Woman of Grace (8 page)

Her friend shot her a slanting look. “You care more for Devlin than you let on back there with Father Starr. I’m glad you don’t hate him anymore. That’s the greatest tribute you could pay Ella.”

“No, I don’t hate him anymore.” She sighed and clutched Bonnie closer, her emotions suddenly all ajumble. “I can’t say as I particularly like or trust him, though. It’s just so difficult at times …”

“No one ever said following the Lord would be easy, Hannah.” Abby’s lips quirked. “Sad to say, most of our biggest crosses in life turn out to be other people.”

Once more, Hannah’s gaze settled on Devlin, shoulders slumped, head down. “Well, he’s certainly one of
my
biggest crosses. I only wish I knew how to get him to like me. It would make things so much easier with me in his house, taking care of Bonnie and—”

“You aren’t going to be taking care of the children anymore.” As if to add extra emphasis to her words, Abby slapped the reins over the horses’ backs, urging them to a quicker pace.

Hannah’s stomach gave a great lurch. Frowning in confusion, she turned in her seat to face Abby. “What do you mean? You heard Ella ask me to help take care of them, to love them.”

Abby shot her a quick, apologetic glance. “Devlin’s made arrangements with a Widow Ashley to come out to the ranch this afternoon. She lost her husband in the influenza epidemic, and needs some sort of employment to support her and her infant son. She’ll be Bonnie’s new wet nurse, besides care for the children and the house.”

Hannah felt sick. She also felt hurt, betrayed, and totally disoriented. She had hoped she’d be permitted to continue to nurse Bonnie and take care of Mary and Devlin Jr. But then she had also hoped that, in time, Devlin would come to accept and forgive her.

Now it seemed it was never to be. She swallowed hard. “Where will this … this Mrs. Ashley be staying?”

“Devlin thought it best if she bunked in with you. There is the spare bedroom …”

Through the haze of pain and disbelief, anger gradually filled Hannah. So it had all been planned, and she had never once been privy to it.

“When exactly was he intending on telling me?” she demanded hoarsely. “When the woman pulled up at the bunkhouse with her son and all her belongings?”

“Please, Hannah,” Abby pleaded, “try to understand. I suppose I should’ve told you, but I kept hoping Devlin might change his mind.” The chestnut-haired woman sighed and shook her head. “Seems, though, he’s had this planned for a while. Even before Ella took sick with the influenza.”

She reached over and grasped Hannah’s hand. “I’m so sorry. He’s not being fair to you.”

Tears stung Hannah’s eyes. “He’s never, ever, been fair. And now … now for him to do this.” Her hand fisted and she pounded her thigh. “He has never valued what I did for him and his family. I’ve never been anything more to him than something to be used and tossed aside at the first opportunity!”

“Oh, Hannah,” Abby cried softly. “Don’t say that. Devlin’s not himself right now. Maybe in time, once things settle down and he has a chance to think things through more clearly …”

“No.” The girl shook her head. “He won’t change his mind. Not Devlin.”

The tears fell unchecked now, and she found she didn’t care. She had been a fool to hope Devlin would ever change. She had been even more of a fool to care. But, blast it all, she
did
care.

Hannah had always wanted to belong, to be accepted. She supposed, over time, Devlin MacKay had come to represent that goal. In some crazy, mixed-up way, Hannah imagined if she could gain his respect, the respect of a man who had used and then discarded her, she would have finally achieved her dream. She would finally have redeemed her lost purity—and her soul.

But that was exactly all it was and ever would be—a crazy, mixed-up dream.

“No,” Hannah repeated softly, “he won’t change his mind. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I won’t
let
it matter.”

Martha Ashley was an impressive woman. Tall, bigboned, and possessing a very ample bosom, the fierycheeked, ebony-haired woman swept into Devlin’s house with all the authority and might of a conquering army. She soon marshaled Mary and Devlin Jr. into their bedrooms in submissive, overawed silence, ensconced her own six-month-old son, Harold, in a crib in the kitchen, then immediately set about rearranging the kitchenware into what she described as a “more efficient system.” She didn’t, however, stop there.

Clucking her tongue as she went, Mrs. Ashley swept and scrubbed the floor, washed down the cabinets and table, and cleaned and oiled the cookstove. “I know your poor wife, God rest her soul, was in no condition to maintain this kitchen,” she explained as she worked, “but that last girl you had—what was her name? Anna?—was really a most disappointing housekeeper.”

“Her name’s Hannah,” Devlin patiently corrected her. “And considering the state of things at the time, she managed well enough. None of us went hungry or had to wear torn or dirty clothes.”

Even as he uttered the words, Devlin couldn’t quite believe he was defending Hannah. But then, he also had no idea the Widow Ashley was such a dynamo. In the space of but an hour he was already beginning to recall Hannah’s presence as a soothing balm. Soothing at least, he thought wryly, in comparison to this other woman’s frenetic manner.

Mrs. Ashley shot him a dubious look from beneath a pair of finely arched black brows. “I’m sure you’re being far too kind in your assessment of the situation. Most men are. But never you mind. I’m here now. Things will be run in a proper, orderly manner.”

Glancing about the already pristinely clean, efficiently organized kitchen, Devlin had no doubt that they would. In the end, it didn’t matter to him one way or another, just as long as his children were well cared for and there were decent meals on the table. That was about all he could deal with at any rate, he admitted as a freshened wave of grief washed over him. Ella was gone, and the only things left in life that mattered to him were his children.

“I’d appreciate some calm and order, Mrs. Ashley,” he mumbled, wanting nothing more at the moment than to retire to a darkened room and the solitude of his thoughts. “I’ll be in my bedroom for a while. I’m tired and think I’ll lay down.”

“Please, call me Martha. And yes, you do that, Mr. MacKay,” the woman cooed, fluttering her hands at him in a strangely incongruous shooing motion. “Take all the time you need. I’m sure I can find everything just fine.”

“I’m sure you can … Martha.” He began to walk away.

“Oh, one thing more, Mr. MacKay.”

Wearily, Devlin halted and turned. “Yes? What is it?”

“Before you lie down, could you bring the baby and her cradle out here to stand beside Harold’s? That way whenever it’s time to nurse her, I won’t have to disturb you. It will work out far more efficiently.”

Somehow, the thought of leaving Bonnie out here, in the midst of all the noise and activity he was certain Martha Ashley would create, didn’t set well with Devlin. The woman, however, seemed to put a premium on getting everything done in an expedient manner.

Still, what other choice was there? Perhaps, in time, the Widow Ashley would relax and slow down. Maybe she was just trying overly hard right now to impress him. Yes, surely everything would soon settle back into some semblance of the way it used to be.

Except that Ella was gone forever, Devlin recalled, the memory stabbing through him with a fierce, freshened agony. Because of that, surely nothing could or would ever be the same again.

5

Thou shalt not harden thine heart, nor shut thine hand from thy poor brother.

Deuteronomy 15:7

Well, she certainly didn’t waste any time moving in and taking charge, did she?” Abby observed a week later, after returning to the main house from a short visit to Devlin’s.

Hannah glanced up from the freshly plucked roasting chicken she was stuffing with corn bread and herbs. “Widow Ashley, you mean?” The memory of Abby’s report of the woman’s brisk efficiency in rearranging Ella’s kitchen filled her with misgiving. She sighed, then returned her attention to the chicken. “I suppose she means well. I just hope she has a care for the children. What they need most now is a lot of hugging and loving, not a spotless kitchen and strict routine.”

“How true,” her friend murmured. She removed her coat and hung it on a peg by the back door, then walked to the big cast-iron cookstove and took down a white cotton apron from the peg beside it. “Problem is,” she said as she donned the apron, “I’m worried Devlin’s new housekeeper won’t see it that way. And Devlin certainly isn’t in any frame of mind to offer much comfort to his children right now.”

Sadly, Abby shook her head. “Conor says he can barely drag himself out to do his work, and most of what he does needs redoing.”

Hannah skewered shut the chicken’s now stuffed cavity, placed it in a roasting pan, then quickly sprinkled it with salt and pepper. “He needs to stop thinking just of himself and his own pain,” she muttered, her irritation beginning to rise. “Most of Devlin MacKay’s problems arise from his own, self-centered outlook.”

An angry frustration filled her as she carried the chicken to the stove and thrust it into the oven. It was bad enough he treated
her
so badly. It was unconscionable if he began to neglect his own children because he allowed himself to become mired in his sorrow.

“I know he loved Ella,” Hannah hastened to add when she turned and noted the pain in Abby’s eyes, “but he also needs to remember he’s the father of her children. Ella doesn’t need his grief. She needs him to take care of and love her children!”

“It’s not that easy, Hannah.” Abby walked to the nearest of the two kitchen cupboards and took down two thick pottery mugs. She placed them on the table, filled a silver tea strainer full of tea leaves, then walked to the stove and took up the teakettle. “Come on,” she urged as she placed the tea strainer over one mug and poured hot water through it, then did the same with the other, “let’s take a short break and talk.”

Her words about Devlin were uncharitable. Hannah knew it, yet she still couldn’t keep silent. As much as it might disappoint Abby, she thought as she took her seat at the table, she was tired of always having to be the one to turn the other cheek.

“Devlin’s still in the very early stages of his grief.” Abby slid a mug of tea over to her. “Right now, all he feels is pain. It consumes him so completely he can’t see outside himself. He’ll pass through this in time, but until he does, it’s up to us to help him. It’s up to us to accept his limitations and carry the responsibilities he’s not able to bear right now.”

Shame filled Hannah. In so many ways, she was no different from Devlin. So many times, in her own pain and need, she, too, forgot about everything but herself. “Like the responsibilities of his children? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” Abby nodded, a gentle smile on her lips. “Like his children. We need to help Devlin see the blessing he has in them. But we must accept Devlin, as well, allowing him the time he needs to come to terms with his loss. And that time must be his, never ours.”

Hannah gripped her mug of tea, savoring the reassuring warmth that radiated through the thick pottery. “I know I should be more patient and understanding of Devlin, especially just now.” She expelled a long, frustrated breath. “But it’s hard when I don’t trust or even like him. If the truth be told, sometimes I actually even fear him.”

“Fear him? Why? Has he ever threatened you or raised a hand to you?”

“No.” Hannah shook her head. “He’s never physically threatened me. For all his animosity toward me, I don’t think Devlin’s that kind of man. It’s just”—she dragged in a deep breath, hesitating over whether she should reveal this even to Abby—“it’s just that he’s family, and I’m not. In the end, if it came down to choosing between Devlin or me, I know you’d have to choose Devlin.”