Longings of the Heart (4 page)

Deidre brushed white-blonde hair off one cheek. “I’m thankful to be rid of that place.”

“Norfolk prison, you mean?” Hannah asked.

“Yes. I was there two years. It’s a dreadful place.”

“I’ve heard it’s appalling.”

“That it is.” Harshness flashed across Deidre’s face, but quickly vanished. She turned to Mrs. Atherton. “I’m thankful ye’ve allowed me to come to work for ye. Ye’ve rescued me from what I’m certain would have been a terrible end. I’ll do a fine job for ye.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. Grace Williams recommended you and I trust her judgment implicitly.” Mrs. Atherton turned toward Hannah. “Deidre, this is Hannah Bradshaw. She was our housekeeper until she married this fine gentleman, John Bradshaw.”

Deidre offered Hannah a cursory nod and then reached out to John and took his hand. “It’s a pleasure.” Her voice changed, reminding Hannah of bells in a soft breeze.

“John manages our machine shop and oversees quite a lot of the business for my husband.”

“Welcome,” John said. “I’m sure you’ll be happy here. The Athertons are fine people.”

“I can see that.”

Hannah bristled at Deidre’s notably sweet tone and overly friendly manner toward John. She didn’t like her.

“Sadly, John and Hannah won’t be living here much longer. They’re planning to move to a place of their own.”

John disengaged his hand. “Figured I’d have a go at my own farm.”

“Sounds like a grand idea.” Deidre’s eyes remained on John. “I hope ye do well.”

“God willing, we shall.” John smiled.

Hannah thought his smile a bit too broad.

“There’s a piece of land just north of here. I’m going to have a look at it this afternoon.”

“Once you’ve moved, William and I will miss having you here. But we’re delighted you’re making a new start. I’m confident this venture will be a success.” Mrs. Atherton glanced at the new housemaid. “Well, Deidre and I have some things to discuss, and I’ve promised to show her around. She’ll start working with Lydia right away.” She placed a hand on Deidre’s back, and the two moved past Hannah and John, strolling toward the garden.

Trepidation felt like a strap tightening around Hannah’s chest. Shaking loose the sensation, she looped an arm through John’s, and the two walked toward the barn. “I wish I could go with you.”

“And I’d value your presence, but Murphy Connor is the one who put me on to the property, and he’s an Irishman who believes women should stay at home.” He grasped Hannah’s hand. “If I think it’s the place for us, I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

“All right.”

John looked more closely at Hannah. “Is something troubling you?”

Hannah clasped John’s hand and stopped, facing him. “I know we’ve planned and dreamed of building a place of our own, but I must admit to feeling a bit frightened. I know the area and it’s quite isolated. Most anything could happen—snakebite, or a raid by the Aborigines. And there are escaped criminals about. I don’t know that I’ll feel at ease there on my own.”

“Hannah, I had no idea. But you need not worry. I’ll be there. I’d die before I let anyone harm you.” He caressed her upper arms. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Very few of the farmers have had trouble.”

“I know. And I believe this is the right thing to do, but I still can’t help but be a bit anxious.” Sorry that she’d said anything to dampen John’s spirits, she assured him, “Don’t worry about me and my qualms. I’m positive I’ll feel fine once we’re settled.”

Gently, he kissed her forehead. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Leaving behind the morning light, John and Hannah stepped into the barn where the heavy smell of hay and manure greeted them. He led the way to a stall in the back. “It sounds like fine land. Connor said it borders the river and that it isn’t too far from the township. And he said there’s good grazing.”

Hannah rested a hand on the stall gate. “I can scarcely imagine what it will be like to live on a place of our own. Two months ago we were prisoners with no prospects at all.” She leaned against John, hugging him with one arm.

He gave her a squeeze. “God has been gracious.” He grabbed a halter from a hook on the wall, opened the stall, and stepped inside. “There you go, boy,” he said, moving to a chestnut gelding. John patted the animal’s neck and then slid the halter over his head, gently tucking its ears through the straps. He quickly saddled the horse and led it out of the barn.

As they emerged, Mrs. Atherton and Deidre walked across the lawn toward the back door of the main house. Hannah studied the new employee. Something about her left Hannah feeling unsettled. “What did you think of the new housemaid?”

John glanced at Mrs. Atherton and Deidre. “She seems pleasant enough.”

“She’s quite handsome.”

“That she is.” John looked at Hannah. “By your tone, I’d say you’re not pleased with that.”

“She’s comely enough, but that’s not what troubles me. There’s something about her . . . something not quite right.”

“Whatever could be wrong? I’m sure Mrs. Atherton wouldn’t bring someone into the house who’s not to be trusted.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Hannah watched until the women disappeared inside the house. Her disquiet remained.

“I’d better be off if I’m to get back before dark.” John kissed Hannah. “Look for me before dinner.”

She rested a hand on his arm. “Do be careful. There was another attack on a family a few days ago.”

“I know. I’ve got my pistol.” John patted the firearm he wore at his side. “I doubt the Aborigines are concerned with a lone rider. They’re more interested in keeping farmers from building on the land. I’m sure they see us as a blight.”

“What’s happening to them does seem a bit unfair.” Hannah gazed up the road. “But what’s to be done about it?”

“In time, I hope whites and blacks will live harmoniously. There’s land enough for us all.”

“No, there’s not really. The blacks don’t stay in one place. They wander. With more and more settlers taking up parcels of land, what will become of them?”

“I don’t know, but progress won’t be held back.”

“At any rate, be watchful. I shan’t rest until I know you’re home safely.”

“I’ll be careful.” Putting a foot in the stirrup, John pushed up into the saddle. “Have a good day, luv.” He turned the horse toward the road and started off.

John glanced back at Hannah as he moved up the drive. They’d been married scarcely two months, but already he couldn’t imagine life without her.
How grand it will be to have
a place of our own. We’ll have a fine house where we can build
a life together and raise our children.
He allowed his imagination to embrace thoughts of what life would be like—he and Hannah working together, establishing the farm and a family. As Hannah had said, there would be danger, but then most things in life held peril of some sort or other.

“John.”

John relinquished his musings and pulled his horse to a stop.

Mr. Atherton stepped out of the tool shop and walked down the drive toward him. “I’d hoped to catch you before you left.”

“Good day, sir. Is there something you need done before I go?”

“I’d just like a word is all.”

John climbed out of the saddle. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Fine. I wanted to speak with you about your plans.”

“Plans, sir?”

“Your idea of raising sheep.”

John knew Mr. Atherton had qualms about his making a change from machinist to farmer. “I’m sorry about leaving your employ, but I—”

Mr. Atherton lifted his hand, palm out. “No, no. That’s not a problem. Perry will work out fine. You’ve taught him well.” Using his thumb, he nudged up his hat. He seemed uneasy. “I well know the desires of a young man—hoping and dreaming of a place of his own. All men want that. And I’m not one to stifle dreams. I’ve had a few of my own.” He grinned. “But I feel I must voice a concern . . . Your choice of vocations seems a bit unusual. You’re a fine machinist and you’ve a good head for business. Trade or a production enterprise of some sort would seem more fitting.”

John knew Mr. Atherton spoke the truth. He’d had similar discussions with himself. “I know I’m taking a risk. But raising sheep and attending to my own property requires good business instincts. And as you’ve stated, I possess those. And there’ll always be a need for tools. I can craft my own rather than purchase them.”

John let his eyes roam over the Atherton farm. “I spent most of my life in the city, and for years I did as my father wished—working at his side and learning the tool business. And when he died, I took over the company. But I always wanted more—adventure and an opportunity to do something of my own choosing, something more challenging. I even considered moving to the Americas. It’s a place where a man can make a fine living as a farmer. I probably would have done it too, if not for my wife Margaret. London was the only place for her. She wouldn’t let go of it.”

He took a deep breath. Even now, the thought of her violation stabbed at him. “Of course my dreams and hers ended with her betrayal and her death.” The memory of prison, Margaret’s infidelity, and his cousin’s treachery raised old resentments. He studied a fly darting about a dung pile. “Things like that can steal a man’s spirit.” John’s anger drained from him and, like a breath of clean air, peace filled him. He looked into Mr. Atherton’s blue eyes. “As it turns out, New South Wales was my destiny.”

He removed his hat and shuffled the brim through his fingers. “This venture may not be a success. I’m a novice. What I know about country living is what I’ve learned since coming here.” John replaced his hat on his head. “I want to try.”

Mr. Atherton smiled and extended his hand. Grasping John’s, he said, “I wish you well, then. I heard the piece you’re looking at could become a fine farm. And there’s a large property that borders it.”

“Yes. I’m hoping to purchase it one day.”

“It may be just what God wants for you and Hannah.”

“I pray you’re right, sir.”

Mr. Atherton studied him a moment. “I think it’s time you started calling me William. We’re friends now.”

“Thank you, sir, er . . . William.” John smiled. “It’ll take a bit of getting used to.”

Mr. Atherton grinned. “You best be on your way. Don’t want to keep ol’ Murphy Connor waiting. He’s not the most patient fellow.”

“Right you are.” John climbed into the saddle and, with a nod at William, headed for the road. Moving away from the Athertons’ and toward what he hoped would one day be his own home, John couldn’t quiet his jitters. He wanted this to be the right place for him and Hannah.

The road was empty, the forest quiet except for an occasional cry of a bird and the incessant buzz of flies. They tried to find their way into his eyes, his nose, and his ears. He swatted at them, but they were unrelenting. A lizard darted across the road and the gelding startled, then quieted under John’s firm hand.

He scanned the forests and fields, watching for Aborigines. He knew it was a futile endeavor. Aborigines could well be watching him but would remain invisible unless they chose to reveal themselves. His heart leaped when, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something dart behind a tree. It turned out to be a koala starting up a gum tree. The small animal climbed, reaching for a handful of eucalyptus leaves. Stuffing the morsels into his mouth, he chewed slowly and dispassionately watched the passing rider.

John chuckled. “That’s quite enough of worrying.”

A shrill “Coo-ee” echoed through the forest. Another answered the first, only it was farther away. John knew the cry—it was Aborigines. They used the call to communicate with one another. Watchful, he nudged his horse to a faster pace.

Although recent skirmishes had intensified John’s concerns, he couldn’t help but admire the indigenous people of New South Wales. In spite of severe and even ruthless challenges, they’d hung on to their way of life. They were daring and enterprising. They knew where to find food and water even in places where there seemed to be nothing. And they could walk endlessly without tiring. He remembered when he’d followed the tracker while hunting down his cousin Henry. The man’s skills were myriad and unflagging. Henry hadn’t had a chance of escape.

Since Henry’s trial, John had given his cousin little thought. Now he wondered how severe his cousin’s misery was. At Newcastle Prison it must certainly be profound.

Across the river, John spotted a disheveled-looking man he’d never seen before. The moment the stranger realized he’d been seen, he scampered deeper into the bushes and disappeared.
Why in the world would he do that? There’s no need to hide.
John stopped and watched for the fellow. He never reemerged, and John finally went on his way.
Most likely an escaped prisoner.
Hope he doesn’t cause trouble.
John decided that on his way back through town he’d report the man.

He approached a trail that led to the property. Murphy Connor was already there. He sat on an embankment and his horse grazed beside him. When he saw John, he wiped sweat from his forehead, set his hat in place, and stood.

“Good mornin’ to ye,” the middle-aged man said. “It’s a hot one, eh?”

“Indeed.” John dismounted and shook Mr. Connor’s hand. He scanned the acreage.

“Fine piece of property,” Connor said. “Even if it is a bit small.”

“Thank you for taking time to meet me.”

“When I heard it was one of the government properties, I thought of ye. It would give ye and the wife a first-rate start. My land borders this piece and I figured ye for a good neighbor.” He smiled.

“Thank you.” John could feel excitement build inside. “It’s fine land, indeed.”

Connor gazed over the landscape. “Property runs down t’ the river on one side, and there’s a pond, and a stream runs through it. Course when things dry up, there’ll not be much water.”

He nodded at the Parramatta River. “If it was me, I’d build me a house down there. Having water close to your place will make yer wife happy.” He pushed a wad of tobacco deep into his cheek. “The Parramatta will see ye never go without water for the house and garden.”

“Ye plan on raising cattle?”

“No. Thought I’d try my hand at sheep.”