“Well done,” she said when Philip remained in the saddle.
“Mrs Graham,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now why doesn’t it surprise me that it’s you?”
“Maybe because you’re on our land. To be quite exact, you’re trespassing.”
“We are?” He looked down at her, eyes an almost white when a shaft of sunlight hit them square on. “And what do you intend to do about it?”
“Nothing. There’s not much I can do, is there?”
“Wise of you,” he said, nodding so that the signatory lock of black hair fell forward over his brow. He looked over to where his brothers seemed to be joining them and shook his head. “Stay with them,” he called. “They’ll run like deer if you give them the opportunity to.”
“So many. What did you do? Stamp out a whole tribe?”
“More or less.” A small smile played over Philip’s mouth.
“And the others?”
“What others?”
“They’re not all women, are they? There must have been men and boys and small children, even babies...” Her voice wound down at the expression on his face. “Oh my God! You killed them!”
“No, no, Mrs Graham, of course we didn’t – well, except for the men. We just left them behind.” He sounded as if he considered this to be to his credit.
“But...” Alex stared at him, shocked to the core. “The babies, how will they live? The little children?”
“What do we care? They have no value to us.”
“They’re human beings!”
“They’re Indians, dispensable and heathen to boot.”
“Heathen?” Her voice squeaked with rage. “And what are you? Devils risen from hell?” She shook her fists at him. “You’ll die for this, one day you’ll pay, and I for one will dance on your grave.”
“That depends on if you’re still alive,” Philip snarled, struggling to control his horse, which was spooked by Alex and her angry arm flapping. “After all, why not take you with us as well? Sell you off as a slave somewhere.”
“You wouldn’t dare! Matthew would—”
Philip laughed. “Not here, is he? And by the time he finds out, you won’t be in a position to care – and he’ll not want you back.” His eyes glinted as he dropped off the horse.
Alex’s instinct was to turn and run, but she suspected that was just what he wanted, because there was no doubt he was faster than her. He took a step towards her. Another, and she backed away, thinking that if he came close enough she’d kick him in the head. These last few years, she’d worked regularly on her sadly forgotten karate skills, and even if she was far from the black belt competences she once had, she had regained some of her agility and body control. She crouched, hand gripping the knife she kept hidden in the folds of her skirt.
Philip gave her a little bow. “You don’t scare easily, Mrs Graham, do you?”
She didn’t trust her voice to reply, so instead she shook her head, planning on where to sink her knife. She’d only get one shot at this, she thought, licking her lips.
There was a commotion down in the clearing, and for an instant Philip’s attention wavered. That was all she needed. She launched herself at him, kicked his legs from under him and bolted, darting like a hare between the shrubs. She ran until she could taste blood in her mouth; she ran until she barged straight into Ian, sending them both to the ground.
“Quick, quick, get up,” she panted, struggling back to her feet. “They’re coming, Ian, run!”
“Who?” Ian said. “There’s no one there.”
“There isn’t?” Alex peeked over her shoulder before sort of melting into the ground, listening with detachment to her own heavy breathing. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, and hid her face against her knees.
*
“Gone,” Ian said when he and Mark returned home. “And from the looks of it, in quite a haste.” He flung himself down in one of the armchairs and extended his legs towards the hearth.
Alex turned from where she was sitting by the little desk, ledgers lying open before her. “Well, they don’t want Matthew on their tail, do they?” She gave herself a hug, rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Those poor people, and the children, the little babies.” Her guts shrivelled with compassion. “Do you think—?”
“No,” Ian said, “I don’t. We’ll never find the village they came from. How can we?”
“Where will they take them?”
“To Virginia, I imagine. There’s always a market for slaves there.”
“It’s wrong! We should—”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know, but to just watch and do nothing... It sticks in my craw.” With a sigh, she returned to her accounts, brows pulled together as she tried to get the shillings and pence to square.
“We have to find more labour for next year,” Ian said, probably to distract her. “We can’t manage one more year with only the three of us.” He nodded over to where an exhausted Mark was half asleep on the floor, Narcissus’ huge head pillowed on his lap.
“I know.” Alex frowned down at the meagre pouch, hefting it to hear the reassuring clonk of the six small ingots left. “Have you thought about Forest Spring? You know, moving there?”
“Aye. Jenny thinks cows – a lot of cows. She’s good at dairy work, and the beasts can be left to pasture among the trees during the summer.”
Alex grunted in agreement. “You do the cows, I’ll do the pigs.” This year as well she’d been very successful with her piggies, and Ian and Matthew had ridden down to the Michaelmas market with two overloaded mules carrying hams and sausages, smoked ribs and jellied trotters that had brought in a sizeable amount of money, most of it immediately spent on cloth and sugar and salt, her precious tea and two new muskets with rifled barrels.
“I’ll write to Minister Walker,” she said.
“The minister?” Ian looked totally lost.
“About the Indians. Maybe he can do something to help them.”
“Maybe.” Ian rose and came over to give her a hug. “Most colonists don’t care, and in particular now they won’t much mind if an Indian village or two are eradicated.”
“I know, but that doesn’t make it any better, does it?”
Ian kissed her on the brow. “My mama,” he said, and she could hear the pride in his voice.
*
“Do you think he’s alright?” Alex asked Mrs Parson a couple of weeks later, indicating with her head the full-blown storm outside the windows. “Will he have somewhere to sleep that is moderately warm and damp free?” Well over six weeks he had been gone, and she worried about everything: if his clean shirts had run out, if she should have sent along more woollen stockings, if he was eating properly, if, if, if. And foremost was the eternal question: if he was still safe and whole or if he’d been wounded and oh, dear God, killed, in an unnecessary skirmish defending those who had been too greedy from the legitimate reprisals of the aggrieved natives. She refused to think about Dominic Jones. Matthew would make sure he kept himself safe from him.
“I told you many years ago, didn’t I?” Mrs Parson replied without lifting her eyes from the rakish striped stockings she was knitting. “You sense him, no?”
Alex closed her eyes and raised a clenched hand to her chest, taking long breaths. And there, deep inside of her, she felt his beat, the slow steady pulse that told her he was still alive and well.
She gave Mrs Parson a teary smile. “Still there.” She fell to her knees before the old woman and buried her head in her lap. “What would I do without you?” she murmured, closing her eyes when Mrs Parson’s hands came down to wind themselves in and out of her locks, to brush back and soothe.
“Cope, I imagine,” Mrs Parson said, but there was a wobble to her voice that made Alex smile.
“Mother,” she said into the dark skirts beneath
her cheek.
“Daughter,” Mrs Parson murmured. “A most beloved daughter, aye?” It was calming to sit like this, but the moment was interrupted when the door flew open.
“Mama?” Jacob fell into the kitchen, shadowed by Daniel.
“Yes?” Alex frowned at the expression on their faces. “What’s the matter?”
“In the stables...” Jacob began.
“... and we thought she might be dead,” Daniel said, “but she opened her eyes.”
“...but the baby, Mama, the wean looks awful,” Jacob went on.
“Dead, almost,” Daniel nodded.
Alex was already on her way out, throwing a shawl over her shoulders against the biting north wind.
“It’ll snow before evening,” she muttered as she hurried after her boys.
“Aye,” Jacob agreed, “look at yon clouds, near black.”
“Why is it that snow comes out of black clouds?” Sarah asked, having joined the party. “Snow is white. Shouldn’t the clouds be white?”
“I have no idea.” Alex smiled. “Why don’t you write that question down and we can ask your da when he comes home.”
“Will he be back for my birthday, do you think?” Jacob slipped a hand into hers.
“I hope so,” Alex said, “both for yours and Ruth’s.”
Alex took in the awry nativity scene: hay, farm animals, but instead of a rosy Virgin, a woman that looked half-dead.
“Thistledown-in-the-wind.” Alex fell to her knees beside the woman. The once so radiant Indian woman was the colour of dirty linen, a dull grey that highlighted her wasted face and contrasted eerily with the thick black hair that hung in a matted mess around her head.
“What has happened to you?” Alex asked, without receiving a reply. The eyes remained closed, shallow breaths steaming into the air.
“The wean, Mama,” Sarah whispered, her little arm shaking when she pointed at the cradle board lying some distance away.
Alex crawled over to it. “Oh, Jesus.” If the mother seemed to be hovering between life and death, the little baby looked even worse. Snot-encrusted eyelashes glued the eyelids together, the mouth hung open and a soft wheezing accompanied every breath.
“Here.” Alex thrust the cradle board into Daniel’s hands. “Run inside and give it to Mrs Parson.” Daniel flew, with his sister at his heels, and Alex turned to Jacob.
“Can we lift her between the two of us, do you think?”
Jacob inserted his hands under the woman’s legs. “Aye, she doesn’t weigh much.”
“No,” Alex said, “and that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Chapter 40
“Starvation,” Mrs Parson said, stating the obvious. “The wean is near to expiring.”
“Not anymore.” Alex looked down at the coal-black head at her breast.
“It must suckle, lass. You can’t swallow for it.”
“It will live, but what about the mother?”
In response, Mrs Parson pinched the skin of the young woman’s arm and let go. The skin remained creased for quite some time before smoothing itself out.
“Undernourished, no liquids...” Mrs Parson sighed. “Honey, I think, and a rich broth.”
Agnes came over with linen and hot water. Together, she and Mrs Parson undressed their surprise guest, washed her, and got her into a clean shift before placing her on a pallet bed as close to the hearth as possible.
“Do you think she’d mind if I comb her hair?” Agnes asked.
Alex looked up from the baby. “I think she’d appreciate the kindness,” she said and went back to prodding the baby to eat. Every time it tried to fall asleep, she pinched it gently, using her finger to tease the mouth open. Suddenly, it clamped down and suckled hard, choking on the resulting gush of milk. Again and again it sucked, the milk began to flow, and the baby swallowed and swallowed.
“Not too much at one time,” Mrs Parson warned. Too late, and Alex made a disgusted face when her bodice was covered with baby puke. The child in her arms wailed piteously, but at least it was moving and making noise.
“You’ll do,” Alex shushed it. “Now, let’s try and do this again, okay?”
Some time later she wrapped the clean infant in a shawl and placed him beside his mother. A thin arm came out to hold the baby close, and Alex patted Thistledown on her cheek before getting off her knees.
*
Two weeks later, Alex moped her way down the lane towards the house. No sign of Matthew today either, and she had no idea where he was, or, more importantly, how he was. She tugged at her best bodice, feeling foolish for having dressed up yet again on the off chance that this was the day he’d come galloping home.
She entered the front room where Sarah and Ruth were playing something in a corner, generously including David as well. By the fire lay a quilt-covered shape, soft snores escaping from the open mouth. After days of competent care, Thistledown had regained a more normal skin colour, even if she was still too weak to do much more than sleep and eat.
Her son had recovered much faster, and was now fast asleep on his belly beside his mother. Alex eased her aching breasts. Feeding two children was becoming something of a strain, and her poor tits were constantly overproducing, leaving her tender and damp. Samuel grunted when she settled him in her lap, and for half an hour it was all peacefully quiet, pale December sun leaking in through the small glass panes to pattern the scrubbed floor with squares of light.
“Mama?” Daniel shook her awake. “Jacob says you must come, and come quick.” He held out his arms. “I can take care of Samuel.”
“You do that.” Alex stood up with a flutter of apprehension in her stomach. By the fire, Thistledown was awake, sitting up with her son cradled to her chest.
“See?” Jacob was standing by the kitchen door, musket in hand, indicating the group of riders coming down the lane.
“Mother! And Father...” Jenny frowned. “Why have they brought the Chisholms with them?”
“I have no idea, but I suppose we’re about to find out.” Alex grabbed her cloak and went outside to face their visitors.
“Good day, Mistress Graham,” the elder Chisholm said, bowing in her direction.
“Andrew, how nice to see you.” It pleased her that he flushed. She remained where she was, arms crossed over her chest, and waited for them to state their errand.
“We’ve come for the Indian,” the younger Chisholm explained.
“The Indian?” Alex raised her brows. “What Indian would that be?”
“Oh, don’t you try!” Elizabeth snapped. “We know you’re harbouring one of those heathens, and we have come to take her away.”
“Really,” Alex said, “and why would you do that? Do you intend to offer her the hospitality of your own home?”
“She’s a heathen!” Elizabeth said. “It’s her menfolk that are killing white men and their families all over the colonies, and by offering her succour, you’re betraying your own!”
“She is Susquehannock,” Alex replied. “As far as I know, we’re not in conflict with them.”
“Our brethren in Virginia are,” Peter broke in. “And as my wife rightly points out your Indian is an enemy to us all.”
“Besides,” Andrew said, “God knows what plagues she brings with her, weak and starved as she is.”
“And how would you know that?” Alex asked. “Unless of course you’ve seen her and chased her off, despite her being near dead.”
Andrew’s skin mottled under his grey stubble as he muttered something about not knowing what was ailing her, and he couldn’t risk bringing disease into his home.
“Ah.” Alex was quite pleased by how that one syllable had Andrew looking as if he’d prefer to disappear into a hole.
“Why this palaver?” Elizabeth said, sliding off her horse. “We’ve come for the Indi
an, so you’d best move out of the way.”
“Make me.” Alex planted herself before her door. Elizabeth looked somewhat taken aback – for like a microsecond. Then her eyebrows rose, two rather hairless crescents that all but disappeared into her hair.
“She’s one of them,” she said. “She has to go – she’s a danger to us all!”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “I can just see her, axe-murdering us in our sleep. She can barely stand, for God’s sake! And the Susquehannock have never harmed us.”
Andrew grunted, throwing Alex a long look.
“Okay, so they’ve stolen a horse here and there, but all in all—”
“They’re thieving heathen,” Peter interrupted. “And now they’ve risen in rebellion against their rightful masters.”
“Their rightful masters? Would that be the king and his governor, who has signed the treaty and then allowed violation of the drawn up borders?” Alex said. “Or are we talking about the rogues who ride in under cover of the night and steal away Indian women to sell them as wives?”
“Those women are better off,” Elizabeth said. “They exchange a life in the wilds for a life with a Christian, civilised man.”
To his credit, Andrew Chisholm protested, saying that he did not agree with any woman being abducted from her family – no matter if she were Indian.
“Enough of this,” Elizabeth said. “Surely you won’t let a woman hinder you? Go and fetch her!”
“Try.” Alex crossed her arms over her chest. It was obvious neither Peter nor Andrew were all too keen, both of them remaining where they were.
“The first one that takes a step towards Mama is dead,” a cold voice said.
Ian used his thighs to ride his horse down, his musket levelled at Peter Leslie, who swallowed noisily. Behind him came Mark, eyes as icy, hands as firm on his musket. Wow, her own Light Cavalry. Alex’s chest expanded with pride at the sight of her sons.
“Son,” Peter raised his hands in conciliation, “this has taken on ridiculous proportions. Can you not make your mother see sense? The Indian woman must be driven off.”
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 35
