Like Chaff in the Wind (The Graham Saga)

by Belfrage, Anna

  “You should be careful of what you say,” Matthew said. “This was an unfortunate accident.”

  “Accident my arse,” Alex muttered.

  *

  Sir William leaned forward with interest, listening as Alex retold the events.

  “…once they made it back to shore they were dragged off to warm themselves. I think mainly on the inside,” Alex said, describing the generous servings of brandy the three men had been plied with. “And all their stuff is now littering the bottom of your harbour.”

  “Unsalvageable,” Sir William said, “with all that silt nigh on impossible to locate.”

  “Who cares?”

  Sir William gave a short bark of laughter and refilled her sherry glass, overruling her protests.

  “It’s just what you need, my dear, you are looking somewhat pale, if I may say so.”

  “That’s because every time I try to sleep, this one decides it’s time to exercise.” She mock punched at her belly before sitting back against the cushion that Sir William had politely pushed into place.

  Sir William looked at her, twirling his glass. “Mr Fairfax was not an adornment to this colony, and the way he and his overseer treated his indentures reflects badly on all of us.”

  Alex was somewhat taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, but didn’t show it, instead she sipped at the sherry. Well; kudos to him for raising the issue, but after what Matthew had told her earlier, she was so disappointed with Sir William that she’d considered not showing at this prearranged little tête-a-tête.

  “You knew, Sir William. You did, the constables did, the men in the registry did, your fellow planters did, and all of you chose to turn a blind eye.” She succeeded in sounding very severe, making the governor squirm.

  “Not all of us are like Fairfax was.”

  Huh; Fairfax might have been a snake, but the men around him had been spineless worms – and the biggest profiteer of them all was sitting in front of her.

  “I think you found it easier to turn a blind eye when you knew the men were mostly Scots and thereby in all probability Covenanters. Dissenters, as you called my husband. Had they been Church of England, you would have reacted, right?”

  Sir William had the grace to look ashamed. “They must be stopped,” he muttered. “The Puritans and the Quakers with their far-flung notions of all men’s equal value. Representative government, pah!”

  Alex set down her glass. “In the end it is their view of the world that will prevail. In a hundred years or so, most men living here will subscribe to the view that in the eyes of God all men are equal and must be given a say in how they are governed.”

  Sir William gave her a condescending little smile. “I must disagree with you, my dear.”

  “That, of course, is your prerogative.” She stood up, bracing back against her hands, and looked down at the seated governor.

  “I hear you bought Suffolk Rose. At a bargain price, including all indentured servants on the rolls. What did you do? Blackmail Jones?”

  A business transaction, Sir William explained with his beet-red face averted, an opportunity that he couldn’t leave unexploited, and the colony was better off now that Jones was gone, did she not agree?

  Alex raised her brows. “I hope you treat your workers as men, not dogs,” she said, making her way to the door. She swept him a curtsey and left. She doubted she’d see him again – in fact, she didn’t very much want to.

  Chapter 34

  “Not on New Year’s Eve!” Alex shook her head, placing both hands on her distended belly. “You stay in there until tomorrow, I have things to do, places to see, okay?”

  The little person inside did not seem to care, and Alex watched as her stomach shaped itself into a pyramid, stone hard under her hands.

  “Fine,” she grumbled, once the contraction had passed. “But I do intend to take a bath first.”

  The house was empty, and Matthew had placed the hipbath close to the kitchen hearth, promising he would help her once he was back from his clandestine service. Ten severe Presbyterians in one room, Alex sighed, how fun could that be? Mrs Parson had agreed to go to church with her husband, although she confided to Alex that in her opinion the Anglican Church was far too popish, with too much attention paid to ritual and too little on content.

  “Hmm,” Alex had replied, not daring to voice an opinion one way or the other.

  By the time Matthew got back, Alex was clean but stark naked, having retreated back to their room as the contractions increased in intensity.

  “Oh, good,” she panted when she saw Matthew. “I think the baby’s on its way.” He made as if to turn and run for Mrs Parson, but she stopped him.

  “No, stay here with me and hold my hand. She’ll be back in time anyway.”

  It was obvious Matthew was rather frightened, eyes flying every other minute to the door as if he hoped Mrs Parson would materialise there. But he was also clearly entranced, and when Alex had him sit spread-legged behind her in bed, his hands settled on her stomach, two pools of reassuring warmth on her skin.

  “You almost fall asleep,” he said to her, jiggling his shoulder under her.

  “Yes,” she replied drowsily. “It’s all so…peaceful.” Not during the contractions, it wasn’t, with her breathing like a train engine under duress, but as soon as they faded away she relaxed against him, taking gulping breaths of air. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered, letting one hand drift up to stroke his cheek.

  Half an hour later, it was all far more intense. Alex insisted on getting up, walking round the room and bracing herself hard against Matthew with each contraction.

  “They’re getting very close,” she gasped, laughing at the look of sheer panic in Matthew’s eyes. Once again he made as if to leave her, to run for help, but she hung on to him, shaking her head. “Water, there’s boiled water in the kitchen. And towels or something. But don’t leave me, not now.” He promised he wouldn’t, and dashed down, returning to find her leaning against the window, her legs shaking.

  “What are they doing?” she moaned. “Celebrating Christmas, New Year and Easter and everything else rolled into one?” Shit; what if things went wrong? If the umbilical cord got stuck or something?

  Matthew jumped when the waters broke, cascading down her legs. Alex felt a jolt as the head screwed itself even further down the birthing channel, and now the contractions grew from the small of her back and forward, strong, long and terrifying. She remained where she was, refusing to let go of that new mainstay in her life, the windowsill.

  “But you can’t stay there,” Matthew tried.

  “Watch me,” she said, groaning as yet another and another and another contraction swept through her. She felt an increased weight between her thighs, and her knees wobbled like mad.

  “Help me! The bed.”

  Matthew almost carried her there.

  “Nnnnngh!” she exclaimed through gritted teeth. She panted heavily. “Can you see something?” She definitely couldn’t, there was a huge belly in the way.

  Matthew peeked between her legs. “Aye, oh God, Alex, it’s huge.”

  “Tell me about it,” she hissed back, and then began to laugh – for like five seconds. “Right,” she said, after hyperventilating through yet another contraction. “Next time I push. You just be there, catch it or something.”

  *

  Matthew felt totally useless. He sat between his wife’s legs, hands on her splayed thighs, and talked soothingly to her, watching as the miracle of his child’s birth unfolded before his eyes. The head, pushing out and slipping back in. And then the head was out and the shoulders – oh Lord, how were they to come out? Having seen both calves and foals into the world, Matthew placed his hands on that wee body and twisted, and suddenly his arms were full of warm life. His wife was laughing and crying, and all of him was bloodied and wet, but in his arms lay that perfect little creature, his child, and its eyes were open, deep dark wells of knowledge and calm. Matthew cradled it
to his chest and wept.

  Matthew greeted Mrs Parson with a huge grin. Alex was already nursing the wean, the umbilical cord neatly cut.

  “And the afterbirth?”

  Matthew made a face. He had near on died of fright when that blob of dark red had expulsed itself from inside of Alex.

  “She says it’s whole.”

  Aye, Mrs Parson nodded after inspecting it. “So what is it?”

  “What is what?”

  “Lad or lass,” Mrs Parson elucidated.

  “Ah.” Matthew couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “A wee lassie.”

  “Let me see her,” Mrs Parson said, “Make sure she’s fine, aye?” She was, squishing up her face in protest at the cold air that touched her skin. Mrs Parson cooed at her and wrapped her up, giving her back to Alex. “Wee you said? Nine pounds at least, I’d reckon. You make big, bonny weans you and your wife.”

  “Tell me about it,” Alex muttered, shifting in the bed.

  “And her name?” Mrs Parson said.

  “Matthew won the bet, so he gets to name her,” Alex yawned.

  Mrs Parson laughed. “Our Matthew will name all his bairns, lass. That’s the kind of man he is. I’m right, no?” she said, turning to face Matthew.

  “Aye,” he said with a little smile. “The naming is mine to do.”

  “Hey,” Alex protested, “I might have some ideas as well, you know.”

  “I do the naming, lass. That’s the way it is.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He placed a finger on his daughter’s nose. “Rachel, after my Mam.”

  “Rachel?” Alex drew her nose over the soft fuzzy crown and smiled up at him. “Rachel.”

  “Right,” Mrs Parson interrupted. “I have work to do here, and I’ll not have you in here while I examine your wife’s privates.” She shooed Matthew in the direction of the door. “Find some food,” she suggested, “and Alex could do with some beer as well.”

  *

  Much later, Matthew woke when Alex ran her fingers through his hair, making him turn towards her, Rachel held in his arms.

  “You look good together,” Alex said, tucking a loose corner of the wean’s shawl tighter. She rubbed her hands together briskly, muttering something about it being bloody cold out in the yard.

  “The yard?” Matthew sat up. “What were you doing in the yard?” He frowned at her; and in only shift and shawl as well. What was she thinking of, and she a recently delivered mother?

  “It’s New Year’s Eve,” Alex said. “I had to toast Magnus.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, deciding there was no purpose to remonstrating.

  Rachel began fidgeting, face shifting from its previous pink to a more irritated red, and Alex sat down against the pillows, undoing her shift. The wee body relaxed as soon as Rachel found the teat, and for some minutes the only sounds were the soft noises of a feeding child. When Alex shifted the wean to the other side, Matthew slid over to rest his head on her lap. For the first time since the January day he’d set off for Edinburgh, almost two years ago, he felt content, even safe.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Alex’s hand rested on the back of his head. “I know, even if you only tell me once a year.”

  He laughed, muffling the sound against her. “You don’t say it too often either.”

  “No, only about twenty times every time we make love,” Alex snorted, slapping him playfully.

  “That doesn’t count. You’re wild with it then, you’d say anything to make me do as you want.” He could feel her thighs shift under him, and burrowed even closer, drawing in her scent. She still smelled like she used to; a lingering fragrance of winter apples, of green wood, but now overlaid with the heavy sweetness of milk and the warm, irony smell of womanhood. Alex stroked his bristled cheek and traced the shape of his ear.

  “I love you, Matthew Graham. And I think I did from the day you promised you wouldn’t leave me alone on the moor.”

  “Aye well; I knew you for a weak and defenceless woman from the first moment I saw you,” he said with attempted seriousness, protesting loudly when she pinched his ear.

  Chapter 35

  The first ship that sailed into Jamestown bore the proud name of Regina Anne, and Alex didn’t know whether to cry or laugh when Captain Miles strode onto the small wooden wharf. If he was surprised by her enthusiastic welcome, he didn’t show it, and at her question told her that of course they had berths with him, she and her husband both. And Mrs Gordon as well, he added quickly.

  “Well…” Alex glanced at him. “I don’t think she’ll be coming along. Besides, she’s Mrs Parson now.” Captain Miles looked crestfallen but perked up when his cargo came ashore.

  “No women?” Alex said, quite pleased that he should have stopped with such business.

  “No,” Captain Miles replied before turning away.

  Not quite the truth, as Alex gleaned from her conversations with the crew, and mainly with Smith. Instead, the captain had planned things better this time, offloading a shipment of wide-eyed girls in Barbados, filling his hold with barrel after barrel of cane liquor, and setting off for Jamestown as soon as the weather permitted. Here the captain hoped to sell off some of his cargo, fill the space with tobacco, and arrive back in England before anyone else with these two very marketable commodities.

  “Made quite the profit last year,” Smith confided, tapping his nose.

  “Ah,” Alex nodded, before moving over to introduce the captain to Matthew.

  Captain Miles shook hands with Matthew, gawking at him. It made Matthew frown, and Captain Miles muttered an apology.

  “Safe and sound, aye?” the captain said.

  “Now,” Matthew said, “not a year ago.”

  “No, I imagine not; you have a remarkable wife, Mr Graham, somewhat opinionated and stubborn to a fault, but loyal – most loyal.”

  “Stubborn? Me?” Alex raised her brows, took in identical expressions of amusement on both their faces.

  “Biblical almost,” Matthew agreed, “comes with the name, I reckon – Alexandra Ruth, my Ruth, companion through life and death.” His eyes softened into a mossy green, and Alex felt her face turn a deep pink. But inside she clutched his words to her heart and disco danced with joy.

  By late March, the Regina Anne was ready to go, and Alex and Matthew spent their last evening in Virginia with the Parsons, a long evening of reminiscences as Alex and Mrs Parson relived out loud these last two years. Slowly their voices drifted to a stop, and Alex leaned forward to clutch Mrs Parson’s hand.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she said.

  “And I you, lass.”

  Alex nodded; come tomorrow they would no longer be together, and how on earth was she going to survive that? She converted a sob into a coughing fit and with that as a pretext escaped to the little kitchen.

  For a long time she stood staring through the small window at the darkened back yard, crying in silence. An arm came round her waist, a voice on the verge of breaking told her to shush, aye, it was not like her lass to weep, was it?

  “I…” Alex gulped. “Oh God; I’m not sure how I’m going to cope.”

  “You’ll do fine, lass,” Mrs Parson said, smoothing back her hair.

  Alex shook her head. “You don’t understand. It feels…well, it feels as if I’m leaving my mother.” She wiped at her eyes, her nose, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes but it didn’t help; tears kept on flowing down her cheeks.

  “You’re a daughter of my heart, Alex Graham.” Mrs Parson stood on her toes and kissed Alex on the brow. “My lass, aye? And wherever you are, I’ll be there with you.” That only made Alex cry all the harder, hiding her face against Mrs Parson’s shoulder.

  “I really, really hate this,” she said after a while, dabbing at her swollen eyes.

  “It’s life,” Mrs Parson replied with a faint smile. “And we both know that you must go with him, no?” She gave Alex a little shake. “It’s the price you pay
for loving, that it tears at you to say farewell. But the love remains; no matter how far apart we’ll still love each other.” And that was no comfort whatsoever, at least not now.

  Next morning Alex was dumbstruck, incapable of doing anything more but hug Mrs Parson.

  “I…” she began, but couldn’t continue.

  “I know,” Mrs Parson replied, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I know, lass.” She disengaged herself from Alex’s clinging hands, pressed her lips to Alex’s brow and stepped away. “Go with God, Alex Graham.”

  “And you,” Alex managed to say before her voice broke. One more hug, a whispered ‘I love you’, and Alex stepped into the longboat to join Matthew, who sat waiting, Rachel in his arms.

  Once on deck, she moved over to stand by the railing, trailed by Matthew.

  “I’ll never see her again,” she said, looking towards the point where Mrs Parson was already dwindling into an anonymous dark dot.

  “Probably not,” he agreed, sounding very sad.

  Captain Miles popped up beside them and patted Alex on her shoulder. “Look to the east, lass; towards your home and your son.” He turned her so that her back was towards the receding Jamestown and pointed at the river estuary. “First the river, then the bay and then the sea…and on the other side lies Scotland.”

  Alex gave him a grateful smile. Thinking of Mark did help. Matthew’s arm came round her shoulders, and she stood silent with her eyes on the heavy eastern cloudbanks, dark and full of rain. Below her, the tidal waters of the James swirled brown with silt, behind her the overwhelming greenery of Virginia was quickly dropping out of sight, and before her, flat like a modern day skating rink and as grey in colour, lay the waters of the Chesapeake.

  “Happy Birthday,” she said to Matthew, receiving a surprised look in return. “It’s the last day of March. You’re thirty-three today, and according to my father that is one of the best ages of man. Three, thirty-three and sixty-six – the magical years in a man’s life. Don’t ask me why,” she added, seeing the leaping questions in his eyes. “I suppose it has to do with perfect childhood, perfect manhood and wise old age.”