“I sit here at times and remember the life that was. Before…” His low voice cut through the silence.
“Before we came,” she filled in, following the dancing beams of afternoon sunlight that fell in from the west to pattern the ground with eerily lifelike shades of that long gone existence.
“Yes, before John Smith brought the white man over.” He looked away through the screen of trees towards the river, barely visible from here. “He came to our village once.”
“He did? What was he like?”
“I’m not that old.” He smiled. “I never met him in person, but my grandfather did. We should never have let you land,” he added in a darker voice. “We should have listened to our wary brethren of the north and pushed you back into the sea.”
Alex quietly agreed. Soon nothing would be left of the Indian way of life.
“We still could, we still might.”
“Too late,” Alex said. “We’ll never let this go. Not now.”
Qaachow gave her a look of grim amusement. “We could steal in like shadows in the night, and none of you would notice until you lay dying in your blood.”
Alex huddled together with physical pain at the thought. “But you won’t, will you? You won’t kill my babies.”
“No, my people will not. We owe you lives.”
“Your people? Are there any other Indians we need to worry about?”
Qaachow hitched his shoulders. “This is our land. They will not touch you. But, elsewhere, white women and children will be slain, and their men will be killed slowly and in agony. The coming years will be bad, Mrs Graham, very bad.”
Alex nodded and bent to pick up a pine cone from where it lay on the shimmering green of the moss.
“I know. That’s why Matthew’s been called down to Providence.”
Qaachow looked away, saying something in his own language that sounded very sad. For some time he sat sunk in thoughts, eyes lost in the dappled shadow of the surrounding woods.
“I’ve never thanked you or your husband for what you did for my people, in particular for my wife.” Qaachow stood up in one fluid movement. He was an attractive man, Alex reflected, his hairless torso outlined with muscles without becoming too excessive. Long, beautiful hands, and a mouth that, when relaxed, was soft and tender – kissable. Their eyes met. For a couple of heartbeats he held her eyes, the shadow of a smile playing round his mouth.
Alex cleared her throat. “Your wife?”
“Thistledown-in-the-wind; it was her sister that died.”
“She’s very pretty,” Alex said, thinking of the young Indian woman with the thick braids – young enough to be his daughter, but apparently his wife. He seemed to see what she was thinking and smiled crookedly.
“I loved my first wife very much, and it took many moons before I wanted to look at another woman.” He stared off into the distance. “Morning Dream – always first in my heart.”
“Morning Dream, what a beautiful name.”
“As was she.” With a courteous nod in her direction, Qaachow blended into the surrounding trees.
*
“She’ll never know,” Thomas said, setting yet another mug of frothing ale before Matthew. He smiled at two of the working lasses and elbowed Matthew hard. “See? They’re giving you the eye. Pretty girls, both of them.”
Matthew had to agree that they were bonny – and frighteningly young. “Nay, I’ll sit here and drink my beer and wait for you.”
Thomas exhaled. “After riding the same mare for so many years, why not try out a hot new filly? Are you worried you won’t be able to perform?”
Matthew ignored the slur and concentrated on his beer. “You go.”
He was sitting there, as lost in his own thoughts as it was possible to be in a tavern populated by men with the expectant look of male baboons every time one of the whores smiled at them, when he became aware of someone looking at him. Matthew kept his eyes on the table, peeking through lowered lashes until he saw him, sitting straight across.
Dominic Jones wasn’t sitting alone: beside him sat that little strumpet of his, a right bonny woman with hair the colour of a fox pelt in autumn. Just like Luke’s hair... As always the thought of his brother made a surge of bile rise through him, even if there were times when the anger was accompanied by a tinge of regret that his brother should be so completely lost to him. Matthew scraped at a blob of wax, refusing to raise his eyes to where Jones sat staring at him.
“Graham.” Dominic Jones didn’t wait for permission. He just sat down at Matthew’s table, ignoring Matthew’s instinctive recoil.
“Jones, what business brings you to my table? You prefer skulking in the dark.”
To Matthew’s surprise Dominic scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “I have enemies enough in my life; chief amongst them my sweet wife.”
“Aye,” Matthew nodded in the direction of the lass who was laughing with a comely lad. “She would be a trifle upset, what with yon lass.” And she had the right of it, to be so openly spurned, and she a dutiful and fertile wife and handsome to boot.
“Upset?” Jones spat on the floor. “I fear to return home lest she castrate me.” Matthew smiled faintly. Not a major loss, he reflected, sipping at yet another mug of beer that had miraculously appeared before him.
“I wish to make you a deal,” Jones said. “Retribution, if you will.”
“Retribution?” Matthew echoed. “For what? For your unprovoked ambush last time we met? Or for kicking my dignity out of me all those years ago? For treating me like an animal despite me being a man as good as you are? Or for attempting to have me hanged for a murder you committed?”
“Shh!” Jones glared at him. “For all, I suppose,” he said in a surly voice.
Matthew shook his head and pushed back from the table. “You can’t give me back what you took, no matter that you pile rubies and pearls on the table before me.”
Jones looked at him from under lowered brows, one of which was neatly bisected by a glossy pink scar – a permanent remembrance from their last meeting. The small, light eyes regarded him with a mixture of caution and dislike.
“We’re to serve in the same militia company,” Jones said, “and I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder to ensure you’re not aiming your musket at my back.”
Matthew eyed the man in front of him and decided then and there to have a long talk with Thomas about the need to have someone always covering his back. In the darker recesses of his mind woke the thought that it would be so very easy; for a man as good a shot as he was, it would be no great matter to permanently rid the world of Dominic Jones.
“Can we then at least agree that while serving together we’ll do each other no harm?” Jones asked.
Matthew grinned wolfishly. “If anything befalls me, dear Dominic, you might find it all a wee bit too hot under your feet.”
“There’s nothing you can prove!”
“Nay, not as such; but a providential date on the will that gave you Fairfax’s whole estate and an extensive description of events might make it difficult for you. Gossip sticks like tar, and once it sticks it burns itself into your skin and never, ever washes off.” He was enjoying this. Jones squirmed like a fat worm on a hook before getting to his feet.
“I make an uncomfortable enemy.”
“So do I,” Matthew replied, baring his teeth. He frowned down at the table for some heartbeats before looking at Jones. “But if you give me your word you won’t harm me, I’ll give you my word I won’t harm you – not as long as we serve together.”
“My word,” Jones nodded, “it’s given.” He spat in his hand and held it out to Matthew, who after some consideration spat in his own hand and took it. The revulsion that ran through him at Jones’ touch made him want to void his guts, and he retook his hand to wipe it against his breeches. Besid
es, he didn’t believe him.
Matthew stared down at his mug, drained it and slammed it down on the table, beckoning to one of the wenches for a refill. Where the hell was Thomas? He nursed yet another mug of beer and another, and suddenly there was a lass sitting beside him, and she was laughing at everything he said. When her hand brushed at his crotch, his cock sprung into beer-sodden life, vociferously demanding to be let out to run a chase or two. Matthew blinked at the girl; she was very bonny, with dark eyes and hair the colour of honey – like Kate.
“Kate,” he slurred and the girl nodded.
“Kate,” she said.
“Sweet, sweet, Kate,” Matthew enunciated, making a huge effort. His cock was being expertly fondled and he heard himself groan. What was he doing? With a huge effort, he slapped her hand away and scooted away, but she came after him and there was her hand again, and it was almost like Alex... Alex! Matthew sobered up so fast he nearly fell off the bench.
“Nay, lass.” His tongue was thick in his mouth. She ignored him, no doubt assuming it was but a matter of minutes before he followed her upstairs, and then it would be quick and neat, with her much richer and he rather poorer. Sweetest Lord, but he wanted to! He sat back against the wall, his legs spread as her hand found its way into his breeches. His head was spinning with too much beer, his pulse thundered in his head, and his balls ached with lust.
“Matthew?” Thomas leaned across the table, beaming. “Do you want me to wait for you?” He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.
“Nay.” Matthew batted away the long-fingered hand and got to his feet, trying to order his clothes. His cock protested; it needed to, it screeched, and this lassie definitely knew her business. “For the love of God, Thomas, take me away. I don’t want to do this, however much my cock wishes to.”
Next morning Matthew woke to a throbbing head and an acute sense of self-disgust. Had Thomas not appeared when he did, he would’ve gone with the pretty little whore and...
“But you didn’t.” Thomas sounded irritated. “And even if you had, how would it have harmed? Alex would never have known.”
“Aye, she would. She would have had it out of me in less than an hour, and then my married life would have morphed into a bed of thorns.” Matthew threw a look out of the window and rolled out of his side of the bed. “Kirk?”
“Oh, of course,” Thomas agreed and stretched.
It was therefore in a penitent state of mind that Matthew heard Richard Campbell for the first time. Sitting ashamed and hung-over in a pew, he listened as this small man with an unattractively high voice laid out the text around the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah – in Scots. Afterwards, he felt flayed, but somehow much relieved, and he approached the minister for a private discussion that ended with Richard Campbell promising to come home with him. Matthew was elated; a minister in his home – it was going to be like old times, long nights spent in religious debates with Sandy Peden or Minister Crombie.
He was substantially happier when he made his way back to the inn. Judging by his behaviour last night, it was evident he needed to shore up his moral backbone, and now he had found someone to help him with it.
Chapter 27
It was dislike at first sight. Alex looked the small, pompous man up and down before dropping him a swift curtsey and disappearing inside the house, carrying the bundles Matthew had offloaded into her arms.
“Why has he brought wee Richard Campbell with him?” Mrs Parson muttered, shaking her head.
“You know him?” Alex was wondering the exact same thing.
“Not as such. Fiery preacher, I must say, a man that can inspire a crowd to do great things in the name of the Lord.”
Magnus glanced at their guest. “Difficult to believe; he looks about as inspiring as a turnip – a very dirty one at that.”
“Pappa!” Alex laughed. “Shush, the children will hear you.” But he was right; Mr Campbell looked as if he and water had a very distant relationship – like once a year at most – and he smelled accordingly.
“David can’t talk yet.” Magnus hefted his grandson higher into his arms. “And the others are standing in an adoring circle round their father, in case you haven’t noticed.”
*
Over the coming days, Richard Campbell was horrified by what he saw in the Graham household: lads well over the age of six still under their mother’s tutelage, a wife who spoke her mind, not only to her ageing father and sons, but also to her husband. Even worse, Matthew Graham minded what she said, upholding her authority when necessary. Not that there was much need of that, the sons leaping to do their mother’s will with alacrity.
He studied Alex as discreetly as he could, trying to calculate how old she could be. Seven children, and the eldest was nigh on nineteen, so she must be some years shy of forty. She didn’t look it, her carriage erect, her skin a soft, glowing pink except on her uncovered hands and forearms. Eyes of a startling blue, dark hair that was mostly covered, even if now and then a long curl would escape to bob enticingly below the cap – all in all, Alex Graham was an attractive woman, with a high bosom and what even Richard Campbell could recognise as a promising swell to the hips. He noted how Matthew’s eyes followed his wife around and sighed; a man enslaved to his bodily needs and a wife who knew how to keep him enthralled. No, this needed to change.
“And what are you studying in the Bible?” Richard asked Daniel, receiving a blank stare in return.
“The Bible? We read from it at times, but mostly it is ciphering and writing, and Mama teaches us about geography and history. I know all the capital cities of the world.”
“Capital cities?” Richard shook his head. “But can you name the books of the New Testament?”
Daniel admitted that no, he couldn’t – not all of them.
“Can you cite me the ten commandments?” Richard asked, and Daniel assured him that aye, those he knew. “Well, all is not lost then,” Richard muttered.
*
After some days of interrogation, Richard cornered Matthew in the stable and told him he was failing in his responsibilities as a father.
“I am?” Matthew said warily. Richard Campbell as a constant presence was somewhat less enchanting than he had been as a motivating speaker, and he was already having regrets about having brought him home – particularly as Alex left neither Matthew nor Richard in any doubts as to her opinion on the matter, silently supported by both Magnus and Mrs Parson. It irked Matthew to have all three ranged against him, and it gave him a certain amount of satisfaction to insist that Richard stay a bit longer, making a clear point as to who decided what in his family.
“Your lads are sadly lacking in Biblical knowledge,” Richard said. “You’ve left their schooling in the hands of a woman with no understanding of the Holy Book.”
“I read to them myself; every Sunday I read a text and discuss it with them.”
“And yet they can’t name the books of either the Old or the New Testament, they can’t name the twelve tribes of Israel, have but a rudimentary knowledge of the Epistles, and have not fully studied Revelations. You’ve been remiss, Matthew Graham, and your sons will suffer for it.”
Matthew’s ears were tingling with shame.
“Fortunately, I’m willing to stay for some weeks, and I’ll take over their schooling for the length of my stay. If you want, I’ll be glad to undertake to do something about your wife’s ignorance as well, but that requires she be of a willing disposition.”
“My wife isn’t ignorant, and I’ll not have you talk of her like that. But I’ll gladly take up your offer to school my lads.”
“I don’t want that man teaching my children anything!” Alex said when Matthew informed her of his arrangements with Campbell. “Every time he opens his mouth, in creeps an insinuation that women are somehow deficient to men.”
“He will only be here for some weeks,
and it won’t come amiss to have the lads taught the Bible, will it?”
“The lads? So Ruth and Sarah don’t need to be taught? On account of them being too young or too inconsequential?”
“Too young,” Matthew lied. He looked at his father-in-law for support. “You agree, Magnus? That it can’t do any harm?”
“Hmm,” Magnus said, looking anything but encouraging.
“I’ve asked him to stay August out,” Matthew informed them rather coolly. “He’ll be tutoring the lads a couple of hours each afternoon, after they’ve finished with their work for the day.”
“Well, thank you for discussing it with me beforehand,” Alex said.
“I don’t have to,” Matthew retorted, stung into anger. “It is I that decide what’s best for my children, not you.”
“Well done,” Magnus murmured to Matthew, clapping him on the shoulder. The room was still reverberating with the crash of the slammed door.
It went nasty very quickly after that, a previous silent hostility degenerating into open war with Mark, Jacob and Daniel the contested territory. If Richard decided it was time for Bible class, Alex contrived to be on hand, adding elucidating comments whenever she thought they were needed.
“The Queen of Sheba was a fair-skinned beauty of great renown,” said Richard.
“The Queen of Sheba was a beautiful dark woman,” Alex scoffed. “She was queen of Ethiopia which is in northern Africa.”
Richard scowled at her interruption, his substantial lower jaw jutting out in a way that made him resemble a frog attempting to catch a fly. He cleared his throat and opened his Bible at Psalms. “Today, we will talk about King David, a man of utmost piety and righteousness.”
“King David was also a womanizer who didn’t think twice about arranging Uriah’s death to get his hands on Uriah’s wife,” Alex reminded her boys. She swallowed back on a cackle of satisfied laughter at the look on Richard’s face. Instead, she pretended an interest in her sewing.
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 24
