Chapter 6
“Come on.” Alex shooed her daughters in front of her. “And don’t forget your baskets. The more we bring home, the more jam we have for the winter.”
Ruth and Sarah followed her up the slope behind their home and on, walking for about half a mile before they stopped. Alex studied the small red strawberries that covered the ground. It had been one of her more pleasant discoveries some years back, and this was the second time she harvested this particular place this summer.
“Can we take some jam to Per and Erik?” Ruth asked through her crammed mouth.
“If you eat them all, there won’t be any jam, will there?” Alex said.
“Can we?” Ruth insisted.
“Yes, of course we can.” Alex sighed. From the moment they woke up, her children were on about the Waltons, fascinated by these new playmates. Alex wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, not so much because of the boys whom she found charming and polite, but Lars... There was something seriously wrong with that man, however gorgeous he might be. Taciturn to the point of rudeness, eyes that studied everyone but his immediate family with absolute blankness, and then there was his disconcerting tendency to pop up out of nowhere, a silent presence that would gawk and slide away. The more she thought about it, the more Alex was certain it had been Lars who’d been spying on her and Matthew a few weeks ago.
She filled her first basket and began filling the second one, picking her way over the ground. A soft rustle made her look up. On the other side of the clearing, Fiona appeared from behind a large oak, smoothing down her clothing. At the sight of her, Fiona dropped a curtsey and fled, making Alex shake her head. She sincerely hoped Fiona was being careful, because neither Jonah nor Fiona had the means to support a child. Still, who was she to deny two adults what little fun they could find? She made a mental note to talk to Matthew about this, even if she suspected he would be less than pleased.
“Ruth?” Alex frowned in the direction of where she had last seen her daughter. “Ruth? Where are you?”
“Over here!” came the floating reply.
“Don’t stray too far.” Alex went back to her picking, listening with half an ear to Sarah’s story about one of the hens.
*
The shriek had Alex off her knees and rushing madly in the direction of Ruth’s voice. A snake, or a bear, please not a bear...not a snake either. She slipped and landed on her rump, skidding at surprising speed through the damp grass to end up only a foot or so away from her daughter.
“Ruth?” Alex struggled to her feet. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” She inspected her child, hands running over limbs and head to make sure she was undamaged.
“Mama,” Ruth moaned, raising her hand to point behind Alex. Shit, Alex thought, it was a bear, or perhaps a mountain lion. Sarah plummeted down the incline and leeched onto Alex’s leg, and it was with a wildly thudding heart that Alex turned to face whatever it was that had Ruth standing immobilised.
The man lay thrown into a thorny thicket, impaled face downwards. He uttered a low howl and tried to pull himself free. His head was crowned by greying blond hair, and his hands hung white and soft, helpless in the brambles. Where had he come from? Alex looked about, trying to understand from where he had fallen to land where he was.
“Stay here,” Alex said to her girls and took a tentative step towards him.
“Mama?” Ian materialised by her side. “Who’s that?”
“I have no idea, but he needs some help.” She glanced at Ian, taking in the leaves in his hair and down the back of his breeches. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping your father with the new clearings?” she asked, a niggling suspicion nudging at her brain.
“I heard Ruth.”
“Supersonic hearing,” Alex muttered. “Come on then, let’s see if we can get him out of there without leaving him a permanent pincushion.”
“How in God’s name…” Ian huffed, standing on his toes. “It would seem he dropped from the skies.”
Alex nodded with a fluttering tendril of unease uncoiling in her belly. “Or he was riding an uncommonly large horse that threw him.”
Ian made a derisive sound. “Aye, about ten feet at the withers and now gone up in smoke.” He cursed when one of the evil thorns tore a gash into his forearm. “There is nothing to do but pull him free.”
“Okay.” Alex took hold of the closest extremity. “It’s going to hurt,” she said to the trapped man. “I’m sorry, but we can’t get you out of here otherwise.” There was an inarticulate sound that Alex decided to interpret as a yes and, with a nod to Ian, she heaved backwards, dragging the stranger free.
“Herre Gud!” the stranger said. “Holy fucking Matilda!”
Alex thought she was going to die on the spot. It couldn’t be!
“Go and fetch help,” she told Ian, succeeding in keeping her voice calm. “He’s in no fit state to walk. And take the girls with you. Ruth, take the baskets.”
Her children hurried off, leaving Alex alone with the man lying face down on the ground. She rolled him over, ignoring his winced protests, and stared down into a face she’d never expected to see again.
“Pappa?” Oh my God, it was Magnus, his blue eyes burning into hers. “Bloody hell, Magnus,” Alex said through her tears. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just dropping by for a cup of tea,” he wheezed, making her laugh. And then she was crying, because he was here, the one person she still missed from that other time, but how could that be, that he had dropped like a kamikaze pilot from the skies?
Magnus tried to shush her, patting at her leg, at her arm, but he was crying too.
When she threw herself onto his chest he groaned. “Shit! What did I land in?”
“I have no idea, but it’s huge and has thorns.” Alex wiped at her eyes and attempted a smile.
“Really? I would never have guessed.” He studied the trees surrounding him. “Plane trees, huge bloody platanus occidentalis. Oh my God, we’re not in Scotland! We’re in North America somewhere.”
“Sherlock Holmes in person, I presume.” Alex sat back on her heels and looked at him. He looked awful. Apart from all the scratches and gashes that covered him, he had a sunken look to him, and there was a distinct smell of singeing emanating from him.
“It’s excruciating to fall through time.” He squirmed under her scrutiny. “At one point I think my shirt took fire.”
Alex inspected his sleeves: yes, the right-hand cuff was bordered by a sooty line of burnt cloth, and his skin was blistered. His breeches had ridden up, revealing a knee that was swollen and blue, badly sprained from the look of things, and his foot lay at an awkward angle.
“What are you wearing?” She pinched the cloth of his breeches.
“I couldn’t show up in jeans and an oxford shirt, could I?”
“Show up? What, you planned this?”
Magnus broke eye contact and admitted that he had, explaining how he’d used a magic painting in a last bid to see her before he died of his aggressive brain cancer.
“Die? You came here to die? You show up here, in a time where there’s nothing I can do to help you – not even with a simple infection, even less with pain – and you tell me you have a brain tumour and expect to die within a year or so?”
Magnus shifted on the ground. “I think it helps – the falling through time. It did last time.”
“Last time? You’ve had this before?” Alex frowned in recollection of the dreams she’d had several years ago – dreams in which she’d been convinced Magnus was dying or dead.
Magnus nodded. “Six years ago or so, the first time. They operated and had me on chemo, and for some time it all looked okay and then the headaches came back, and I was pretty sure I was going to die... I didn’t want to.”
“In general you don’t.” Alex clasped his hand.
“Anyway, I
had this little painting,” Magnus went on, nodding at her astounded expression. “And one day I thought I saw you in it, so I looked too deeply and fell towards you. It was like being twisted through a keyhole, one long agony, and even more when John yanked me back. And when I went to the doctor, the tumour was gone. Puts väck. Wiped out. A miracle, according to medical science.”
“Well, they do happen – miracles, I mean.” She gnawed at her lip. “The painting, was that one of Mercedes’?” As always, her mother’s name shrivelled her throat into a narrow chute. There were some aspects of her life she preferred not to dwell on: first and foremost, her own inexplicable drop through time, and secondly, the fact that she had a witch for a mother, a person who could paint portals through time.
Magnus shook his head. “Isaac. But he’s only ever painted two and he has promised me never to paint another.”
Isaac? Alex stared at him, thinking – hoping – that she’d misheard. Magnus just nodded, verifying that Isaac had inherited Mercedes’ gifts.
“Ah,” Alex squeaked. “And you think he’ll hold to that promise?”
“Yes, I do. He has no particular wish to fall through time again, and he definitely doesn’t want a random someone doing it just because they stumble over one of his paintings.”
“No, I imagine not.” Alex hugged herself in an effort to calm down. Isaac; last she’d seen him – after his unfortunate drop through time courtesy of one of Mercedes’ pictures – he’d been seven and already an accomplished painter. And now... Bloody hell! One witch in the family was quite enough, thank you very much.
Magnus tried to sit up, but gave up with a low exclamation. He yawned, showing off a complete set of white teeth.
“I’m so tired,” he mumbled, “so very tired...”
Alex sat by his side and tried to bring some order to the turmoil inside of her. She stretched out a hand, placed it on his cheek, and he didn’t vanish; he was solid and warm under her touch. Her father, here... A small glow bloomed inside of her, sheer unadulterated joy at seeing him again, but just as quickly that feeling was replaced by fear tinged with anger. What was he playing at, taking a dive through time when he knew he was terminally ill? And how was she to cope, first having him back and then watching him die away from her?
When Matthew showed up with Ian and a makeshift pallet, Magnus was sleeping, Alex’s hand held in his.
Matthew looked at him with widening eyes and turned to Alex. “Magnus?” he mouthed.
She nodded, thinking that she must have talked very much about her father for Matthew to recognise him immediately. Alex undid her hand from her father’s hold and stood back to allow the men to lift Magnus onto the pallet.
“You know him?” Ian had noticed the hand holding and gave her a suspicious look.
Alex nodded. “He’s my father, and no, I have no idea how he comes to be here.”
“But...” Ian looked from Alex to Magnus and back again. “He died. In a thunderstorm, just before Da found you on the moor.”
“I never said that. I said he disappeared, and now it seems he has reappeared.” She frowned at the thicket and shook her head. “But I have no idea how. We’ll have to ask him once he’s feeling better.” And until then she hoped they could come up with a credible explanation, because otherwise it might all become quite difficult.
Chapter 7
“Look what I’ve found.” Matthew blew her in the ear..
“Surprise, surprise,” she mumbled. “It just fell into your bed overnight, did it?”
“Aye.” Matthew spooned himself around her. “I wonder what you do with this?”
“Let it sleep?” She yawned, pushing her bottom against him.
“Nay, I don’t think so.” He smiled, turning her towards him. Before he was done, her fingers had locked themselves in his hair, and in his ear he heard her repeat his name over and over again, her hot breath tickling his cheek. He collapsed on top of her.
“Every morning,” he said, rolling off. “This is how every day should start.”
Alex twirled a strand of his hair round her finger and yanked. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Well, of course you are; you’re my wife.” He laughed at her face and kissed her on her nose. “My wee wife, always obedient and dutiful, just as she should be.”
“Huh,” Alex grunted, trying to shift away from him, but held still by his tightening grip. “We’ll see about that, shall we?”
Matthew laughed again. “Now?”
*
Magnus twisted on his pallet bed and covered his ears in an attempt to stop hearing the intimate sounds that were coming from his daughter’s bedchamber. The rhythmic creaking of the bedstead, his daughter’s voice lowered to a seductive whisper – he resented her for it. No wonder they had so many children, with them being at it like rabbits!
The sounds ceased, and Magnus relaxed against his pillow, closing his eyes. Any moment Alex would tiptoe across the parlour on her way to the kitchen, with Matthew following her a few minutes later, and then the whole household would swing into the business of yet another day.
Two weeks here, and he was still hobbling about in a permanent state of astonishment at the sheer quantity of work necessary to keep the family up and running. Not in his wildest imagination had he been able to comprehend how hard life was here. Just to make a cup of tea required someone to fetch water, blow life into the fire, and wait until the water boiled before preparing the teapot. Fat chance of a cup of tea anyway, as Alex was all out of tea leaves, and the next opportunity to buy more would be when Matthew made the long trip down to Providence come autumn.
The bedroom door creaked open and Alex moved by swiftly, whispering a good morning to Ian, who slept on the other side of the room. Mark and Jacob rushed by, headed for the stables and their morning chores. Magnus heard Ian and Alex converse in the kitchen, and then Matthew’s heavier foot treads crossed the floor, followed by the patter of small feet when the two girls shadowed their father in the direction of breakfast. Ten minutes later, it was impossible to even pretend to sleep, and anyway he had to pee before his bladder burst.
Magnus rolled off the pallet bed and managed to get himself upright, the shirt flapping round his bare legs. It was still an unfamiliar feeling to walk about without underwear, but Alex had confiscated that particular item of clothing immediately, telling him silk boxers were an absolute no-no and he’d best get used to going about commando.
He pulled on his breeches, using the wall as a prop, and stood for some moments regaining his balance before hobbling over to where he had left his crutches, cursing under his breath whenever his damaged leg hit the floor. It was a small, bare room: two armchairs, one of which out of deference was offered to him, a small writing desk, an even smaller table with a chess set on it, a couple of stools, a shelf holding a few books as well as three small baskets containing wools and threads and all the other things Alex needed for her continuous sewing. All the rooms were the same, utilitarian and bare, but whoever had made the furniture had taken his time, allowing his knife to carve surprising shapes into bedposts and armrests. Magnus caressed the exquisitely carved roses that decorated Alex’s chair, thinking that Matthew had quite the artistic flair – very much at odds with the stern and demanding patriarch Magnus perceived him to be. He adjusted the crutches under his arms and hobbled towards the door.
“Good morning,” Magnus said to the kitchen at large, made his way outside and hurried off as well as he could in the direction of the privy.
“Mayhap you should offer him a chamber pot,” Matthew suggested to Alex, watching his father-in-law’s unsteady progress.
“Oh, believe me, I have. He’s just uncommonly stubborn.” Alex set down a heaped pewter plate in front of her husband.
“Ah, a family trait.” Matthew winked in the direction of Mark.
“Then that’s one thing we h
ave in common,” Alex bit back, setting down bread and butter and a stone jar of strawberry jam on the table. She handed Mark the milk, poured herself some hot water with honey in it and sat down.
“Sometimes it brings to mind the plagues of Egypt,” she commented to Magnus later, shaking her head at the razed plates. “More specifically the locusts.”
Her father laughed and bit into his slice of bread. “Well, what can you expect with six kids?” He regarded the children through the open door, looking from Daniel to Ruth to Sarah, and frowned at Matthew’s receding back. “Very close in age.”
“It wasn’t his fault. Sarah sort of just happened.” In a small cramped cabin somewhere in the mid-Atlantic… Alex smiled at the memory, even if at the time it had been more about assuaging grief than making love. Nights in which she’d held Matthew as he mourned the loss of his home, nights in which she gave him all of herself instead, assuring him that it would be alright; somehow it would all work out, and he needn’t worry; she’d be fine – she was still breastfeeding Ruth. And so she’d arrived here with five live children and a sixth unborn one in her womb. Well, if she was going to be precise, one of those children was her stepson, even if she never thought of Ian as anything but her own.
“It’s still something of an open wound.” Alex looked in the direction of where her husband had dropped out of sight. “Even now, four years on, when he’s achieved so much here, it’s Hillview he means when he says home.” She used her nail to scrape splattered tallow off the table and frowned down at her hands. The Waltons had been here less than six months and their place already had a name, while they had been here for four years without even attempting to name their new home.
Magnus patted her hand. “It’s not only Matthew that misses it, I hear.”
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 7