Longings of the Heart by Bonnie Leon Page A

looked distressed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She ran toward him.
    John stood. “No. Stop. Best you don’t come near.”
    “Why? What’s happened?” Ignoring his order to stop, Hannah rushed to him. “What is it?” She looked at the animal and then saw what John had seen—a joey, its head draped over the edge of its mother’s pouch.
    “Oh no!” Hannah knelt beside the kangaroo and lifted the baby out of the warmth of his home. He struggled and kicked at her, but she bundled him inside her petticoat and held him close. “Calm down, now. I’ll not hurt you.” She stood, still holding the little one close. He quieted. “What shall we do with him?”
    “There’s nothing to be done.”
    “What do you mean? We can’t just leave him to die.”
    “Put him down. I’ll end it.” John’s voice was heavy.
    “No. You can’t. He’s a baby.”
    “He’s an animal with no mother. There’s nothing to be done.”
    “If it was a lamb or a calf, you’d do everything you could to save it.” Hannah held the creature protectively.
    “He’s a wild animal. And too little to live without his mum.” “I’ll take care of him.”
    “You can do all you know to do and he’ll still die. I’ve never heard of anyone who has successfully tended one this young. He needs only what his mother can give him.”
    Hannah looked at the tiny creature in her arms. “We can’t just give up. I’ll give him milk and keep him warm.” She cradled the little thing the way she would an infant.
    John’s expression was somber. With a heavy sigh, he surrendered. “I suppose it won’t hurt to try.” He turned back to the mother. “I’ll take care of her. You go on.”

    Hannah kept the tiny kangaroo bundled tightly against her the rest of the way home. That evening, she tried to feed it, but each attempt was refused. As the hours passed, the poor creature became weaker and less responsive.
    “I don’t know what to do,” Hannah told John. “He’s dying.” John spoke quietly. “I tried to tell you. They don’t live without their mums.”
    Hannah made a bed out of a box, putting wood chips and hay in the bottom and settling the joey inside. She placed him near the hearth and then sat up and watched over him. She tried to coax him into eating, but he wouldn’t accept even a drop of milk. In the early morning hours, the joey stopped breathing.
    Hannah hugged it to her and sobbed, wondering why she felt such heartache for an animal.
    John climbed out of bed and kneeled beside her, laying an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close to him. “I’m sorry, luv.”
    “It’s gone. I couldn’t save it.” I can’t save anything.
    John took the limp creature out of Hannah’s arms. “I’ll take care of it.” He carried the joey across the room, opened the door and stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him.
    Hannah stared at the dying embers in the hearth. She’d not wanted her own child. Perhaps it had been her wish for its death that had killed it. Now this creature had been placed in her care, and she’d been unable to save it. How could God trust her with a child of her own?
    There’d be no babies for her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Why, Lord? Why can’t I have a child? Please, please don’t leave me barren . She covered her face with her hands and sobbed, knowing that no matter how much she longed for a baby, she’d never have one.

8
    Hannah set a plate of sliced bread on the table and then moved to the hearth. She hooked a cooking pot and lifted it away from the fire, then grasping the handle with a heavy cloth, she carried it to the table and set it in an iron trivet. She lifted the lid and steam carried the aroma of vegetables and cooked meat into the air. Rather than kindling her appetite, the aroma served only to remind her of the previous day’s distress. Using a wooden spoon, she stirred the stew and replaced the lid.
    John will be hungry. It certainly won’t trouble him to eat this