The Prodigal Son

by Belfrage, Anna

  “You do as I say, both of you,” Matthew said. He jerked his head in the direction of the vegetable patch. Alex needed a day or so of rest what with the wean being constantly hungry, but unless he set someone else to do it he knew she’d be out in the kitchen garden as soon as she was up.

  Ian took Mark by the hand. “Come on then, if we hurry we’ll be done by dinner.”

  Mark let himself be dragged away, his eyes bright with envy. Matthew gave him a stern look, watching the lads out of sight before settling Jacob on his shoulders and setting off up the hill, with Rachel gambolling like a spring fevered calf at his side.

  Ian surveyed the kitchen garden and sighed. Work, work, everywhere work, and they would be nowhere close to being done by dinner.

  “Always Rachel,” Mark said. “Da always takes Rachel everywhere.”

  Ian smiled; that wasn’t true. Mostly it was Mark who accompanied Uncle Matthew around the farm, but today wee Mark had himself convinced that all he ever got to do were the boring things, like harvesting carrots and parsnips and digging beds and spreading more manure and… Mark interrupted his whingeing, bit into a carrot and chewed in silence, kicking at the clods of wet earth.

  “And Mama is always with Daniel or Jacob.”

  “Aye, I know how it is.”

  “Do you?” Mark gave him a surprised look.

  Ian shrugged, wiping his dirty hands down his breeches. Dark velvet breeches, not at all suitable for this; it would drive Mam wild to see him streaking them with mud and bits and pieces of greenery. The thought pleased him, and he rubbed some more, noting the resulting stains with satisfaction.

  “I have a brother,” Ian said sombrely and stretched for a carrot. “Charles.” He grimaced at the name.

  “Only one,” Mark told him. “And not a sister – you wouldn’t want a sister like Rachel.”

  Ian considered that for a moment and gave Mark a pitying look. Rachel Graham was quite the little baggage.

  “So,” Mark said after a while. “What’s he like? Charles?”

  Ian made an indifferent sound. “He’s a wean. He stinks and eats and sleeps.”

  Mark giggled. “Daniel stinks too, but Mama says he can’t help it.”

  “He’s ugly,” Ian said, “looks like a piglet with hair. Red hair, bright red hair.”

  Mark agreed that that sounded very ugly. “Mayhap he’ll look like your father when he grows up some,” he said, “and then he’ll be a right bonny lad.”

  Ian threw down his half-eaten carrot and stalked off.

  “… and I don’t understand,” Mark finished, looking at his mother over the top of his mug.

  Alex ruffled his hair. “It’s not easy to be given a new brother. You know that, don’t you?” She smiled down at her eldest, letting her hand linger on his downy cheek. “Ian’s been a single child for almost twelve years, so it’s even more difficult for him.”

  And apparently his two brainless parents hadn’t taken that aspect into any consideration whatsoever. That Luke should allow himself to become besotted by this new, guaranteed his, son, she could to some extent understand, but what was Margaret thinking of?

  Mark sat in thought for some time before leaning forward to pat Daniel on his head.

  “I like my brothers,” he said. “I even like Rachel. Sometimes,” he qualified, making Alex laugh.

  “It was a long awaited child, and mayhap the carrying of it was easier for her this time,” Matthew said after having listened to Alex’ little diatribe about Margaret’s failings as a mother. He dug his spoon into the hot stew, blowing before putting it in his mouth.

  “Yes, she must’ve had a terrible time of it last time – no idea who the father was. Poor her.”

  Matthew tended to be far too understanding of Margaret, making excuses for behaviour that in Alex’ mind deserved a major whipping. Screwing your husband’s brother in your marriage bed, standing by silently while your husband was set up as a traitor… Alex could make this list very long. Plus the woman had the temerity to look stunning. She wiped Rachel’s hands and shooed her out of the door to join her brothers and cousin out in the yard.

  “As you make your bed you must lie in it,” she said.

  Matthew frowned at her.

  Alex just frowned back. “Was it?” she asked, sniffing with delight at her tea. Real tea for a change, a precious half pound Joan had sent down from Edinburgh as Alex’ birthday gift.

  “Was what?” Matthew wiped his bowl clean with the last piece of bread and burped.

  “Difficult for her – with Ian.”

  “Aye, it was, and not only because of the paternity issue. Pregnancy didn’t become her, and as Ian tells it, it was much the same this time as well. Nigh on seven months in bed.”

  “Oh dear,” Alex murmured, not even attempting to sound sincere.

  Matthew seemed on the point of saying something – probably rather admonishing, given the look on his face – but a high, protesting squeal made him rise and walk out into the yard instead, there to have a serious conversation with his daughter.

  “It’s quite unfair, isn’t it?” Alex voiced much later. She yawned and pushed the accounting ledgers away from her, swivelling on her stool to face Matthew.

  “Unfair? What’s unfair?”

  Alex dropped the last of their few coins back into the worn leather pouch and lobbed it to him. She counted, he carried – in his opinion a fair distribution of tasks.

  “That the eldest boy inherits everything.”

  “Not everything. Land, aye, but not everything.”

  Alex looked round the rather bare parlour. A small table in cherry wood, a somewhat larger beautiful intarsia table that her father-in-law had made, four chairs, three of which had armrests, two stools, an oak chest, one set of hearth guards, two candlesticks in pewter and… well, that was it. Oh, and the sum total of nineteen books, of which one was illegible, two were bibles and one was in Latin. On the floor lay a rug she’d woven out of discarded clothes, and she was quite proud of the fact that she’d manage to create something that pleasing using mainly greys and browns with the odd dash of green and yellow.

  “It must be that way,” Matthew said. “A place like Hillview will easily support ten odd tenants and a large family in the big house, but if it’s subdivided generation after generation what remains? Not a working manor, but a sad collection of smallholdings, all too meagre to support even one family.”

  “But it’s hard on the number two and three.”

  Matthew shrugged. His father had been the eldest of five brothers, he reminded her, one had married a local lass, sole heiress to a small farm, two had joined fighting companies in France and the youngest, still alive and thriving, had been apprenticed to the master of the mint in Edinburgh, over time earning a comfortable living for himself and his numerous family.

  “And we’ll set them on their way, Daniel to school once he’s of age, and Jacob we’ll apprentice to a good tradesman.”

  “When?” Alex asked with a sinking feeling inside.

  “At ten or so; a smith, I was thinking.”

  “Oh.” No free choice there either… “But what if he wants to be an artist?”

  “An artist?” Matthew’s voice actually squeaked. “You can’t live as an artist.”

  “A doctor? A lawyer?”

  Matthew smiled and nodded. “Aye, if he wants to be a lawyer that can be arranged – he can clerk for Simon.”

  “Fantastic, the sum total of two options; smith or lawyer.”

  Matthew gave her a long look. “Mark has no choice at all, he’s born to take over Hillview – just like I was, and my father before me.”

  “Well that depends, doesn’t it? On if he’s in fact your eldest son.” She said it so matter-of-fact it took some time for Matthew to register what she’d said, and when he did he groaned.

  “He is, in the eye of the law Mark is my heir.”

  Alex hid her eyes by bending down to pick up her next piece of mending. “And in your
heart? In your conscience?” she asked, squinting as she threaded the needle.

  “We’ve had this conversation before. It doesn’t matter what I feel or think. Luke has taken him as his own.”

  “But that was before he had Charles.” It gnawed at her, constantly she thought about it; a red-haired baby, a throwback on his sire, and what would Luke do with Ian now that he had a son he knew for sure was his?

  “Ian is his son!” Matthew stood up so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

  “Good. As long as you remember that, no matter what Luke decides to do.” She swore when the needle pricked her thumb. Matthew threw himself out of the room and into the night, slamming the door behind him.

  He slept in the hayloft, making a point of not entering the kitchen until most of the household had had their breakfast. Alex served him eggs and ham, placed the bread within reach and sat down by the hearth, jiggling a fretting Daniel on her lap.

  “All night,” she sighed, “he’s been like this the whole bloody night.” He grunted, keeping his eyes on the plate. Alex undid her shift and tried to settle Daniel to eat but he arched back, small arms flailing. “Suit yourself,” she muttered, and went back to bouncing him silent.

  He snuck her a look; she looked tired, no doubt due to the wean, but there was a set to her mouth, a line he recognised from the few previous times they’d quarrelled. She didn’t like it when they slept apart, and nor did he, but this matter with Ian had his brain whirling, and he’d needed time to think – alone.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You don’t know what?” Alex dipped her finger into the honey jar and stuck it into Daniel’s mouth, effectively cutting off his whining.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do – or even should do – if Luke renounces him.” He swallowed at the look in her eyes. “He’s mine,” he went on, hearing how belligerent he sounded. “And he’s born in wedlock; he should inherit.”

  “Great. Make sure you let me know to what trade you intend to apprentice our boy then. And it best be soon, before he gets too fond of his promised future as master of Hillview.” Alex slammed her hand down so hard on the table that both Matthew and Daniel jumped. “Here, take care of your son.” She dumped Daniel in his arms. “Enjoy him, Mr Graham, because let me tell you I’m not about to give you anymore. Bastard!” With that she stalked off, brushing a surprised Mark aside.

  For an instant Matthew considered catching up with her and dragging her screaming back into the house. How dare she speak to him like that! His fingers twitched and he clenched them hard in an effort to control this dangerous feeling. God, he wanted to… but nay, if he did that once to Alex she’d be lost to him forever, she’d never forgive him for raising his hand to her. He handed a bawling Daniel to Sarah and walked off towards the barn, kicking in the direction of the grey tabby.

  Throughout the morning, Matthew worked where he could see the wooded slopes, hoping to intercept Alex when she came back down. The sun crept towards its zenith, from the kitchen came the smell of boiled fish, and still there was no sign of Alex.

  “Where’s Mama?” Rachel tugged at Matthew’s sleeve.

  “Not here, aye?” Matthew snapped, trying to block out the sounds of his hollering son. He resumed his hammering, driving in nail after nail with strong, even strokes. Sarah was walking back and forth in the yard just as he’d told her to, assuming the sound of Daniel’s crying would bring Alex home. She’d been at it for some time now, and Matthew was getting angry with his irresponsible wife. What was she thinking of to leave a hungry wean like this? Some minutes later he saw Alex appear from the direction of the mill, walk over to Sarah and lift Daniel into her arms before disappearing inside. He let the hammer drop to the ground and followed her.

  “I’m not talking to you.” She gave him an ice cold look. “So just go.” She turned away from him. Daniel was still crying, long, shaky hiccups that made him cough up milk, open his mouth to wail and then go back to eating. Matthew remained where he was, resting his shoulders against the door. She reminded him of a lioness, a dangerous female beast that crouched in defence of her young, except that this cat didn’t have yellow eyes but bright blue ones that peeked at him before sliding off to rest once again on the wall.

  “Can’t you try to understand?”

  “Of course I understand! But that doesn’t help does it? The outcome will be the same for my son.”

  “Our son, and I said I didn’t know.” He ignored her stiff back and went over to sit at her feet, resting his head against her skirts. He could feel her soften, sense how she relaxed in his proximity. “You must help me, Alex. You can’t leave me to handle this on my own.”

  “How can I help? For me the choice is self-evident.”

  He craned his head back to catch her eyes. “Is it?”

  Alex looked away. “No,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Of course it isn’t.”

  Chapter 17

  The man who rode in some days later was spattered with mud up to well over his knees, his horse dipping its head in exhaustion. Ian took one look and darted off, evading both Alex and Matthew before diving into the woods.

  “Ah,” Alex said. “The prodigal son is requested to return, but decides he doesn’t want a fatted calf.”

  Matthew chuckled and went over to meet the traveller with Alex at his heels. Ever since their strange discussion the other day they had sidestepped the issue of Ian, concentrating instead on the remaining weeks of harvest work. But he thought about it a lot, and in the night it would happen that he lay awake with eyes stuck on the ceiling with several ‘ifs’ ringing in his head. If Luke were to… if he, Matthew, should… if Ian … would Alex? And what about Mark?

  “Matthew Graham?” The stranger looked round the small manor with an air of condescension, plump mouth curling into an amused smile as he took in the stables, the few servants. No doubt nowhere close to Luke’s grand house, Matthew thought, frowning in warning when the man’s eyes lingered for far too long and with far too much familiarity on his wife. “I’m here on behalf of Luke Graham, Robert Brown, at your service.” He swept off his hat and produced a letter that he handed to Matthew.

  It was short and very much to the point; Ian had left his home without parental approval and was now to be returned home immediately to be firmly dealt with. Matthew’s mouth tightened, but there was nothing he could do. Ian was Luke’s son and must be returned.

  “It’s been difficult for the lad,” he said to Brown, receiving a blank stare in return. “What with his brother and all.”

  Brown shrugged. “He’s had the mistress right worried, he has. I dare say he’ll receive a warm welcome, and well does he deserve it.” He mimed an aching backside and grinned, his smile faltering somewhat when Alex glared at him.

  “May I offer you hospitality for the night?” Matthew said. “I dare say both yourself and your horse could do with food and rest.” One more day with Ian, one more evening, one more night, and then he’d never see him again, not until Ian was a grown man. It tore at him; his son, and the dear Lord help him, because, he, Matthew, couldn’t.

  “That’s kind of you, sir, and I will gladly accept.” Brown dismounted and set off towards the stables, leading his horse behind him.

  “Not in my clean sheets,” Alex said. “I bet he’s as filthy under those clothes as he is on the outside.”

  “Aye,” Matthew nodded, “but then he’s English.” Not much of a jest, but Alex pulled her lips into a faint smile before saying something about going after Ian.

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  “Oh no; you take care of your guest – make sure he understands he’s sleeping in the hay, okay?” With that she was off.

  Ian heard her well before she broke through the screen of shrubs that bordered the hilltop, but remained where he was, eyes locked on the undulating sea of heather in front of him; purples, pinks, here and there a dash of brown.

  Aunt Alex kneeled down beside him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
>
  He made a strangled sound and she put her arm around him.

  “It’ll be alright, Ian. They love you, even if they’re mad at you for running off – any parent would be. And once you’ve gotten used to it, you might even like having a baby brother.”

  He shook his head. “Half-brother, because that’s what he is. And now Father will always see himself in Charles and in me he’ll see Uncle Matthew.” He rubbed his face against the rough fabric of his cloak, wishing yet again that Charlie had never been born. He tore at his hair; if only it had been as red as Charlie’s! “And he doesn’t like Uncle Matthew.”

  She sighed. “No, he doesn’t, does he?”

  “I don’t want to go back, Father will be so angry at me for coming here, and Mam…” Ian drew in a long, uneven breath. “… Well Mam does as he tells her to.” Father would belt him, he’d take Salome from him and then he’d be sent away to be brought up in another household.

  “I think they’ll mainly be glad to have you back, safe and sound – I would.”

  Ian shook his head. “Not them, not now that they have the wean.”

  “Don’t be silly; yes, they seem to have lost their heads a bit over the baby, but it will pass, okay? And in your parents case, they’ve tried for so long, so of course they’re all over Charlie.” She gave him an encouraging smile, head tilted to the side.

  “That’s not it.” He huddled into his cloak. “Before Charles I was the only son Father would ever have. Now he’s no longer sure if I am his son – or if he wants me.”

  “Oh, Ian,” Aunt Alex gave him a hard hug. “Of course he wants you. Any father would be proud of you!”

  Ian tore free and stumbled to his feet. “Which one? Which one would be proud? They don’t even know themselves whose son I am! Not even Mam knows, not for sure.” He dragged his hand through his hair, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. It didn’t help, his vision blurred with tears. “Who am I? Where do I belong? Here? No, because Uncle Matthew has other sons. There? No, because now Father has another son as well.” He took a step or two towards the moss and looked back at her. “I’m not yet twelve, but already all alone…”