Free Longings of the Heart by Bonnie Leon Page A

group of men hefted stones that would be used for the fireplace. Others carried lumber and a myriad of other building materials.
    Hannah stood beside John. He slipped an arm about her waist. “I can hardly believe it.” She leaned against him, and John kissed the top of her head. “I’d best get to work,” he said, barely able to speak around the lump in his throat. He blinked back tears and hugged Hannah more tightly. He’d prayed and God had answered.

    The next few days John and Hannah’s place was a frenzy of activity as the hearth was built and the house around it. The women kept the men fed and managed to see to the farming chores. As the house grew, they helped Hannah with the tasks of washing and scrubbing, and in the quieter moments they worked on a quilt Mrs. Atherton had started many weeks before.
    The day the home was finished, a feast of roasted pig, potatoes, string beans, turnips, and an assortment of desserts was prepared. The furnishings were moved into the house, and Catharine Atherton carried in the finished quilt and placed it on John and Hannah’s bed. “Something new for your home.” “Thank you,” Hannah said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
    With the house finished, John and Hannah stood in the yard, arms intertwined, and gazed at their new home. It was a fine house, with three rooms downstairs, a loft upstairs, and a solid roof. Plus there were windows with glass panes.
    John clasped Hannah’s hand and led her indoors. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the new wood floor. Hannah walked to the hearth and rested her hand on an oven that had been built into the stone face. “It’s too much.” She looked at her friends. They’d crowded into the room behind them. “I couldn’t imagine a finer home.”
    John pulled Hannah in close to his side and turned to face his friends. “There are not adequate words to thank all of you.”
    “We consider ourselves thanked,” Mr. Atherton said.
    Catharine moved to Hannah, and taking her hands in hers, she looked intently into the younger woman’s eyes. Gently she said, “To William and I, you and John are like our own.” Her eyes were awash with tears.
    Hannah squeezed Catharine’s hands.
    “All right, then. How ’bout a bit of music?” Quincy slipped a mouth harp out of his front shirt pocket and put it to his lips. Lanterns were lit as the sun set. Music echoed across the farm. Friends and neighbors feasted, danced, talked, and laughed. It was a perfect night.
    “I’m almost too full to move,” John said, resting a hand on his stomach. “But I dare not pass up this opportunity to dance with my wife.” He led Hannah to a level piece of ground and took her into his arms. “I haven’t felt so carefree since . . . well, since forever.” Gazing into his wife’s brown eyes, he said more seriously, “I wanted to give this to you, but . . .”
    Hannah put a finger to his lips. “I know. And God knew your heart.” Her hand moved to his neck. “I would have been happy living anywhere with you.”
    “God has blessed us.” He gazed at the house.
    “And you deserve it, John. You’ve worked so hard and you’ve trusted in the Lord.”
    “It’s you who deserve the best of everything.”
    Doubt touched Hannah’s eyes. “Certainly not everything.”
    John wondered what he’d seen there, but he didn’t want to spoil the mood, so instead of saying anything, he surveyed the house. “It’s a good sturdy home, a fine place to raise a family. When the children come, we’ll use the extra room downstairs, and as they grow, the loft will serve them well.” A stricken expression flashed across Hannah’s face. He pulled her close. “Don’t worry, luv; we’ll have children. We’ve not been married that long yet.”
    Hannah grasped him tightly and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. John was almost certain she was crying.
    Her eyes wet, Hannah looked up at him. “We’ve been married long enough. And I’m afraid. What