“Ah. Well, that boy now looks just like Luke, and so Luke doesn’t want Ian anymore.” Stretching the truth a bit, that was, but it elicited the reaction she wanted, with Mark leaping to his feet, his eyes going very green.
“How can he say that? Ian is… he is …” He struggled to find words, but gave up. “I love Ian,” he said instead, going a bright red. “Uncle Luke is a… a… horrible man to say he doesn’t want him anymore.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but there you are. Anyway, it means your father got his son back, and that’s good.”
Mark sat back down and helped himself to some more raspberries.
“If…” He looked at her with huge eyes. “If Ian is Da’s son, then it’s him that will have Hillview, isn’t it?”
Alex nodded. “Do you mind?” she asked, thinking that was an incredibly stupid question to be asking a seven year old boy.
Mark bobbed his head, keeping his eyes on his toes. “And will Da love me less?”
Alex caressed his head. “Of course not, you idiot.”
He laughed shakily and moved into her embrace.
“Mark,” Matthew’s shadow fell over them. “Come here son,” he said, crouching down.
Mark flew at him, winding his arms around his father’s neck.
“I love you very much, son. You know that, don’t you?”
Mark burrowed his head into Matthew’s shoulder and nodded.
“And now,” Matthew went on, “we have fishing to do.” He set Mark down and tousled his hair. “One fish won’t feed all of us, even if it was very big.”
“We can always go vegetarian,” Alex said, “only vegetables for dinner. Spinach, for example.”
Mark and Matthew looked at each other.
“Fishing,” Mark said, taking his father’s hand.
“Fishing,” Matthew agreed, winking at Alex.
After dinner, Ian and Mark were sent to move the cows down to the water meadows.
“I don’t want to take it from you,” Ian said, “you were born to it, and it doesn’t feel right.”
Mark shrugged. Da had explained several times why it had to be this way, and even if he felt hollow inside at the thought of not always living here, at Hillview, there wasn’t much to do about it.
“You were born to it as well,” he said generously. “Before me.” They trudged on in silence, with Aragorn running wild circles around them both.
“Will you miss them?” Mark asked, thinking that he’d die if his mama was taken from him. And his da, but perhaps mostly his mama. Ian stopped and broke off a dried stand of cow parsley, using his fingers to disintegrate it.
“My mam,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll miss her.”
“My mama is quite nice though,” Mark said. “Soft like, and warm, and…” he was going to say pretty, but decided not to.
Ian laughed. “Aye, that she is.”
“Okay?” Alex came over to where Ian was sitting. He smiled up at her and held out the little animal he was carving. She admired the cat, receiving a black look in return.
“It’s not a cat, it’s a fox.”
“Oh,” Alex said. “Well, seeing as I’ve never seen a fox up close, I wouldn’t know, would I?”
He looked at her, not entirely mollified.
“It’s Saturday,” she went on, smiling at his protesting groan. “But I’ve decided that from now on you wash with the men. Your uncle and father are waiting.” She handed him a towel and a clean shirt. “Mind you, every now and then I’ll check, to make sure you’re washing yourself thoroughly.”
She watched them wander off towards the pool, Ian walking tall beside Matthew. Joan came to stand beside her, slipping an arm round Alex’ waist.
“He’s a fortunate lad, Ian, in his father but even more in his stepmother.”
“Call me that again and I’ll have to hurt you,” Alex threatened, making Joan laugh.
“You already love him,” she said.
Alex rested her head against Joan. “Very much. Which makes it much easier, let me tell you.”
They stood like that for some time, and around them the evening began shifting into night. From the pool came loud laughter and protesting squeals, in the sky the moon hung like a giant Gouda cheese. Alex drew in a long breath, held it and expelled it slowly.
“Tea?” she asked, turning towards Joan.
Chapter 39
Over the coming months Ian merged seamlessly into their family, upgrading himself from cousin to brother so quickly it was as if he’d always been there. Just as his brothers he grumbled at the imposed hours of school work, even daring to make a face behind Matthew’s back when he was told to apply himself to the set Bible texts. Mark commiserated, but at a flaming look from his father went back to his own studies, mouthing his way through the gospel.
“Maybe it’s best if I teach them,” Alex suggested, feeling sorry for the two eldest.
Matthew just shook his head. “We both know you’re no expert.”
“It depends. I could probably teach them a lot of extremely relevant things – life isn’t only about religion, is it?”
“Hmph,” Matthew snorted, but agreed to let her take care of some of the schooling. Which was why Alex found herself trying to recreate a map of the world from memory alone, standing back to study her effort.
“What’s that?” Matthew asked, pointing at a largish blob at the bottom.
“Australia,” Alex chewed her lip. “As yet not discovered, so I suppose I have to take it out.”
Matthew agreed that it might be best, and listened with interest when she told him of the different continents, how they had once hung together and then split apart.
“You can see that,” he said, tracing the western coast of the African continent.
The boys were somewhat less interested when Alex presented the map to them, but they all looked at her with amazement when she described how the human race had walked across the Bering strait to populate the American continent.
“So where was Eden?” Mark asked, leaning across the huge map.
“Umm,” Alex said, somewhat stumped. She tilted her head and walked around the table. “Here,” she said, pointing at the Mesopotamian area.
Mark hefted Daniel up to sit in his lap. “See?” he told his brother. “That’s where Adam and Eve lived.”
Daniel was not that interested, concentrating on his apple instead.
All through the autumn the impromptu inspections continued. There were far too many moments of tension when Alex could see Matthew was on the point of bursting, all of him stiffening with the effort to keep calm despite the overt rudeness of the soldiers.
“I told you, ” Simon sighed when Matthew complained loudly and in detail. “Ultimately there’s no choice.”
Matthew glared at him and stomped off, shrugging off Alex’ concerned questions.
“What was that about?” Alex asked Simon, receiving a blank look in return. “Simon?” she said.
“Ask him,” Simon snapped. He’d ridden in that same day, looking cold and dirty after three days in the saddle. He produced a sheaf of documents and stacked them beside him. “All done, Ian is now legally Matthew’s son again.” He threw her a guarded look, but Alex just nodded and went on with her stitching. “And the money has been paid in full,” Simon went on, pulling out yet another document. “Enough to start a new life elsewhere.”
Alex straightened up to look at him properly. “That’s what you’re arguing about.”
Simon made a small face. “For months I’ve been telling him he has to leave. You understand, don’t you? Sooner or later, he’ll miscalculate. It only takes one wee mistake.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Alex sighed. No wonder Matthew had been so distracted the last few weeks, escaping as much as possible to wander alone through his lands.
She went to find him, but he didn’t want to talk to her about this, mumbling something about Simon exaggerating. When Alex pushed he became irritated, telling her t
hat he was in no mood to have a discussion about something that was entirely hypothetical.
“I’m not leaving, it will soon blow over.”
“Blow over, my arse,” Alex muttered to herself a couple of mornings later when yet another troop of soldiers came riding into the yard, led by a dishevelled officer wearing the tartan plaid of a Highlander.
These men were far different from the soldiers they’d seen before. Lean, with a starved look to them, heavily armed and astride a motley collection of hill ponies, they emanated an air of restless menace, as if chopping people to pieces was something they regularly did for breakfast. Well; in all probability they did, most of them no doubt having served as mercenaries in one or other European war.
Ian materialised by her side and a few seconds later Matthew crossed the yard, his face grim as he took in the soldiers.
“Papists, the lot of them, “he muttered to Alex. “With an axe of their own to grind against anyone of Presbyterian faith.”
“Where is he?” the officer eyed them with indifference bordering on dislike.
“Who?” Matthew asked.
“The preacher.”
Matthew shrugged. “Last I heard he was on his way north, up towards Glasgow.”
The officer looked unconvinced, and ordered his men to search the premises. Matthew sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, a motionless statue oozing irritation.
“Look,” Alex hissed, elbowing him. The damned soldiers were coming back out, carrying sacks of grain, casks of cider, the odd ham, quilts and even one of Matthew’s shirts.
“What is this?” Matthew snapped, turning to the officer. “Are you brigands, not soldiers?”
The officer laughed, watching as his men loaded the pack ponies.
“We’re paid in kind, Mr Graham. And we’ll be back when we’re in need of more.”
“Why you …” Matthew choked.
“What?” The officer leaned towards him.
“Nothing,” Alex said, “nothing at all.” She clutched at Matthew, almost hanging off his arm to keep him still.
“No; I though as much.” The officer grinned, eyes travelling over Alex, Sarah, Rosie, back to Sarah, a very long time on Sarah, who hunched together. The officer laughed, said something in what Alex assumed to be Gaelic to his men, who laughed as well, several eyes flashing over to poor Sarah.
One of the men said something, a high, nasal voice rising in excitement as he pointed up the slope. The officer turned keen eyes in the indicated direction and nodded.
“What?” Alex whispered to Matthew. She didn’t dare to turn her head to see what they were looking at with such interest.
“I’m not sure,” Matthew whispered back. “And you can let go of me. I don’t intend to charge them all by myself.”
“Better safe than sorry.” But she let go of him all the same.
The officer dismounted. “I’m taking the dog.”
What? Alex whipped round to where Aragorn was sitting halfway up the hill.
“It’s the boy’s dog,” Alex pleaded, “please don’t take him.” She stood to block his way but was rudely shoved aside, stumbling heavily against Matthew. Behind her Ian wheeled and ran towards Aragorn. From in front of her came whoops of excitement and three of the soldiers charged after Ian and the dog, cheered on by their officer.
They caught up with Ian just before the woods, and Alex hung on to Matthew for dear life to stop him from running over to intercede.
“No, that’s just what they want you to do.” She winced at Ian’s screams, but still she held on. “They’ll only rough him up,” she said through her tears. “But you they’ll kill. Please Matthew, please…”
“I have to help him!” Matthew groaned, trying to free himself from Alex’ arms.
“Da!” Ian shrieked, “Da!” A strangled yelp, a gasp from Ian, and Alex cried, but refused to let go.
“Alex, let me go, he needs me!”
Oh God, he did, she could hear it, but if Matthew were to intercede, they’d kill him, she could see it in the officer’s eyes, in how avidly the men still on their horses were watching her struggle with her husband.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t. I…” She clung even harder, digging her heels into the ground. Why couldn’t this just be over, please just take the goddamn dog and leave, you filthy bastards!
One loud scream, a bark, a snarl and a whimper when the dog was smacked over the head. Aragorn was dragged off, twisting in his makeshift lead. Ian wasn’t moving, but Alex could see he was breathing, still alive.
The officer sat up, shouted something that was echoed by his men, and up the lane they went, clods of mud flying from under the hooves of their horses. Poor Aragorn; he kept on turning back, tail stuck firmly between his legs, but every time he did, the man holding him yanked on the rope.
“I couldn’t do differently.” Alex unclenched her hands from Matthew’s clothes. He scowled at her and brushed her off, leaping up the hill to where Ian was curled into a ball.
“Jesus…” Alex stuffed her hand into her mouth and sank down into a crouch. Slowly the household unfroze, hands came down to help her stand. Sam steadied her towards the door, telling her it was fine, aye, they were gone, all of them. Fine? Alex looked up the slope to where her husband was cradling his son.
“They’ve been back a couple of times since,” Alex told Sandy, sitting down beside him on the graveyard bench. “And they don’t even pretend that they’re looking for you. They just come in and help themselves to whatever takes their fancy. Bastards!” She took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “Matthew says you’re leaving.”
Sandy nodded. “I must. Too many people are being put at risk by my continued presence here.” He eyed her with amusement. “Will you miss me?”
She twisted away from him to hide her face. “Not much,” she admitted making him laugh out loud. “It’s not you, it’s the constant fear.”
“You don’t need to explain, lass.” He looked in the direction of Rachel’s headstone. “You’ve already lost one bairn to this conflict.” Sandy put a hand on her shoulder; his eyes glazed over, his mouth hung slack, and for a second or two Alex worried he might be having a stroke.
He shook himself. “This won’t be the only child you’ll bury.”
“How do you know?” she asked, hugging her swelling belly. Who, she screamed inside, which one of my babies do you see dying? She swallowed that question down, reminding herself that Sandy Peden had no idea, no bloody idea at all – of course he didn’t, no matter that he was called The Prophet.
“I just do,” Sandy sighed. “I feel it in my bones, aye?”
“Has anyone ever told you it would be much better if you kept your mouth shut when you get these epiphanies of yours?”
“Och, aye, frequently. But it’s not me that makes the decision whether to speak or not.”
“Yeah, yeah, blame it on the Holy Ghost.” She twisted her hands together. “So what else do you feel, in your bones?”
Sandy shook his head, his eyes sweeping the surrounding slopes. “You must leave, for the sake of your bairns, to give them a future they can never have here.”
“Yeah, we should, given that most of Scotland will be ravaged and burnt and pillaged over the coming eighty years or so.”
Sandy raised a brow at her. “You see it too?”
Alex shrugged. No she didn’t see it – she knew it. Her history teacher’s voice echoed in her head, repeating how Scotland had died on behalf of the Stuarts.
“Where will he go?” Alex asked Matthew, standing beside him on the hill. They could still make out Sandy’s receding shape, and just before he dropped out of sight the little figure turned and waved in their direction.
“Ireland,” Matthew said, taking her hand.
“And we?” she asked unsteadily. “Where will we go?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head. “I have no idea.”
They walked through the December woods, kicking thei
r way through the heaped leaves that carpeted the ground. Everywhere he looked, Matthew saw a silent farewell, and it cut him to the bone to realise that he had no choice; he had to leave. He rested his hand against the trunk of a rowan, he dragged his fingers through the prickly mess of man-high brambles. All of it would be taken from him, lost forever, and he’d drift rootless through the remainder of his days. The thought made him nauseous and he tightened his grip on Alex’ hand. He sighed; so loudly that Alex drew him to a stop.
“It’ll be alright,” she said, standing on tiptoe to brush his hair off his face. “Somehow it will be alright.” She turned him in the direction of the house, and there were his sons, all four of them, their voices rising high and strong towards him. “We owe it to them,” she said, slipping her arms around his waist. “They deserve a chance at life without being forever persecuted.”
Just like that Matthew made the final decision, and it was like letting go of an unbearable burden to find you could straighten your back again, lift your chin and breathe. He kissed her on her cheek.
“I‘ll write a letter to Captain Miles and see if he can offer us berths, and then I must write another to Simon.” He began walking down the last slope in the direction of their home, his hand braided with hers. “But not Virginia.”
“Of course not, and anyway we have time to think this through. It’s not as if we’re leaving tomorrow. I’m not anyway,” she puffed, “because let me tell you I have no intention of giving birth on a boat.” She came to an abrupt standstill, clutching at his hand. “Oh!” she said, and then she grinned. “That’s not going to be an issue, I think. If I’m not mistaken, baby Graham is about to make his entry into the world.”
“Her,” he corrected, “her entry.” And please God, let it be a healthy bairn.
“Well, as long as it is either or,” she smiled.
“Ruth?” Alex looked affronted. “I’m your Ruth.” She looked down at her daughter again. “Why not something else? Like Mary or Joanna?”
Matthew kissed his daughter’s downy head. “Ruth,” he said. “You birth them, I name them.”
The Prodigal Son Page 36
