she could remember since leaving.

Glancing about, her eyes and her spirit took in the thirsty trees, drooping bushes, and grasses burned to a pale brown. Everything seemed dead. It suited the way she felt. What if John was wrong and they had no future together?
I couldn’t
bear it
. She closed her eyes.
Lord, give me strength
.
Offer us a
merciful solution
.

John carried the bucket to the horses and gave each a drink, then set the bucket back in its place beside the trough. He moved to Hannah and took her arm. “You ready, then?”

“No.”

John offered a reassuring smile, gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and then guided her toward the rectory.

Reverend Taylor stepped onto a small porch. He smiled warmly, but his eyes were troubled. “I’ve been expecting you.” He gripped John’s hand. “Welcome.” Nodding at Hannah, he added, “It’s grand to see you.” His tone turned grim. “If only it were under more pleasant circumstances.” He stood aside, opening the door wide.

Hannah had been in the reverend’s house only once before. Nothing had changed. It was still sparsely furnished and spotlessly clean. The only thing cluttered was a desk piled with books and papers. Hannah knew that must be the place where he composed his sermons.

“Please, sit,” he said. “Can I offer you some refreshment? It’s a bit warm today.”

“Water would be nice.” Hannah’s mouth had gone dry.

“I’m quite all right,” John said.

She settled on a settee with John beside her. They held each other’s hands tightly.

The reverend returned from the kitchen carrying a glass of water. “I brought it up from the spring just a bit ago, so it’s still cool.” He gave it to Hannah, then sat in a cushioned chair opposite the settee.

Hannah sipped the water. “It’s quite refreshing, thank you.”

The reverend smiled and ran a hand over the fabric on the arm of the chair. “Only piece of furniture I brought with me from London. It belonged to my mum. It’s all I have left of her, except memories, of course. This was her chair. When she told stories, she’d sit here and gather me and my brothers onto her lap.” He patted the arm. “Good memories.”

He puffed out a small breath and set serious blue eyes on Hannah and then John. “Perhaps we ought to pray before we begin, eh?” He bowed his head. “Our Father in heaven, we thank thee for thy presence and for thy consolation. We ask thee to give us an extra measure of comfort in these troubled times. And might thee bestow upon us wisdom and strength greater than our own as we sort out this plight. Help us to trust in thy holy and judicious sovereignty, always remembering that there is nothing that touches our lives that thee has not allowed. We thank thee for thy love and for thy mercy—in thy Son’s name we pray. Amen.”

He looked up. “Now then, tell me what’s happened. I’ve only heard rumors.”

“I suppose there are a lot of those floating about,” John said, taking a stab at levity.

“You tell him,” Hannah said.

John released Hannah’s hand and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “As you know, I’ve been married before, while living in London. After my arrest, I learned that my wife Margaret and my cousin Henry had betrayed me. My understanding was that they’d run off together and then stolen my property. And later I was told Margaret had died. I left London believing myself to be a widower.”

“I do recall hearing about that. Wasn’t Henry caught in a swindle here in Sydney Town?”

“Yes. He was.”

“He’s in prison?”

“Newcastle.”

“And as I understand, you had a hand in his capture?”

“That’s right.”

The reverend nodded. “All right, now what’s happened?”

“Hannah and I were in Sydney Town for a short holiday with friends when Margaret approached me.”

The reverend sat back. “That must have been quite a shock, eh?”

“Yes, and more.” John cleared his throat and glanced at Hannah. “It was and it is devastating for us both.”

Hannah could feel the staggering blow of the meeting as if it had just occurred.

“What happened then?” The reverend pressed his palms together and steepled his fingers.

“Margaret asked to meet with me, and so I went to the boardinghouse where she’s staying. She explained that she’d never left willingly with Henry, but that he’d taken her prisoner, and soon after, she became gravely ill. He left her, took my properties, and disappeared.” John leaned back, resting an arm on the settee. “By that time I’d been transported.”

The reverend nodded. “And why has she come here now?”

“She says she loves me and wants to be reunited.”

Tears blurred Hannah’s vision. How had her dream come to this?

“Before you were imprisoned, had she ever been disloyal or corrupt in any way?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

“And her only reason for coming now is to reconcile?”

“That’s what she says.” John glanced at Hannah. “I don’t know that I trust her completely, but she certainly couldn’t be out for financial gain. The farm is doing well, but we’re still just getting on our feet.”

“What gives you cause to doubt her now?”

“Nothing, really. But I’ve thought for so long that she betrayed me, and it’s hard to believe anything else.”

The reverend nodded thoughtfully. “And why didn’t she write all this time? That would seem the customary and easiest way of contacting you.”

“According to Margaret, she did write but didn’t get a reply.” John shrugged. “I didn’t receive any word from her.”

The reverend cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose that’s so unusual, prisoners often don’t get their mail.”

A hush spread through the room like a dark vapor.

“Have you any reason to disbelieve her?”

“I don’t know. At first I thought her a liar. Now I’m not sure what I believe. When I saw my cousin, he never mentioned Margaret.”

“Yes, of course. But your cousin would have had no reason to tell the truth in this instance. That would have implicated him in another serious crime.”

Hannah held her glass with both hands and could feel the coolness of the water. She sipped but could barely swallow past the tightness in her throat.

The reverend leaned forward in the chair. “What is it you’d like to do?”

“I was hoping to get a decree of divorce . . . after all, I’m married to Hannah.”

With a nod, the reverend looked at Hannah. “And you, are you in agreement?”

Hannah didn’t know how to answer. She wanted this all to go away; a divorce could make that happen. But what would God think of such an action? “I love John and can’t imagine life without him. But I have a fear of the Lord. In my understanding of Scripture, God does not take marriage lightly . . . nor should we. I don’t know what’s right.”

“What’s right is for us to remain married.” John stood. “Hannah and I
are
married. Tell her, Reverend.” When the minister didn’t answer immediately, John continued, sounding desperate. “You know we are. We stood at the front of your church and vowed to cherish and to love one another until our last breath. You presided over our vows.”

“Yes, John, I remember. Calm yourself. Please, sit.” The minister kept his tone soft and steady. “I’m certain that when you took your vows, you gave them in earnest, on that matter we have no differences.” He straightened. “I’ve never married. Years ago I chose to devote my life to God only. But I can imagine the anguish you both must feel.” He rested his arms on his thighs and leaned toward John and Hannah.

“As I understand God’s Word, it seems clear to me that he sees divorce as a grave sin. And allows it only under the strictest of circumstances . . . none of which you’ve described to me. That is, as long as Margaret is speaking the truth.”

Hannah steeled herself against what he would say next. She wished it were possible to close out his voice.

He continued, his expression mournful. “The church cannot sanction divorce under these circumstances.”

Hannah thought her heart might stop. She’d known what to expect, but to actually hear the words from the reverend’s mouth was more dreadful than she’d imagined. She looked at John—the truth penetrating her soul like a stake being driven into her heart.

“What are we to do?” John demanded. “I can’t be married to two women at once.”

His forehead furrowed, the reverend studied his hands, then looked at John and Hannah, his expression firm. “When you said your vows, John, you were already married, which means those vows are not binding.”

4

With her hands clasped tightly in her lap, Hannah sat on the wagon seat and tried not to think. John kept his eyes forward, his jaw set. Neither spoke as the wagon rolled homeward, rattling over fissures and cavities in the dry road.

Raucous calls of rosellas and cockatoos fractured the stagnant, humid air. Hannah barely noticed the discordant songs. Her mind kept repeating the reverend’s words,
Your vows are
not binding . . . not binding.
She would lose John. The idea sucked the breath from her. How was it possible?

She could see Thomas’s sweet, trusting face as they’d left the station that morning. She’d promised him all would be well.

Hannah stared through a haze of unshed tears. When Thomas had come to live with her and John months before, life had already betrayed him. How would he survive yet another injustice? The sting of tears burned and she swallowed past the tightness in her throat.
Lord, what will become of him?

They turned onto the drive leading to the house. Hannah fidgeted, and John rested a steadying hand over hers. “It will be all right.”

“No, it won’t. It can’t be. Nothing will ever be right again.” John stared at her and said nothing.

“You speak as if you believe, but your words are empty, John. There’s nothing to be done.”

“We’ll find a way.”

Hannah wished he’d stop pretending. It only made her feel worse. Her eyes moved to their home. She remembered the morning when their friends and neighbors had shown up with materials and with willing arms and backs to lend. In days the house had risen from the dirt. The ache in her chest became sharper. It had all been for naught.

Thomas stepped onto the porch, jumped to the ground, and ran toward them. How could she tell him that, once again, his life was about to be torn asunder? And that the home and family he’d grown to love would exist no more.

Blond curls fell onto a furrowed brow. “Mum? Dad?” He gazed up at them, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

Jackson loped toward them, his tongue hanging and tail waving.

John climbed down, gave Jackson a pat, and then assisted Hannah. She couldn’t look at Thomas. He’d know. John rested a hand on the boy’s head for a moment, then without a word, he walked toward the barn, his steps heavy.

Thomas stared after him, then looked at Hannah. “Mum?” She forced herself to look at him. What could she say?

“What’s happened? Tell me.” His voice was strident, demanding.

Hannah gently squeezed his shoulder. “We don’t know for certain.” She watched John slide open the barn door and disappear inside. Why had he left this to her?

“What did Reverend Taylor say? Ye told me things would be all right.”

Hannah kept her eyes on the barn.

“What did he say?”

She glanced at Thomas and then stared at the house, needing to avoid his gaze. “He said . . .” She could barely believe the reverend’s counsel; how could she repeat it? “He told us that your father and I aren’t . . . married . . . that Margaret is his wife.”

“No. That can’t be. Ye had a wedding. Yer married . . . and . . . and . . .” He balled his hands into fists, and tears washed into his eyes. “It’s not true. Reverend Taylor’s wrong. Talk to someone else.”

Jackson trotted up to Thomas and nuzzled his hand. Silent tears spilled onto the boy’s cheeks, and his chin quivered. Ignoring the dog, he shoved the toe of his boot into the dry earth. Feeling as if her heart would break, Hannah bent and pulled the boy close. If only there were a way to restore his life, his hope—her life and her hope.