To Love Anew (25 page)

Reverend Taylor stood at the door where he greeted parishioners. When Mr. and Mrs. Atherton approached, he grasped Mr. Atherton’s hand. “William. Catharine. Good morning. Fine day, isn’t it?”

“That it is,” Mr. Atherton said. “A fine day for church.” He smiled. “Always look forward to your sermons, Reverend.”

Mrs. Atherton extended her gloved hand to the minister. “We could do with a bit of sunshine. There’s been far too much rain.”

“I’ll be glad for summer.” The minister smiled. “Always did enjoy the heat.”

The Athertons stepped through the front door of the church.

Hannah and Lydia approached the reverend. He smiled at them both. “Welcome. Good to see you again, Hannah.”

“I’m pleased to be here, Reverend. And eager to hear what you have to share with us today.” Hannah turned to Lydia. “May I introduce my good friend, Lydia Madoc. She’s just come to work for the Athertons.”

“Welcome.” He smiled warmly.

“It’s a pleasure,” Lydia said, doing a little dip as if meeting royalty.

Reverend Taylor laughed. “None of that is necessary here.”

As Hannah moved inside, Lottie spotted her. She ran up the aisle and hugged Hannah about the waist.

“Good morning, luv.”

“Good morning.” She smiled up at Hannah.

“I so enjoyed our picnic. Perhaps you can come to my house one day soon.” Hannah turned to Lydia. “You remember Lydia, don’t you?”

“Course I do. Grand to see ye. How’d ye come to be ’ere?”

“Mrs. Atherton has put me to work as a housemaid.”

“How grand.” Lottie smiled broadly. “Ye look right elegant.”

“Thank you. So do you.” Lydia squatted and gave Lottie a hug. “It’s wonderful to see ye again.” She held her at arm’s length. “I swear ye’ve grown six inches since I last saw ye.”

“Really? Ye think so?”

“I do. And ye look well. Ye happy?”

“Oh yes. Me new mum and dad are fine people.” She glanced at them. They’d already found seats. “I better go.” She hugged Lydia and Hannah once more and then skipped toward the front of the church, red curls bouncing.

“I can hardly believe my eyes,” Lydia whispered. “She looks like a different child—healthy, her skin all rosy.”

“Good food and love can do wonders. I could barely believe it when I saw her last week. I’m grateful to the Parnells for all they’ve done.”

Still thinking about how grand it was to actually be neighbors with Lottie, Hannah walked down the center aisle. She liked being in church. It was small and unadorned, nothing like the elaborate churches in London. The sanctuary was divided into two sections of wooden pews, and the floors were made of cedar planks that had been polished to a high sheen. They gleamed beneath morning sunlight spilling in through the windows. White walls made the room look bright.

As a hush settled over the congregation, Hannah sat in a pew near the back of the sanctuary. If she’d wanted, she could join the Athertons, but it seemed bold of a servant to do so. To be allowed to worship here was enough.

As often happened on Sundays, Hannah was troubled by doubts and questions. She’d been accepted by these people; why didn’t she feel God’s acceptance?
He knows my secrets. They do not,
she decided.
If they knew, they would be appalled.

Mrs. Sullivan, a frail young woman, moved to the piano. She played for all the services. Her fingers moved lithely over the keys. Occasionally she would glance at the front row where her husband and four children sat; she’d smile and return to the music.

When the last chord was played, Reverend Taylor stepped to the front of the church and led the congregation in singing a hymn. Hannah enjoyed worship. The music had the power to carry her above her troubles. She looked at Lydia. Her green eyes shown with delight, and she smiled as she sang.
Thank you, Lord, for Lydia.

The song ended and Hannah glanced at John. He looked her way and smiled, devotion in his eyes. She turned her attention to the minister. She mustn’t encourage his attentions. Yet her mind stayed with him, wishing things could be different between them. When she allowed herself the freedom to dream, it was always John she imagined as her husband.

Reverend Taylor leaned on the lectern. The gesture was so like Judge Walker’s the day he’d falsely accused Hannah that a flash of fear and loathing exploded inside her. She worked hard to focus on what the minister was saying.

He’s not Judge Walker
, she told herself.

The reverend was a small man with gray hair and blue eyes. His face was deeply lined, especially around his eyes and mouth. Hannah thought it must be because he smiled a lot. He was dedicated to the Scriptures and severe in his personal disciplines of God’s Word, yet he always seemed friendly and benevolent.

The minister looked out over the congregation. “Motherhood.” He said the word as if it were a statement. “How often do we diminish the value of mothers? We all have mothers, or have had. None of us would be here otherwise.” He smiled. “And wasn’t it our mothers who cooed over us as infants, who loved and cared for us through fevers and injuries? Weren’t they our first spiritual teachers?”

Hannah thought of her mother. She missed her so badly. If only she could talk to her and tell her that all was well.
Perhaps she knows.

“Mothers deserve our gratitude and our thanks,” the reverend continued. “Our Lord had a mother. We speak of our heavenly Father, and so we should. But what of our Lord’s mother?”

He glanced down at his Bible. “When the angel Gabriel came to Mary and told her she would bear a son, the Savior of the world, she accepted God’s calling without question. And she knew it could cost her life.”

Condemnation buried Hannah. Feeling as if she were suffocating in it, she looked at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. A groan thundered deep inside her. She’d not thanked God for her child. She’d rejected it and prayed for its death.
Lord, forgive me. I’m wicked beyond comprehension.

“You mothers and fathers must never take lightly the gift of your children,” Reverend Taylor continued. “The Lord has plainly said children are a blessing from God. And I say amen to that.” He seemed to look directly at Hannah.

She felt a sudden panic under his gaze. Did he know? Could he see her heart? Her palms were wet. She felt flushed. The room was stifling hot. She needed air. She needed to get out.

The morning that she lost the child rushed back at Hannah. She could hear the sound of the bucket lid closing and Lydia walking up the steps. The darkness, the fetid odor was all around her.

I should have wanted it. I should have loved it.

Feeling as if she might faint, she gripped the pew in front of her. “I . . . I’m not feeling well,” she whispered to Lydia. “I’m going home.” She stood, made her way to the aisle, and then rushed to the back of the church. She stepped outside so quickly she nearly fell onto the porch. Hurrying down the steps, she headed for the road.

“Forgive me. Forgive me,” she cried as she stumbled toward home.

“Hannah,” someone called.

She looked over her shoulder.
John. I can’t speak to him
.
Not now.
She kept moving.

“Hannah,” he called again.

She heard his steps as he ran to catch up to her. She kept walking. Wiping away tears, she tried to compose herself.

When he caught up to her, he asked, “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Please, leave me alone. I’m going home.”

“What is it? Are you all right?”

“I’m not feeling well.”

“Then all the more reason I should accompany you.” He gently grasped her arm. “You’re not ill. It’s something else.”

“Leave me be. I can’t talk about it.” Hannah kept walking. “I’m quite all right. Go back to church.”

“I can’t do that.” His voice was tender. “It’s not safe for a woman to be on the road alone.”

“Fine then, but please don’t speak.”

They walked for a long while, silently. The only sound was the soft buzzing of insects and an occasional call of a bird.

“Why can’t you tell me what’s troubling you?” John finally asked. “Perhaps it will help to speak of it.”

“No. It won’t.” Hannah stopped abruptly and faced him. “Why are you here? I don’t want your company.”

“I’m worried about you. You’re distressed.”

“Yes. I am. And when I’m troubled, I prefer to be alone.”

Hurt touched his eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have bothered you. But I’ll not let you walk alone. I’ll stay behind where you can’t see me.”

Hannah stared at him. Why did he insist on being so gallant? She’d given him no cause. And she certainly didn’t deserve it.

“Go on ahead,” he urged. “I’ll follow.”

Hannah’s resolve collapsed. It would be ridiculous to make him follow behind her. “No. It’s all right. You can walk with me.” She moved on, only more slowly. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Quite all right.”

Hannah felt drained of energy. All she could think of was lying on her bed, closing her eyes, and seeking refuge in sleep.

“So, can you tell me what it is that’s bothering you?” John inquired gently.

Hannah didn’t answer for a long moment and then she said, “Honestly, John, I would if I could. But it’s not possible. There are some things best left unsaid.”

“And then there are things that must be said.” John stopped walking.

Hannah kept moving until she realized he’d stopped. Turning to look at him, she asked, “What is it?”

“I must tell you how I feel.”

Hannah was terrified at what he might say. “I think it best we talk about it another time.”

“Now is a good time.” John moved toward her. He was broad shouldered and several inches taller than Hannah. When he looked down on her, she felt enveloped by him. His expression was tender, and she felt passion and need sweep over her.

“When I first saw you . . . I knew.”

Hannah turned her head. She wanted to hear but didn’t dare.

“I love you, Hannah.” He took her hands in his. “I want to marry you.”

Hannah wanted to love him. She did love him.

Staring at her hands, she longed to let him love her, to look after her, to hold her. She looked up at him. Somehow she managed to remain calm. “John, you’re a fine man. But . . . I don’t love you. I’ll never love you. Not that way. Please don’t love me.” She gently extricated her hands, turned, and walked away.

Hannah managed to hold back her tears until she reached the cottage. There, she closed the door and pressed her back against it. And sobbed.

21

A quiet rapping sounded at Hannah’s door. She’d cried until she was empty, and now she didn’t want to speak to anyone. Ignoring the noise, she rolled onto her side and pulled her blanket over her.
They’ll go away.
The knocking came again. Hannah tried to ignore it, but when she heard it again, she decided that whoever it was wouldn’t leave without speaking to her.

“All right, then,” she said, sitting up and dropping her feet to the floor. She stood, glanced in the bureau mirror, tidied her hair, and wiped away remnants of tears. She smoothed her dress as she walked to the door.

Opening it, she was surprised to see Mrs. Atherton. She managed a smile. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Quite all right, dear. I was concerned about you. Are you ill?”

Hannah did her best to look cheery. “I’m quite all right now. I apologize for leaving church so abruptly. I didn’t mean to cause you concern.” Hannah knew she ought to invite Mrs. Atherton in, but she didn’t have the energy to play hostess or to cope with questions.

“That’s all I really needed to know. I was just worried about you.” Mrs. Atherton lingered.

Not wanting to appear rude, especially toward her mistress, Hannah asked, “Would you like to come in for tea? There’s some left from this morning. It’s been on the stove so it may still be hot.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Hannah stood aside and opened the door. Mrs. Atherton stepped in. Appearing a bit hesitant, she stood for a moment just inside, then moved to the small table in the kitchen and sat.

Hannah retrieved two cups and saucers and filled the cups with tea. “You do take sugar, don’t you?”

“Yes. A small piece.” Mrs. Atherton picked up a book lying on the table. “You’ve been doing some reading?”

Hannah glanced at the book. “Just poetry. It’s a collection by Katharine Philips.”

“I quite like her.” Mrs. Atherton turned the book over in her hands. “Her writing is lovely—refined and straightforward.”

“I enjoy poetry. I hope you don’t mind; I got it from your library. Elvine said it would be all right.”

“Oh yes. You may borrow any books you like.”

Hannah set the cup and saucer on the table in front of Mrs. Atherton. “Thank you. I shall.”

Setting down the book, Mrs. Atherton picked up her cup. She sipped the warm beverage. “John was quite worried about you today. He said you were rather in a state.”

“He was overly concerned. I’m quite all right. Really.”

Mrs. Atherton settled a gentle look on Hannah. “When our burdens are heavy, it often helps to share them with someone. I can assure you there isn’t much I haven’t heard. Since I came to live in this part of the world I’ve listened to many tragic stories, especially from the women in the prisons.”

Hannah longed to release some of her burden, but she feared Mrs. Atherton would be scandalized and reject her. She might even send her back to the factory. She said nothing for a long moment. Dare she speak the truth? “My heart is wicked, mum.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re a dear.” She smiled gently. “Perhaps your misfortune isn’t so terrible as you imagine.”

“I’m not who you think I am. I’ve done unspeakable evil.”

Mrs. Atherton waited patiently, quietly.

“Lydia doesn’t even know the entire truth.” Hannah’s tears were very near the surface. She couldn’t speak as she fought to manage her emotions. She gazed at her tea. It was the color of amber. Looking up, she met Mrs. Atherton’s eyes and said softly, “I can’t speak of it.”

“Of course. I’d never presume that you must. But I can assure you I’ll not say a word to anyone.”

“Certainly, but I’m afraid you’ll loathe me when you know the truth.”