A Newfound Land

Introduction

On a muggy August day in 2002, Alexandra Lind was unexpectedly thrown backwards in time, landing in the year of Our Lord 1658. Catapulted into an unfamiliar and frightening new existence, Alex could do nothing but adapt. After all, while time travelling itself is a most rare occurrence, time travelling with a return ticket is even rarer.

This is the fourth book about Alex, her husband Matthew and their continued adventures in the second half of the seventeenth century. For a historical note and for more information about Matthew and Alex, please visit Anna’s website at
www.annabelfrage.com

Previously published titles in The Graham Saga:

A Rip in the Veil

Like Chaff in the Wind

The Prodigal Son

Coming Soon:

Serpents in the Garden

Revenge and Retribution

Title Page

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my four children, a constant source of joy and pride

Chapter 1

The household was still asleep when Alex Graham snuck out of bed. Matthew grumbled, half opened an eye, and subsided back into sleep. On tiptoe, Alex traversed the room, stepping over one sleeping shape after the other. No more, she sang inside, throwing a look at the furthest wall and the as yet boarded up doorways. Matthew had promised he’d finish the extension today, and tonight they’d sleep in their new bedroom, an oasis of privacy after years living as cramped as salted herrings in a barrel.

Alex stuck her feet into her clogs, grabbed the little basket that contained her soap and oils, and stepped outside. The sun was no more than a promise on the eastern rim, the stands of grasses to her right sparkled with dew, and just by the door her precious rose was setting buds. This was their new home, a small pocket of domesticity in a wilderness that at times she found most intimidating. Not that she felt particularly threatened by the miles and miles of uninterrupted forest that surrounded her, but should anything happen they were very alone, their closest neighbours well over an hour’s ride away.

When they had first arrived in 1668, not yet four years ago, this had been virgin forest, a gently sloping clearing with man-high grass and not much else. Now they had managed to carve out several sizeable fields and pastures, a respectable kitchen garden, as well as the yard she was now crossing on her way to the river. She turned to look back at the small house. The elongated wooden building with its shingled roof was already beginning to grey, acquiring an air of permanence that Alex found comforting. It spoke of roots – as yet shallow, even extremely shallow – but still, roots.

The water numbed her toes in a matter of minutes, but Alex didn’t mind. She enjoyed these early morning outings, moments when she was alone with only her thoughts for company. A brisk wash, a couple of muttered curses at just how bloody cold the water was, and she was back on the bank, dressing quickly before settling down to comb her wet hair.

In the nearby shrubs, a couple of thrushes squabbled. The sun had risen enough to send a ray or two her way, and on the opposite bank a couple of deer came down to drink. So peaceful – until she became aware of the eyes. Strange that: there were eyes all over the place, but somehow one knew when another human being was gawking at you – in this case someone who was doing his or her best to stay hidden.

She returned her comb to the basket and groped until she found the knife. A sidelong glance revealed someone sitting just behind the closest stand of trees. Alex loitered, humming casually while straining her ears. Someone whispered, was hushed. She did a double take: women, not men. Without stopping to think overmuch – one of her major faults according to Matthew – she rushed for the trees.

One of the women squeaked. The other tried to run, slipped and fell.

“Sit,” Alex said, waving her knife at them. They complied, huddling together under the oak. They looked bedraggled, caps askew, one with tears in her apron, both quite dirty. Escaped bond servants, Alex guessed, and she recognised the monogram on one of the aprons.

“You’ve run away,” she said.

“Please, mistress, please don’t tell.” The eldest – or at least the biggest – of the girls placed a protective arm round her companion, a thin little thing with tendrils of red hair peeking from under her dirty cap.

Hmm. Alex was no major fan of indentured servants, but her Leslie neighbours had paid good money for these two, and would be pissed off if they weren’t returned.

“He hit us,” the girl continued. “Belted us, he did.”

“He did? For what?”

The younger girl hunched over, dark eyes never leaving Alex. “We stole.”

“Stole?” The other girl sniffed. “I didn’t steal. I took payment.”

“Payment?” Alex echoed.

The girl gave her a condescending look. “He helped himself.”

“Ah.” Alex was somewhat taken aback. She’d never have taken Peter Leslie for the lecherous type. “And now you’re planning to do what?”

“Walk.” The girl shrugged, sounding confident. Her red-haired friend nodded.

“To Providence?” Alex shook her head. That was well over a week’s walk, and the two girls seemed to have no sense of direction as they’d walked north from the Leslie settlement, rather than south.

“No, to St Mary’s City,” the younger girl said. Good luck to them. That was almost twice as far.

“You’re Catholic,” Alex said. No other reason to go that far – unless they’d done more than steal.

The elder girl glared at her. “And what if we are?”

“I couldn’t care less,” Alex told her with a little smile. “But it’s a very long walk – that way.” She pointed south. “How are you to survive, all on your own?”

“I have a knife.”

“Whoopee,” Alex muttered. She should send them straight back to the Leslies’, but she already knew she wouldn’t. Matthew wouldn’t like it, but on the other hand, why tell him? She gnawed her lip. “I’ll see what I can find. You’ll need food and a blanket or two.”

The youngest girl burst into tears and clutched at Alex’s skirts.

“Yes, yes,” Alex said, rather embarrassed by all this. She gestured into the deeper forest to their right. “Hide in there, somewhere. You’ll have to stay put until you hear me whistle for you.” She shooed them off, admonishing them to keep well out of sight, and set off up the incline.

*

She was almost back at the house when her three youngest children ambushed her.

“Ouff!” Alex said when Sarah barrelled into her. Her daughter grabbed at Alex’s legs and rubbed her head against Alex’s skirts, dislodging what little remained of her night braid. The fair hair fell in soft waves around Sarah’s face, making her look like a sweet angel – which she definitely was not.

“Where have you been?” Matthew said from behind her.

“I went for a swim.”

“A swim?” Sarah’s reproachful blue eyes stared up at her. “Without us?”

“Aye, why didn’t you say?” Ruth asked.

Because I wanted to go alone, Alex thought, smiling at her little redhead. Ruth smiled back, the hazel eyes she shared with her father and most of her siblings shifting into a light greyish green.

“We can go later,” Alex said. “I probably need to give all three of you a proper scrub.”

“Not me,” Daniel muttered, shoving his dark hair off his brow. “I’m clean, very clean.”

Alex looked at the trio; three children in three years, but since then Matthew and she had been very careful, even if at times both of them were left extremely frustrated by this. Her eyes slid over to rest on her man. Alex fluffed at her hair, catching Matthew’s interested look. As far as she was concerned, five children – six, counting Ian, her stepson – were quite enough, but she wasn’t sure Matthew agreed. What the hell; she wanted to have wild and uninhibited sex with him, and damn the consequences. She saw his mouth curve and felt the blood rush up her cheeks, making him smile even wider.

“Right, you,” she said to her children. “You all have chores to do.”

Daniel made a face but at Matthew’s nod he and Ruth hurried off. Sarah loitered, throwing Alex a hopeful look. You wish, Alex thought, handing her three-year-old the egg basket.

“You look thoroughly,” she said. “Now that they’re back to laying properly, I want them all.”

Sarah set her mouth in a sulk and dragged her feet on her way to the stables.

Matthew took Alex’s hand and squeezed it. She knew exactly what he was thinking: that their youngest daughter was in many ways a throwback to their eldest girl, Rachel, and both of them were very relieved that in looks Sarah did not take after their dead daughter – that would have been a bit too much.

“She’ll drive her future husband to the edge of despair,” Matthew said in an undertone.

She chortled. “Let’s hope she calms down a bit.”

They walked across the yard, him shortening his stride to match hers.

“I don’t like it, that you go about alone,” he said.

“I was just down there.” Alex gestured in the direction of the river.

“Still, I don’t like it.”

Alex chose not to reply, studying her house – well, cabin – instead. Two chimneys, one sticking up from the new extension, and several windows, four with horribly expensive glass panes that Matthew had transported up here piece by careful piece, swaddled as if they were priceless porcelain.

According to dear Elizabeth Leslie, window glass was an unnecessary luxury, but Alex didn’t care about her opinion, thrilled to have light streaming into her kitchen and front room, and now into her bedroom as well. Elizabeth... Alex threw Matthew a look. She should tell him about the girls; he didn’t like it when she kept things from him. On the other hand, it made her shudder just to imagine how Elizabeth would punish her two servants for running away. Bread and water for a month, and no doubt a severe beating with that cane Elizabeth always kept close at hand.

“What is it?” Matthew said, placing a hand on her arm to draw her to a stop when they reached the house.

“Nothing.”

He turned her to face him. “What?”

Alex sighed. This man of hers read her like an open book, no matter how much she tried to dissimulate. Briefly, she told him of her encounter with the girls, shifting on her feet under his eyes.

“But I don’t want to force them to go back,” she finished. “Can you imagine how angry the Leslies will be?”

“Escaped servants must be returned. You know I don’t much hold with it,” he said, swinging her hand as they covered the last few yards to the door. “It sticks in my craw, it does, to hold a fellow man as a slave, however temporarily. But that’s how things are ordained here, and Peter Leslie paid good money for them. Besides, two lasses on their own in all that…” He waved a hand at the woods.

“So what do we do?”

Matthew opened the door for her and gave Fiona, their maid, a curt nod before replying. “For now we do nowt.” He leaned close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “But if they come looking, we tell them.”

Alex nodded; a fair compromise and hopefully Peter would expend his efforts to the south.

The small kitchen filled with people: Mark and Jacob came from the direction of the stable, Sarah danced in to show them just how many eggs she’d found, and Daniel and Ruth were sent off to wash when they appeared dirty at the door. Eggs, ham, porridge and thick slices of rye bread were set down on the table. From the yard came Jonah, their second indenture, and after a hastily said grace everyone threw themselves at the food.

“And Ian?” Alex looked at Mark.

“I don’t know,” Mark said. “He may have gone hunting.”

“Or fishing,” Jacob suggested through his full mouth. Alex smoothed at his thick, blond hair.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. Ian was old enough to take care of himself.

*

No sooner was the table cleared than Fiona begged to be excused, whispering something about her monthlies. Alex just nodded. The last few weeks, Fiona was forever begging to be let off for one reason or the other, and this latest excuse was wearing a bit thin. Still; mostly she did what she was told to do, and if Fiona found some sort of relief by wandering the nearby woods, so be it.

Matthew sat for a while longer at the table, conversing with her as Alex went about the dinner preparations. She still had days when it shocked her just how much time she spent on something as simple as cooking. In the here and now, there were no electric cookers, no microwaves; it was all open fire and heavy pots. Alex wiped her hands on her apron and leaned against the workbench.

She rarely thought about the life she’d left behind – given the circumstances, she preferred not to – but every now and then she was swept with a wave of longing for her people, lost somewhere in the future. Isaac, her son, he’d be sixteen by now, and she wondered if he’d be taller than her and if he still wore his hair short. And Magnus, now pushing seventy...she couldn’t quite see her father as old – to her he was an eternally middle-aged, tall, blond man with eyes as blue as hers.

She counted in her head: it was 2016 there in the future. Almost fourteen years ago since fate and a gigantic bolt of lightning combined to throw her more than three hundred years backwards to land stunned at Matthew’s feet. Alex twisted at her wedding ring. Should she ever be yanked back she was certain she’d die, of something as hackneyed as a broken heart.

She started when Matthew covered her hands with his.

“Alright?” he asked, kissing her brow.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had one of those flashbacks.”

“Ah.”

She eyed him from under her lashes. Matthew was never comfortable discussing her strange – impossible – fall from one time to the other. Heck, neither was she. It made her hair bristle. Just as she’d expected, he changed the subject.

“This afternoon I’ll finish the house. Tomorrow I start with the barn,” Matthew said in a resigned tone, looking at what was presently a roof on stilts. He studied his calloused hands and muttered that he was always one step behind, whether in the building or in the tilling. But at least there was a stable, and an assorted number of small sheds, including a well sized laundry shed with a large wooden bathtub.

“No hurry, is there? After all, there’s nothing to fill it with as yet.”

“There will be. This year the crops will be good.” With that very confident statement, Matthew grabbed his hat and went outside, telling Alex that he’d be taking Mark and Jacob with him to clear the new field.

The boys came rushing when he called for them. Mark was already shooting up in height while eight-year-old Jacob was still very much a child, all downy cheeks and knobbly knees. So young, Alex reflected, watching her sons fall into step beside their father, and already most of their days were spent working side by side with Matthew. Not that they seemed to mind, both of them inflating with pride when Matthew praised them for their hard work – which he did quite often.

Alex packed her basket with some food, found a blanket in the laundry shed, draped it over her arm and made for the woods. Late April in Maryland was like a warm summer day in Scotland, and Alex adjusted her straw hat as she went, before beginning her customary scanning of the ground for anything green and edible. She was sick to death of the few sad onions in the root cellar. She wanted huge salads, ripe tomatoes, and while she was at it, why not a chocolate bar or two… Boy, was she in a maudlin mood! She slowed her pace and ducked into the shade of the closest trees.