Alex finished her inspection of his bruises and went over to the hearth.
“Next time I see the major I might be tempted to stick my fingers into his eyes. I hate the way he looks me over.”
“What? Have you seen him more than the once?”
Alex nodded and ladled up a serving of onion soup, handing him the bowl and a spoon before sitting down beside him.
“It’s strange; he’s been here a couple of times, but always on those searches when you haven’t been home. Twice when you accompanied Simon and Joan on their way to Edinburgh.”
“Why haven’t you told me?”
Alex shrugged; the appearance of soldiers on her land had become so much a daily occurrence that they merited nothing but the barest of comments. Even the children would look up from what they were doing, take in the milling men and then ignore them.
The soldiers seemed to find this both boring and embarrassing, and Alex capitalised on their ambiguity by being polite and offering them beer or cider after every search. It made Captain Howard break out in bright red spots to hear his men bid her a good day when they rode off. The major, however, had laughed and conversed her, complimenting her beer, her pie, and her tits – well, not vocally, but what with the way his eyes hung off her … She gnawed at her lip. Wyndham and Luke; Luke and Matthew, Hillview. Hillview! Yes, that was it; Wyndham was here because of Hillview.
“He’s here to ensure you’re not hanged,” Alex told Matthew in a voice that surprised even her by its matter-of-factness.
He gave her a guarded look.
“Luke doesn’t want you dead, because if that happens Hillview passes to Mark, right? No, Luke wants you fined, and then he’ll stand by as your home, your family and finally you are sold off to cover the price. Somehow he’s twisted Wyndham’s arm to ensure things go just as Luke has planned them. Very neat, don’t you think? And even better from Luke’s point of view is that you’ll have brought it all down on yourself.”
Matthew mulled this over for some time. “It fits. And Oliver warns me a couple of times and then one day he doesn’t, hoping I will think it safe.” He grimaced in disgust.
Alex took a deep breath. “This is the year when you don’t go to one single conventicle.”
“Nay, this is the year when I go even more canny. But I won’t be stopped from listening to the word of God; not by my brother or by that false friend of my youth.”
“And by your wife?” Alex had her heart in her mouth.
“Don’t ask that of me,” he said. “Please, Alex, don’t.”
Just like that he plunged them both into yet another killing silence, days when she evaded him, slipping like water through his fingers when he tried to corner her. In front of the bairns and the household Alex acted as if things were as they should, but once they were alone she closed down completely, escaping to her bed as soon as she could.
He tried; God knows he tried, holding long monologues where he attempted to explain that he needed this, it was like air and water to him, and of course he would be careful, mindful of every step he took. But she never replied, she just rolled over onto her side and turned her back on him. Only once did she say anything, after a night where Matthew had talked himself hoarse, giving up to subside into silence beside her.
She cleared her throat. “If anything happens to you, if they take you on the moor, I’ll kill all our children and then myself. Immediately. Just so you know.”
He lay stunned by her words for the rest of the night.
“You didn’t mean it,” he said flatly next morning, blocking her way out of the room.
Alex sat down on the bed and busied herself with her garters. “Don’t tell me what I mean or don’t mean.”
“You wouldn’t,” he pleaded.
“Yes I would – I’d have to.”
“But…” He shook his head. “It would be a grievous sin!”
Alex gave him a long look. “So if I kill our children and commit suicide rather than face the horrors of bonded labour that will inevitably lead to death or worse for children as young as ours, that’s a sin?”
He nodded.
“And so it follows that endangering yourself in such a manner so as to force me to do this is also a sin, right?”
He groaned, dragging a hand across his face.
She stood up and moved him aside. “Touché, I think.” She stopped and gripped the door jamb on her way out, keeping her back to him. “I do ask it of you, Matthew. This time I’m asking you – no, begging you – not to go near one single conventicle for the coming year.”
“And what will you do if I can’t promise you that?” he asked, forcing words up a windpipe that bristled with thorns.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But somehow I think our marriage will be over. At least it will never be what it used to be.”
“I see,” he said just as softly.
Chapter 26
Matthew was in a foul mood already before seeing the large troop of soldiers come down the lane. An ultimatum; Alex had placed him with his back against a wall, and even if he recognised that she did it out of fear – for him, for their children and for herself – he was foundering in waves of bright red anger that she should be making him choose between his faith and his family.
For a fleeting instant he wondered if Davy Williams had ever had these discussions with his wife, if it would have been easier had his Alex been a properly raised Christian instead of the half-heathen he still at times considered her to be. Williams was dead, he reminded himself, and so was his poor wife and most of the bairns, so it hadn’t helped much, had it?
So it was in a black temper that Matthew strode over to plant himself in front of Captain Howard and his men. Very many men, and dogs as well, the huge beasts held back by thick, studded collars.
“You best keep a hold on Aragorn,” he said to Ian, who had sprung up by his side. “Captain, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He pointedly looked over to where Samuel and Robbie were leading out the team of oxen. Late February was a hectic time on a farm, and he was quite convinced Captain Howard was aware of that.
“Oh, I’m sure you know why we are here,” Captain Howard said. “Last night we almost cornered Alexander Peden just off the road to Cumnock, and he was seen heading this way.”
“He must have come and left like a shadow in the night, for I haven’t seen him, nor do I harbour him.”
“Ah, Mr Graham, but that is what you would say.”
With that Howard nodded in the direction of the men holding the mastiffs and the dogs were released to run free, creating pandemonium as the farm animals reacted to these new, unwelcome visitors. Howard nodded again, and his men dismounted, drew their swords and went through every building.
Torn bags of seed, casks of beer and cider upended – everywhere they went they left a wake of destruction, making Matthew knot his hands in futile ire, aware that Howard was watching his every move. Matthew hoped Alex would appear by his side and slip her hand into his, but a furtive glance over his shoulder showed her standing by the kitchen door with Daniel in her arms, and he felt abandoned by her. She knew how much it cost him to hold on to his temper, how at times he struggled with pitch black rage, and now she was leaving him to battle it on his own. “Our marriage will be over – or at least not what it used to be,” rang in his head.
The soldiers came back shaking their heads and the dogs were called to heel. Matthew began to relax. Soon they’d be gone and he could go back to his spring planting and his marital issues. But Captain Howard wasn’t done. The officer sat on his horse, dark eyes wandering from Matthew to the stables and back again. A small smile appeared on the captain’s face, it broadened into a grin.
“You,” he said to one of his dragoons. “Go and get the stallion from his stall.”
“Ham?” Matthew’s voice rose. “Why would you take my horse?”
“Oh,” Captain Howard said, “we have need of new horses.”
“You won’t steal my
horse,” Matthew said, taking a threatening step towards the captain.
The captain drew his sword. “Steal it? We’ll requisition it for the crown.”
“Nay, you won’t.” Matthew was going blind with rage. From very far away he heard Alex’ voice, her tone frantic as she called his name.
He took yet another step towards the captain, and the sword flashed down. There was a shout from behind him. Ian threw himself forward and grabbed hold of the captain’s arm, startling both horse and rider with his loud, angry yells. Matthew looked down at his shirt and at the blood that was welling from a long, shallow gash, and back up at the captain, who was struggling to control his mount. He heard Alex call his name again, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her hand Daniel to Sarah and come striding towards them.
“Get the lad off me,” the captain snarled before sorting that by himself, sending Ian to land in a heap on the ground.
Matthew growled, the captain raised his sword again. Matthew lunged, and the captain brought the flat of the narrow blade down hard on Matthew’s uncovered head. His knees buckled, pain shot like jagged bolts down his face and spine. There was a shriek, and a small shape came leaping over the ground.
“Not my da! Leave off, you nasty man. He’s bleeding.”
Rachel kept on screaming as she ran towards them. Like a small, avenging angel she pelted towards them, calling for her da. Her cap came off, her hair fell in untidy braids down to her shoulders and when the sun glinted on Howard’s naked sword she screamed even louder, a wordless sound of equal parts anger and fear.
“Rachel!” Matthew tried to call, but it came out as a croak. “Rachel, stop, lass, stay away, lassie.” He blinked in an effort to stop his head from swimming with pain and staggered towards her, arms held out to stop her. But Rachel took no notice. In her hand she brandished a stout stick and she wielded it at the horse.
“Go! Leave Da alone!” The stick connected with the horse’s leg with a dull crack.
The horse neighed and reared, front legs flailing. One huge hoof came down with a sickening crunch on the little head. Matthew watched in horror as Rachel crumpled, mouth open mid-sentence, eyes shifting from bright, angry green to dull, muddy hazel in seconds. The stout little body collapsed, the head swaying like an overweight cabbage on a stalk of grass. She hit the ground with a small thud, and Matthew couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see anything beyond the pitiful little shape that was his daughter.
“Oh, Lord,” Matthew was on his knees, his trembling hands stretched towards his unmoving lass. “Oh Jesus in heaven, my wee Rachel!” Not his lass, please Lord, not his lassie. He crawled towards her, tried to keep his eyes off her crushed skull. Two booted feet appeared in his shrinking field of vision, a man’s face was lowered to his. The captain – no longer contained but pale, shivering like an aspen leaf. My lass; sweetest Lord, look at my brave, bonny lass. The captain was talking. To him? Matthew couldn’t care less.
“It was not my intention,” the captain said. “I swear, Mr Graham, I would not have harmed a child.”
There was a keening sound in the air, a shrill sound that sliced like a honed sickle through Matthew’s brain. He stumbled to his feet, moving in the direction of Alex, now flying towards them with her skirts bunched in her hands.
“Rachel!” Alex screamed, pushing Matthew to the side. “Rachel! How many times have I told you… oh, God!” She skidded to a stop and then she was lying across her daughter, gently turning her over. “Come on Rachel, this isn’t funny, honey.” She kissed the pale face, shook the little body repeatedly. “Rachel?” the head lolled back. “No,” Alex moaned, “no, not Rachel.” She fumbled with her shawl, whispered to Rachel that it would be okay, of course it would, before wrapping the bleeding head, all the while talking to her child. “See?” she said. “Much better.”
When Rachel remained still and silent she gathered her daughter to her chest, she kissed her and called her name, she rocked back and forth, pleading with her to stop this play acting, to start moving again.
“Rachel, come on, Rachel.” She shook her, rocked her even harder, promising her she’d get the last slice of spice cake, but please, please, Rachel stop this right now, okay?
“She’s gone, Alex,” Matthew said hoarsely, shaken to his core by his wife’s behaviour. “She’s dead.”
“No!” Alex turned with blazing eyes. “She can’t be! She’s a child, for God’s sake. A baby, just four.” She was on her feet, Rachel a limp weight in her arms, walking away from them all, telling Rachel in a shrill, quavering voice that once they were inside she’d wash her and blow on the horrible wound and then it would be alright, of course it would.
He should go after her, he should… Matthew collapsed onto his knees, staring vacantly at the ground. Arms round his shoulders. Alex? Was that his Alex? Nay; Ian. He swayed on his knees, arms coming round Ian’s waist. Mayhap if he closed his eyes long enough this would go away, like a nightmare that bursts apart with the first rays of morning light. The captain knelt beside him.
“Not the girl,” Howard said. “I never meant to kill the little girl.”
Nay; you meant to kill me, Matthew thought fuzzily, provoking me into anger over a horse.
“Leave,” Ian said, his voice harsh. “You’ve done enough damage for today, and I would have you gone, aye?”
Matthew raised his face. Ian let go of him and stood in front of him, arms spread out as if to shield them all with himself. Captain Howard backed away, hands raised in apology? Supplication? Matthew didn’t care. On the cobbles a few feet away was a dark stain and one of the soldiers had picked up the small cap, handling it as if uncertain what to do with it. Ian walked over to him and snatched it back.
“Go!” he said, pointing up the lane. “And you leave the horse,” he added, shaking the cap at the captain.
“Of course, of course we will.” Was that tendril of a voice the captain’s? Matthew squinted at him. The man looked devastated, near on about to burst into tears. Too late; Rachel… and Alex; oh dearest Lord, his Alex, and the look on her face as she cradled Rachel to her chest while she rocked and rocked in a desperate attempt to bring her back to life.
“I’m so sorry, Mr Graham,” the captain said again. “I’m so sorry that your daughter is dead. It was never my intention.”
“Go,” Matthew forced the words over his lips. “You can come back and plague us some other day. But now I want you off my land. I have a bairn to grieve and a wife to comfort and God help me, I don’t know how to do that.” He stared yet again at the stain left behind by Rachel, set his hands to the ground and staggered to his feet, using Ian as his prop.
“Go to Aunt Alex,” Ian said. “I’ll take care of the rest, aye?”
Matthew drew in a long, ragged breath and began the long walk up towards the house.
It took him an eternity to traverse his yard. People; so many people, and he heard sobs and mumbled condolences. Halfway across he stopped, looked back to where Ian still stood, a gangling lad with his arms crossed over his chest as he saw the soldiers off. He trudged on. There was a weight in his chest, a constriction that made it difficult to breathe, and when he wiped at his bloodied face he realised he was weeping. He cleared his throat, coughed a couple of times and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Not now; weep he could do later, now he had to somehow comfort his wife.
When Matthew entered the house the first thing he saw was his daughter, laid out on a blanket on the kitchen table.
“She’s not dead,” Alex told him. “Look, she’s still breathing.”
To his shock he saw she was, irregular, shallow breaths that barely lifted her chest. He shifted his eyes to her head and was violently sick in the basin. Not dead… Oh, Lord, do not let her linger, do not let her mother begin to hope and then lose her yet again. He poured some water from the pitcher into his shaking hands and scrubbed them over his face before turning round.
Rachel was still breathing. The crushed mass of her head was oozi
ng blood and other secretions to run into her hair, collecting just below her ear in a stain that seeped slowly into the blanket below her. Alex was boiling water, and Matthew saw that it was too late; his wife believed their daughter’s life might be saved.
“Alex… it’s… she’ll die, aye?” His Rachel; his ray of sun, his adored daughter, reduced to this, this… He groaned.
“I know.” She placed a hand on Rachel’s forehead. “But I can’t let her lie like this, can I?”
Together they washed their child, together they combed the fine dark hair to lie in bouncing curls around the pale and immobile face, already no longer Rachel, because Rachel was never this still, not even when she slept. Together they sat, waiting as she slowly died, and together they folded her arms across the narrow chest when her heart thudded to a stop.
Chapter 27
Matthew threw the hammer away from him. The carefully chosen boards of pale oak lay taunting him and he raised his foot to kick one of them into splinters but stopped at the last moment. A coffin for his lass, for the bairn closest to his heart… And now bright, vibrant Rachel was to be buried in the cold, dark earth. He closed his eyes, trying in vain to block out the image of his Rachel eaten by maggots. How unbearable would it be for her mother it if was like this for him? He picked up his hammer and went back to his work.
Five days since Rachel died, five days in which the silence between him and Alex had grown. The unresolved conflict regarding his willingness to risk life for faith lay festering between them, and now with wee Rachel dead… It was his fault; he should’ve let them take the horse, he should have thrown himself into Rachel’s path, he should…
He scratched at the sword cut. Every time it began to scab he broke it open, staining his clothes with yet another seeping line of red. If Alex saw she didn’t say, sunk so deep into herself that only rarely did she seem to notice him at all. He needed her, but he didn’t know how to tell her so, and he stood a mute supplicant before her but she didn’t see, she didn’t even look at him.
The Prodigal Son Page 25