Free To Love Anew by Bonnie Leon Page A

anyone see? She looked about and her eyes locked with the peddler selling the fruit. Her heart skipped. He stared as if knowing her thoughts. She quickly set it back in the pile and, as nonchalantly as she could manage, ambled on.
    She kept walking, finally leaving behind the sounds and smells of the marketplace. Weary and feeling faint, she leaned against a building. Two gaunt-looking children, probably a brother and sister, approached a gentlewoman, their hands held out palm up.
    “Ye ’ave a pence for us, mum?”
    The woman opened a small coin purse, fished out two pence, and dropped one into the boy’s hand and then the girl’s.
    “Thank ye, mum.” The children tucked their treasures into their pockets and ran off toward the market.
    Hannah felt envious. If only it were so easy for her to acquire funds. Perhaps I could beg , she thought and tried to imagine herself holding out a hand and entreating someone to give her money or food. The image repelled her. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t—no matter how hungry she became.
    The aroma of baked goods wafted from a shop across the street. Hannah’s stomach cramped. Perhaps the owner needed a clerk or a cook. She crossed the road, stopped at the door to tidy her hair and smooth her wrinkled skirt, and then stepped inside.
    She admired rows of heavy brown breads and sweet cakes laid out on display. Holding her spine straight, she smiled at a man standing behind a counter. “Good day, sir. You have a fine shop.”
    “That I do.” He eyed her warily.
    “Might I inquire if you need some assistance?” Before he could say no, Hannah hurried on. “I can do most anything. I’m quite clever. I’m a fine cook and I’ve a strong back for cleaning and such, and I also read and do figures. I get along well with most everyone. I helped my mother—”
    The baker held up his hand, palm out. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but I’ve no need. And even if I did, I’ve not an extra farthing to pay you.”
    “Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She headed for the door, her eyes lingering on the breads.
    Hannah hurried out of the store and walked down the street toward the river. She stepped onto a bridge and started across. Midway she stopped. She had nowhere to go.
    Leaning on the railing, she studied the river as it washed beneath the bridge. Its waters were brown and murky. The cold, dark surge called to her. It could be her way out. She could end her sorrows. All she need do was to step off into the icy waters. It would be over quickly.
    Hannah envisioned her mother. She longed to be with her, but Hannah was afraid. If she ended her own life, would she be allowed into heaven? And could God accept her now that she was so badly tarnished? Tears of sorrow trailed down her cheeks.
    Hannah stood there for a long while. Hadn’t her mum said the Lord accepts all who believe in him—even sinners? Hannah had always thought God loved her. Her mother had told her so. But that was before . . . before she’d been so badly used.
    It was not a risk she could take, and so she moved on as darkness settled over the city. It was cold. The wind swirled frigid air beneath her cloak. If only she could warm herself at a fire. She remembered the stove in her cottage and the many times she and her mother had sat quietly in the evenings sipping tea and enjoying the rest. An ache swelled at the base of her throat, and she wondered how far it was to the churchyard where her mother lay.

7
    Huddled inside her cloak, Hannah walked for what seemed like hours. The darkness deepened and streetlamps were lit. Strumpets moved onto the streets, lingering along the roadway and leaning against buildings. Some strolled provocatively to better entice clients.
    Hannah tried not to look at them as she moved past. A number of the women gave her haughty looks. She hurried on, hoping to find a place to seclude herself. A gentleman dressed in a silk suit approached. He boldly looked her up and