Chapter 15
“I don’t like it,” Matthew said to Ian, staring down at the hobnailed footprint pressed into the earth below his bedroom window. Someone had been standing here last night, no doubt gawking at them. His cheeks heated with anger and embarrassment – their lovemaking was a private matter, not something to be shared with others. He used the toe of his boot to scuff the mark away and gave Ian a stern look. “Not a word to your mama.”
He strode off in the direction of the stables and called for Mark to hurry; he had an errand for him.
“A dog?” Mark said.
“Aye, a dog. Peter Leslie has several half-grown pups from the last litter. Ask him to help you choose one.”
“A dog for me?” Mark sounded hopeful.
Matthew smiled at him. “For you, but also for us. We need a new watchdog.” He eyed the small bitch they used as a ratter – in no way a deterrent. Besides, she was deaf with age and spent her days asleep, grey muzzle pillowed on her front paws.
“We do?” Mark threw a look at the surrounding woods. “Is it Indians you’re worried about?”
“Aye, that too,” Matthew lied. Whoever had stood outside their house wasn’t an Indian. In fact, Matthew had a pretty good idea who it was, and all of him seethed with anger. He made a mental note to ride over to Forest Spring and have a serious talk with Henry Walton later in the week, once he was done with the barn walls. “Take Jacob with you, and carry your musket loaded, aye?”
Mark nodded and went to find his brother and gun.
*
“So just like that you decided we needed a dog.” Alex set down a bowl of pea soup in front of Matthew. He drew in the strong scents of thyme and salted meat, and picked up his spoon to stir the thick consistency.
“Aye, I did.”
“And might this have something to do with the fact that you think Lars is a somewhat too regular and rather intimidating presence on our lands?” She handed him bread warm from the baking oven, poured him a mug of beer, and sat down opposite him.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked.
“I already did – with the rest of the family.” She smiled at him. “While you were banging away at your new walls.”
“I must finish them. What use is a barn with only three walls?”
“But not all in one day,” she said. “So does it?”
“Does what?”
She rolled her eyes. “The dog…does it have something to do with Lars sniffing around Fiona?”
“Aye, it does. You’ve seen him, Ian ran into him a day or so ago, and I’ve seen him too. Like a shadow for all his size, flitting away the moment he realises he’s been seen.” He concentrated on his soup. Something was not entirely right with yon Lars, and he wanted him nowhere close to his womenfolk.
*
“Wow.” Alex laughed, sitting down with her lap full of dog. “I can see how this drooling beast will keep all unwelcome visitors at bay. He’ll lick them to death.” She shoved the dog away, held her hand out to her son, and heaved herself back onto her feet. “Not a beauty, is he?“ she commented, looking down at the sandy-coloured dog.
Mark fondled the soft golden ears. “Nay, he’s half mastiff, but he’ll be big once he’s properly grown.”
“He already is big, far too big.” She looked at her son. “He sleeps outside or in the kitchen, not in your bed. In fact, he never goes beyond the kitchen, okay?”
“Okay, okay…” Mark glowered at her.
“And his name?” she asked.
Mark tilted his head to one side, studied the dog, and grinned slyly. “Narcissus.”
“Narcissus?” Magnus broke out in laughter. “How would you know that name?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Alex said. “What do you think he is: an uneducated farm boy?”
Magnus flushed. That was obviously exactly what he considered Mark to be: a boy that knew everything about the internal workings of a cow but had never studied a foreign language or done advanced mathematics or physics – not at all like his precious Isaac, paragon of virtues that this her firstborn seemed to be.
“I was just surprised.” Magnus smiled down at his grandson and the puppy.
“You’re so bloody supercilious!” Alex snapped at Magnus once they were alone. “Every time my children open their mouth, I can see you comparing what they’re saying – and how they’re saying it – with Isaac.”
“No, I don’t.” Magnus sounded defensive.
“They have none of the opportunities he’s had.”
“But at least they’ve had a mother!”
“So has he, remember? Diane seems to have filled that role most competently.”
“That’s not the same! And you chose them – all of them – over him.”
“No, I didn’t. It wasn’t as if I had much say in it, was it? One moment there I am driving my car, the next I’m thrown back in time.” But he was right, however awful a mother that made her. Isaac had very quickly faded in her head, replaced by her new, growing family.
“You had one of Mercedes’ painted time portals,” Magnus said. “You could have travelled back, to us, to him.”
Alex looked away. The few times it had seemed she might be dragged back to her time she’d held on for dear life to the here and now.
“Yeah, I thought so. You didn’t want to, did you?” Magnus stamped from the room.
Alex watched him stalk off towards the garden, wooden hoe in one hand, a basket in the other, and two little girls skipping after him. She hoped Ruth and Sarah would do a better job of soothing his heartache than she was doing.
*
It was difficult to hold on to his black, angry mood when surrounded by two chattering girls, who bombarded him with questions and comments while he turned one empty bed after the other. The simmering resentment in him subsided back into a more normal mood, and Magnus laughed and listened as his granddaughters sang and talked.
They played tic-tac-toe in the dirt. After the first few times, Ruth caught on to the fact that it was best to go first, and after that she won every single game. Matthew came by and stood watching, laughing at Ruth’s triumphant crowing.
“That girl is scarily intelligent,” Magnus told Matthew, nodding his head at Ruth.
“Aye, you would say so,” Matthew teased.
Magnus felt yet another burst of anger flare through him. “I wasn’t referring to that.” He pointed at the lines on the ground. “I was talking about her impressive capacity for numbers. I don’t know how she does it, but she does incredibly complex sums in her head.”
Matthew grinned. “So do I.”
“You do? So what’s forty-three times seventeen?”
“Seven hundred and thirty-one,” came the prompt reply.
Magnus counted for some time before nodding. “Well done.”
Matthew hitched his shoulders. “Da was right fond of ciphering.”
“Ruth should go to school, be properly educated.”
Matthew turned towards him with a surprised expression. “What for?”
“What for? Because she’s talented and should be allowed to develop it.”
“Ruth will be a wife and a mother, just as Sarah will.”
“A wife!” Magnus said. “What a waste.”
“Waste?” Matthew frowned. “Are you saying Alex has led a wasted life?” He looked at his girls and back at Magnus.
“In her own time she would’ve had a profession, a career, and any gifted child of hers, whether boy or girl, would’ve had a chance to make something of themselves.”
“That was not a reply to my question,” Matthew said.
“Yes, it was, if you read between the lines,” Magnus answered and slouched off.
What was the matter with him? Magnus took a deep breath of cold October air and counted slowly to thirty before letting it out. He was behaving like an obnoxious teenager – shit, he felt like an obnoxious teenager, his moods disconcertingly erratic. Even worse, he enjoyed needling them, feeling an uncharitable satisfaction at the hurt look in Alex’s eyes and an even higher level of black pleasure at the affronted expression on his son-in-law’s face.
He exhaled and picked up his pace. What he needed was a long walk to calm down. Alone, he decided when he caught sight of Jacob making towards him. He turned on his heel and walked off.
*
“Leave him be, lad.” Matthew took hold of Jacob. “He needs to be alone.”
“If you ask me, he needs to be taught to behave,” Alex said from behind him.
“Well, I’m not about to lay my father-in-law across my knee,” Matthew replied, making her laugh.
“Maybe we could ask Mrs Parson,” she suggested in a low voice. “Who knows, he might even enjoy it.”
“So might she.” Matthew grinned.
*
Magnus kept well away from the house for the rest of the day; sat silent through supper before excusing himself, muttering that his head hurt and he needed to sleep. Next morning, he remained in bed until well after breakfast, entering a kitchen empty of anyone but Alex. She nodded a greeting, no more, serving him a bowl of porridge before going back to her sourdough.
“I’m sorry,” Magnus said to her back. “I’m not quite sure why I’m behaving the way I am.” Well, he was: he was being eaten alive by a corrosive jealousy. And he missed his old life, waking every morning to the dismaying realisation that it was not a dream. He wanted to make love to Eva, to stand in his kitchen and cook surrounded by his family – John and Diane with their twin girls, Isaac and Eva. He sat back on the bench, regarding Alex; always the same clothes, always in the same dull, serviceable colours: grey, brown and green with linen that shifted from white to a yellowish beige. He counted in his head; three skirts at the most was what Alex owned, and nothing in red.
“Do you remember how you always wore red?” he asked her.
“Not always.” She twisted to smile at him over her shoulder.
“Red shoes, red jackets, red phone,” Magnus teased. He dropped his eyes to the table. “Now all you wear is matronly grey or brown.” Well, not quite; the shawl she had on was embroidered with red roses, but otherwise she was all in brown. At least she wasn’t wearing one of those ugly caps today, her hair uncovered but pulled back into a neat bun. So boring! “You never wear make-up, you don’t do your hair, you have no jewellery except for your wedding ring...”
“For your information, make-up isn’t exactly available, and no matter how much I looked I couldn’t find a single hairdresser in Providence.” She turned to face him, defensively twirling her single ring with its dark blue sapphire.
“You look dull and old. Diane looks at least ten years younger than you. She takes good care of herself, she does.”
Alex flinched. Two wide blue eyes met his, and to his shame he could see she was biting her lip, no doubt to stop it from wobbling.
“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment, but as I recall I never asked you to drop by, did I?” And maybe it had been better if you hadn’t, her eyes told him.
“Let’s just say I hoped I’d find you living a better life, with a man who took care of you and appreciated you.” God, how he regretted diving through that painting!
“He does! He loves me, you bastard!”
“He does? Well, he certainly seems to like making babies with you. But he never gives you any presents, he never—”
In reply, Alex grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to her bedroom. From the large chest she produced a wooden box that in itself was a work of art, the lid a sanded golden brown on which someone had engraved a rose.
“He doesn’t?” She threw back the lid before storming out, leaving him sitting on the bed with the box on his lap.
Magnus lifted the small, exquisite wooden figurines one by one, turning them this way and that. Most of them were of Alex, with the odd exception in the form of an animal or a flower. Right at the bottom was a small carving made in pale yellow wood, and when he saw it Magnus knew that this was Rachel, the girl they’d lost. He ran a finger over the soft surfaces, over the details etched out with so much obvious love. He had never felt so ashamed of himself in all his life. He returned the box to the chest and left the room. For a while he stood in the kitchen watching Alex knead bread, but as she refused to meet his eyes or in any other way react to his presence he escaped outside.
*
“There she goes,” Alex said to Mrs Parson, indicating the spot where Fiona had just ducked out of sight. The stupid girl was still seeing Lars, despite Matthew having given her a long talking-to. Apparently, Lars was irresistible, well worth aggravating the master. Alex pulled yet another loaf from the bread oven, knocking experimentally at the crust with her knuckle.
“There goes who?” Agnes lifted her head from the onions she was chopping.
“Nothing,” Alex said.
Agnes’ brows were so fair as to be almost invisible against her skin, but even so Alex could see the disbelieving curve to them.
“If you mean Fiona, I know where she goes,” Agnes said. “She slips away to meet her one true love.”
“Her one true love?” Alex popped a piece of warm bread in her mouth. “Where did you get that from?”
“But he is, and yet the master forced her to marry Jonah on account of her carrying his child…” Agnes broke off, backing away from Alex.
“Whose child?” Alex said.
“The master’s,” Agnes stuttered.
“Bitch! I’m going to have her off my property the moment she gets back. My husband has never touched Fiona, that I can guarantee you, and should he hear that she’s spreading those kinds of lies he’s going to be pissed.” Alex clenched her fist. “And so am I.”
Agnes just nodded and went back to what she was doing, but from the pitying looks she kept throwing at Alex, it was obvious the stupid girl believed Fiona was telling the truth. It made Alex grind her teeth together.
“Where is she?” Alex said an hour or so later, her eyes on the darkening afternoon outside. “It’s getting late and she has chores to do or does she expect them to get done by themselves?” This late in November it was far too cold for an amorous meeting to be more than brief, and that worried her. At the moment Fiona wasn’t her most favourite person, but she was their responsibility, and now she was missing and night was falling fast. And where the hell was Magnus?
“She’ll be back,” Mrs Parson said. “There’s nowhere else for her, is there?”
“Not unless he’s planned a romantic elopement, what with him being her one true love.” Alex met Mrs Parson’s amused grin with one of her own.