A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga)

by Belfrage, Anna

  “Hmm,” Mrs Parson said, looking very concerned.

  *

  “She’s dead?” Jenny stared at Mrs Parson. “Celia? But...” Jenny sat down with a thud. “How?”

  Mrs Parson’s shoulders were bowed, and for the first time Alex noticed that Mrs Parson was in fact quite old – even very old by the standards of the here and now: sixty-four or thereabouts.

  “Sit down,” Alex said. “I’ll bring you something to drink, and then you can tell us.”

  Mrs Parson just nodded, yet another indication of how affected she was by the whole thing. Alex returned with a mug of sweetened tea and a slice of rich currant cake.

  “Thank you.” Mrs Parson placed her hand over Alex’s.

  “The baby?” Alex asked as a starting point.

  “A lassie,” Mrs Parson said, stirring her tea. “Healthy enough, although not as bonny as her brother was when he exited the womb. The afterbirth came undone during the birth, and there was nothing I could do to stop the bleeding. She bled to death.” The mug shook when she raised it to her mouth. “Not a sound did she make. She just looked at me…” Mrs Parson’s voice broke. “She just looked at me.”

  *

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Alex said to Elizabeth at the second funeral in less than a month.

  Elizabeth looked at her from dull eyes. “Thank you, she was a good daughter-in-law, was Celia, and we’ll have problems finding someone to fill her shoes.”

  Alex looked over to where Nathan stood white-faced beside his father with his little son in arms. “It must be difficult for him.”

  “Yes, they were fond of each other.” Elizabeth sounded a bit strange, her eyes stuck on one of her maids. The girl, a delicate blonde with a baby in a shawl, squirmed under her mistress’ look.

  Once Celia was safely in the ground, Peter Leslie invited the men to his study. Alex wanted to go home, but Matthew gave her a helpless look and followed his host, leaving Alex to trail Elizabeth and the other Leslie women to the kitchen.

  The table groaned under the combined weight of the platters holding everything from cheese to pickled tongue, and after a few mugs of beer, Elizabeth was back in good old form, haranguing everyone within earshot about the deficient morals of her papist maids.

  “Little slut!” she spat, jerking her head in the direction of the girl with the baby. “No sooner did she get here but she ended up pregnant.”

  “All on her own?” Alex said.

  “Of course not,” Elizabeth snorted. “No divine intervention, just a scheming wanton taking advantage of my poor Nathan.”

  “Poor Nathan?” Alex set down her mug. “What if it’s the other way around?”

  Elizabeth’s face took on an unhealthy hue, so when Mary grabbed at Alex’s sleeve and suggested they step outside, she complied.

  *

  Matthew spent an hour or so enclosed with the Leslie men and a good whisky, after which he went to find his wife. Alex was sitting in the shade with Mary and, from the set of her mouth, he could see she was right upset. Once he followed her eyes across the yard to where the serving wenches were sitting, he knew why.

  “Fond of each other!” Alex said as he helped her up on Moses. “He was so fond of his wife he impregnated one of the indentured girls. And now that unfortunate woman – who, by the way, has had her contract extended – is nursing not only her child by Nathan, but Celia’s little girl. Probably apt poetic justice in Elizabeth’s book.”

  “You’re being unfair,” Matthew chided. “She’s the only nursing mother there.”

  “Huh,” Alex sniffed and took off her cap, complaining she was hot.

  “Will he marry her, do you think?” she asked a bit later, leaning back against him. Samuel squirmed inside her shawl, a small red fist appearing to wave at the world.

  “She isn’t good enough, and if I’m not mistaken she’s also Irish.” But she was a comely lass, wee Ailish, with those elfin features and eyes like crushed violets.

  “Irish? And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “She’s not of the right faith, she being a papist and all.”

  “Sometimes...” She threw both arms up in the air in an exasperated gesture which almost led to them falling off the horse. “Oh, what the hell!” she finished. “It’s a petty, small-minded world at times.”

  “Aye, but now and then people surprise you.”

  “They do?”

  Matthew chuckled and held her tight. “You wait and see, lass. I fear Elizabeth and Peter Leslie have somewhat of a surprise coming.”

  “You do?”

  “Och, aye, I do.” He slowed Moses to a walk and buried his nose in her uncovered hair. “I love you,” he murmured.

  “You’re only saying that because you’re hoping for some action, Mr Graham. More or less now.”

  “I am? And how would you know?”

  “Let’s just say that I have a long-standing relationship with that part of you that’s presently nudging at my arse.”

  He laughed, pressed himself a wee bit closer and turned off the bridle path. Once he’d halted Moses, he dismounted, somewhat gingerly because of his erection.

  “Will you join me?” he asked, bowing.

  “As if you need to ask.” She smiled down at him.

  *

  “You look like a fairy, or a wood sprite,” he said drowsily, lying back with his head pillowed on his arms. The sun filtered through the canopies of the tall trees that surrounded them, casting dancing shafts of golden light to gleam on moss and stones, on his discarded boots and on her, his woman. She was rosy from their recent lovemaking, sitting in only her shift, her hair hanging undone round her shoulders, their son at her breast.

  “You look pretty other-worldly yourself.” She smiled, drawing a finger down his naked torso. He shivered at her touch, the skin prickling in anticipation. Samuel burped, expelled something that sounded like a contented mewling and fell asleep, his head pillowed on his mother’s shoulder. She placed their son on his chest, and he cupped his son’s head, his wee bum.

  “Did you think it would be like this?” she asked, lying back down beside him on the makeshift bed consisting mainly of her skirts and shawl.

  “Like what?” He let his head fall over to meet her eyes.

  “Did you think it would get so much better as we got older?” Her cheeks coloured a deep pink. “Or maybe you don’t think it has gotten better,” she said, making him smile.

  “It has, on account of us knowing better how to please each other.” He shifted Samuel to lie beside him before rolling over towards his wife. With a light finger he traced her brows, the delicate pointed tip of her ear. “I didn’t think it could get better, and in some ways it hasn’t – after all, I no longer rouse as easily after the first time as I used to.” He brushed her nose with his own, kissed each of her eyes in turn.

  “You don’t?”

  His thighs parted under her touch. “Nay, not as fast, but fast enough.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and laid her down on her back, drawing out long strands of hair to decorate her pale skin. “We didn’t get very far with the Song of Solomon, did we?” he said, sliding his hands up her thighs. Skin as soft as velvet, smooth and warm under his palms. His thumbs brushed over her privates. She sighed, lifting her hips towards his touch.

  “No, we never get very far beyond the first lines. But I do believe we have the sentiment down pat.”

  “Aye,” he breathed against her ear. “That we do.”

  “I’ll be riding down to Providence at the end of next week,” Matthew said once they were back on the horse. “I have to be there on the first of August.” A long, slow afternoon spent in a clearing in the forest had left him heavy with sated desire, somnolent near on, and it would appear his wife was in the same state, seeing as it took her some time to reply.

 
; “To Providence?”

  “I must be there for the meeting of the militia.” Matthew grimaced. “What with the repeated attacks on outlying settlements during the summer, it’s all set to explode. Thomas and I will be riding down together. With Jacob.”

  “Jacob?” Her voice squeaked.

  “As we decided – the lad’s to go into apprenticeship, setting him up on his way to becoming a man.”

  “You decided.” She closed her arms round the wean and said nothing more.

  Matthew sensed the tension radiating from her but chose not to say anything. She had to learn to let them go.

  *

  The night before they were scheduled to leave, Alex came and found Matthew in the stables.

  “I can’t,” she said, her voice heavy with tears. “Please don’t make me let him go.”

  “It’s a good opportunity for him. And you’ve had a year to prepare yourself.”

  “I can’t send away my ten-year-old boy, not now, with the countryside in upheaval and you soon off to ride with the militia and…” She took a big breath and knotted her hands in her apron. “I just can’t.”

  Matthew went back to his currying, thinking as he worked. Behind him, he could hear her breathing, the restless shifting from foot to foot as she waited for him to reply.

  “One more year,” he said, turning to face her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “thank you so very much.” She almost curtsied but stopped herself at the last moment. He smiled slightly. Some weeks shy of forty-two, his wife had seemingly learnt that ultimately most things were his decision, not hers.

  “You may kiss me if you wish to show your gratitude in an appropriate, wifely manner,” he teased.

  Alex’s head flew up and a bolt of bright blue hit him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t.”

  “Oh aye? But I do.” He grabbed at her and pulled her close, ignoring her half-hearted attempts at wresting herself free.

  “I’ll take him down to Providence with me anyway,” Matthew said to Alex as they made their way to the house. “It might be good for him to meet Hancock in person already now.” He frowned at the thought of the upcoming discussions with the lawyer, but decided Hancock would understand the motherly concerns – in particular given the escalating tension between natives and whites. “That way he can see where he will live and acquaint himself with the town – and meet the Hancock lasses.”

  “Lasses? They have children?”

  “Six lasses, the three eldest wed already, but the three youngest remain at home.” The youngest was of an age with Jacob, he told her, and as he recalled a cheerful, polite lass. “It won’t come amiss with a friend.”

  “No, a friend is always good.”

  He smiled. The Hancock lassie would be a good match for his Jacob, but he saw no reason to broach this subject yet.

  *

  Alex had to bite back a smile at her son’s over-excited face. Jacob was bouncing up and down on the mule, so eager was he to ride off alone with his da.

  “I’ll bring you back something nice,” he told his sisters. “Mayhap some of those sweets you liked so much last year?”

  Sarah nodded eagerly.

  “A book,” Ruth said gravely. “Could you find me a book, do you think?”

  Jacob promised he would try, his hand clutching the few coins Alex had given him.

  “What do you want, Mama?” he asked when she came over to pat him on the leg.

  “Me?” She raised her eyes to his. “I want you to come back, Jacob. That’s the best gift I can wish for.”

  She laughed at how pleased he looked, patted him on the cheek and went over to where Matthew was already astride Moses.

  To her husband, Alex had other words to say. She stood holding on to his stirrup and waited until he bent his head to hers. “Stay away from him, Matthew. This time don’t go anywhere close to Dominic Jones. Promise me you won’t.”

  “I’ll give the man as wide a berth as I can.”

  “Good.” Her eyes moved to the loaded pistol at his belt and she nodded approvingly. One doesn’t enter the viper’s nest unarmed.

  Chapter 37

  Jacob had never ridden so far before, and by the time they made their way into Providence, three days after setting out, all he could think of was the sore, chafing skin along the crease of his buttocks and down the insides of his thighs. For three days he’d listened to Mr Leslie and Da while they discussed the latest incidents of burning and pillaging, and he could hear in Da’s voice that he wasn’t happy about leaving his own home unprotected to go and protect elsewhere.

  “It’s them that provoke the Indians that should handle it themselves,” Da said at one point. “I’ve had no problems with them; none at all.”

  Thomas Leslie agreed, saying that the colonists were in flagrant breach of the treaty lines, and he could understand that the Nanticote and Powhatan settlements were irritated by this encroachment.

  “In Virginia in particular,” Mr Leslie said, “it’s not that long ago since Berkeley fought them to submission and signed treaties with them that are now being trampled underfoot.”

  “Long enough.” Da smiled. “About the time you and I were fighting for the Commonwealth.”

  Jacob listened avidly. Rarely did Da talk about the four years he had served in the Horse, and then mainly to bewail the futility of war or to tell them harshly that war was not about glory and honour; it was about blood and pain and being hungry and cold and wishing desperately to be back home with your mam. Needless to say, none of his sons believed him, and in secret they played out long battle sequences between Roundheads and Royalists, with Ruth and Sarah being roped in to add to the numbers.

  “When we were both young men.” Mr Leslie twitched at the ancient buff leather jacket that strained over his middle despite the extra panels in it.

  “Did you both serve in the Horse?” Jacob asked.

  “Aye, but not in the same regiment.” Da twisted in his saddle towards Mr Leslie. “Did you ever meet him? The Protector?”

  “Not as such, no. I saw him at the battle of Naseby, and once I saw him in London. And you?”

  Da hitched his shoulders. “Nay, but then why would a man such as Oliver Cromwell notice an eager farmer’s lad with his head and heart full of convictions but nothing much else?”

  Mr Leslie smiled. “It was people like that who changed it all – at least for a while. It was all those that burnt with these new ideas of self-governance and equality that achieved a time when England was not ruled by a king but by free men.”

  “A very short period, all in all,” Da said.

  “A precedent.” Thomas Leslie nodded. “And one day that precedent will be followed by others.”

  *

  “Do you think he’s right, Da?” Jacob asked later. It was a relief to be walking, not riding, and he hurried as best as he could to keep up with Da through the narrow streets of Providence.

  “Who?” Da shortened his stride.

  “Mr Leslie. Is he right when he says you all set a...a precedent with the Commonwealth?”

  “Shh!” Da looked about before returning his attention to Jacob. “These are things you don’t discuss openly and never with people you don’t know and trust.”

  “Sorry,” Jacob mumbled, allowing his thick hair to come down like a curtain before his face.

  “Aye,” Da said some moments later, “I think he is. And it will all start here.”

  “Here?” Jacob surveyed the small, nondescript town around him.

  Da smiled and straightened up to his full height. “Aye, here. I won’t see it, you won’t see it, but mayhap your children, or at least your grandchildren. This is the cradle, and it’s already being set in motion.” He laughed and ruffled Jacob’s hair. “That’s what happens. Most people you see here have come on account of convicti
ons, lad. They have come determined to build a new life for themselves, free of persecution and ancient constraints... There is no turning back the flood, and this particular tide will build until it one day washes away all vestiges of the old.” He peeked down at Jacob. “You didn’t follow, did you?”

  Jacob shook his head ruefully. “No, I don’t understand. Not yet.”

  One look at Betty Hancock and Jacob understood why Mark so often would choose to spend time with Naomi instead of with him. The lass standing in front of him reminded him of a squirrel: bright brown eyes, bright brown hair that was so curly it stood like a fuzz around her head despite the tight braids, freckled skin that hued in browns and dusky pinks, and a wide, welcoming smile that broadened as she appraised him. Betty dropped Da a polite curtsey and went back to staring at Jacob.

  “Come,” Betty said. “If you come with me to the kitchen, Mother will give you something to eat.” She sniffed. “She’s making pie. Do you like pie?”

  Jacob assured her that he did and followed her out of the front room.

  *

  “I hear you have yet a son,” William Hancock said to Matthew, motioning for him to sit. Matthew nodded and accepted the proffered mug of beer. “You’re fortunate in your wife.” There was a slight tinge of envy in Hancock’s tone. “What is it? Six sons?”

  “And one grandson.”

  “Ah, yes...” Hancock smiled into his beer. “I have three grandsons.” He looked towards the kitchen from where came the sound of girlish voices raised in a heated discussion. “Women,” he sighed. “I live surrounded by women. Like an isle in a sea of sirens.”

  “And rarely do you complain about it,” Mrs Hancock said from the door, a loaded tray in her hands.

  “I wouldn’t dare to,” William said, smiling at his wife. Pregnant, Matthew noted, and no doubt praying that this time it would be a lad, a son that lived beyond his first year, unlike all those wee laddies William had told him about last time they met.

  “Esther is most devout,” William remarked once they were alone again. “She rises well before dawn to read her daily lessons and meditate upon the Holy Writ.”