A Newfound Land (27 page)

*

“Of course not!” Dominic protested. “You’re misconstruing what you saw, Mr Leslie. It may have appeared that the gun was levelled at Graham, but in truth it was pointed at the Indian behind.”

“Who was already mortally wounded, lying face down.” Thomas was shaking all over, his eyes blazing with dislike as they stared at Jones. Matthew dragged a hand over his face. The damned Burleys had melted away like mist into the forest and God knew where they might be by now, having left behind the body of their brother. “You set those brothers on Matthew,” Thomas continued, “and had I not seen that Walter Burley pull Matthew off his horse, he would’ve been dead by now!”

“That is a very serious accusation,” Minister Walker broke in. “We all saw the brothers set upon Brother Matthew, but from there to implicate Mr Jones... Vermin, those brothers, unstable all four of them, and even as a minister I can’t say I much regret the death of one of them.”

A consenting murmur rose from the older men.

“They’ve been living in Jones’ pocket since the day they joined up,” Thomas said, “and I saw how the gun was levelled point-blank at Matthew.”

“At the Indian behind him,” Dominic insisted.

“Well, maybe that’s what Dominic is most comfortable with,” an unknown man piped up. “He prefers to shoot them when they’re already dead.” Nervous laughter flew through the small knot of men surrounding them.

“Or drunk,” someone else added, and the laughter spread, making Jones’ face shift into a deep red at these slurs on his courage.

By morning, most of the company had left, a spontaneous disbanding that had Minister Walker sighing loudly before concluding it was maybe for the best. Matthew was tightening Moses’ girth when out of the corner of his eye he saw Dominic Jones approaching. He continued with what he was doing, ears strained in the direction of Jones to ensure he wasn’t caught by surprise. Matthew adjusted the stirrup leathers, fussed with the harness and turned to face Jones, who was leaning back against a tree some yards away.

“What?” Matthew demanded.

Dominic just shook his head. “Thinking of how things could have been.”

“Unhappy, are you?”

“Not particularly.” Dominic straightened up from his reclining posture. He gave Matthew a malicious look. “Sooner or later they’ll get you, Graham. Those Burleys have an axe of their own to grind with you now.”

Matthew’s guts heaved. He took a steadying breath, took two.

Dominic snickered. “Tenacious, the lot of them. And vindictive – very vindictive.” He backed away when Matthew advanced. “Now, now, this isn’t my fault. You’re the one who slit Will’s throat and nearly killed Stephen.”

“And why is that? Because you set them upon me!”

“Proof, Graham,” Jones sneered. With that he turned and left.

Chapter 32

“He’s doing poorly today,” Mrs Parson commented to Alex, who glanced in the direction of Magnus’ room and sighed. She could almost see the headaches rolling in over him, and at times they were painful but bearable, while sometimes they seemed to spike into cruel shards that left him blind and incapable of moving.

“There’s not much we can do, is there?” Alex looked out of the window at the dull grey skies and made a face. Eight weeks Matthew had been gone, and she was increasingly restless, spending far too many hours looking up the lane to where she hoped to see Moses materialise. Every night, she woke to a racing heart and a sweaty shift after yet another nightmare featuring Philip Burley, and at times she was convinced it would be Philip, not Matthew, who came riding down their lane. And God help them if that were to happen…

“Nay, nothing but help him with the pain,” Mrs Parson said, recalling Alex to the present. Mrs Parson wrinkled her nose at the sweet, cloying smell of yet another pipe of cannabis that drifted through the half-closed door. “That helps.”

“Stoned out of his head,” Alex muttered. “Of course it helps.” She smiled at Jenny, who appeared from outside, balancing a bucket of milk.

“The last, I think.” Jenny set the pail down. “It was a struggle to get this much out of her.”

Mark stuck his head into the kitchen and announced there were horses coming, and for a moment Alex thought it might be Matthew, before realising that of course it wasn’t, as in that case Mark wouldn’t have looked so unimpressed.

“Who?” she asked.

Jenny mumbled something under her breath. Elizabeth’s recurring visits were somewhat of a strain on all of them, her daughter included.

“It’s because she’s worried about you,” Alex said. “Now that you’re with child, she wants to check up on you.”

“She’s bored, is what it is,” Mrs Parson said. “Yon Mary is no fun to bully on account of her being a meek and insipid person, wee Celia is besotted with her son and breeding again, and apart from her husband she doesn’t have many to converse with.”

“She doesn’t converse,” Jenny said. “She hectors.”

Alex hid a small smile. Elizabeth came because she missed her daughter, and even more because she resented the way Jenny was integrating herself with the Grahams.

*

“There you are.” Alex poured them all some herbal tea and added a generous dollop of honey to her mug.

“You look well,” Elizabeth said, although her eyes remained on her pregnant daughter.

“Thank you.” Alex ran a hand over her belly; five months to go and already a pronounced bulge. “I wouldn’t mind if this was the last one.” She caught the amused glance that flew between Mrs Parson and Elizabeth and frowned. If she had any say in things, this would be the last one.

“I’ve myself birthed fifteen, and four of them after my fortieth birthday.” Elizabeth looked over to where Jacob was helping Ruth and Sarah with their numbers. “It’s them that are your crown of glory,” she said, her eyes softening when they rested on Jenny. “It is in procreation that woman fulfils her destiny and does penance for the fall from grace.”

Mrs Parson nodded in agreement. “A man blessed with a fertile wife must ensure she gives him as many bairns as she can, for they in turn will also be fruitful.”

“How Darwin,” Alex muttered under her breath. “But what about the women who can’t?” she said out loud. “Those who are barren or who for some other reason just can’t?”

“They must pray,” Elizabeth replied. “Somehow they’ve displeased the good Lord and must abjectly beg for his mercy and forgiveness.”

“Oh.” Alex sipped at her tea.

“I have news,” Elizabeth said, in an abrupt change of subject. “Our militia rode down a group of those heathen savages, south-west of here, and now peace has been restored.” She gave a satisfied little cackle. “I suppose the sight of real soldiers made them think twice about disturbing the order of things.”

“The order of things?” Alex couldn’t help it; she just had to bait this woman.

“White man, Alex. You know that, surely? White man is set to rule his coloured cousins on account of his greater wisdom and spiritual development.”

“Lucky them; here we come, steal their land, break the treaties we have negotiated with them, and when they protest and try to push us back, we ride out in force to kill them. Seems very fair and just to me – God-given proof of the white man’s spiritual supremacy.”

“You have no understanding of what you’re saying,” Elizabeth said. “This land has been granted us by God that we may build a society founded on God’s word here in the wilderness, where no man was before.”

Alex opened her mouth to launch herself into a heated reply but what could have become an infected discussion was cut short by loud, agitated barking interspersed by what Alex recognized as Mark’s voice, raised in alarm. She flew out of her chair, and at her shoulder went Elizabeth, both of them making for the door.

“Sweet Jesus in his meadows,” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“A bear?” Alex swallowed and rushed towards her son, the perpetually loaded musket in her hands.

“Can you shoot?” Elizabeth panted from beside her.

“Not really.” Alex could barely talk, her eyes glued on the large yellow dog and what looked like a gigantic brown shape snarling at it. Behind the dog stood Mark, with the rounds of sausage he’d been sent to collect from the smoking shed cradled in his arms.

“I can.” Elizabeth took over the musket.

By now the bear had seen them, turning small, ill-tempered eyes in their direction and rising to stand on its hind legs. Narcissus growled. With lowered head, bared teeth and the hackles along his yellow back standing straight up, he looked menacing, and apparently the bear thought so too, swaying from side to side. The dog lunged and the bear roared, its front paws swiping.

The musket exploded, and there was blood and skin everywhere. For a shocked instant, Alex was convinced Elizabeth had missed her target, blasting Narcissus or Mark into non-being, but then the bear dropped back onto all fours and lumbered off in the direction of the forest, blood flowing down its flank. Halfway there it crumpled, slowing over several paces before it hit the ground with an excited Narcissus leaping around it. Alex stumbled towards her son, who fell into her arms with a muffled whimper.

“Why didn’t you throw him the sausages?” she said. “Why not yank down a ham and throw it at him as well?”

“I couldn’t,” he said into her shawl. “I couldn’t move so scared was I.”

A wild-haired Ian came galloping from the woods where he’d been logging, musket in one hand and axe in the other, and skidded to a halt.

“Are you alright?” His eyes flew over them.

“More or less,” Alex said, and they were – well, except for poor Narcissus, who was standing with one leg held clumsily off the ground.

“Good shot,” Ian said to Elizabeth before raising his own musket and blowing a hole in the bear’s head.

“Good shot?” she snorted, but smiled all the same. “With less than fifty feet between me and the beast, it’s not that impressive, is it?“ She came over to where Ian was standing beside the dead animal and prodded at it with her toe. “Young – and very thin, considering the time of the year.” Which was probably why it was skulking round the farm to begin with, she theorized.

“Aye.” Ian lifted one of the oversized paws. “Old injury.”

“I want to see.” Mark squirmed in Alex’s arms. “Let me go.”

Alex reluctantly did, following him to where Elizabeth was peering at the badly healed cut across the pads.

Ian straightened up and frowned in the direction of the stable. The animals sounded half-crazed with fear, and from the pig’s end came a series of loud thumps.

“I’d best go see to the beasts,” he said to Alex, who was staring at the brown heap that had until recently been a bear. “Mark, you come with me, and then we’ll see to your dog.”

Mark nodded and hurried after Ian. Alex was tempted to rush after him, but knew Mark would prefer if she didn’t. Instead, she retrieved the sausages from the frozen ground and made her way back to the house with Elizabeth in tow.

*

“So much snow,” Alex said a couple of days later. She shoved open the door and placed a booted foot on the thick white carpet. It crunched beneath her weight. “He’ll be cold,” she added in a worried tone.

“Perhaps, but snow insulates.” Magnus gave his daughter a reassuring hug before calling his grandchildren together, promising them they were going to do some serious playing in the snow.

“Did you get much snow, back in Sweden?” Daniel wallowed after Magnus up the hillside. His woollen cap was pulled down tight over his ears, and he had to hold his arms out from his body on account of the two shawls he had cross-tied over chest and back. Magnus smiled down at mini-Michelin and looked at the others, just as bundled.

“Masses and masses,” Magnus exaggerated, hoisting Sarah to sit on the primitive sled he’d knocked together in Matthew’s wood shed. “So we did this a lot.” He shoved at her and stood back to grin when she flew down the inclination, squealing with exhilaration.

“Do you miss it?” Jacob asked.

“Miss what?” Magnus’ head was beginning to throb. The sunlight threw reflections off the pristine snow that hurt his eyes. He squished them shut to block out the spinning circles of black that were crawling across his field of vision.

“Offa?” Jacob stuck his hand into Magnus’ and squeezed.

“I’m okay.” Magnus took a series of short, quick breaths. He opened his eyes wide. “See? Right as rain.” He even managed to smile. “Yes, I do miss it,” he said, in an effort to think about anything, anything at all but the clanging in his head. “Just like your father misses Scotland.”

“Very much,” Jacob nodded, “but not all the time – not anymore.”

“Do you?”

Jacob looked at him and smiled, his hazel eyes a brilliant emerald green in the sunlight. “Nay, not really. But one day I think I’ll go back, to see it. Da never will.” It sounded so much as a prophecy that Magnus felt the hairs stand up along his spine and shoulders.

“You don’t know that. Look at me: seventy years old and here I pop up in Maryland. Not something I expected to happen.” No, because he’d assumed he’d be ending up in Hillview. “Go on,” he motioned Jacob towards the others. “Take your turn, son.” He remained where he was, gritting his teeth as he battled the pain in his head. His fingers were already digging for a pill, a momentary relief. Still enough, he comforted himself. Even if I take one now, there’s still enough to end it all before it becomes unbearable.

An hour or so later, a very happy but very wet troop of children entered the house. Alex alternated between scolding and laughing as she undressed them and rubbed them warm before serving them all something hot to drink.

“Will you ever go back, do you think?” Magnus asked Alex once they were alone in the kitchen. The whole space was garlanded with drying clothes, the smell of damp wool overlaying the rich scent from the pot of hip soup that stood on the table. Alex dipped her ladle, brought up a serving of dark red hot soup and poured them both a refill.

“No,” she said. “How can we?”

“But you’d want to?”

She shrugged and looked away. “If wishes were horses... Anyway, what is there for us to go back to? Hillview is gone, and Matthew is still a convinced Covenanter, a man who won’t back down from his Presbyterian beliefs and kowtow to the Church of England. Besides, we could never afford to.” She surveyed the whitewashed walls of her kitchen, ran a hand over the table top, and smiled. “So this is home for us now; until we die.”

“Until we die,” Magnus echoed. Which in his case was going to be bloody soon. He gave Alex a little smile. “A good home,” he said, and was gratified by how pleased she looked.

“You think?”

“I do.” He closed his eyes and yawned. Beside him, she fidgeted, and he opened one eye to see her twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger.

“He’ll be back,” he said, one hand coming down on hers.

She nodded, one single tear sliding down her cheek. “I pray, all the time I pray that he’ll come back to me this time as well.”

Magnus didn’t say anything. He just squeezed her hand.

*

He came riding down the lane just after daybreak, and the first person he saw was his wife balancing over the frozen ground, emptied chamber pot held aloft. The early morning sun threw shards of glittering light off the snow at her feet and touched her dark hair to glint in deep bronzes and reds. He opened his mouth to call her name but she was already darting towards him, and he smiled at how her hair came undone from its messy braid, how her face was lit from within at the sight of him.

He was off the horse and she threw herself at him, arms winding themselves tight around his neck as he swung her round in a slow arc before setting her down again.

She raised her hand to his face to trace a shallow cut on his newly scraped skin. “You’ve shaved,” she said.

“I had to. It was mostly grey; made me look frightfully old.” He hugged her again, smiling at how her womb had hardened into a perceptible roundness.

“And the babe?” He placed a tender hand on the small of her back to hold her closer.

“He’s doing quite well, I assume,” she replied, and in her eyes he could see she already loved the unborn wean.

“She is,” he corrected, and kissed her brow.

“He – yet another boy that looks just like his father.” She ran light fingers over the skin under his eyes. “You’re tired.”

Aye, he was tired and dirty, and in his head were images he didn’t want to have of defenceless Indians being put to death by enraged colonists, of Jones staring at him along the length of a pistol, certain death gleaming in his eyes. He closed his eyes at the memory. He’d tell her later, but not now.

“Bath?” she suggested.

“Bath,” he agreed and lifted her onto her toes to kiss her.

The laundry shed was cold, their exhalations blooming like miniature clouds in the frigid air. Soon she had the fire going, and Matthew swung the cauldron to hang over the flames. He sat down on the bench, exhaustion creeping through his limbs. Three days of hard riding, cold nights and bad food were taking their toll. When Alex came to sit beside him, snuggling up close enough that her hair tickled his nose, he sneezed, slipping an arm round her waist to hold her close. The fire crackled, the bench creaked, and he could have sat like this for ever, relishing her proximity.