“Aye, of course it is. This is your life, you belong here with me and our bairns.”
“But I used to belong there.”
Matthew grunted, as always uncomfortable discussing the more disconcerting aspects of his wife’s life. He shifted to lie on his back, one hand on her, the other on the rim of the baby basket. Alex fiddled with his shirt, patted at his stomach, his thighs. He stretched, enjoying these slow caresses.
“Do I look old?”
He raised his head to look at her, sitting beside him. Old? His Alex? He bit back a smile. Of course she had aged since the first time he saw her, and four bairns had not slid unnoticed from between her thighs, leaving her somewhat more rounded in hips and arse. He doubted she’d fit into those odd breeches – jeans, was it? – of hers today, but to him the overall impression was more pleasing, softer somehow. He peeked at her chest; two round and shapely breasts peeked back as well as they could through linen and bodice. He lifted his hand and gave the closest one an appreciative little squeeze.
“You look lovely,” he smiled, very satisfied with his little sidestep.
“But do I look old?”
“Nay, that you don’t, you look younger than Joan, even than Rosie.” That pleased her, he could see – Rosie was eight years her junior.
“See? Diet is important – and hygiene.”
“Aye, we all know that,” Matthew teased. “Teeth cleaned morning and night, baths once a week.” He looked at her hopefully. “You might need some help later, no? With your oils.” She all naked, the whole room suffused by the concentrated scent of lavender, his hands exploring a body he could never get enough of.
She laughed and leaned over to kiss him. “You have a dirty mind, Mr Graham, and let me remind you our son is not yet three weeks old.” Her eyes were very close to his. “But I wouldn’t mind some help with my oils.”
“Nay; I didn’t think you would.”
Next morning Alex woke alone, a damp baby fretting in his basket. Daniel made small demanding sounds and Alex staggered to her feet, wondering where Matthew might be. She made a small face when she recalled it was Sunday. He’d be down in his study choosing Bible texts for today. Probably a passage she’d never heard of before, making him sigh and tell her he expected her to study it during the week. She hated it when he did that, and in protest she generally didn’t read the texts, which led to some heated arguments along the lines that she, as his wife and mother of his children, must know the Holy Book well enough to impart it to the new generation.
“I can do the Old Testament part,” she’d offered, “at least the general lines of it.” General lines were not good enough, and now Alex was constantly being quizzed about Job and Moses, and Joshua and who was Jezebel and Ahab, leaving her head spinning as over and over again she had to admit her ignorance.
“Let’s just hope no one throws you into the lion’s pit,” she muttered to Daniel and offered him her breast. For an instant it hurt, and then both she and baby relaxed as Daniel set himself to the important task of nursing. Alex yawned. She’d had a restless night, dreaming the same dream over and over again. Always Magnus, eyes as blue as her own dulled with pain, his long, tall frame decimated to a beanpole. He’s dying, she gulped, soon he’ll be dead and I’ll never see him again. And despite it all she laughed – very shakily, but still. To Magnus it was the other way around; she was dead, had been drifting dust in the wind for centuries before Magnus was even born.
Very rarely did she dream of her lost life; to do so two nights in a row seemed something of an augury, and she spent the coming half-hour thinking about what might be ailing Magnus. Daniel coughed, recalling her to the here and now, and it was with some relief that she banished these thoughts of lost people in a lost future.
“Where’s your da?” Alex asked Mark over breakfast, shaking her head in a silent no when Rachel stretched for the third time in the direction of the honey pot.
“I don’t know, I thought he was still in bed.”
Alex pursed her lips and after wrapping Daniel in his shawl went to look for her husband. In the study his Bible lay open and Alex scanned the text, smiling when she realised this was in fact a book she did know, the book of Ruth. But of Matthew there was no sign, not in the house, nor anywhere else. This was not like him, and Alex’ mouth contracted into something the size of a prune as she tried to understand what this might mean. She went down to the meadows and studied the horses, but they were all there, grazing under the stand of alders that bordered the little river.
“Have you seen the master?” Alex asked Gavin, who straightened up from his contemplation of absolutely nothing. “Have you?” Alex repeated, eyes tightening when Gavin went bright red. “Gavin, I just want to know he’s alright. So have you seen him?”
Gavin twisted and admitted that he had, very early, setting off in the direction of the hill. The hill… Alex looked up towards its bare head. Beyond it lay the rolling moss and with a sickening jolt in her stomach she understood where he’d gone. It was Sunday, and now that spring was here arranging a hidden prayer meeting was so much easier. But there were still dragoons all over the place, even if being on horseback was a doubtful advantage over some of the rougher patches of the moor. Alex tightened her grip on Daniel as she stared at the spot where, God willing, her husband would reappear live and well before the day was done.
Each hour was an eternity. Alex started at every sound, she sat on the bench outside the kitchen door with her eyes peeled, alternating between looking up the lane and up the slope. A glorious, warm Sunday, and she couldn’t enjoy one minute of it, hating it that time crawled by as slowly as a snail in treacle. Lapwings wheeled unsteadily over the closest fields, the resident kingfisher darted by in a flurry of orange and blue, but Alex wasn’t in the mood for ornithology. Morning, dinner, a long, long afternoon, and when the shadows began to lengthen she couldn’t stand it any longer. With Daniel in his shawl she set off up the wooded slopes.
Alex was sweaty with exertion by the time she made it to the top of the hill. The May twilight lay purple around her and she turned to look down at her home. It all looked so peaceful, cows in the meadow, the goats bleating in their enclosure. A shriek cut through the silence, and Alex smiled in exasperation when something small pelted across the farm yard, shadowed by a larger shape. Mark out to discipline his sister, and once he caught up with her there were a number of yelps that indicated he had gotten his own back. She turned towards the moor. The air was pungent with the scent of new grass, of wild garlic and the nutty scent of the bright yellow gorse that criss-crossed the moss – deceptively beautiful at a distance, horribly thorny if you got too close.
Daniel squirmed against her chest, and Alex hefted him closer, rocking him. Matthew should be back by now, and her eyes scanned the empty expanse, trying to see something, anything, that indicated he was safe and well and making his way back to her and his home. In the falling dusk the rolling moss darkened, soft mists rising from the damp ground like floating veils. When the horses appeared out of nowhere, disembodied in the shifting light, she plunged to hide below the trees.
“Thank you. God’s speed on you.”
Alex recognised Matthew’s voice, but remained where she was until she heard him rustling through the grass. He jumped at the sight of her.
“Alex! Why are you here?”
“Why do you think? Because I fancied a walk?” She gave him an angry look. “Where have you been?”
“You know where I’ve been, and I told you that I’d still continue to go when I could.”
“You could’ve been arrested! How can you take that risk?” She put both her hands at her waist and glared at him.
“We knew what we were doing. It would be hard going for a troop of dragoons across the gorse.”
“You came back by horse.”
“Aye, for the last part.” Matthew slipped an arm around her and drew her close. “I just had to,” he said, leaning his head against hers. “I have a need of it, to
hear the words of God.” He used his free hand to open up a window in her shawl, and smiled down at his sleeping son, placing a long finger on the little button nose.
“Sandy will be here in three days, to christen the wean.”
“As long as he comes nowhere close to the house,” Alex said, stepping out of his embrace.
Matthew’s jaw tightened. “He’s my friend, my preacher. I’ll not have you talk of him as if he were vermin.”
Alex sighed. “First and foremost he’s a risk; to you, to me.”
He strode off down the hill and left her to follow as best as she could.
Chapter 14
Captain Leslie came by late in August to make his farewells, and from the eager light in his grey eyes Alex could see he had made up his mind.
“Yes,” Thomas Leslie said. “I’ve resigned my commission and am presently selling off my worldly goods, one by one. We will set out in March of the coming year.” He rolled his eyes. “So much to purchase and pack; utensils, tools, a plough for my brother, clothes and bolts of fabric to make new ones…” He smiled at the fat baby in Matthew’s arms and tweaked its cheek. “You are fortunate in your children, all so healthy and strong.”
“Aye.” Matthew bounced Daniel on his knee. “I have a good, fertile wife.”
Alex snorted, making him cast her a look. “It makes me sound like a mare – or a cow,” she said, suppressing a grin at his worried expression.
“You know I don’t mean it like that.”
Alex just smiled, catching an admiring look from Thomas Leslie. She liked Thomas, would miss him once he was gone, even if now and then he gawked a bit too openly at her – more out of respectful admiration than lust.
“What does your wife think about all this?” Alex asked, putting away her sewing. “It must be difficult for her to uproot herself and your family.”
Thomas cleared his throat and drank some of his beer. “Think? Well, I assume she trusts that I’ve made the right decision.” He smoothed back his hair and fussed with the narrow collar that adorned his grey coat. A monochrome man, was Thomas Leslie, rarely sporting anything but grey. Maybe he was colour-blind.
“Of course,” Alex said, “but you must have discussed it with her first, right?”
Leslie regarded her cautiously. “Not really, Mary leaves all such matters to me.” As she should, his tone implied.
“Your wife and I must be very different,” Alex commented, making Matthew choke on his drink. “If my husband were to take a decision of that magnitude over my head, I would probably be tempted to do him grave harm. Castration comes to mind.” She smiled sweetly in the direction of Matthew.
“Well, my dear, I assure you my wife and you are most dissimilar.”
“Fortunately. For you I mean,” Alex replied.
“So is it Maryland then?” Matthew asked. Thomas nodded, explaining how his brother had been made welcome, despite the turbulent relationships between Puritans and Catholics in the colony.
“Our Puritan brethren were somewhat heavy-handed some years back,” Thomas said, “burning churches throughout the colony. But now some semblance of peace exists. They have a strange decree, an Act of Toleration, a law that argues it is up to each man to follow his conscience in matters of God, and that churches of different convictions must learn to live side by side.”
“How modern,” Alex murmured, earning herself a warning glance from Matthew.
“Yes.” Thomas gave her an odd look. “But now and then it all explodes into savagery.”
“How can it matter so much?” Alex blurted. “How can men go to war, pillage, burn and destroy in the name of their God? Look at what’s happening here; good, God fearing men hounded from their farms, branded as dangerous outlaws for the simple act of holding to their beliefs. And to make it all even more depressing, it’s ultimately the same faith – Jesus Christ and all that stuff.” Absolute silence greeted her outburst. Over Thomas’ head Matthew met her eyes, doing an exaggerated eye roll.
“Well…” Thomas Leslie said, slapping himself hard on the thighs. He rubbed his legs and then looked at Alex. “You know, my dear, there are days when I think you’re right. The good Lord must tear his hair as he sees us – good Christians all of us, in our own way – destroy each other. But I fear those are dangerous thoughts to voice out loud, and for your sake as well as that of your husband you must learn to be circumspect.” He nodded as if in agreement with himself. “Tolerance; a virtue lacking in far too many men in this day and age…” He sighed and stood up. “I must go. I have a long ride south, and I hope to be in London before the seventh day of September. My chief asset is a draper’s shop in the City, brought to me by my marriage. It is my hope the sale of that business alone will cover the full cost of transportation for my family – and some land.” Alex choked back an exclamation, but if Thomas noticed he didn’t say, bowing in her direction before leaving the room.
Matthew followed Thomas out into the yard.
“I wish you the best in your future endeavours, and may you and your family make it safely over to the other side.”
“And you? Is it not something you’ve considered?”
“I’ve already been there. And I wasn’t left with any fond memories of the place.”
“No,” Thomas Leslie said, sitting up on his horse. “I can imagine you would have nightmares rather.”
“At times.”
“Be careful, my friend,” Thomas said looking down at him. “I wouldn’t want to hear you’ve ended up dead or deported.”
“I won’t,” Matthew said. “I have family and home to keep safe.” He stretched up his hand and clasped Thomas’ hand hard.
“God be with you, brother.”
“And with you,” Thomas Leslie replied before wheeling his horse away.
“Poor man,” Alex sighed once Matthew had re-joined her. “I hope he has more assets than that draper’s shop.”
Matthew looked at her in bewilderment.
“It will burn,” she said, “it’s one of the things I definitely remember from my history lessons. In early September 1666, the whole city of London will burst into flames, leaving ash and ruin in its wake.”
“Ah, no! Then how will he live? No officer’s commission, no new life.”
“He has a small farm,” Alex said, “and he has spoken of a few other assets.”
Matthew sighed. “Enough to pay the passage, and perhaps some supplies. Not enough to set him up once he reaches the colony.”
“Let’s hope he has a closer relationship with his brother than you do with yours,” Alex said. “Not that that is saying much.”
It only took a couple of days after Thomas Leslie rode away for Alex and Matthew to understand that he had been a protective influence over Hillview. From weekly, or at times only bi-weekly inspections, the soldiers now came back far more frequently, appearing sometimes from the lane, but just as often from the moor or through the water meadows. And each time they searched every building, leaving no stone unturned in their permanent hunt for outlawed ministers, foremost among them Sandy Peden.
“It’s because he’s a good speaker,” Matthew explained to Alex one evening as they walked hand in hand down to the eddy pool for a late bath. “His sermons are whispered and repeated, and people are heartened by them.” He waded out naked into the water and stood waiting for her as she shed her shift. Matthew chuckled. “It must be frustrating for the soldiers; repeatedly they’ve had him surrounded and then he simply vanishes. I suspect they think it’s magic, while in reality it’s that Sandy knows how to melt into the ground, being born and bred on that moss. He knows every hollow, every gorse stand. It makes him difficult to trap.” He held out his hand to her and drew her to him, walking backwards until they were both well above their waists in water. Above them hung a yellow, heavy moon.
“Harvest moon, and this year the harvest is good, right?” Alex said.
“Aye. So far,” Matthew said, stretching for the pot of soft soap. They wash
ed in silence, helping each other with the hair before returning to the shore. Once dry, Matthew stretched out on the ground and Alex kneeled beside him.
“Will they ever catch him, do you think?” Alex asked, her hands busy working their way down Matthew’s tense back. He groaned when she dug her fingers into the tendons that ran from shoulders and up through his neck.
“Aye… there… mmm, no, more to the right.”
“Will they?”
“Aye they will,” Matthew sighed. “Sooner or later they will. God help him then.”
It used to be Alex liked Sundays. But that was before Matthew took to gallivanting about the countryside, aiming for one conventicle or the other while she remained at home, her heart in her throat for the whole day. She piled her plate with a second helping of pancakes – well, everyone was entitled to something. He needed God, and she needed comfort food – and dribbled a sizeable amount of honey over the stack. Three mouthfuls in, and Alex sighed, cocked her head in the direction of the yard and got to her feet.
“Officer,” Alex was curt, her eyes on the unusually large group of soldiers in her yard.
“Is your husband at home?” Captain Howard inquired.
“I’m not sure, it depends what you mean by home. He’s not in the house.”
“Hmm,” the officer nodded at one of his men, who rode forward. “We found this individual up by the road. Friend of yours?”
Alex’ knees folded when a tall, haggard man was deposited on the ground at her feet.
“Minister Crombie!” She bent down to help him stand. “What has happened to you?”
“Alexandra Graham,” Minister Crombie half croaked, half coughed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, however constrained the circumstances.” He patted her hand, regaining an element of composure as he straightened up to his full, considerable height.
“So you do know him,” the captain stated.
“No, I always greet unknown men that way,” Alex snapped, irritated by the smirk on the officer’s face. “He wed us, eight years ago, so of course I know him.”
The Prodigal Son Page 14
