A Newfound Land (17 page)

Chapter 20

The shriek froze Matthew to the spot, and after a quick look at Ian, he plunged towards it, musket already at hand. Yet another scream, the unmistakable sound of a woman in fear or pain, and Matthew extended his stride with Ian running beside him.

Now there were other sounds: men laughing, the jangling of a harness. Matthew held up his hand, dropping down to squat behind a thicket. Ian crawled over to join him, and in silence they studied the scene before them.

Indians, several Indians, three men tied up so tightly they could barely shuffle, seven women tied at the wrists. Standing before them, inspecting his catch, was a man Matthew recognised as having been part of the posse that had ridden in pursuit of Qaachow – the man Alex and Magnus had seen late last year: Mr Burley himself.

He dragged at his black hair, said something over his shoulder to one of the other men, received laughter in reply, and approached the woman – no, lass – who had apparently screamed, at least to judge from her bruised face. Like a snake he pounced, hand closing on the long braid to pull her towards him.

Matthew muttered a curse, shifting on his feet. Beside him, Ian groaned when the man pushed the lass to the ground. Burley said something to his companions and undid his breeches.

“Da!” Ian whispered, “He’s going to—”

“Aye, I can see that,” Matthew whispered back. By now, he’d recognised one of the Indian men, the knotted scar that ran up his side identifying him as the man Alex had sliced open last autumn.

“But we can’t let him!” Ian hissed, staring at where Burley was kneeling between the girl’s spread legs. “Da, we have to do something!”

A wail from the lass and one of the other women leapt towards her, tied hands gripping a branch. It was bound to fail, one of Burley’s companions wresting the branch from her before cuffing her. The lass screamed; Burley’s bared arse bobbed up and down while his companions cheered him on. Matthew swore under his breath, gripping the stock of his musket. Bastard! The lass whimpered and cried; Burley laughed. Ian growled, rising out of his crouch only to be arrested by Matthew’s hand.

“Think, lad,” Matthew whispered. “They’re four, we’re only two. To rush out will only get you killed. We need a strategy.”

For a few seconds, he sat deep in thought before giving Ian some hasty instructions and sending him off to the opposite side of the clearing. He took a deep breath and stood up; he was laying his life in the hands of his son. Yet another breath and he strode out into the open.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, musket held high.

“Doing?” Burley scrambled to his feet, turning eyes the colour of old ice on Matthew. “Nothing that concerns you, Mr Graham.” He adjusted his clothes, smirking down at the weeping lass.

“Concern me? Aye, it does. You’re on my land, Mr Burley.”

Philip Burley shrugged, keeping those strange eyes on Matthew. The look in them made the fine hairs along Matthew’s nape rise in alarm. This was a man without a whit of compassion or warmth.

“Not for long. We’ll be well on our way to Virginia before nightfall.”

“Without them,” Matthew said, indicating the Indians.

“I think not. They go with us. A small compensation for the man who died in last year’s raid – and our friend, who died last night.”

Matthew just shook his head.

One of the men, still on his horse, laughed and raised a musket. “And how will you stop us?” Without warning he fired. Matthew threw himself to the side and came back up, his muzzle now aimed at Burley.

“Try something like that again, and I blow his brains out,” he warned.

“It must somehow have slipped your notice that we’re four and you’re only one,” Philip Burley sneered. “One shot is all you get, and then...” He mimed a slicing motion over his neck. He yanked the Indian girl to stand and, using her as a shield, advanced towards Matthew. “Go on then,” he jeered. “Shoot, Mr Graham. Shoot before I get close enough to disarm you.”

One of the men laughed and approached Matthew from the other side. Matthew retreated step by step, luring the two men with him.

“Now!” he called out, and the next moment the mounted man screamed. The handle of a knife protruded from his shoulder, and Matthew congratulated Ian on his aim. Cursing, the man dismounted, yelling at his companion to come and help him. Burley came to a halt, scanning the surrounding woods.

“Not alone, then,” he said.

“I’m no fool. Go!” Matthew jerked his musket in a rough south-westerly direction. “Get off my land before we do you bodily harm – and don’t return.”

“Indian lover!” Burley spat.

“I don’t hold with abduction, nor do I wish to have an Indian situation on my hands. We live peaceably with our heathen neighbours and want to continue doing so.” He advanced; Burley fell back.

The man on Matthew’s right lunged. Matthew whirled and fired. The man collapsed. Burley pounced, as graceful as a giant cat in his movements. God’s truth, but the man was strong – and angered! Those ice-cold eyes swam far too close, and Matthew’s musket was wrenched from him and thrown to the side. Matthew kicked and heard Burley yelp. He landed a punch, was pushed, shoved back and ducked hastily when Burley’s blade swiped by his ear. Matthew backed away. Burley screamed like a banshee and came at him again. Matthew stumbled. Burley screamed again, jumped, and Matthew fell, landing on his back with Burley on top. The knife came down. Matthew grabbed hold of Burley’s wrist, thereby arresting the blade a scant inch or so from his exposed throat.

Yet another shot rang out. Burley threw all his weight onto his knife arm, and the blade sank lower. The metal was near on scraping Matthew’s skin when the Indian lass kicked Burley in the side – hard enough for the man to grunt, giving Matthew the opportunity to clap Burley over the ear, heave him off, and get back on his feet.

“Da?” Ian materialised beside him. “Are you alright?” He handed Matthew his musket.

“Aye,” Matthew replied, watching Burley as he regained his feet.

“You killed him.” Burley pointed at the unmoving body a few yards away.

“No loss to mankind,” Matthew said.

“He was my friend.” Burley grabbed at the Indian lass, backed towards the horses and his two live companions, one clutching at his bleeding shoulder, the other cradling his head. “I avenge my friends, Graham. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.” He spat in the direction of Matthew.

“You can try,” Matthew said, trying to sound unconcerned. This was not a man he wanted as an enemy, but it was too late to do anything about that.

The man holding his head cursed and tried to get to his feet, but collapsed to sit.

“I couldn’t kill him,” Ian muttered, “so I just clapped him over the head.”

“You did fine, lad.” Matthew approached Burley and the lass. “Let her go.”

“I think not; she rides with me.” Burley cursed when the lass bit him, sinking her teeth into his arm. “Ah!” He hit her over the head with the hand holding his dagger and still she wouldn’t let go. “So be it!” he snarled, and just like that slashed his knife across her throat. It was all Matthew could do to hold Ian back.

*

“I must say your life has very few dull moments,” Magnus commented to Alex when Matthew ushered a group of Indians out of the surrounding forests. “Since I’ve been here, we’ve had Indians, posses, sex stalkers, aggravated bears and now Indians again.”

“The bear was pretty scary.” Alex grinned.

“Scary? It wasn’t you sitting in the privy; it was me!”

Alex laughed. In retrospect it was very funny, with Magnus shooting out of the privy as if his arse was on fire, holding his unlaced breeches with one hand while he kept on hollering there was a bear in the privy.

Magnus gave her an aggrieved look. “It could’ve eaten me; it was probably starved after months of hibernation.”

“No, no,” Alex assured him between gusts of laughter. “We wouldn’t have let him.” And it had been a small black bear, rooting about below the privy holes.

“Huh!” He crossed his arms across his chest and went back to studying their approaching guests.

“Alex?” Matthew motioned for her to come, and she hastened towards him, alerted by the grim look on his face. Curiously, she studied the Indian women, dressed in buckskin skirts and shirts, the hems embroidered with quills and beads. One of them wore a necklace, an impressive work of art that decorated her chest with several multi-coloured strands. She was kneeling by a primitive stretcher, talking in a low, reassuring voice to whoever it was that was lying on it: a girl, a thin little thing who lay wide-eyed but sightless, blood staining the primitive bandage round her throat.

“Oh God,” Alex said, and there was Mrs Parson, peering over her shoulder.

“She’s dead,” Mrs Parson stated. “Fortunately, as there was nothing we could do for her.”

“Dead?” The Indian man with the scar approached them. “She dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” Alex said. “What happened?”

“As far as I can understand, they were attacked last night,” Matthew said.

The Indian nodded and haltingly described how five white men had snuck in on them as they made camp for the night.

“One dead,” he said, miming a knife in the gut. He pointed with pride at the woman with the necklace.

“His sister,” Ian said. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

Alex studied the young Indian woman, who was still on her knees in the mud. Pretty? She was beautiful, with dark, gleaming hair, skin a soft bronze and eyes the colour of sloes. Eyes that at present were riveted on the dead girl.

“Yet another sister.” Matthew kneeled and closed the staring eyes.

*

“I wasn’t planning on burying a renegade as the first in my graveyard,” Matthew said a few hours later. The Indians had already left, taking their dead girl with them.

“If we’re going to be correct, you’re not. You’re burying him just outside.” Alex nudged at the shrouded body with her toe. “You shot him?”

“Aye, I had to. If only she hadn’t bitten him,” he sighed.

“If she hadn’t, she’d have been on a horse with him, and God knows what he’d have done to her.” Alex helped him hoist the body into the hole and watched as he refilled the grave.

She studied the view, smiling at the sight of their home, their fields and, further away, the glittering waters of the river.

“You chose well; to lie here must be very peaceful.”

“Aye, and yet close enough to home to not feel entirely abandoned by the living.” He drew her into his arms and they stood looking down at their land.

“You said home.” Alex rested back against his chest.

“Aye, I did.” He looked around at the small enclosed space. “But I don’t plan to lie here for very many years yet.”

“Me neither.” She snuck her hand into his as they made their way back down. “You think they’ll be back?”

“Not likely,” he said in a light tone that didn’t comfort Alex in the least – not when he’d insisted that his sons keep their loaded muskets at hand.

*

“I should have one too, you know,” Magnus said to Alex as they made their way down to the river. The March evening was bright but nippy, and Magnus regretted not having brought his cloak.

“Have what?”

“A gun.” Magnus felt distinctly defenceless – and useless – when surrounded by his musket-toting son-in-law and grandsons.

“Can you shoot?” Alex asked, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“No – but I can learn.”

“Right now the guns we have must be carried by those who can use them.”

“Use them? Seriously, Alex, Jacob’s nine years old, and—”

“Jacob can shoot,” Alex cut him off.

Magnus considered protesting further, but decided there was no point. Should he win Alex over, he’d still have to convince Matthew – fat chance. He pursed his mouth and picked up a long, stout stick instead, swinging it a couple of times to get a feel for it.

“Coming?” Alex called. He extended his stride to catch up with Alex and her daughters.

“Agnes says the dead Indian lass will go to hell on account of her being a heathen,” Ruth said.

“Agnes has the sense of a fly in a bottle trap,” Alex snorted, making Magnus laugh.

“So she won’t?” Ruth asked.

“I don’t think so,” Alex said. “She was a very brave girl, and God loves her just as much as He loves all of us – it isn’t her fault that she’s an Indian, is it?”

“You think?” Ruth said. “Then why did he let her die?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “Sometimes it’s difficult to keep up with God.”

“Quite an overbearing bastard at times if you ask me,” Magnus muttered in an undertone, making Alex elbow him.

One moment things were like they always were, the next the world was tumbling round him like in a kaleidoscope or the side effects of a bad LSD trip. Magnus came to an abrupt stop, trying to visualise the pain, isolate it and bring it under control. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, sinking down to sit on the ground.

“
Pappa
? Magnus?” Alex squatted beside him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he replied through a tight mouth. “No, I don’t think I am.” He breathed; long, regular breaths that he forced in and out of his nose, concentrating on counting seconds rather than on the burning point inside his head. Finally it receded. His head was no longer banded by pain, and when he opened his eyes he could see Alex’s face, only centimetres from his.

“Gone,” he said shakily.

“Is this the first time?”

“Of course it isn’t. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve had this before, and then the headaches came back last spring. That’s why I decided to come here.”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” Alex said. “Is this the first time since you got here?”

“No,” he grunted, picking at his stockings. “But it’s only been a couple of times.”

“And that’s good, right?” Alex sounded hopeful.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” In his head, the pain surged and peaked, but this time Magnus had it under control. He even managed to smile. His hand closed round the pouch that held his small supply of pills and that in itself sufficed to calm him.

Chapter 21

After several weeks of vigilance, life returned to normal. Fields were planted, land was cleared, and what with the workload and the time constraints, the spectre of Burley returning bent on revenge -as he had sworn to do – receded. Besides, the man might be an unsavoury beast of a man, but he didn’t strike Matthew as a fool, and an outright attack on the Grahams would be a foolish thing to do, effectively labelling Burley a renegade and an outlaw.

“I thought he already was,” Alex said when he told her this. She stifled a yawn. It was well before dawn and she was sitting up in bed nursing their son.

“An outlaw? Whatever for?”

“He kidnaps Indian women and sells them. He even kills them!”

“And you think people will condemn him for doing that?” Indians were heathens that most colonists would gladly either enslave or kill.

“They should.”

“Aye, but they won’t. And with the escalating tensions in Virginia, I dare say quite a few would applaud Burley for doing what he’s doing – the more women he steals away, the fewer new Indians.”

Alex made a disgusted sound.

That same morning, she came to find him in the barn. “I’m taking a walk. Want to come?”

“I can’t, lass, not now. I have to…” He grunted with the effort of sliding the post into place. “… get this done, aye?”

“Too bad,” she said, giving him a blue look. It made him smile, and he moved close enough to kiss her cheek.

“Save that look for later,” he murmured. She stood on her toes, took hold of his ears and kissed him on the mouth.

“Later.” With a little wave she moved off, promising to bring back something green and edible for dinner.

*

“More nettles,” Daniel groaned, pouting at the dark green soup.

“It’s good for you,” Alex replied, “and there’s pie for afters.”

“Can’t I just have the afters?” Daniel looked as miserable as possible. “I still feel sick.”

“Cut it out,” Alex huffed. “That was two months ago.

“Where’s Ian?” she asked Matthew, setting his bowl down in front of him.

“I have no idea.” Matthew shared a helpless look with his bairns, picked up his spoon and swallowed, pantomiming a horrible throat burn behind Alex’s back.

“I saw that,” she growled, “and that means you go without dessert, Matthew Graham.” The bairns giggled and bent their heads to the soup, filling the kitchen with the sound of their slurping.

*

“Didn’t you hear the bell?” Alex served Ian his soup.

“No,” he said, going an interesting pink. As long as it wasn’t Agnes, Alex sighed to herself, because however willing and hard-working that girl was, she had at most two brain cells, generally in permanent opposition to each other.

“Hmm.” Alex shared a look with Matthew, who shoved his pie plate away with a contented expression on his face.

“Da wasn’t supposed to get dessert,” Daniel said from the doorway.

“No, you’re right, but he apologised so nicely I caved in.” She went back to inspecting Ian. “Rolling around on the ground?” She picked a dried leaf from his hair. Daniel snickered, but at Ian’s forbidding glare retreated speedily.

“It’s a nice day,” Ian said. “So I stretched out for a nap. That’s why I didn’t hear the dinner bell.”

“Of course, and that’s why you smell so nicely of lavender, right? Maybe you stretched out in my kitchen garden.”

Ian gave her a haughty look, muttered something about being man enough to handle his private concerns, and went back to his soup, refusing dessert in his hurry to leave the kitchen.

“Who?” Alex asked Matthew.

“Jenny Leslie,” he replied, grinning at her.

“You think?”

Matthew raised one brow and called for Daniel. “Go on then, tell your mama what you told me before.”

Daniel turned to his mother. “I saw Ian, with Jenny.”

“Oh?” Alex waited.

“They were talking and holding hands.”

“Ah. Just holding hands?”

Daniel wrinkled his brow together. “Aye, I think so.”

“Maybe you should have a talk with him,” Alex suggested once Daniel had left the kitchen.

Matthew made an indecipherable sound. “Is there more pie?”

“You know there is. Ian just walked out on his slice.”

“More pie?” Daniel and Jacob appeared like greased rats from behind the kitchen door.

“Oh, go ahead – splurge.” Alex set down the half-empty pan in front of them. “Don’t bother with plates,” she added a moment later. None of them heard.

“Mama?” Jacob lingered behind in the kitchen, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Yes?” Alex patted David on his back to burp him and laid him to the other breast.

“What’s the matter with Offa?”

“How do you mean?” Alex tried to sound relaxed. Jacob came over to her chair and leaned against her, one finger tracing his baby brother’s downy head.

“He...” Jacob smiled at David, who gave him a wide, toothless smile in return. “I reckon he’s hurting.” He gave her a green look. “I saw him in the woods, up beyond the graveyard, and he was crying and calling for Isaac.”

“Isaac?”

“Aye,” Jacob nodded, “and that’s strange because Isaac’s dead, isn’t he?”

Not quite...if they were to be correct, Isaac wasn’t even in the making yet.

“Your Offa was very close to Isaac, and I think he misses him – a lot.” Alex ran her fingers through Jacob’s thick, fair hair.

“Will he die?” Jacob asked.

“Everyone dies.”

He frowned at her. “Will he die soon?”

“Yes, I think he will.”

Jacob shifted even closer to her. “Before, I didn’t know I missed him, but when he dies now I’ll miss him a lot.”

“So will I, but I’ve missed him all the time before as well.”

*

On the other side of the door, Magnus leaned against the wall and didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. Maybe this had been the real purpose behind his skydive through time – to meet his grandchildren and leave an imprint of himself on them. If so, it seemed he’d achieved his purpose; his name would be spoken out loud in this household long after he was gone, and even perhaps in his grandchildren’s homes. He’d be remembered long before he was born, he smiled wryly – not something that happened to all that many.

He heard Alex kiss her son on his cheek and send him out to play. Magnus remained where he was for some time before going over to the unshuttered window to watch his grandchildren. All five of them were in the yard playing with a makeshift ball, with Jacob testing himself against Mark. Daniel tried to tag after his brothers and leave his tailing sisters behind without any major success because Ruth was fast and lithe and horribly determined in her chase after the ball. Magnus laughed when Sarah picked up the ball, running like a rabbit for the protective shelter of her father. Coming here had been worth it, he told himself, turning away from the window. And he wasn’t about to die anytime soon; he had far too many things left to do.

“Like what?” Alex said when he shared this with her. She poured him a cup of tea and offered him a dry biscuit in lieu of the massacred pie.

“I want to see the sea again. I’d love to attend a religious service—”

“You’re kidding,” Alex interrupted, “hours and hours of tedious sermon, mainly along the lines of how corrupted we all are by original sin – in particular us women, weak vessels that we are.”

“Still, I’d like to go, perhaps even have the opportunity to sit and talk with one of these very convinced ministers.”

Alex shook her head. “Not going to happen. You open your mouth and I’ll find you burning at the stake or something.”

“They don’t do that anymore,” Magnus scoffed. “That’s more fifteenth and sixteenth century.”

“Really? And why do you think we had to leave Scotland?” She gave him an irritated look. “What else?”

Magnus sipped at his tea. “I want to see him walk,” he said, nodding at David, who was sleeping in his basket.

*

Matthew found Ian on one of the furthest fields, tilling the recently cleared ground. As he walked towards his son, Matthew noted the lad was nervous, shoulders squaring themselves under his shirt.

“Son.” Matthew nodded.

“Da.” Ian nodded back, wiping his palms on the coarse cloth of his breeches.

“I hear you’ve been seeing a lot of Jenny Leslie,” Matthew said, dispensing with any form of preamble.

“I have?” Ian tried out his most innocent look, but Matthew wasn’t having any, a slight motion of his head making Ian slump.

“We talk,” Ian muttered.

“More than talk. I’ve heard of handholding and kisses.” He laughed at Ian’s aghast expression. “You have brothers and sisters. They see much more than you think.”

“Hmph!” Ian’s long mouth set into a straight line.

“So what has changed?” Matthew sat down with his back against a maple and squinted up at his son.

“Changed?”

“Aye. Not yet a year ago, you insisted you didn’t want to wed her, and now you seem to want nothing more than bed her.”

Ian went a bright red. “Nay, I don’t.”

“No?” Matthew laughed. “Now why do I find that hard to believe?”

“I won’t bed her without wedding her.”

“That gladdens my heart, if naught else because Peter Leslie sets a high price on his daughter’s honour.”

“It wasn’t me!” Ian protested.

“Wasn’t you that did what?” Matthew studied him intently.

Ian sat down beside him and let the full story spill from him. “It was at Christmas that I found her crying in the dairy shed,” he began, and Matthew remembered that Alex had told him she had seen them there, very late at night. “She was angry and sad, but mostly angry on account of Jochum leading her on when he had nothing to offer her.”

“What do you mean?” Matthew found a hairy boiled sweet in his coat pocket, inspected it, and threw it away.

“He’s not only Catholic, he’s married and was well on the way to committing bigamy until the letter from his wife arrived telling him she was taking the first boat out this year. He didn’t think she ever would.”

“Does Peter Leslie know this?”

Ian shrugged. “I can’t very well tell him, and Jenny hasn’t either, keeping Jochum on tenterhooks.”

“How did she find out?”

“The letter,” Ian explained with an eye roll.

“She reads German?” Matthew pretended to be impressed.

“Nay,” Ian said. “He was so shocked he told her – well, he had to, on account of having promised her marriage and weans.”

“And why did you say it wasn’t you?”

“Because it wasn’t. Jenny Leslie is no longer a maid, but it wasn’t me.”

“Ah.” Matthew envisioned the total havoc this would cause in the Leslie house. Jenny tied to the bedpost and whipped at a minimum, Jochum out on his ear, probably severely damaged for life. “But she isn’t pregnant, I trust.”

“Nay, of course not – she isn’t a fool.”

That made Matthew sit in silence for a while. A young, unwed lass that knew enough to partake of forbidden fruit and not become pregnant was no innocent, not by any stretch of mind.

“And was he her first?”

“Da!”

Matthew shrugged. “You tell me she’s bedded a man but has ensured she hasn’t conceived. It smells of more experience than I want my future daughter-in-law to have.”

“She went to Mrs Parson for help.”

This Matthew didn’t like at all, for Mrs Parson to be dispensing such advice to the lasses in the area. Somehow he suspected Mrs Parson would give not one whit for his disapproval, and nor would Alex, no doubt haranguing him as to the importance of ensuring no child was born unwanted. With an effort, he pulled himself back to his conversation with his son.

“It wouldn’t matter if she were with child,” Ian said. “I’d wed her anyway and take the child as mine.”

“Oh, you would? That isn’t an easy thing to do, and you’d know that better than most.”

Ian dropped his eyes to his hands, tearing at a long blade of grass. “I would love it for its own sake, not like Luke, taking me for Mam’s sake.”

Matthew put an arm around him and gave him a quick squeeze. “And so you love it for its own sake, and then comes a child truly your own. Will you love it still?”

None of them mentioned Luke, or the way his affections for Ian had become permanently eclipsed the moment red-haired Charlie – the spitting image of his sire – was born.

Ian chewed at his lip, deep in thought. Finally he looked at his father with a brilliant smile. “Mama loves me – for my own sake.”

“Aye, that she does, so very much does she love you. And she wouldn’t like it that you marry for pity. She says you should marry for love.”

“It isn’t like that,” Ian said, looking away into the distance. “I...” In a low, rushed voice he told Matthew how Jenny only had to look at him and he would feel his skin begin to tingle, how her dark voice told him things no one had ever told him before, and how all of her made his insides twist themselves into a ball of fire.

“That’s your cock speaking,” Matthew interrupted, “not your heart.”

“Oh, and it isn’t your cock speaking when you go looking for Mama? It isn’t your cock that makes you take her up to the hayloft and—”

“Shush, lad,” Matthew said, aware of a wave of blood flooding his face. “But you’re right: you must listen to your cock as well. As well, mind.”

“I want to marry her.” Ian’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “I ask you to help me.”

Matthew looked at him and gave an infinitesimal nod. “I’ll do my best.” He got back onto his feet and was aware of an urge to find Alex – now. With a quick wave he left Ian to resume his work and strode off across the uneven ground.

Matthew heard her singing in the kitchen garden and moved towards the sound. She was on her knees, her hands buried in the rich soil. She had put her hair up into an untidy bun,, locks escaping to wave around her face in the spring breeze, and as he watched, she used the back of her hand to smooth a tendril back behind her ear, leaving a dark smear of dirt across her cheek.

She looked so young, he thought tenderly, not so much in her appearance as in her movements that were still the same restless bursts of energy he remembered from when he first met her. And here she was, nearly fifteen years on, mother seven times over, and at times she still reminded him of that wild, strange lass he’d made love to for the first time on the open moor.