A Newfound Land (9 page)

Chapter 11

“I can’t do more,” Alex said to Qaachow, looking at the wounded man lying on her kitchen table. She’d stitched up the wound as well as she could and packed crushed yarrow and comfrey around it. “Now all we can do is hope it doesn’t become infected – again.”

She looked down at her hands. She’d never done anything like this before, and she’d fervently wished Mrs Parson had been here to help her as she’d heated the blade and sliced up the badly healed sword gash that ran all the way down the man’s right side. Fat chance of that; she hadn’t seen Mrs Parson for over ten years but assumed her to be hale and hearty down in Virginia. The man hadn’t uttered as much as a whimper while she used tweezers and knife to cut away dead tissue, releasing the putrid stench of rot and pus.

“I thank you,” Qaachow said. “Not many of your people would invite us into their homes – in particular, not under these circumstances.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Matthew replied with a stiff little bow. “You should consider spending the night,” he added, his offer of hospitality in stark contrast to his strained voice. Alex’s eyes drifted over to the Indians waiting outside. Too many of them sported gashes and wounds that indicated recent fighting, and for all they knew there might be a band of enraged Virginia Militia on their tails.

Qaachow smiled in acknowledgement of the offer but shook his head. “We have several days of walking before we reach our home and we have been gone a long time. Our wives will be waiting.” Qaachow said something to the man standing beside him, and together they helped their wounded comrade to stand.

“He shouldn’t walk,” Magnus cut in, jerking his head in the direction of the bandaged man. “The movement will open the wound.” He was still somewhat white around the mouth after watching Alex cut into the infected flesh.

“He can’t walk,” Alex said. “He’s burning with fever.”

“He must.” Qaachow bowed and stepped into the dusk.

“Oh Lord,” Alex said to Matthew once the Indians had dropped out of sight. “I hate feeling so useless.” She inspected her darning needle and decided it had to be boiled before she used it again. There were bloodstains on the floorboards and on the light wood of the new wall, and Magnus was already scrubbing the table. Alex poured boiled water into the basin and washed her hands, noting with dispassion that they were shaking – badly. She leaned her forehead against the thick glass of the small window and took a couple of steadying breaths.

“You did well.” Matthew beckoned for her to hold out her hands and poured more water over them, rinsing off the soap suds.

“Yes, you definitely looked as if you knew what you were doing.” Magnus transferred his cleaning efforts to the workbench.

“I should probably have been an actress. What do you think they’ve been up to?” Alex grabbed the basin, carried it the few feet to the open door and upended it to the side.

“I don’t know, but I suspect we’ll find out shortly.” Matthew beckoned the children over from where they had been standing in silence throughout the visit and hunched down before them, looking at their three youngest. “Not a word. You mustn’t tell anyone your mama helped the Indian.” Three heads nodded in acquiescence. “Good.” Matthew tweaked Sarah’s cheek and got back onto his feet. “The lads, Jonah and Fiona will be back shortly from the fields. I’ll tell the lads; Jonah and Fiona don’t need to know.”

*

“I don’t like it,” Matthew said to Ian, standing out of earshot from the rest of his family. He caught Mark’s eye and indicated he should join them, biting back a smile at the way Mark straightened up into his new status as a man of the household.

“You must both carry your muskets,” he instructed his sons. “And we must make sure your mama has loaded pistols in the house.”

“Why?” Mark sounded apprehensive.

“Well, you don’t get your flank sliced open like a ripe peach by chance, do you?” Matthew said with a certain edge.

“Mayhap we shouldn’t have helped them,” Ian said.

“He was hurting and they haven’t harmed us. We depend on their goodwill to live in peace.” No choice, he thought. Sometimes a man had to walk the tightrope and hope he made it safely to the other side without falling into the abyss.

*

The pursuers clattered into the yard the next day, six men on winded horses that studied the well-tended buildings with overt interest before turning their attention to Matthew, who was crossing the yard in their direction with Mark and Ian at his heels.

“Indians,” the oldest of the men said. “We are on the tail of a band of Indian braves.”

“Ah,” Matthew said.

“Have you seen them?” One of the men leaned forward across the neck of his horse, brushing at the dirty, black hair that fell over his brow.

“Well, I don’t know, do I? What Indians? How many?” Matthew stretched his mouth into a daft smile.

“About ten or so,” another man said. “We think at least two are badly wounded.” He patted at his sword with grim satisfaction.

“Nay, we haven’t seen a band of Indians with several wounded,” Matthew said.

“Hmm.” The black-haired young man looked at them through eerily light grey eyes.

“What have they done, these Indians?” Matthew asked.

The men shared several looks before coming to some sort of silent accord.

“We had a disagreement,” the eldest said, “over some women.”

“Indian women?” Ian asked.

“Not any more,” one of the men muttered. “They’re good Christian women now, nothing left of their savage ways. My wife, and his.” He used his thumb to indicate one of his fellow riders and shifted in the saddle, looking longingly in the direction of the house.

Matthew bowed to the inevitable. “Will you join us for dinner?”

“Much obliged.” The black-haired man swung off his horse with alacrity. He threw the reins at Mark. “Water him, boy.” He took a step closer to Mark; sank those strange eyes into the lad. “Are you sure? No Indians come by here recently?”

“No, sir.” Mark backed away.

“Really?” The man produced a decorated length of rawhide. “We found this up your lane. It even has blood on it.” He turned to face Matthew. “I don’t hold with Indian lovers.”

“I told you,” Matthew said. “We’ve seen no Indians. That doesn’t mean they haven’t passed by, does it?”

The younger man looked at him in silence. “No, I suppose you’re right,” he finally said, smiling at his host. But he didn’t believe him – Matthew saw that in his ice-cold eyes.

*

“I’m not sure what to make of all this.” Alex watched the riders disappear in the direction of Forest Spring.

“No.” Magnus came to stand beside her. “It was a strange story. I had no idea intermarriage was so common.”

“Nor me,” Matthew said.

“The question being if it’s voluntary or not,” Alex mumbled.

“The red-haired one seemed very much in love with his wife and their two children,” Magnus said.

“Aye, he did.” What a sad tale, Matthew thought. Two Indian women abducted years ago from their families resurfacing as baptised wives of white settlers in Virginia, mothers of several children.

“What was Qaachow attempting to do?” Alex asked. “Buy them back?”

“Aye,” Matthew nodded, “and that didn’t go down well, did it?“ Once the Indians had understood the white men were reluctant to part with their wives, what had begun as pure negotiation had deteriorated into savage fighting, leaving one white settler dead. He gnawed his lip and frowned. “That man, Burley, the one with the strange eyes. I didn’t like him.”

“No,” Alex said, “and it’s probably him who abducted the women in question to begin with.”

“It is?” Magnus gave her a surprised look.

“Elizabeth told me how a band led by a man named Burley had cornered the wife market – an endless supply of Indian girls offered to whoever is willing to pay.” She spat in the general direction of where the men had disappeared. “And it was definitely him I saw back in April, with Sykes. Bastard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Matthew said.

“Because they were six, and you’re only one, and I didn’t want you to do or say something stupid.” She shivered. “He scares me, somehow.”

“Aye.” A man with the eyes of a dead fish was indeed a frightening sight. But gone, thankfully. With a parting pat on Alex’s bottom, Matthew went off to finish his chores.

*

“A word?” Magnus almost overbalanced as he leaned forward over his cane. Matthew straightened up from his inspection of the mare’s hooves and nodded. Magnus led the way back out into the September sun, hopping in the direction of the bench under the white oak.

“Only with me?” Matthew sat down beside Magnus.

“I owe you an apology,” Magnus said gruffly. “I shouldn’t have insinuated that you’re forcing your attentions where they’re not wanted. It’s obvious you don’t have to.”

“Nay, I generally don’t.” Matthew leaned back against the broad trunk and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“But you must try and understand. I – we – come from a time where seven children are seen as excessive, an unnecessary strain on the woman’s health. And every time Alex gives birth, there’s a risk, right? In the here and now, there’s nothing to do if things go wrong.”

“Have you shared this with her?”

“Of course not! But I bet she thinks of it,” Magnus said.

Matthew knew she did. They even spoke of it at times, and all he could do was promise to be there, as he’d been for Jacob and Daniel and wee Sarah. And this time too he would stay beside her throughout the birth, no matter what the midwife might say.

“She says all your children are planned, all of them wanted. But who in their right mind would want three children in three years?”

“Us, apparently,” Matthew replied icily. He relented and exhaled. “They have all been wanted, but not planned. Sometimes God has a finger in the pie as well.”

“The only one with a member in the pie is you,” Magnus bit back. “And as far as I can tell it hasn’t been your finger.”

Matthew burst out in surprised laughter, and after some moments Magnus began to laugh as well.

“It isn’t easy,” Matthew said once they had stopped laughing. He tilted his head in the direction of where Alex was coming out of the house, holding a skipping Sarah by the hand. “I love her, and even if I try to control myself there are times when I can’t. There are times when she doesn’t want me to…”

“Oh, so this baby is the result of a little accident, is it?”

“The new babe? Ah no, the new babe is planned, but wee Sarah now, or Jacob – Rachel was not yet three months when he was conceived.”

“You don’t speak much of Rachel,” Magnus said gently.

“We don’t?” Matthew shrugged. “Aye, we do. With ourselves or the elder lads quite often. Alex says we must, so as to keep her alive in our minds.”

“But you don’t need to do that. The lost child lives forever in your heart anyway.” Magnus sounded sad, and Matthew turned to face him.

“You’re disappointed,” he said with sudden understanding. “All those years you’d created an image of Alex and what she might be like, and now you find her so different to what you thought she would be.”

“She has changed so much.”

“Nay, she hasn’t. You’re looking only at the outside. Inside, Alex is as she always was: quick-witted and opinionated, passionate and reckless...” Matthew stared off into the distance, smiling as he thought of his woman. “She has learnt to hide it better, and that is for the best.”

Magnus shook his head. “She has changed. She’s an obedient little wife, far from the independent woman she used to be.”

“Obedient?” Matthew choked with laughter. “Alex?”

Magnus gave him an irritated look. “Like today. She serves you and all those men dinner, curtseys and leaves the room. That’s very obedient in my book.”

Matthew just stared at him.

“Or when she spends all evenings sewing and mending, listening to you reading the Bible – that’s also a very obedient little wife.”

“Today was her choice. Had she wanted to stay she would, no matter what I had told her. As to the evenings, I was under the impression she liked it when I read to her – and it’s not always the Bible. I’ll ask her, aye?”

“But the thing is you can sit and read while she has to sew. All the time she’s working, not once have I seen her idle.”

“Nor me.”

“No,” Magnus said. “You work quite a lot too. But at least you have the evenings off.”

*

Matthew slid his arms around Alex’s waist and walked her in the direction of the laundry shed.

“What?” she laughed. “Do I smell?”

“Nay, but mayhap you need a nice hot bath. Time for yourself.”

Alex stopped so abruptly both of them almost toppled to the ground.

“Magnus,” she sighed.

Matthew urged her on in the direction of the laundry shed and waited until they were inside before replying.

“He says you always work, that you never have time for idleness, and that I at least have evenings free while you must sew and mend. He says how in your old life you’d sometimes spend days on end doing nothing but loiter in the sun.” He used buckets to transfer the hot water from the cauldron to the tub.

“Yes, and in between I’d work myself ragged, always in a rush, always with my nose stuck in my computer – so much in fact that Magnus would tell me I had to slow down, that I was working myself into an early grave with these long, long hours. I bet he didn’t tell you that.” Alex shimmied out of her clothes, folding them neatly on the broad bench that ran the full length of the wall.

“Nay, he didn’t mention that.” Matthew steadied her as she got into the bath. “Too hot?” he asked when she danced about on the bottom.

“A bit.” She remained on her feet until he had poured in a bucket of cold water. She sat down and tilted her head back to look at him.

“I’m fine, okay?” She caressed his cheek with her wet hand. “Yes, sometimes it’s a bit much, but it is for you as well, isn’t it?” She sank lower into the water and closed her eyes. He didn’t reply, deep in thought as he soaped her and washed her hair.

“I’ll buy some more contracts.” He smiled at the way her eyes flew open. “You need a new maid, and I can use a field hand.”