Matthew had no idea what to do. His wife evaded him, fleeing at his approach. So he concentrated on the remaining harvest work instead, escaping out to the fields early in the morning, returning weary to the bone in the evenings. Not once did she touch him or suggest he should take a bath or in any way indicate she cared one whit for his comfort apart from setting food on the table in front of him. She never spoke to him, her eyes blank the few times he managed to catch them with his own. He hated the silence that grew between them, but he was waiting for her to do something, because he didn’t know how to break through the walls of impenetrable ice she was putting up around herself.
Every attempted conversation was stonewalled. When he reached for her brush to help her with her hair, she stood and left the room, returning only when she assumed he was asleep. Once he reached out to touch her, hoping that by loving her he’d somehow repair this breach, but she lay as stiff and unmoving as a corpse beneath his hand, her face turned to the wall until he gave up and rolled to face the other way. But the night he lay coughing because of all the dust in his lungs, she stood up and went out in the kitchen to return with a mug of raspberry cordial which she handed to him without meeting his eyes or saying a word.
All through this time, Richard walked beside him, an ongoing whispered sermon as to the importance of casting away everything that was not to God’s liking, and surely a wife as wilful as Mrs Graham had to be taught to obey. What had he ever seen in this man to make him quarrel so devastatingly with Alex over him? Matthew wanted to take the minister by the scruff of his neck and shake him into silence, because somehow it was his fault that his wife no longer spoke to him, sprang away at his touch and never looked at him.
After a week of this torture, Matthew had had enough. “You must leave,” he said to Richard.
“Leave?” The wee man straightened up to his full height and filled his lungs with air to protest.
“You heard.” Matthew crossed his arms over his chest.
“But...your lads, your sons! They have need of me, of the schooling I can give them.”
“We’ll manage.” From what he’d overheard yesterday, Alex was correct: Richard Campbell might be well schooled in the Bible, but on any other subject he was most ignorant.
Matthew twisted inside. What had he done, bringing this man back to his family? And all because of a tender conscience on account of that soft, fondling hand and his all too willing cock.
“I can’t go on living in discord with my wife,” he said, irritated for feeling he owed the man an explanation. “And you’re the cause of a rift I must attempt to heal.”
“I am?” Richard stuttered. “You mean she is! A wilful, temperamental woman that is lacking in discipline and respect for her betters.”
Matthew eyed him with a sudden flaring dislike. “Alex is my dearly beloved wife, and you’d best remember that.” He nodded in the direction of Ian, who came over to them leading a saddled horse. “My son will take you to the Leslies or see you some way down the road to Providence if you prefer.”
“Now?”
“Now.” Matthew nodded, wanting him off his property as soon as possible.
*
“Matthew has sent Richard away,” Magnus told Alex, lifting a gurgling David out of his basket to set him in his lap. Alex shrugged and continued with her work, her hands flying as she reaped redcurrants.
“That’s good, right?” Magnus wiped his finger clean before offering it to David to chew on. “Shit! You’re right, he is teething.”
“Tell me about it,” Alex said with her back to him.
“So will you start talking to Matthew again?” The present atmosphere in the household had the consistency of cheese curd, thick enough to slice with a knife.
“Do you think I should?” She sounded disinterested.
“It would help. It’s not much fun being around you at present.”
“Right now it’s not much fun being me,” she said, “but if he thinks sending Richard away is all he has to do to have me mellow on him he has another think coming. Had he done it that same night it might have been enough, but now it’s just too little, too late. Maybe you should tell him that.”
“Me?” Magnus shook his head. “Oh no, Alex, you’re old enough to sort out your own marital issues. I won’t be your go-between.” He placed a hand on her arm. “You’re being childish.”
“I can’t help it,” she whispered, and he could hear how close she was to crying. “I’m so mad at him, and…” She closed her mouth and ducked her head. Magnus sat waiting, but apparently Alex had nothing more to say.
*
As the days progressed without any change in her attitude towards him, Matthew came to understand that he was being punished, that Alex was making him pay for the humiliation he’d put her through. One part of him recognised that she had the right of it, while the other raged at her for doing this to them, and so they drifted further and further away from each other until the day Matthew came into the stable to find her sitting staring into space, the cat purring in her lap.
“What are you doing?” he asked, noting with a twinge to his heart how tired she looked. And today was her birthday, and he wanted to... He sighed, not sure now was a good time to give her the little carving he’d made her.
“Avoiding you.” She tumbled the cat to the floor when she got to her feet. “Although that didn’t work very well, did it?” She moved over to the door but he blocked her way, and just like that he kissed her. He had thought she might perhaps slap him, or not kiss him back, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover she was warm and pliant in his arms, pressing herself as urgently against him as he to her – at least initially.
“No.” Alex twisted out of his hold, scrubbing the back of her hand across her mouth in a gesture that cut him to the quick.
“No?” Matthew gripped her arm. He was panting with arousal and didn’t understand. Only moments ago she’d been like a bitch in heat in his embrace.
“You heard me, I don’t want you to touch me – or kiss me. It disgusts me.”
He looked at her for a long time before releasing her, sending her staggering backwards. He swivelled on his toes and walked off, all of him vibrating with hurt.
*
Alex straightened her bodice, eyes on his retreating back for as long as she could see him. Maybe she should... No, no way. He was the one who owed her an apology, not the other way round.
She didn’t see him all morning and, when he wasn’t back for dinner, Alex began to get nervous.
“Oh God, what am I doing?” she said to Mrs Parson. “How can I risk my marriage because of an overheated verbal exchange with that turd of a minister?”
“Aye, I told you so, no? This has gone on for far too long. It’s time to swallow that pride of yours, Alex Graham.”
“My pride? What about his pride? This is his fault and—”
Mrs Parson held up a hand. “He’s a man. He is entitled to his pride.” Her face softened into a little smile. “They need it so much more than we do.”
Alex wasn’t sure she agreed with her, but their conversation was interrupted by Mark and Jacob coming in from the fields with a tired Daniel trailing them. None of them had seen Matthew.
“He said he’d come up after us.” Mark poured himself some barley water. “He never did.”
Ian returned from where he’d been working, and he hadn’t seen his father either. Nor had Magnus, even though he did think he’d seen Matthew earlier, somewhere in the general direction of the river.
“Stupid man,” she said in an attempt to be mad at him as she jogged towards the woods. “Run off and sulk.” She tightened her shawl and plunged in among the trees, heading in the direction of the river. “And what if you’ve broken your leg or something,” she went on with her little rant, her heart catching at the thought of Matthew physically hurt in the woods. She increased her
pace, convinced that he had stumbled over a stone to break his neck, or been bitten by a rattlesnake to die in agony, and all because of her and her need to wound him back for listening to bloody Campbell over her.
Her breathing was coming in loud, uneven gasps by the time she reached the water. He wasn’t there, and Alex gyrated for a while before setting off again, this time deeper into the forest. If he wasn’t here, there was only one place he could go, she told herself, and now she was running in her haste.
Her shoulders sank together with relief when she saw him. He was sitting with his back to her, just on the edge of the abandoned Indian village. If he heard her, he gave no sign of it, remaining very still with his head bowed. In the late August sun, his dark hair showed glints of chestnut, and Alex was overwhelmed by a wave of tenderness for this man that meant everything and more to her. She took the last few steps towards him and put a hand on his head, trailing her fingers through his hair.
He made a strangled sound at her touch. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done as I did.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Alex stepped over the fallen log and kneeled down to see his face.
He shoved his hair out of the way and locked eyes with her. “Will you forgive me for not defending you as I should have done?”
She cleared her throat repeatedly to say something and finally gave up, nodding instead.
His stance relaxed and he raised his hand to rest the back of his fingers against her cheek. “Do you recollect once, very many years ago, when you told me I was all you had?”
Of course she did; a dark night in Scotland when she’d pleaded with him to put her and her children first – before his religious convictions.
“It’s the same for me. You’re all I have, Alex. All I want and all I need, and when you choose to close me out as you’ve been doing these last few weeks, you leave me standing very alone in a cold and unwelcoming world.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t like it out there on my own.”
“Nor do I.” She cupped his head in her hands and kissed him, allowing him to pull her close.
It was needy and urgent, uncomfortably damp and very fast, with Alex tumbled on her back and Matthew already deep inside of her. He was rough, and so was she, sinking nails into the flesh of his lower back. He bit her, he kissed her, he slipped in a hand below her and lifted her closer and then he came, while still inside of her. Alex stiffened and opened her eyes to his, so close and so green. There was a silent challenge in them, a reminder that she was his wife and she shouldn’t forget that – ever again.
“Happy birthday,” Matthew said with a crooked smile as they made their way back home. He stretched out a hand to clasp her elbow when she nearly overbalanced on one of the mossy stones.
“Thanks.” Between her legs she could feel his stickiness, and all she really wanted to do was to ask him to love her again, but her breasts were beginning to ache and she knew David needed her, so she lengthened her stride and took his hand.
That night, he loved her again, and next morning, and next night… And every time he came inside of her, always with that bright green sheen in his eyes, and Alex was torn between the fear of conceiving again and the burning hunger he woke in her. Oh, what the hell, she thought and succumbed to his touch and his will, leaving it all up to fate. Because it was so wonderful, and he was so gentle, and his mouth made her gasp and beg him to please…and he did, impaling her with slow, forceful movements that made her wriggle and twist with desire.
“I think I’m pregnant,” she told him some weeks later in passing.
“Good.” He kissed her on the cheek before going back to his work.
“Good?” Alex shook her head. “I’m not sure it’s good.”
“But I am, and it’s good for our wee laddie, to have a brother or sister close in age.”
“Extremely close,” Alex muttered.
Matthew let his hand rest for an instant on her belly. “A lass.” He smiled. “It will be a lass.”
Alex didn’t reply. For the first time the thought of yet another child filled her with far more apprehension than joy.
Chapter 29
“Another one?” Magnus sounded disgusted. “But David’s just seven months old!”
“And you think I don’t know?”
“So what does he think you are? A cow?”
“What a bloody insulting thing to say!” Alex exploded. “As I said, it isn’t always easy to avoid.”
But, of course, in this specific case there’d been no question of attempting to avoid it. Matthew had set out to make her pregnant and she had silently acquiesced without really knowing why. That was a lie. She knew exactly why: because the loving had been spectacular, a reconfirmation that it was she and Matthew against the world – and because he’d demanded her submission.
“And, as I said, use your brain a bit more. And if he doesn’t know how, let him come to me and I’ll explain the basic principles behind pulling out in time.”
“Magnus!” Alex began to laugh, overwhelmed by a far too graphic image of Magnus demonstrating how to do it and when.
Mrs Parson expressed her congratulations, saying that Alex would no doubt have it easy this time as well.
“As will she,” she added, nodding in the direction of Jenny.
“She’s pregnant too?”
“Och aye, anyone with half a brain can see it, no?”
“Thanks very much,” Alex huffed, even more irritated when Matthew shrugged at this news, telling her he’d suspected Jenny was breeding for some weeks now. He laughed at her and led her off to sit on the bench under the white oak.
This was by far Matthew’s favourite place, and he settled back against the gnarly stem of the tree, pride bubbling through him as he regarded his home. Neat and well ordered, his homestead was still nowhere close to what he wanted it to be, but these last few years had seen a lot of progress, and next year he’d clear some of the woods separating the house from the river proper. He wanted meadows and cows, some more fields of wheat and… He sighed; so much work left to do.
“What?” Alex reclined against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Nowt.” He extended his legs and crossed them at the ankles. The expansion plans would have to wait until spring. A warm hand slipped in under his shirt to rest above his heart, teasing fingers tugging at his chest hair.
“Love you,” she murmured.
“And I you.” He draped his arm round her shoulders in a hard but brief one-armed hug.
“We haven’t even spoken about your visit to Providence,” she said some minutes later. “And the bundles you brought back still lie unpacked in a corner of our room.”
Matthew looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t unpack?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t feel like it.”
“But the letters!” Matthew sprang up from the bench. “I forgot, aye?”
There were a lot of other things in the bundles: ribbons for the girls, a bone rattle for David, and a book that Matthew handed over with a flourish to Magnus.
“I thought it might be of interest,” he said with a grin.
“Gustavus Adolphus, the scourge from the North.” Magnus turned the book over and over. “There’s no author.”
“Aye, there is,” Matthew said. “It is just that he chooses not to give his name.”
“From the initial paragraph, I can glean he isn’t a Swede,” Magnus said some minutes later.
“You only needed to look at the cover to understand that,” Alex said. “The king looks as if he’s eating a baby.”
“He is,” Matthew said after studying the engraving. “You do that a lot in Sweden?”
“Do you do what in Sweden?” Jacob asked, coming over to where his Offa was sitting with a new book in his hands.
“Eat babies,” Alex replied in a distracted vo
ice, holding several letters.
“You do?” Jacob sounded aghast.
“Of course not, not unless the winter is uncommonly long and cold.” Magnus grinned and led his grandson off to study his new treasure together with him.
“Why is there a letter for me?” Alex said.
“Because someone wrote you one?” Matthew teased. “An ardent admirer, perhaps?”
“An unknown admirer,” Alex muttered. “I don’t recognise the handwriting.” Neither did Matthew, so he suggested she turn it over to study the seal.
Matthew frowned at the bold L and G that decorated the blob of wax. “It’s from Luke.”
“From Luke? Why would he...” She broke the seal and unfolded the crackling, thick paper. A wrinkle formed between her brows as she read the letter, and well before she was done, Matthew knew the news was bad. He could see it in how her shoulders curved, in how she gnawed her lip. She held it out to him, wordless. Matthew took the letter from her, had to read it twice to take it in. Margaret dead! Not yet forty and now gone, leaving four bairns and a devastated husband.
Matthew was stunned; all that life, all that astounding beauty, snuffed out by fickle fate. It wasn’t fair, not on her or on Luke – no matter how big a bastard his brother was – and definitely not on the bairns, left motherless before they got the chance to know her.
“Why did he write to me?” Alex said. “Why not to Ian? Or you?”
“To me? Nay, he would never write to me. Mayhap he thought it best to tell you so that you could tell Ian, soften the blow, like.” Matthew threw himself backwards onto the bed and raised his hand to trace her spine through her clothes. What would he do if she died and left him alone to cope with life? The thought filled him with a dull numbness that settled across his chest, snaked into the pit of his stomach, and made his throat itch. “I’ll write him.”
Alex turned to look at him. “You will? You’ve not exchanged a civil word with him since the day you found them in bed.”
“That was eighteen years ago. It would seem time to let it all go.”
Alex made a vague, distracted sound, her eyes on the door. “We have to tell Ian.”
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 26