The Prodigal Son

by Belfrage, Anna

  Sandy blinked at her, his mouth falling open. Jesus! Alex reared back; he had the breath of a dead stoat.

  “You speak of things you don’t understand,” Sandy said, “and you forget your place. You’re but a helpmeet to your husband and must in all matters of any greater importance bow to his will.”

  “Really? And is that what he thinks as well?” Alex gave Matthew a barbed look. “Well, is it?”

  “Nay, of course not,” he replied with a sigh.

  “That’s good, seeing as I’d never consider any man to be my intellectual superior. Anyway,” she went on, “now that we’re having a theological discussion I might just as well come clean and tell you I have major problems with all this predestination nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?” Sandy’s voice squeaked. He coughed and coughed, glaring at her over his sodden handkerchief.

  “You can’t say thus,” Matthew said. “It’s the truth, aye? God has preordained that some of mankind will be given eternal salvation, as indication of his mercy and justice, while the greater part will not, in just punishment of the burden of sin which all of us carry.”

  “Sounds very fair,” Alex said sarcastically.

  “Predestination is no nonsense, it’s a principal tenet of faith,” Sandy put in, now sufficiently recovered to be able to speak. “God extends the possibility of grace to a few chosen amongst us, and only to those.”

  “Well you would say so, wouldn’t you? I assume you’re counting yourself in among the elected few.”

  Even Matthew smiled at the bright red flush that rose through Sandy’s face.

  “I don’t know,” the preacher mumbled.

  Alex snorted and shook her head. “Whatever… predestination takes away an element of accountability. If God has already preordained, then why bother? To me it’s much more clear cut; we have free choice and can choose to shape our destinies as we want. It will be the choices we make and the actions we take that ultimately will count, not some haphazard divine lottery. That’s what I believe, in any case.”

  Well, that shut them up. Had Sandy been a Catholic he’d have been waving a crucifix and possibly a bunch of garlic at her, so shocked did he look. And as to Matthew, to her surprise he was nodding, trying out a weak smile in her direction. Forget it; she stared him down, dumped the loaded tray on Sandy’s lap and left.

  “You must punish her,” Sandy said. “For her own good you must beat these misconceptions out of her.”

  Matthew gave him an incredulous look. “Beat her? Nay, I’ll never lay a hand on Alex.”

  “She’s imperilling her immortal soul, the poor woman has her head filled with nonsense – but dangerous nonsense. What would our brethren think had they heard her speak out as she just did? She would be chastised, cast out from the Kirk.”

  Matthew just shook his head. “I’m fortunate in my wife, she travelled the world for me, she risked her life to find me and bring me back home.” He broke off a piece of bread and chewed it. “Alexandra Ruth, that’s her full name. She has more than proved herself my Ruth. I can live with her not being Martha – I don’t want her to be, I want her to be just as she is.”

  Sandy exhaled loudly. “I’ll talk to her myself then,” he said in a doleful tone. “I must try and set her on the narrow path.”

  “You do that,” Matthew replied with an encouraging nod.

  It had been a horrible Christmas Day, and the evening was none the better. Battle lines were drawn across the parlour, with Simon and Alex sitting together while Joan settled herself on a stool at her brother’s feet. The children flitted from one parent to the other; affected by the strained atmosphere they became loud and quarrelsome, forcing Matthew to bark at them to sit down and listen, for was he not about to read them the gospel according to Luke?

  Ian sank down beside Alex when Matthew opened the Bible, leaning against her legs. He’d spent most of the day at the top of the lane scanning for soldiers, made as nervous as she was by Sandy’s presence, and had over supper left his normal place beside Matthew to sit beside her instead.

  She tousled his hair. Ever since the incident at the Cumnock garrison there was a special bond between them, both of them members of the let’s-keep-Matthew-safe club. Not that he was making it easy for them. Her hands clenched; and if the soldiers came now? What then? She rose to her feet, interrupting Matthew halfway through the story of the birth of Jesus and without a word ushered her children up to the nursery.

  She started at every sound the coming day. Repeatedly she walked up and down the lane, all of her tense with fear. When Matthew tried to talk to her, she moved away, when he came after her she wheeled and left the room. If there was someone she didn’t want to see or touch or talk to, it was him, which was why she’d spent the night in the nursery with the children, ignoring him completely when he’d appeared at the door in only his shirt, asking her to stop this and come and sleep where she belonged.

  She counted hours until nightfall, relaxing with relief when darkness fell. No soldiers, not this Boxing Day, and now there was only one more night to go and then he’d be gone. It made her feel small and petty to so look forward to throwing a sick and wounded man out of her house, but she had her priorities firmly in order, and on that list Sandy Peden came very much at the bottom.

  Tight-arsed little man, she thought angrily, but recognised that wasn’t fair. Peden had his moments of pig-headed righteousness, but he also had moments of deep spiritual insight and instinctive kindness. She spent the second night as well with her children, in a combination of protectiveness towards them and anger at her husband. Well before dawn she was up, and by the time the rest of the household woke she was already out in the yard, keeping her silent vigil.

  “Is he gone?” Alex asked Simon when he joined her.

  “Nay, last I saw Joan was preparing his breakfast.”

  “Fucking great, I said two nights, not two nights and three full days.” She looked off in the direction of Cumnock. Nothing; no dust cloud, no glinting reflexes. “Will you stay? Keep an eye out?”

  He nodded and pulled the cloak tighter around him. “And you?”

  “Me? I have a houseguest to get rid of.”

  “When will he leave?” Alex asked Matthew when she entered the kitchen, “I want him out of my house now.”

  “But he’s ill! His cough is as bad as when I brought him here.”

  Alex pointed up the lane. “What will you do if – no, when – a troop of soldiers materialises up there? Pick him up on your shoulders and rush for the woods? Hide him under the bed and hope they don’t look there? You promised me, Matthew Graham, that you wouldn’t put us at risk, and yet that is what you’re doing every minute he remains in our home. Don’t touch me,” she snarled when he attempted to put an arm around her. “Don’t try to cuddle me into acceptance. You promised.”

  “He’s a friend in need.”

  Alex shook her head slowly. “He’s an outlaw, and his presence here puts all of us at risk. Do you want to see us all bonded into slavery? Do you want your sons to live out what life they have as slave labour on a tobacco farm in Virginia?”

  That was very underhand; a kick that hit him squarely in the balls. He jerked as violently as if she’d slapped him, his eyes shifting into a muddy green.

  “You know I don’t.”

  “And still that’s what you’re risking. Me abused, your children slaves and yourself a slave or hanged.” She didn’t like herself for saying that, not when all of him paled, an arm flung out to steady himself against the wall.

  “You know…” he began, swallowing so hard she could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He raised agonised eyes to hers. “I don’t want that, but I can’t leave Sandy to die.” Their eyes locked and held.

  “It’s a question of priorities. Your family or your friend; your marriage or your friend, your life – all our lives – or his life. Take your pick, but be prepared to live with the consequences.”

  He said nothing for a while. She held h
is eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing, his breathing.

  “He’ll be gone by noon,” he said and turned on his heel.

  Chapter 24

  They didn’t know how to reach each other – or rather she didn’t want to, torn into shreds that he should have broken his promise to her. To her! Words rose hot and angry up her throat at the sight of him, words that twisted her tongue into knots and were swallowed down – some things were best left unsaid. Instead, Alex escaped into the preparations for the coming Hogmanay festivities – however uninspired she felt about the whole thing.

  “At least no one will leave hungry,” Alex said, counting the stacked pies, puddings and cakes. “Should we really be holding this dance?” she went on, directing herself to Joan. “It could be considered unseemly.”

  Mrs Williams was but eight days in the ground, Matthew and she weren’t talking or even touching each other, the children orbited like nervous satellites round their silent parents, Joan kept on dropping oblique comments regarding Christian duty in general and versus ministers in particular. Alex sat down to nurse Daniel. He alone of the whole family remained oblivious, smiling at his mother.

  “It’s too late to cancel,” Joan said, “and mayhap it’s what people need. A celebration among friends.” She was packing foodstuffs into a basket.

  “For Sandy?” Alex asked somewhat sharply.

  “Aye. Matthew will be taking it to him later. We mustn’t forget our friend and preacher.”

  There it was again, that disapproving edge, and Alex decided there and then that she’d had it.

  “And if it were your children? If it were your Simon that risked hanging for the sake of friendship and faith?”

  Joan’s cheeks acquired a pink tone. “Some things are worth it.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Alex snapped back. “You’re not exactly risking anything, are you? It’s my man who’ll be carrying that basket over the moor, not you or your precious Simon. And if he’s stopped? Shot? What will you tell me? That I should be glad he died because of a worthy cause? Even worse, Joan, they won’t shoot him. No, they’ll fine him and then we’ll all be lost. Or will you put up the 200 merks?”

  Joan hid her eyes, muttering that such money couldn’t be found.

  “No,” Alex said. “I didn’t think so. Bloody hypocrite.” She stood up with Daniel in her arms and swept out of the room, kicking the kitchen door shut behind her.

  “I hear you’ve quarrelled with Joan,” Matthew said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  “At present I seem to be quarrelling with everyone,” Alex muttered back. Her head hurt after an aggravated discussion with Simon. It wasn’t as if she’d expected Joan to take off on her own to deliver the stuff to Sandy, was it? And anyway, why shouldn’t she? If she was so keen on helping Sandy bloody Peden then she could take a brisk walk across the moor just as well as Matthew could. Probably safer, given her gender.

  “With me as well?” Matthew dropped his hand to rest on her hip.

  “Of course with you! This is all your fault to begin with.” She batted his hand off her hip and scooted up to sit against the headboard. “You promised me, and even worse… No, shut up, you listen to me, okay?” she glared when Matthew seemed on the point of interrupting. She took a big breath, took another. “How could you? How could you bring him here and not even tell me? Do you think I’d be so cold hearted as to refuse him help, given his state?”

  “No, but…”

  “But what? Better to sneak him in?”

  “I didn’t stop to think, aye? I was wet and cold, it was growing light and all I had in my head was to make it back home without being discovered. And Joan was awake, so she helped me get him up the stairs, and then, well, I knew you wouldn’t like it, so…”

  “So you hoped I wouldn’t find out,” she finished for him. “You obviously think me very stupid or unobservant.”

  “Of course not! I would have told you at some point.”

  “Yeah, if nothing else just as the soldiers came galloping down our lane.” She hugged her pillow to her chest, eyes never leaving him. “You know, something along the lines ‘Alex, I forgot to tell you, but we may have a wee problem.’” She mimicked his accent to perfection, and despite the situation he smiled.

  “None of you understand,” Alex said. “It isn’t that I don’t like Sandy – even if at times he’s a bit too much – it’s that I’m paralysed with fear that by helping him you’re damning us. To me, our children must always come first; to me you come first. But to you it seems Sandy’s wellbeing is more important, and that hurts.”

  “That isn’t true, you know it isn’t true.” He moved close enough to touch her, his hand closing over her ankle. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Do what? Lie to me? Break your promises?”

  “I’ll not place us at risk, I’ll even stop helping…” He looked crushed, saying that, and Alex gave him a long look.

  “And so you’ll sit on your hands and hate me for stopping you from rushing off in defence of your friends and beliefs.” She shook her head. “I can’t ask that of you. But I do ask that you tell me the truth – always – and that you keep our home out of it.”

  “I promise,” he said, and at her raised brows he gave her a crooked smile. “I do, Alex. And I won’t break it this time, nor will I lie to you again. I’ll tell you everything.”

  She gave him a doubtful look, making him frown.

  “My word, aye? Don’t you believe me?” He leaned towards her, sinking his eyes into hers.

  “I do,” she said after a minute or so. “But if you break it, I’ll leave.”

  “Leave? How leave?”

  “Walk out the door, up the lane and take off.” She jerked her head in the direction of several half-packed leather satchels. She’d even talked to Simon about it, but he’d looked horrified at the thought. To be honest, so was she, but there were days when all of this was just too much, long nights when she worried she wouldn’t cope, couldn’t live with this constant burden of fear that somehow he’d be torn away from her. She couldn’t meet his eyes, and instead focused her attention on her wedding ring, turning it round and round her finger.

  “I’ll not break it,” he said hoarsely.

  “Good.”

  “You should make your peace with Joan,” he said as he got to his feet.

  “Or she with me. She’s been the one dropping nasty comments the last few days.”

  “You’re somewhat intimidating to her.”

  “She’s the perfect Christian, not me, so if she wants to make things up then she’d better take the initiative. I won’t.” Don’t even go there, her tone warned. With a sigh Matthew turned to leave.

  “Matthew?”

  He stopped by the door. “Aye?”

  “I want it to be like it’s supposed to be.”

  “So do I, lass.”

  She nodded and kept her eyes on the wall. With a soft thud the door closed in his wake.

  Later that same day, Matthew followed the sound of shrill, happy voices, smiling when he heard Rachel insist that she could so swim, and that come summer she’d show Mark for real. Tomorrow his lass would be four, born in the Colony of Virginia on New Year’s Eve. He had received her into this world, his hands had been the first to touch her, his arms the first to hold her, and he wondered if this was why he felt such a strong affinity with her. Or mayhap it was because she was so much her mother’s daughter, and by watching Rachel grow he achieved a small insight into the child Alex had once been.

  The laundry shed was full of young bodies in different states of undress. Ian was already in his shirt again, Jacob and Daniel both as naked as the day they were born, and Mark was busy with his stockings. Rachel was still in the tub, singing something to herself.

  “Do you need help?”

  Alex gave him a flustered look, shoving her hair off her damp and rosy face. She looked lovely, and suddenly he knew exactly what to do to mend things between them. He reached fo
rward and tugged at an escaped curl, watching with interest how the tip of her ears went a promising pink.

  “The idea was that I was going to sneak off for a bath all on my own,” she said. “But then all of these decided they wanted to bathe.”

  “Not me,” Ian said in a surly voice.

  “No,” Alex grinned at him. “But if I’m doing four I might as well do five.”

  In less than five minutes Matthew had the laundry shed empty of children, promising Alex she’d get the hours of peace she needed while he made sure the children were fed and put to bed. She sank down on the bench with a grunt, and sat like that for some time, waiting for the water in the cauldron to heat up. Matthew had created a system of barrels that filled with rainwater or melting snow, and these barrels were close enough to the cauldron to make the water carrying much less of a burden. Still; three pails here, another two here… her arms ached with the effort.

  Alex undressed, wondering at what point Matthew intended to return. When she was in the bath or after? Her hands slid down her front, over her thighs. The enforced regime of regular morning exercise she’d implemented after Daniel’s birth was having the desired effect, even if her abdominal muscles would never be the same again. She panicked regularly over getting old, because all around her she saw women younger than her collapse into something that was more old age than she’d ever seen in her own time. Teeth dropped out, spinal columns bent into a permanent hunch…

  With an inhalation she stepped into the tub. Too hot, and she hopped from one foot to the other for some time before lowering herself inch by protesting inch into the water. There, much better; she sank down deeper into the water, low enough that it should lap at her face. Her hand slid in between her legs, and she was wet and slippery but slightly cooler than the water that surrounded her. She touched herself, floating in her bath and longed for Matthew, for the strength of him inside her and the length of him on top of her.

  Alex flounced into the kitchen.

  “Did you have a good bath?” Matthew could see in her eyes that she’d expected something more, and it pleased him, making his privates tighten considerably. She muttered something, hung up her cloak and moved towards the staircase but was blocked by Matthew.