The Prodigal Son

by Belfrage, Anna

  “I heard,” Alex said. “How will they manage? I suppose they’ll still want to have sex.”

  Matthew smiled at her expression; he never had sex with his Alex, he made love to her or bedded her or took her on the stairs – although that was very long ago – or had her in the hayloft. He glanced in her direction and saw she had been following his line of thought. It made his balls tighten pleasantly.

  “I’d go crazy,” she said, her blue eyes very intense. “You know, without…”

  “Aye, but if it were a question of your life we would find other ways.”

  Alex groped him hard, smiling at his muffled exclamation.

  “I’m sure we would,” she said, and danced away.

  “What’s he doing here?” Alex said a few days later, her eyes shooting darts into the back of Sandy Peden, who disappeared into the house.

  “Joan asked for him, so I went and found him.”

  “Joan? Why would she want to see him?”

  “Mayhap because he’s a man of God?” He wiped a hand over his face. His sister’s apathy had him worried, and if Sandy could rouse her out of it, he’d be eternally grateful. “She blames herself; one bairn, and a lass at that.”

  Alex muttered something about living in a man’s world, eyes still stuck on the door.

  “He’s not staying.”

  “Nay, of course not,” Matthew hastened to say. “He knows that.”

  Alex tightened her shawl around her shoulders, turning to sweep their yard, the lane, the surrounding slopes with her eyes.

  “Alex,” he sighed, “I’m no fool. I have Gavin sitting at the top of the lane.”

  Sandy sat for hours with Joan and when he came out of her room so did she, gripping the minister’s arm as she made her way down the stairs.

  “Well done,” Alex said, ushering Sandy in the direction of the kitchen. “It sort of brings to mind the tale of Lazarus.”

  Matthew choked on a gust of laughter.

  “She wasn’t dead,” Sandy corrected, accepting the food she put in front of him.

  “Minor difference, she’s been staring at the wall for days on end – more dead than alive.”

  “I heard that,” Joan said with a touch of asperity.

  “A miracle, a miracle,” Alex muttered. “Look, she moves, she talks, she even hears.”

  Matthew threw her a reproving look, but Alex just snorted and disappeared in the direction of the parlour, where a succession of loud noises indicated wee Rachel was doing something she shouldn’t.

  Matthew lifted Jacob to sit in his lap and smiled at his sister. “It is good to see you up.”

  “Aye, well, ‘tis good to be up.” She didn’t sound convinced, but smiled when Sarah placed Lucy in her arms. “Will you christen her?” she asked Sandy, handing him the wean.

  “He’s not allowed to,” Alex voice cut in. “He’s been formally ejected, and mustn’t perform any sacraments.” She entered the kitchen, frowning at all three of them.

  “He’s a minister of my Kirk, and I’ll much rather hide out in the moss to hear Minister Peden preach than go to Cumnock and hear a mealy mouthed representative of the Church of England offer us salvation if we just recognise the authority of the king over the church.” Joan sounded more animated than she’d done for weeks, with two spots of bright red on her cheeks.

  “He baptised Jacob,” Matthew said, stroking back the thick, fair hair of his son.

  “That was two years ago,” Alex said. “Before it began to get really nasty.”

  Sandy smiled down at the child in his arms. “I’ll be glad to baptise the wean,” he said, “and if you want we can do it now.” He threw a challenging look in the direction of Alex, who opened her mouth to say something but clearly thought better of it. Instead she lifted Jacob out of Matthew’s lap and left the room.

  “She fears for them, and for me,” Matthew tried to explain, watching Alex cross the yard with all their children and Ian in tow.

  “Aye well,” Sandy said, “she’s but a woman – weak of body and of mind.”

  Matthew met Joan’s eyes, suppressing a smile at this description of Alex.

  Once the wean had been christened, Joan took Lucy upstairs, and Matthew and Sandy sat in the kitchen, talking of this and that. Hesitantly, Matthew told him of the coming oath taking, and Sandy sat up straight.

  “You can’t swear that oath. It would be to renounce your faith!” Sandy looked mulish, grey eyes so sharp Matthew twisted on his stool.

  “But the bairns and Alex… I can’t risk them, can I?”

  “It’s her, isn’t it? She has no concern for your immortal soul.”

  “She fears for us,” Matthew reproved.

  “She is weak of faith; we both know it. It would’ve been better had you wed someone like your sister, a woman who understands the sacrifices which our faith requires at times.”

  Matthew shook his head. “That’s not fair, and…”

  “You mustn’t,” Sandy interrupted. “How can you in conscience do something like that?”

  “Something like what?” Alex asked, appearing at the door.

  “It is between Matthew and me, aye?” Sandy stood. “I’ll be going, daylight is fading fast and I don’t want to find myself trapped halfway across the fell.”

  “No,” Alex said, “that might be a bit uncomfortable.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” Matthew offered. He wanted to delay the inevitable confrontation with Alex, feeling her eyes burn into his back as he pulled his cloak around him and followed Sandy out into the November dusk.

  “You don’t like him much, do you?” Joan’s voice made Alex start.

  “That’s not it, in many ways I find him an admirable man, but he’s very black and white, and that leads to a difficult life.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  Alex had no doubts about that, and at times he was even quite funny, painting an engaging picture of a God very much involved in day-to-day life.

  “He always makes me feel as if I’m failing in some fundamental aspect, that somehow I’m not quite the wife Matthew deserves.”

  Joan sat down in the single kitchen chair and undid her shift to lay Lucy at her breast.

  “He thinks you lack in piety and he worries that you won’t stand by Matthew on matters of religion.”

  Alex wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Sandy was totally right; Alex retained a sceptical view of religion as such, and no way was she about to let anyone in her family – and that included her stubborn husband – die for their faith.

  “It’s a question of perspective; in Sandy Peden’s book the hereafter is the most important and we must live our lives so as not to imperil the immortal soul, no matter what it might cost us or those we love.”

  Joan nodded in agreement.

  “But you see, I don’t think God agrees with him, in fact I believe it pisses him off no end if we squander the gift of life by being excessively rigid. If he didn’t want us to enjoy life he wouldn’t have given us eyes to see with and fingers to touch with and ears to hear all the sounds of the world with…” Alex broke off, somewhat flustered by the astounded look in Joan’s eyes. “I believe we spit in God’s face if we throw our lives away, and I don’t think he likes that very much.”

  Joan shifted breasts and pursed her mouth into a funnel. “You have much more in common with Sandy Peden than you think,” Joan said. “He wants to live, aye? Live and praise the Lord every day – but in accordance with his beliefs, not the Church of England’s.”

  That sort of shut Alex up.

  “What time will you be setting off?” Alex asked once Matthew got back.

  “Hmm?” He dipped his bread in the soup, smiling across the table at his daughter.

  “For Cumnock.” Alex said with a slight edge to her voice.

  “Ah.” Matthew went back to his soup.

  Rachel slipped from her stool to come and sit in his lap, and he blew her in the ear, making her squeal. Ears that were so like her mo
ther’s, tight and somewhat pointed and with a tendency to go pink when she was upset. Alex’ ears were presently very pink and Matthew kissed his daughter before setting her back on her feet.

  “Go, I must speak to your mother alone.” He waited until all of them were gone, even Joan and Lucy, before turning to meet Alex’ eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be riding to Cumnock, it will have slipped my mind. Just as it will slip my mind next time they ask as well.”

  “You told me you would.”

  Matthew shook his head. “Nay I didn’t. I said swearing it would be perjury and make me a lesser man. I just can’t.” The hurt look in her eyes made him cringe, but he had never promised, not as such.

  He expected her to remonstrate with him, but instead she got to her feet and left the room. She called for her children, promising that tonight she would begin a new exiting story, the story of four children and a lion, but only if all of them behaved and hurried into bed.

  From where he sat he heard Ian and Mark argue loudly over who should sleep in the middle, and Jacob began to cry, with a muffled “Rachel!” making it clear who had been the culprit.

  Around him the house settled into the November night and he made his final rounds, locked the doors and bade his sister a goodnight before entering his bedchamber. He undressed, shivering in the clammy cold of the sheets, and lay waiting for his wife. She never came. He heard her hesitating by their door and then there was the soft creak of the stairs, a sudden banging of the door. Matthew exhaled and rolled out of bed.

  He knew where she’d be. Whenever Alex needed a few moments of solitude, she made a beeline for the hill. On occasion she’d spend hours there, staring out across the moor. Thinking, she’d say, I was just thinking. But why now, in the dark and the wet? Matthew cursed as he made his way through the woods. What was the stupid woman thinking of, to go rushing off into the night?

  At one point he considered turning round and going back to the house, but now he was both wide awake and wet, so he pushed on, promising Alex Graham she’d have a lot to make up for once he got her back home.

  He was breathing heavily by the time he made it to the top to see her silhouetted against the night, black against a lighter shade of black. He joined her and stood beside her, waiting. Alex was shivering with cold, her arms crossed over her chest. He put an arm around her and drew her towards him, wrapping his cloak round them both. She rested her head against him and from her irregular breathing he realised she was weeping.

  “Alex? Ah, no, lass, don’t cry.” He couldn’t see her properly, but managed to find her face with his hand, his thumb wiping at her eyes. “There’s no need to cry, I’m here.”

  “For now,” she sniffled. “But not for much longer.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said, feeling her stiffen against him.

  “They’ll insist that you take that oath – particularly as you haven’t exactly been discreet these last few years regarding your convictions. And if you don’t, God knows what they’ll do to you. You’re all I have, Matthew. I have no one else but you in this time, and still you’re willing to put your life at risk for some bloody high-minded principle.”

  Matthew remained silent, but she seemed to have run out of things to say, at least for now.

  “Some things are worth fighting for, lass.”

  She tore herself free and backed away. “Is that what you want me to tell your children as we walk by your displayed head? Do you think it will comfort me as I lie alone to know you died for your beliefs?”

  “It won’t come to that,” he said.

  “No? How do you know? And if they catch you with Sandy on the moss, then what? Or if they come upon you with blood on your sword after a night out helping your friends?”

  “I haven’t…”

  “Don’t lie to me!” she yelled. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t notice when you clean your sword?” She shook her head at him. “Every night you go out on that moor you’re taking a risk – a huge risk.”

  “I have to help as I can,” he said, “they’re my brethren, my friends, and…”

  “But what about our children – what about me? Am I not worth something to you as well?” Her voice cracked on the last few words.

  “How can you ask me that? Of course you are, I love you – all of you,” he said.

  “But not enough to swear the oath that will buy us all some safety, right?”

  Matthew hitched his shoulders. It was a matter between him and God, and Sandy had clarified what it was he would be doing if he swore the oath with the express purpose of breaking it…

  “Go away,” she interrupted. “Just go away and leave me alone.”

  “Alex,” he put his arm around her, but this time she shook it off.

  “No,” she said, retreating to stand several yards away. Her face was a pale oval that seemed to float, disembodied, in the dark that surrounded them.

  “I must do as my conscience bids me,” he tried.

  “Your conscience?” She near on stuttered. “And what about your responsibilities as a father, as a husband? What does your precious conscience say about that, huh? I would die without you, you hear? I… ” She broke off, wiping at her eyes.

  “Ah, Alex! I would never…” Inch by discreet inch he shuffled towards her, wanting to envelop her, hold her safe against him.

  “What?” she demanded. “What would you never do? Take risks? Set your beliefs before your family?”

  He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. “I go canny, aye?” He made a grab for her, but she evaded his hand and pushed him, sending him stumbling backwards.

  “Go! I don’t want you to touch me, I don’t want you to talk to me. Leave me alone. I might just as well get used to it, right?” She turned her back on him, and for a long time there was no sound but that of her unsteady breathing. Finally she cleared her throat.

  “Not once have I wished myself back in my time, not one single time. But tonight I wish I had never met you, Matthew Graham, never had your children to tie me to your side.”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said, swallowing at the pain he felt at her words. “Tell me that you don’t.”

  “I don’t?” She turned to face him. “No of course I don’t. But I sure wish I did.”

  Chapter 7

  After persistent wheedling Matthew had gotten Alex off the hill, but she hadn’t said a word to him on the way back. Once they were inside she’d gone to bed without even wishing him goodnight, maintaining as much distance from him as was possible in a bed not more than four and something feet across. In the morning when he woke, her half of the bed was empty, and when he came down to the kitchen she moved away to put the table between them.

  She looked exhausted, the skin under her eyes was bruised and puffy, and he realised she’d been weeping again. Something about how she held herself made him want to sweep her into his arms and place her on his lap, rocking her until she felt safe, but she maintained a constant distance, sidestepping him whenever he tried to get close. Even the bairns noticed, with Jacob and Rachel snuggling up to their mother far more than they usually did, small hands patting at her in concern.

  Alex helped Sarah clear away after breakfast, nodded to the men when they trooped by her on their way back to work. She backed away when Matthew approached her, muttered something about needing to go out, and when he held out his hand she just shook her head.

  “Alex,” he said. “We must talk.”

  “Talk? About what?”

  For an instant her eyes met his, two yawning wells of deep blue, and then she had her damp cloak in her hand, her basket in the other. She rushed out the door, stumbled halfway across the yard but regained her balance, and off she went – not in the direction of the woods, but up towards the Cumnock road. No doubt to see if he went or not, he sighed, following her with his eyes until she ducked out of sight behind the elders.

  For the first time in the more than seven years he’d known her, he was aware of being judged b
y her. There was a mental scale in her head, and what he did or didn’t do today would forever determine their life together. She was making it very simple for him – his convictions or his wife. He met his sister’s eyes and bowed his head.

  “I have to.”

  “Aye, I think you do. And she’s right; you’ll have to sooner or later anyway. They’ll use force if they have to – even Sandy knows that.”

  “You think?”

  “Sandy is no fool, Matthew. For all his fiery words, he’ll understand – and so will God.”

  Ham was unusually frisky, doing a series of stiff legged jumps on their way up the lane, but by the time they left Hillview behind, the horse was under control. Matthew sat easily, scanning the rolling hillocks to his right for Alex. When he saw her he raised his hand and halted the horse, waiting as she made her way across the thick heather towards him.

  “Will you ride with me?” he asked once she was close enough to talk to. She nodded and held up her arms in a gesture similar to that a bairn makes when it wants to be taken up and held. He leaned towards her and helped her to sit in front of him, her wide skirts tucked tight beneath her legs to stop them from billowing like a giant puff mushroom in the wind.

  “It won’t hurt,” she said, breaking a long stretch of silence. “It’s just some words, right?”

  Matthew twisted his mouth into a wry smile. “I was very young when I swore on the Solemn League and Covenant, and for me and my brothers in arms that document signified the birth of something new; a country where man was recognised as being capable of speaking directly to his God, as is taught by our Presbyterian faith.”

  “And somewhere there was also a clause to wipe out all popery and prelacy,” Alex said. “Sounds like a most tolerant approach to fellow man.”

  Matthew agreed that perhaps some of the wordings had been a wee bit too harsh.