Enduring Love by Bonnie Leon

If only things could be as they were.
    He trudged to the water barrel, dipped out a ladleful, and drank it down. Filling the dipper again, he sipped from it, then poured some into his palm and scrubbed his face. It refreshed him a bit. After hanging the ladle back in its place, he turned to the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hannah. She didn’t appear.
    “Mum made lemonade. Would ye like some? I’ll get it for ye. Maybe we could rest on the porch for a bit, eh?”
    “Don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
    Thomas scowled. “Yer not even trying to make things better. Ye ought to talk to her. She’s alone a lot. And she does most of the work on her own.”
    “I’m here nearly every day . . . I do my best.”
    “Ye left her . . . and me.”
    “It’s not what I wanted.” John reached for Thomas, pulling him to within arm’s length before the lad balked. “I’m here now.”
    Thomas kicked at the ground, then looked at his father. “It’s not enough.” He glanced at the lamb, which had settled beside its mother. Thomas looked back at his father with an accusing gaze. “She made the lemonade for ye.”
    “I doubt that. You can drink enough for two people.” John’s attempt at levity fell flat.
    “She made a whole pitcher full. More than me and her can drink.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked his father in the eyes. “Talk to her.”
    John’s insides tightened. That’s what he wanted—time with her, laughter, love, and real conversations the way it used to be.
    Working to keep the emotion from his voice, John said, “Your mother’s made it clear I’m to keep my distance. And she’s right.” John hated the reality of the statement, but he knew it to be true. With him and Margaret seeing each other and working toward reconciliation, it wasn’t respectable to visit with Hannah even in an innocent way. And if he had any chance of putting his first marriage back together, he couldn’t cozy up with her. “It’s not proper for your mum and me to spend time together, Thomas. We’re not together anymore.”
    “Ye could be.” Thomas stomped off. He stopped and glared over his shoulder. “Ye could be . . . if ye wanted to,” he shouted and ran toward the river. He pumped his arms up and down as he sprinted away.
    The familiar ache settled around John’s heart as he watched the boy go. If only he could make Thomas understand. How can I do that? I don’t even understand. This isn’t right, none of it is. He felt pressure on his shoulder and the squeeze of Quincy’s hand.
    “He’ll be fine. Give him time.”
    John blew out a heavy breath and turned back to the shed. “I better have a look at some of those ewes.” Frustration cut through him like a cold winter wind as he walked to the next pen.

    Dishrag in hand, Hannah stepped onto the porch and watched Thomas run toward the river. She knew how much he liked working with his father and how excited he’d been about helping with the lambing. She’d expected him to spend every possible moment in the lambing shed.
    He loves the river as well, she reasoned, but detected an intensity in his stride that alerted her to trouble. I wonder if he and his father had words . Thomas had made it clear that he loathed the present arrangement between his parents. Lord, help him to understand that we’ve no choice. And give him peace in the midst of this storm. Hannah wished the same for herself. She felt as if she’d been caught up in a maelstrom.
    She returned to the kitchen and stared at the pitcher of lemonade on the counter. Thomas had convinced her to make enough for the both of them plus John and Quincy. She couldn’t lie to herself; she’d hoped John might share some with her and Thomas. She removed the towel draped over the top of the pitcher and poured herself a glass.
    After replacing the towel, she returned to the veranda and set the glass on a side table. A breeze blew up from the river, making the cool air feel almost