“Mr Graham, a nice Sunday morn, is it not?” The officer smiled, inclining his head to Alex. “A good day to offer up a prayer to God, but as it should be done, in church, not in unlawful assembly.” He threw his head in the direction of his prisoners. “Your neighbour is in breach of his oath and I fear it will cost him.”
Matthew could feel himself begin to tremble, and by his side Alex shifted, leaning her warm weight against him. He tightened his hold on her fingers, heard her inhale and knew he was squeezing too hard.
“I‘ve been requested to bring you with me,” Lieutenant Gower continued, “that you may witness his punishment.”
Matthew threw a look at Williams. The man was so pale the broken veins on his cheeks and nose stood out like bright red spots. Surely they wouldn’t hang him, would they?
“We don’t have all day,” the soldier said, with a steely threat in his tone.
Matthew nodded and walked towards the stable, Alex clinging to his hand.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, once they were out of hearing range. “No way are you going alone.”
Matthew nodded again; not because he wanted her to come, but because he was beginning to drown in blacks and reds and only her presence could keep him somewhat sane.
It was a long and cold ride. Matthew didn’t say a word, but under Alex’ cloak his hand gripped hers so hard her fingers grew numb. The damned lieutenant kept up a chirpy, one-sided conversation, seemingly unperturbed by Matthew’s stony silence. Alex kept her eyes on Ham’s flowing mane, not wanting to see either Williams or the shivering minister behind him.
Halfway to Cumnock stood the crossroad oak, and standing in silent formation beside it were several other men. Alex hated this particular crossroads, for the same reason she hated thunderstorms. This was where she’d almost been dragged back to her time several years ago, and she studied the ground for any signs of a sudden, widening chasm. It all looked normal enough, just the dirt road and here and there a tuft of withered grass. No bottomless pit to a future she didn’t want to ever return to, no funnels of bright, blinding light.
A loud yelp recalled her to the here and now. Behind her Matthew cursed when first the minister, then Williams, was pulled off the horse they were sharing. Alex didn’t know what to expect, but the fact that they’d been assembled before the massive tree made her fear that perhaps the two men would hang, just like that. Williams and the unknown minister eyed the oak with trepidation.
The smirking lieutenant dismounted and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. At his nod both prisoners were manhandled to stand in front of him.
“You’re in breach of a number of laws, chief amongst them the Act of Conventicle and the Five Mile Act. You…” He indicated the minister. “… You’ve been formally ejected from your religious office and are forbidden under pain of death to proselyte among the people of the kingdom, and yet you go from house to house spreading beliefs that stand in direct opposition to the lawful church.”
The little minister straightened up at that, eyes flaming in anger. “The Church of England is naught but a whore to its erstwhile popish roots, and if you think that I’ll ever accept the king as overlord of my church you have it wrong.”
Lieutenant Gower ignored him and turned to Williams. “It’s not much more than a month since you swore an oath to uphold the laws of this country and abjure any kind of seditious thinking.” He sighed and wagged a finger. “Oaths should never be sworn lightly,” he went on, his eyes travelling over the assembled men. “Because once sworn it ties you to it, and I’m charged with ensuring you uphold it.”
A collective shiver ran through the group, and the lieutenant smiled – rather nastily.
“You will both be scourged here, in front of witnesses. You, Mr Williams will be levied a fine; 200 merks, payable within the month.”
The shocked silence was absolute. Oh my God! Alex’ brain squealed with horror. 200 merks, that was the equivalent of four year’s wages, and no one – no one – had that kind of money. Not around here, anyway.
“How am I supposed to raise such an amount?” Williams said.
Lieutenant Gower shrugged. “I have no idea; sell your farm?”
“I have bairns,” Williams pleaded, licking his lips. “Five, aye? How are they to live if I sell the farm from under us?”
“You should have thought of that before,” the lieutenant drawled. “If you don’t meet the fine within the month they’ll be bonded to make up the difference.”
Had Alex been closer she’d have spat in his complacent face. Probably not a good idea.
“Dearest Lord,” Matthew whispered in an agonised voice. “Poor man!”
“And his family,” Alex said, thinking of strong, capable Mrs Williams and her half-grown brood. The lieutenant was still talking, and from the dazed expression on the men’s faces the minister’s fate was as awful, if not worse, than Williams’.
“The West Indies?” the minister croaked. “But I’m a man of Scripture, I know nothing of the workings of a farm.”
“I’m sure you’ll be put to good use,” the officer laughed, “from what I hear cane crops require very little but brute strength.”
Both men were so stunned that they made no protest when their clothes were taken off them, leaving them in nothing but breeches and stockings. By the time the scourging was done, the minister had slipped into unconsciousness while Williams still stood, swaying like a drunkard when he was ordered to dress.
“Mr Graham,” Lieutenant Gower said, beckoning Matthew to come closer. “Please deliver Mr Williams to his home.”
“And the minister?” Alex regarded the crumpled shape with concern.
“He goes with us – he’ll be staying in custody until his ship sails.” He nodded at one of his men, who hurried over to drag the minister towards the horses. Just as they were leaving the lieutenant reined in his horse and looked at Williams.
“A month; January 12th, at the sheriff’s court.”
Mrs Williams didn’t say a word when she listened to Matthew’s terse account. If the sum of 200 merks made her faint inside she didn’t show it, gripping her youngest boy’s shoulder for support.
“How?” she said. “He hasn’t been tried and convicted, and surely an officer can’t just mete out punishment by himself?”
Williams sighed and leaned forward to hide his head in his arms. “It won’t help to appeal.”
“Nay,” Matthew said in a heavy voice.
As Matthew and Alex stood to leave, Williams grabbed Matthew’s sleeve.
“Who? Is there anyone you know who’ll buy the farm off me?”
“Nay, not for 200 merks. I know of no one with that kind of money.”
“Nor me,” Williams whispered. “God help us, nor me.”
“What will he do?” Alex asked once they rode off in the direction of Hillview. All the way back from the oak she’d been quiet, and the haunted look in Mrs Williams’ eyes when she saw them off, thanking them for bringing her husband back home, was burning small holes of compassion through her heart.
“The only thing he can. He’ll run and leave the farm to be forfeited in payment of his debt. At least that way he won’t see his bairns and his wife sold into bondage.” Matthew looked off in the direction of the moor. “It will be cold – but at least they’ll be free.”
“And poor and hungry and always scared – all because their father chose to set principles before their safety.”
“Aye,” Matthew replied and covered her hand with his.
Chapter 10
“I told you,” Simon said, shaking his head at the terrible fate of the Williams family. “You’re playing with fire.” He was sitting as close as possible to the hearth with a plate balanced on his lap.
“Not anymore, not after seeing that.” Matthew frowned at Simon. “Five times in ten days they’ve been here.” Last time it had taken a lot of effort for Matthew to remain quiet and still while the soldiers stamped their way through his
storage sheds, prodding the hay with their swords and even crouching down to inspect the space under the privy.
“Five times?” Simon looked up from his food. The four day ride from Edinburgh had seemingly whetted his appetite, and when Alex offered he eagerly held out his plate for a refill, muttering that he needed his strength back.
“Six if you count yesterday,” Alex said. “But that wasn’t a search, that was just the lieutenant riding by to wish us all a good day.”
“Polite lad,” Simon said with a gleam of laughter in his eyes. Matthew was not amused. Yon lieutenant was a cocky wee shite who took great pleasure in disrupting their life as often as possible.
“It’s not right,” Matthew said, “for law abiding people like us to be hounded thus.”
“It’s the way it is,” Simon said. “No worse for you than for your neighbours.”
“Oh, it’s much worse,” Matthew said. “Nowhere else do the soldiers descend as regularly as they do here.”
“Someone has set them on us,” Alex said. “These spontaneous little visits are far too well rehearsed – and increasingly nasty. I swear, if one of those morons shoves my boy again I’ll…”
Joan sighed. “Luke,” she said, “it has to be Luke.”
Ian shrank back against the wall and took several deep breaths in an effort to make his heart stop thumping so loudly. Why would they think Father was in any way involved? He pressed his ear to the door again, listening to the low murmurs of adult voices, punctuated by the odd laugh.
Nothing more was said of Luke and Ian tiptoed back to his bed, his brain whirring as he tried to make some sense of all the new complications in his life. His uncle was perhaps his father, but at the same time he wasn’t. Uncle Matthew was being harassed by soldiers and this was apparently Father’s fault, and then there were those strange whispers about his faithless mother. He buried his face in his pillow, digging an elbow into Mark to make him move over.
“Did you never find the ring?” Ian asked Aunt Joan a day or so later while helping her clean Malcolm Graham’s headstone.
“What ring?” Joan sounded surprised, but continued sweeping the stone free of leaves.
“The ring he always carried round his neck. Aunt Alex told me.”
“Oh, his mother’s ring.” She patted the stone and put the small wreath she had made on it, clumsily getting off her knees. “Nay we never did, and strange that was, very strange. The chain he wore it on was short, it would never have slipped over his head. It must have come off him in the millrace, something must have snagged it – however unlikely, seeing as his shirt was whole and the lacings intact.”
“What did it look like?” Ian already knew; Aunt Alex had told him, but mayhap she had it wrong.
“A dainty piece of work, too small to fit on any of his fingers. Three strands of gold braided together and a small, blood-red stone.”
“Oh.” Ian felt his heart sink to settle somewhere just above his balls. He kicked at a stone and sent it flying in the direction of the rowan.
“Aunt?” Ian waited until she turned to face him. “Why don’t they love each other? Why is it that my father hates my uncle so?”
Joan sighed. “It’s a long story. And it isn’t really mine to tell.”
“I must know, it’s not right that I shouldn’t know, because I’m stuck between them. And I love them both.” Ian squared his shoulders and drew himself up straight, trying to look older than he was. “I can’t ask them; Father rarely speaks of Uncle Matthew with anything but hate in his voice, my mother never mentions it at all, and my uncle, well, he says I must ask my parents.” He made a wry face at that.
“You might not like what I have to tell,” Joan said.
Ian looked at her for a long time. “Aye, I know that. I’m not daft for all that I have problems reading.” It irked him, that wee Mark had such facility with letters, while to him they were at times incomprehensible jumbles of lines, no more.
She shook her head. “You’re but a lad; mayhap when you’re older.”
“I’m all of eleven,” Ian said, “and my uncle rode to war when he was fifteen, as did my father.”
Joan made a resigned gesture. With a little exhalation she sat down on the graveyard bench, swept her shawl tight around her narrow frame and began to talk.
It was a sad story she had to tell, a tale that began the day his grandfather brought Margaret, his mam, home – a wee, bitty thing, all eyes and dark hair that took one look at Luke, slipped her hand into his and never let him go. For years it had been like that, but they grew up, and the innocent games transformed into a love affair, and when Malcolm Graham found out …
“You know how your grandfather threw Luke out, for… err..”
“Fornication,” Ian whispered. “Mam told me, how she and Father loved each other, and mayhap they were too young but they couldn’t help themselves, she said.”
Ian didn’t quite understand this. How not help oneself? And why had his grandfather been so angry? Aunt Joan hitched one bony shoulder; in retrospect Malcolm had been wrong to throw Luke out, she said, but he had been shocked to find his ward and son together, and them like brother and sister.
“So Luke rode off, and Margaret was left at Hillview – with Matthew. And where before Margaret had at most wished Matthew a good day, now she began paying court to him, a constant shadow at his heels, blue, blue eyes always turned his way.”
Ian frowned; Mam throwing himself at Matthew?
“Some years on they wed, and five months later our Da was dead and Luke rode into the yard. Something snapped in Luke when he saw Matthew and Margaret together, and since then he’s been driven to punish your uncle for forcing himself on Margaret.” Aunt Joan broke off and gave Ian a stern look. “Matthew did no such thing. He loved your mam, was always gentle with her, but Margaret lied to Luke, painting Matthew an uncaring ogre, a vile, cold-hearted man that forced her when all she wanted to do was to wait for Luke to come home.”
“Mam?” Ian shook his head.
“I told you; you wouldn’t like it, to hear the truth.” Joan sighed. “Margaret was always an adept liar, embroidering her little tales most convincingly, and in this particular case Luke wanted to believe her.” She frowned down at her lap. “She did wrong your mam, she was wed to one brother and took the other to bed.”
He just nodded; he already knew this. “Why?” He licked his lips. “How could she?”
“Ah, lad,” Joan smiled. “She loved Luke. She still loves him, and he loves her.” She went on to tell him of how Matthew came upon them in his bed and threw them out, divorcing Margaret on account of her adultery.
“And me?” Ian said. “What about me?”
Joan put an arm around him, drawing him close. “Matthew loved you so much, but Margaret insisted that you were hers and Luke’s, not his, and Matthew feared that he might come to hate you for that, so he gave you up.”
She told him how Luke had gotten Matthew convicted for treasonous royalist activities that he had never committed, and how angered he’d been when Matthew returned, alive – and with a new wife. She told him how Matthew had come upon Luke in the woods threatening Alex, and how in anger Matthew had sliced off Luke’s nose. Ian gasped; he already knew this, but had never before heard how it had happened.
“Father wouldn’t harm a woman!”
“You think not? He did, lad, he most certainly did.” Something dark flitted over Aunt Joan’s face and for some moments she was quiet, before giving him a little smile. “You’ve heard the rest, I reckon. How in retribution Luke had Matthew abducted and sold into slavery and Alex was obliged to go after him. Margaret helped her with money,” Joan said, and Ian nodded, proud of Mam. “So now Matthew can’t forgive Luke for all those years that were stolen from him, and Luke can’t forgive him for having survived,” she finished with a sigh.
“And how will it end?”
“I have no inkling and nor have they.” She patted his cheek. “But they both love you, and that
isn’t a bad thing, is it?”
There was a shout from below. Alex was standing by the laundry shed, waving at Ian to come down. He made a face.
“All the time she bathes us, and it isn’t enough to place us in the tub, she must oversee as well.” He threw a discreet glance down at his groin.
“I dare say your Aunt Alex can handle the sight,” Joan laughed. “She’s used to much bigger.”
Ian moved off towards the laundry shed, stopped and rushed back to hug her.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“It wasn’t much help, was it?” Joan smoothed his hair off his face.
Ian shrugged; at least he knew how things were, and mayhap he could someday help.
“God willing,” he added and trotted off.
Next morning dawned on a day of dazzling brightness and the whole household couldn’t wait to plunge through the pristine drifts of snow. Alex handed Matthew a heavily wrapped Jacob.
“Don’t drop him in the snow, we might not find him again.”
Matthew laughed and kissed his son. “Won’t find you? Of course we will. You have a bright red cap on.” Jacob pulled at the woollen cap, beaming. It even had a huge pom-pom, in blue. “A good effort,” Matthew murmured to his wife. “You’re getting better at it.”
“Look you, you’re wearing stockings I’ve knitted, clothes I’ve sewn, and your belly is full with food I’ve cooked. So be grateful, not sarcastic.”
“Oh, I am,” Matthew said, and darted outside with his children at his tail.
Halfway through the morning Jacob came back inside, snivelling and wet. His cap was askew and he garbled a long and sorry tale in which Rachel figured prominently.
“She sat on you?” Alex said, brushing the snow off him and rewrapping him in her old shawl.
Yes, Jacob nodded, and his face had been full of snow and then she had put snow down his neck.
The Prodigal Son Page 10
