Longings of the Heart (10 page)

“I know God’s forgiven me for what I did.”

“What ye did?”

“The baby and all of that.” Hannah pressed the palms of her hands together. “But sometimes, even though we’re forgiven, there are penalties to be paid. I’m afraid God’s decided not to bless me with children. He gave me a child once, and I wanted it to die.”

“God knows our hearts. Ye were in trying circumstances, living in torment. I don’t believe for a moment he’s punishing you.” She gently held Hannah’s shoulders. “Having a baby doesn’t always happen right away. Why, there’s a woman I know in Sydney Town who waited three years before she and her husband had their first. And now they’ve four.”

“Really?” Hannah felt a glimmer of hope. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to quell her fear and heartache. “I’m so afraid. Every month I wait and I pray, but each month there’s no baby. Why would I conceive a child with Mr. Walker when . . . it was only that one time? And it was so brutal, so awful.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes it happens like that.” Lydia folded her arms over her chest. “Have ye told John ’bout the rape and the baby?”

“No. I can’t tell him. He’d never forgive me for keeping such a secret.” Hannah set out flatware. “And now that there are no babies . . . he’ll know it’s my fault.”

“I thought ye would have said something by now.” Lydia set a hard gaze on Hannah. “Yer not honoring him. He’s a better man than ye give him credit for. Ye’ve been dishonest with John and it’s time he knew the truth.”

“I can’t. And it’s not that I don’t honor him. I do.”

“Ye married him under false pretenses, Hannah. Ye didn’t trust him.” Lydia softened her tone. “John loves ye. When ye tell him, he might be a bit angry at first, but he’ll come ’round.”

Hannah tried to envision what it would be like to confess to John. She could see the disappointment and revulsion in his eyes. She couldn’t bear that. “I’m afraid.”

“Tell him. He’s yer mate. He’ll support ye.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

Hannah wanted to believe Lydia. John was kind and he loved her. Did she dare speak up?

“All right. I’ll tell him. But I’ll have to wait for the proper time.”

7

Hannah did her best to stuff her petticoat and skirts into stirrup stockings John had purchased for her. They were the most uncomfortable and most unattractive thing she’d ever worn. Barely managing to get her skirts inside the unwieldly, thigh-high leggings, she looked at John. “Must I? They’re hideous and awkward.”

“I’m sorry, luv, but I won’t have my wife riding astride without them. There’s decency to be considered.” John studied the loose-fitting stockings. They were two yards wide at the top and truly ungainly looking. He tried not to smile.

“I shan’t wear them. They’re antiquated and unnecessary.”

“You’ll stay home, then. It’s improper for a lady to ride astride without some type of covering.”

“Where did you find these?”

John grinned. “A fellow I know in Sydney Town had them in his storeroom.”

“They must have belonged to his mother.” Hannah’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

John had no doubts about Hannah’s decency, but he couldn’t allow people to talk. He rubbed his chin and tried to think of a way to convince her of the appropriateness of wearing the garments. “I admire your riding ability and your desire to help drive our flock of sheep home. And it will be splendid sharing your company. But I won’t have you disgraced.”

Hannah took in a deep breath. “All right, then. I’ll wear them, but under protest. You know as well as I that they’re utterly ridiculous.”

Quincy moved his horse closer. “It might be better if you rode sidesaddle.” He didn’t look directly at Hannah, but kept his eyes on the reins in her hands.

“That’s nearly as ridiculous. For a woman to balance herself atop a horse in such a fashion puts her life in jeopardy. And even if I were so inclined, we’ve no money for another saddle. It’s only because of Mr. Atherton’s generosity that I have this mare.”

Quincy simply offered her a nod and rode down the drive toward the road.

John watched Quincy’s back and then turned to Hannah. “You sounded a bit shrewish. He didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. But . . .” She looked down at her garments and threw her arms wide. “These are so disconcerting. I couldn’t restrain my frustration.” Looking defeated, she added, “I’ll apologize to him.”

“Good. We better be off. The Langtons’ estate isn’t too distant, but if we dally we’ll not make it home before nightfall.” He glanced at the musket in his saddle holster and for a moment rested a hand on his pistol. He hoped there’d be no need to use either.

“Is it dangerous to be traveling?” Hannah’s voice was laced with apprehension.

“No more than usual. But it’s wise to be prepared.”

“I heard Aborigines attacked a family west of here.”

“They did, but there was no loss of life.”

Hannah pulled the reins tighter, and the horse tossed her head in an unhappy response. “That’s true, but it could have been much worse.”

John knew there was reason to worry, but he didn’t want Hannah troubled. “There is always danger; no life is free of it. But all I expect today is an uneventful and pleasant ride with my wife and a successful outcome as we guide a contented flock of sheep home.”

A gust of wind whistled across bare ground and whipped debris into the air and up beneath the eaves of the house. John studied a gray sky. “Smells like rain. Might get wet before the day’s through.”

“We need rain, but I hope it holds off until we get home.”

“Right.” John kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and trotted after Quincy. Hannah followed.

By the time John, Hannah, and Quincy approached the Langtons’ home, rain had started to fall in large droplets. Undisturbed by the moisture, John pulled back on the reins and stopped. Leaning on the saddle horn, he admired the house and outbuildings. “Fine property. Large home.”

“Not as big as the Athertons’. ” Hannah pulled her horse up beside John’s.

“No. But I’d say they’ve done quite well for themselves.” John let his eyes roam from one barn to another and to a row of three cottages and a work shed. He nodded at a large, long building. “That’s the shearing barn. We’ll be needing one soon.” He pulled his hat down in front, shading himself from the increasing rain. “Charles has done well for himself. And he only began five years ago.” He glanced at Hannah. “With a bit of luck, in a few years, we’ll have a grand place like this.” Feeling the swell of ambition, he moved forward.

Charles Langton, a stocky, redheaded man, stood beside a small stock pen crowded with bleating, jostling sheep. He was known for his good business mind and hard work. Two little boys who looked just like him darted from the house and joined their father. Standing on either side of him, they leaned against the fence in the same way Charles did, with one arm resting on a railing.

John looked over the sheep as he rode up to the stock pen, then turned his attention on Mr. Langton. “Good day to you,” he said, dismounting. He extended a hand in greeting.

Charles Langton shook John’s hand heartily. “Good day. And a fine one it is too. This rain means better grazing.”

“It doesn’t appear we’ll have a deluge.” John turned to Hannah and assisted her from the horse. She managed, but in a clumsy fashion because of the stirrup stockings. Once on the ground, Hannah nodded at Mr. Langton and awkwardly removed the protective leggings.

Charles remained straight-faced, but a smile hid behind his eyes.

Free of the ungainly garments, Hannah straightened her spine and pushed back her shoulders. “Good day, Mr. Langton. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Bradshaw. You’re looking well. Have you come along to assist your husband?”

“I have, indeed.”

John nodded toward Quincy. “You know my man Quincy?”

“That I do.” Charles smiled and touched the brim of his hat. “Good to see you.”

Quincy nodded.

Charles rested a hand on each of his son’s heads. “My sons— Ryan and Lewis. Ryan’s the younger one here, just six.” He mussed his hair. “And Lewis is two years older.”

“Nice-looking lads.”

“They’re good boys.” Mr. Langton turned to face the pen. “Well, this is the lot of them. They’re fine Merinos. They’ll give you quality lambs and superior wool.”

John leaned on the fence and studied the animals. His eyes moved from one to another, searching for defects. “Mind if I have a closer look?”

“Go on ahead. You’ll find them all in good condition.”

With Quincy beside him, John stepped inside the pen. They moved among the sheep, studying each and checking for disease or faults. Finally John turned to Charles. “They look fine, indeed. I’m surprised you’re willing to part with them.”

“Need to do some thinning out. I can only handle so many.” Langton opened the gate for John and Quincy.

John reached inside his coat and lifted out a leather purse heavy with coins. “The amount we agreed upon.” He set the coin purse in Charles’s hand. “You may count it if you like.”

“No need.” He grinned. “But if you’ve shorted me, I’ll know where to find you.” He laughed. “Have ye a dog?”

“No. But I’ve been thinking I’ll be needing one.”

Langton eyed the sheep. “It’ll be tough driving them home without one. I’ve got a dog I can throw into the deal. He’s young, but he’s smart and good with the sheep.”

“That would be fine by me.”

“Good then. His name’s Jackson. I’ll introduce ye after lunch. That is, if ye’d care to share a meal with me and my family before ye drive this mob of mutton home.”

John glanced at Hannah who gave an affirmative nod. “Sounds grand.”

Rain came down in a soaking drizzle as John, Hannah, and Quincy headed toward home. The sheep ambled along while Jackson, a long-haired, black dog, skillfully padded along beside the flock. He nipped and barked as needed to keep the animals in place and moving forward.

“It was good of Charles to include Jackson.” John watched the dog. “He’s clever.”

“Lucky for us he’s got a new litter of pups.”

“And he’s got another five working dogs,” Quincy added.

Hannah leaned forward slightly and pulled up on the stirrup stockings. “Having a good dog will be of great help.”

Jackson seemed well acquainted with the sheep. He knew which ones to watch out for, and some of the ewes obviously disliked him and took every opportunity to kick or butt at him.

Water rolled down Hannah’s hat and dripped onto her face. She’d been waiting for the right time to tell John about Judge Walker and the baby. He seemed in a fine mood. This might be as good a time as any. She studied John, and her stomach tightened at the thought.

John smiled at her. “You’re good and wet.”

“This hat is almost of no help,” she said, eyeing the sheep. “Even they’re having difficulty.” Water didn’t penetrate their dense wool coats, but it did manage to get into their eyes and noses. “I ought to have a wool coat, eh? Or a wool hat.”

She chewed on her lower lip and considered speaking to John. It had been such a good day. She hated to spoil it.
I’ll
wait. It’s not quite right yet.

The wetness and cool temperatures had penetrated Hannah’s coat. She was cold and longed for the warmth of her home.