Longings of the Heart by Bonnie Leon Page B

fare. Although Hannah knew she had no valid reason for being angry, she could still feel it stir in her belly. Every time she thought about the joey and how it had died, the hurt she felt over the innocent’s loss was renewed and an ache rose in her throat.
    You’re being foolish. John didn’t purposely kill that little joey, so why am I so angry about all this? Her next thoughts came unbidden. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t John she was upset with—it was herself. She hadn’t killed her child, but she’d wanted it to die, which was utterly wicked and deserved punishment.
    She moved to the door and opened it. John had gone to the barn to milk Patience. Nightfall had draped itself over the land, and all she could see was a small light penetrating the darkness from inside the barn. She took a wrap down from the hook near the door, pulled it about her shoulders, and bundled inside the wool shawl as she headed down the steps. Holding her skirts up out of the mud, she walked into the darkness. It pressed in on her from all sides and she suddenly felt afraid. Was she being watched? She glanced about. There’s nothing. Stop being foolish. She hurried to the barn.
    Stepping inside, the familiar smells of animals and hay welcomed her, and she felt protected. Patience stood passively in a stanchion, chewing contentedly. Hannah leaned on a railing and watched her husband.
    Intent on his work and unaware of her, he kept his forehead pressed against the animal’s rounded side while his strong hands brought forth milk. When he’d finished, John straightened and patted the cow’s side. “Good girl.” He grasped the pail handle and then stood, grabbing the stool with his other hand. When he turned, his eyes fell upon Hannah. They lit up with appreciation. “Hannah. I didn’t know you were here.”
    “I wanted to tell you dinner is ready. Might I help?”
    “If you’ll take this, I’ll get her into a stall.” John handed Hannah the pail and set the stool against the wall. After releasing the cow from the stanchion, he led her to a stall and tossed hay into a crib.
    Doing all she could to keep her voice and spirits lively, Hannah said, “She’s producing a good deal of milk, don’t you think? More than we can use.”
    “I was considering taking some of it down to the Female Factory. I’m sure they could use it.”
    “I daresay they could, but I doubt they’ll get any. Most likely the gaolers will take it home with them.”
    “I doubt that. The chaps I know would rather have a pint than milk.” John tilted his lips in a sideways smile.
    “Perhaps we should take some butter, then, too.”
    “We’ve more than enough in the springhouse.”
    With the quiet of the night surrounding them, John and Hannah silently walked back to the house. The previous day’s hurt still lay between them. The warmth of the fire and the smell of stew met them when they stepped inside the house.
    “Mmm. Smells good.” John helped Hannah with her wrap and then took off his hat and coat and hung them on a post. “I’m starving.”
    Hannah set the milk on the counter and poured it through a cloth to strain out impurities.
    “I’ll take that down to the springhouse after dinner,” John said, settling into a chair at the table. “But I’d quite like some fresh milk with my meal.”
    Using a dipper, Hannah filled two glasses with milk. “There’s a lot of cream.” She set the tumblers on the table.
    “I like the cream.” And as if to prove his point, John downed half the glass of warm milk. Wearing a satisfied smile, he set down the beverage.
    Hannah sat across from him.
    “Shall we give a word of thanks, then?” He reached for Hannah’s hands and held them as he said, “Lord above, we thank you for these blessings. May we use them in a way that will be pleasing to you. Amen.”
    “Amen.” Hannah released John’s hands. As much as she knew she ought to feel blessed, she felt despair—over the joey’s death and her