Serpents in the Garden (The Graham Saga)

by Anna Belfrage

  Ian glowered, but nodded, wishing that he’d had the smooth stock of his flintlock in his hands instead.

  *

  Matthew couldn’t find the energy required to rise. Instead, he sat down, extending his shaking legs before him.

  “What are they doing here?” Alex asked in a voice that was markedly unsteady.

  Matthew found that a most idiotic question, so he just shook his head and concentrated on calming his heartbeat. He couldn’t collect when last he had run for so long and so fast. Distractedly, he noticed his breeches had tears and burrs in them after his panicked rush through the woods.

  “Are you okay?” Her hands inspected him, travelling down his damp back, his sleeves.

  He nodded and gulped for more air. “I lost the bird,” he said.

  Alex stared at him. “You lost the bird,” she echoed.

  He grunted. A big fat turkey, but he had thrown it away in his haste to flee.

  “Small price to pay,” Alex said, and now she was weeping, falling to her knees to envelop as much of him as she could in her arms.

  *

  For three days, they rode in search of them, him and his sons, and for all that they picked up the trail for a while, it was as if the Burleys had gone up in smoke.

  Matthew was in a foul mood when he entered the kitchen, hanging up his wet cloak with an irritated gesture before sitting down at the head of the table, waiting for his food.

  “South-west,” he said through the piece of bread he had stuffed into his mouth, “they’ve gone south.” He sighed. He didn’t like it that the Burley brothers knew where he lived, where his family was. How easy it would be to sneak down at night and set the farm alight and then…

  Several times over the last few months had come news of isolated homesteads burnt to the ground, people and beasts seemingly swallowed by the forest. The Burleys, he’d wager, back to their original slave-trading business but now dealing in whites rather than Indians.

  “No!” Alex said when he shared this with her. “Who would want to buy them?”

  “Indians, I presume, and some whites as well.”

  “But they’re free men!”

  “And you think anyone will care?” he asked her with a crooked smile. “The bairns will forget soon enough, the women will be made to forget, and the men die quickly.”

  *

  Slowly, they relaxed back into normality, into winter days spent catching up on all the undone chores of summer and autumn. But it was there: all the time, the Burley threat hung over them, tainting their lives, seeping in to undermine the safety of their home.

  “Should you really…?” Alex said, breaking off when he scowled at her. She frowned back, took a determined breath and continued. “Is it really wise to walk about alone?”

  Matthew pulled on his gloves and stamped his feet into his boots before replying. “I won’t be a prisoner to fear. Besides, we know they’re gone.”

  “For now,” Alex replied.

  “They won’t be back.” Matthew heard himself how utterly ludicrous that sounded. Before she could say anything, he stepped outside, whistled for one of the dogs, and hurried off into the forest.

  He came back late in the afternoon, light of heart and mind. He had reclaimed his land over the day, walking very much on purpose to where he had run into the brothers. From there, he had tracked his own frantic progress through the woods, allowing himself to relive the fear he had felt.

  For a moment, he stood scanning his empty winter fields, mentally seeing his sons and his wife converge on him as they had done that day, all of them determined to keep him safe, and something warm and soft settled in his chest. He looked over to where Alex appeared from the smoking shed, her basket filled with what he supposed to be trout, given the tails he saw sticking up, and strode to meet her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi, yourself.” He took the basket from her.

  “Good walk?”

  He nodded and gave her a short description of what he’d done. “I even found the turkey,” he finished, setting down the basket to root around in his leather game bag.

  “Matthew! It’s been dead well over a fortnight!”

  “Aye, nothing but bones and feathers left.” Matthew produced a hare instead, laughing at her relieved face.

  Chapter 16

  “This has to stop,” Jenny said as she always did afterwards, never meaning it. She got up from her knees and turned to face Patrick. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s wrong, and should Ian ever find out…”

  Patrick tightened his belt into place before raising his eyes to her. She flushed at the look he gave her, all too aware of how she must look, her bodice gaping open over breasts he had recently fondled, her skirts still rumpled, straining over her large belly. His child, she moaned inside, this was Patrick’s child. At times, all she wanted to do was to run away with him, sacrificing everything she had just to be with him, a bond servant with nothing to his name.

  Patrick pouted. “I like my little wanton,” he said, sticking his hand up under her skirts. “So does my cock. Where would we go, he and I, for sport?”

  “I’m not wanton!” Oh yes, she was, a little voice told her, because all this man had to do was jerk his head and she came running, so eager to please, so eager for him to use her as he just had.

  “No?” Patrick laughed. “And what would your husband call you if he found out? He’d call you even worse.”

  She slapped him. “Get out, and never come back. If you do, I’ll—”

  “What?” Patrick was very close, his hand rubbing at his reddened cheek. “What?” he repeated, winding his hand into her hair. She gasped when he forced her towards him.

  “Nothing,” she said, all of her melting with want.

  “Jenny?”

  The voice from outside had Jenny’s heart skipping a beat or two. Sweet Jesus in his meadows! Alex Graham was coming this way, and suddenly they were scrambling away, Patrick to throw himself out of sight behind the hay, Jenny to duck into the furthest stall and adjust her clothing.

  “Mother Alex?” she replied in what she considered a very calm voice. “I’m here, down at the end.” She smoothed down her hair, clapped her cap into place, did laces with trembling fingers, and arranged her shawl.

  *

  Alex stood by the door and peered in the direction of Jenny’s voice. Her daughter-in-law rose into sight from behind one of the cows and came towards her, brushing at her apron as she went.

  “Isn’t Patrick here?” Alex asked as she entered the byre.

  “Here, mistress,” Patrick replied from behind her, appearing with an armful of hay.

  Alex looked from her daughter-in-law to her bond servant. She could taste the tension in the air. Besides, she could smell it as well.

  “Matthew has need of you,” she said to Patrick. “The three furthest wheat fields are to be tilled today.”

  Patrick bobbed his head head, mumbled a farewell to Jenny and hurried off to where he had left the mule.

  Alex turned the full force of her eyes on Jenny. Under her inspection, Jenny shrank back for an instant before straightening up to walk outside. Hmm. Was that hay in her hair?

  “Finally spring,” Jenny said, extending her arms towards the March sun.

  “Don’t remind me; first major laundry run tomorrow.” Alex smiled though, as pleased as Jenny was with the fact that winter was over. And today she was going to make nettle soup for supper, thrilled to bits at eating something fresh and green again, however unenthusiastic the majority of her family was.

  “Betty will be accompanying us down to Providence,” Alex said once they were settled by the kitchen table. “She misses her family, poor thing, and for a girl used to living in a town, this must be the back of beyond.”

  Jenny nodded and lowered herself to sit. With a little face, she stood back up again, smoothing skirts into place before sitting down.

  “Your back?” Alex asked sympathetically.

  “My eve
rything.” Jenny grimaced, making Alex laugh.

  “Only two more months.” Alex reached forward to pat Jenny’s hand.

  “How is Naomi?” Jenny asked.

  Alex broke out into a wide grin. “Horribly recovered, and the baby thrives.” A boy: her first biological grandson, with eyes she was convinced were going to be as blue as her own, even if Matthew kept on reminding her that most babies were born with blue eyes.

  She studied Jenny for some minutes, drew in a huge breath, and locked eyes with her. “What’s going on?”

  “Going on?” Jenny sounded confused, but Alex saw just how tightly she pressed her legs together, hands twisting into her skirts. “How going on?”

  In reply, Alex sniffed and Jenny went an almost painful red. “With you and Patrick.”

  “Nothing.” Jenny laughed. “How can you possibly think there is?”

  Alex set her mouth and met Jenny’s wide, innocent stare. “I love Ian very much. I’ll not see him hurt. Not by you, not by anyone.”

  Jenny swallowed audibly.

  “So whatever it is you and Patrick are up to—”

  “I just said: we are up to nothing!” Jenny interrupted in an angry voice.

  “Don’t give me that!” Alex snapped, leaning forward. Jenny retreated, her back hitting the wall behind her. “As I was saying, whatever it is you are up to, end it. Now.” With that, Alex stood up and grabbed at her basket. “I actually came by for a cheese.”

  Jenny was on her feet immediately and led the way to the dairy.

  On the way back home, Alex mulled things over. There was no doubt in her mind that she had more or less caught Jenny and Patrick in flagrante, and then there were the other times. The time Patrick had ducked out of the dairy just as Alex arrived, the two or three times she could swear she’d seen Jenny in the woods far too close to Graham’s Garden, the evening when Patrick appeared from among the trees and several minutes later there came Jenny, from a slightly different direction, but still… What was the stupid girl thinking of, and what was she, Alex, going to do? Well, at least she knew she had to do one thing: speak to Matthew.

  *

  “She knows!” Jenny was panting from her hurried run through the forest, cutting across to where she knew Patrick would be working. “Oh sweetest merciful Jesus, she just looked at me, and I could see she knows!” She was dancing on her toes with panic.

  “How can she know?” Patrick said. “No one has ever seen us, have they?”

  Jenny had never told him about Betty, but decided this wasn’t the time to update him, so she just shook her head. Besides, Betty wouldn’t tell now if she hadn’t told before, would she?

  “We have to end it.” Jenny looked Patrick in the eye. “I – we – can’t risk being accused of adultery!” She shuddered: adultery could carry the punishment of death, for both.

  “They can never prove anything without our confession.”

  “Oh God,” Jenny groaned, twisting her hands together. “What have I done?” She glared at him. “It’s your fault. You forced yourself upon me, and I, weak woman that I am, couldn’t stop you.”

  “You didn’t want me to stop. If you did, you could have told your husband.”

  “Ian!” Jenny’s throat closed up at the thought of how he would react. He’d look at her with those beautiful eyes, and she’d see the love in them extinguished to be replaced by ice. She didn’t want that. Now that it was nearly too late, she was filled with the certainty that she wanted nothing but to be a good wife to him, from now until the day she died. No more Patrick, ever, she swore, and her heart cracked at the thought. Dear Lord, she loved them both.

  Jenny grasped at the smooth trunk of a maple sapling. The sky was whirling above her, the treetops chased each other round and round, and with a little ‘oh’ she collapsed to sit in the grass. Patrick crouched down beside her, his hand running up and down her back.

  “We end it now,” he told her, helping her to her feet. “And whatever they ask us, we just repeat that, no, we’ve never done anything untoward. Agnes will help, I think.”

  “Agnes?” Jenny didn’t understand.

  Patrick chuckled. “Agnes is in love with me, and I’ve pretended not being entirely adverse to her little advances.” He shoved at her. “Go, hurry back home.” Jenny nodded and turned to rush off. He caught up with her ten yards into the forest, drew her close, and kissed her roughly.

  “Take care of my child,” he said, and in his eyes flared a tenderness she had but rarely seen. His thumb came up to caress the wet skin under her eyes, and he kissed her again, a soft, warm touch of his mouth on hers, before returning to the field.

  *

  Once home, Alex set off in search of Matthew, finding him in the stables. He gave her a long look, brows in a forbidding line.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Forest Spring, for a cheese.”

  “I don’t want you walking alone through the woods! How many times must I—”

  Alex waved him silent. “We can talk about that later, okay?” Quickly, she shared her suspicions with him.

  “Jenny? With Patrick?” Matthew was dumbfounded.

  “I’m not sure, but there’s something there…and today…” She cleared her throat. “I could smell it.”

  “But you’ve never seen them.”

  “No, not as such. I hope I’m wrong, that I’m just overreacting.” Alex found a carrot in one of her pockets and broke it into pieces to feed it bit by bit to Moses.

  Matthew wrinkled his brow and went back to his currying.

  “I can’t tell Ian,” Alex said, “but I must, right?”

  “Unless you’re sure, you can’t tell him.”

  Alex felt her shoulders collapse with relief. “No, I can’t, can I?” She sidled over in the narrow stall to end up behind Matthew, her arms round his waist, her cheek leaning against his back. “What do we do?”

  “Nothing, but I’ll have myself a wee talk with Patrick.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his back. She could hear in his voice how affected he was, no doubt drawing horrible parallels between what might be happening to Ian and what had happened to him, when Ian’s mother – Matthew’s first wife – took Matthew’s brother to bed.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alex said quietly. “I don’t want you to relive all that.”

  “Mostly I don’t, but this…” He shook his head. “I’ll not see my son as badly treated. I’ll—”

  “Shush, we don’t know, okay?” She tugged at him, making him turn in her arms before cupping his cheek. “We’ll deal with it together if we have to, and let’s just hope it’ll never come to that.”

  *

  “He denies it,” Matthew said later that evening, “but then he would.” He kept his voice low, a cautious eye in the direction of Betty and his daughters, who were involved in a game of draughts.

  Mrs Parson muttered that otherwise he would be a fool, and whatever else Patrick might be, a fool he was not. Alex agreed, but was at the same time relieved. If both insisted on denying, maybe all of this could blow over. She was just about to say that when there was a loud shriek from the gaming table. The board flew into the air, scattering pieces all over the place.

  “I didn’t cheat!” Sarah glared at Ruth. “I was winning, and then you say I was cheating.”

  “Now we’ll never know,” Alex said. “What with you throwing it all up into the air, who’s to know if you were cheating – or winning?”

  Sarah transferred her bright blue stare to Alex. “She always wins – always. And now I was winning, and she said I was cheating.”

  “She was,” Betty agreed.

  “What? Winning or cheating?” Matthew asked with a small smile.

  “Pfft,” Betty snorted, “you can’t really cheat at draughts, can you?”

  “Sarah can,” Ruth put in. “She can never beat me honestly.”

  “I can so!” Sarah kicked in the general direction of her sister. “I beat you at chess last week.”
>
  “That was a lucky game!” Ruth flashed back. “You’ll never win again. I dare you, Sarah Graham, I dare you to a new game.”

  “Oh dear, sore point that,” Alex murmured.

  Betty came over to join them by the hearth, still smiling. “At least they’ll spend the rest of the evening in silence,” she said, indicating where two heads were now bent over the chessboard.

  “You think?” Matthew said.

  The game ended with a triumphant Ruth knocking Sarah’s king over.

  “I’m supposed to do that!” Sarah protested. “It’s me that pushes the king over when I give up.”

  “Lassie, you’ve been staring at the board for the best part of half an hour without finding any way out of Ruth’s wee trap.” Matthew beckoned his youngest daughter over, and settled her on his lap. “How would you like coming with us down to Providence when we go in April?” Ruth’s eyes flew to his, green with jealousy. “You too,” he hastened to add, and found himself fending off two highly excited daughters, who nearly tumbled him to the floor in their attempts to ensure he knew just how much they loved him.

  “Is there a church in Providence?” Sarah asked once they had calmed down.

  “A meetinghouse, you know there is,” Matthew replied, “and we’ll go to service there.”

  “Not one of our meetinghouses,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Is there perhaps a convent?”

  “A convent?” Betty made big eyes at her. “Why would there be a convent in Providence?”

  “There should be,” Sarah grumbled, “for us lasses that wish to become a nun.”

  “A nun?” Alex was working very hard to avoid laughing out loud. “Why would you want to be a nun?”

  Sarah mumbled something about not being allowed to be a minister, so then she could at least become a nun.

  “Nay, that you cannot,” Matthew said. “Nuns are papists, and that you’re not.”

  Sarah pouted. “Then I’ll be a lady pirate.”

  “More in keeping with your character,” Mrs Parson commented.

  “Let’s just hope you’re not prone to seasickness.” Alex lowered her sewing to her lap, and let her eyes stray out of the window to the dark March sky. Was Jacob seasick? She sighed, and sent off a silent prayer that wherever he may be, he be alright.