Daniel was silent for some time. “I would take decisions together with her,” he finally said, sounding as if he didn’t mean it.
“Like your father and I do.”
“You do?”
Alex laughed at his surprise and stood on her toes to ruffle his dark hair. “That’s what defines a smart woman. She makes sure everyone thinks it’s her husband who decides everything. And a smart husband, he makes sure he involves his wife – if nothing else because it makes his home life so much nicer.” With a quick wave, she hurried off in the direction of her kitchen garden.
*
“Da?” Daniel sat down on the workbench.
Matthew chipped off yet another piece of wood from the table leg he was making before looking at him.
“Aye?” He held up the leg to measure it against the others, swearing under his breath when he noted a minor disparity. Well, he could disguise that with some woodworking. A clambering vine would look nice up the legs, and maybe he could somehow work that into the tabletop.
“Do you always talk to Mama before taking decisions?”
Matthew bit back on a smile. “Not always. There are things I decide on my own.” He saw Daniel nod with satisfaction. “Just as she does,” he said, making his son’s face shift into an expression of surprise.
“You let her?”
Matthew grinned. “Son, who do you think decides what to sew, when to launder, what to grow in the kitchen garden? Who do you think orders the accounts, decides what to sell at the markets?”
“You?” Daniel tried.
Matthew shook his head. “A good wife is a woman with a head on her shoulders, and it is a foolish man who doesn’t let her use it.” He looked down at his son with a small smile. “You wed a woman for many reasons. You wed her to keep you warm at night, to give you bairns and care for you. But first and foremost, you wed her that she be a good companion to you through life, and that includes discussing all decisions with her.” He went back to his table leg. “And if you don’t, you might find yourself very cold at night,” he added as an afterthought, his eyes on Betty who was sitting by herself on the rope swing.
*
Solitude was a precious commodity in the Graham family, Betty reflected, using her bare toes to set the swing in lazy motion. Wherever she went, she was surrounded by people – sometimes very small people like Adam, who would stick his hand into hers and not say much, at times the constantly talking Sarah, who wanted to know everything about Providence, this tantalising town that she had never seen, despite being all of ten.
Having grown up without brothers except for sweet little Willie, she watched with fascination when David, Samuel, Adam and Ian’s son, Malcolm, rolled together in wild games that very often resulted in one or the other of them crying. A lot of time Betty spent with Naomi, three years her senior and already showing with her second child. It made Betty jealous to see Naomi and Mark, and she longed for Jacob, for him to hold her hand and help her over stiles like Mark did with his wife. Betty inhaled, held her breath and exhaled, eyes on the sky.
This was a strange household: the women went about with their heads uncovered – well, not Mrs Parson or Agnes, and not, thank the Lord, when there were visitors – meals consisted to a large extent of raw vegetables, and Betty had been horrified when Alex had told her that bathing in the Graham household meant undressing and getting into the cold water of the river there to wash yourself.
“Naked?” she had squeaked, watching with apprehension as Agnes, Ruth and Sarah undressed and hurried into the water, apparently enjoying what to Betty seemed a most excessive way of keeping clean.
“It helps,” Alex informed her before shedding her clothes and leaping in after the girls.
Betty sat back on the swing and increased her speed, bending and extending her legs until it seemed to her she was flying. If she were to let go at the highest point, she would be sent hurtling into space, and maybe the speed would be enough for her to fly all the way to where Jacob might be. Jacob… She suppressed a little sob. What if the
Regina Anne
had met with disaster and was now a wreck at the bottom of the sea? How would she ever know?
She increased the speed even more, and all around her the trees were blurring. At the highest point, she let go. For an instant, she soared, before the earth came rushing towards her, and she landed hard on her knees and hands. Betty Hancock – or was it Graham? – hid her face in her arms and cried.
*
From a distance, Alex watched and ached. Pretty bubbly Betty retreated into silences and escaped them as much as she could, her beautiful carnelian eyes mostly shielded by her long reddish lashes, her gorgeous hair braided and hidden from view under a huge lace cap. God damn you, Jacob. How could you do this to her?
“Do you think he’ll come back to her?” Alex asked Matthew later that evening. To us, she meant, her head filling with images of her Jacob.
“Oh, he will. He has given the lass his word, and I’ll hold him to it.”
“You’re forgetting her father.”
Matthew looked down at her, lying pillowed against his chest. “You think he’ll wed her elsewhere?”
“Don’t you?” Alex fiddled with his chest hair, tugging at the brindle curls.
“Aye, probably, and there’s not much I can do to stop him.”
“I think the main question is if you should.”
“You think I shouldn’t?”
“To me, it all seems very rash.” Alex fiddled some more, circling his nipples. “But for her sake, Matthew. Because it would break her heart to be forced into marriage with another.”
“Aye, she loves him.”
“Hmm.” In Alex’s opinion, no sixteen-year-old was mature enough to know what they wanted out of life, but then she thought back to Mark and Naomi, contracted at thirteen at Mark’s insistence, betrothed at sixteen, and wed just after he turned eighteen. “They’re all in such a hurry to become adults.”
His chest vibrated beneath her cheek. “That’s on account of them not knowing what it’s like.”
Alex propped herself up to look at him. “But with Jacob there’s a real problem, isn’t there? Ian and Mark could marry as young as they did, because they’re already set up – both of them will inherit land. But how is Jacob to support a wife?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think William will welcome him back to his practice.”
Chapter 5
Halfway through the first week of September, Alex decided a visit to Forest Spring was long overdue.
“If the mountain doesn’t come to Mohammed, Mohammed must come to the mountain.” She wrapped her new shawl around her shoulders.
“I don’t think Jenny will take kindly to being likened to a mountain,” Matthew said, before going back to his work.
“Who would?” Alex dropped a kiss on his head and held out her hand to Adam. “Want to come?”
“It’s a long walk for a wee lad,” Matthew warned.
Alex bent down to scrape at something sticky that decorated Adam’s worn smock. “I can carry him part of the way.”
“I can walk.” Adam lifted his bare leg in the general direction of his father. “Look, Da, I have strong legs.”
“Aye, you do, laddie, very strong.” Matthew smiled at his son. “Take Angus with you,” he added, looking at Alex. She made a face but didn’t even try to argue; a male escort was a prerequisite.
With Angus a silent shadow in her wake, Alex strolled along hand in hand with her youngest son, listening to his very long account of how Daniel had helped him set Mrs Pollyanna’s leg.
“…I held her, and she squawked something terrible, she did.”
Alex smiled down at him. “How did she break her leg to begin with?”
Adam shrugged. He had found her lying on her back in the hencoop, and gone rushing for help.
“She’s getting on a bit, honey. Soon she’ll be dead.”
Adam looked up at her from wide, dark hazel eyes. “Not yet.”
“No, of course not,” Alex murmured.
Their youngest son collected hurt animals, and over the last year, the stable had seen a badly injured sparrow that had died despite Matthew’s best efforts, a frog with no legs that Alex had secretly bashed to death to put it out of its misery, a baby raccoon that expired in less than an hour, and the newborn piglet that Adam had dragged half alive from below its farrowing mother. The piglet thrived, and Alex had recently confided to Matthew that she was going to have major problems slicing ham from a pig that had once been called Arthur.
They had detoured off the path to pick chanterelles when Alex spotted the gleaming yellow hats in a mossy hollow. She smoothed down Adam’s curling hair, allowing her fingers to linger on his nape. Her youngest son was a restful person to be with, had been from the moment he entered the world. Placid and calm as a baby, he was now a placid and calm three-year-old who gracefully allowed himself to be pampered by the rest of his very large family.
From one son her thoughts leapt to another: her Jacob. Where was he now, her boy, and was he alright? Her belly turned at the thought of weeks at sea, and especially in boats that in her considered opinion should be restricted to small lakes. Alex was swamped by a sudden wave of loss. What if Jacob never came back? Maybe he would disappear into a life very far from here, and all that she’d ever get from him would be the odd letter
, like once a year or so. It made her heart shrivel. She wanted him here, close. She wanted to thread her fingers through his thick blond hair, and see him rear back in irritation at this far too motherly gesture.
“Mama?” Adam tugged at her hand. He pointed at the approaching horse, a wide grin on his face.
Alex smiled. To Adam, his big brother Ian was very close to God, coming second only to Da in his inner ranking.
Ian held in his horse and grinned back, lowering Malcolm to the ground to allow him to throw himself at his granny.
“Off to visit us, are you?” Ian asked.
“Not you as such,” Alex told him, hugging Malcolm back. “I see you all the time, don’t I? I was planning on having a cosy chat with Jenny.”
An unreadable expression flashed across Ian’s face and then the smile was back, hazel eyes regarding her warily. “A chat?”
She knew him too well to be fooled by his bland smile. For an instant, she met his eyes, could read in their depths just how much he was hurting. His lashes swept down and, from the set of his mouth, Alex knew there’d be no point in trying to talk to him – at least not now.
“You know,” Alex said instead, “about how best to turn a heel, or if it makes sense to use butternuts to dye homespun.” And somewhere along the way, she intended to interrogate Jenny as to the true state of the Ian-Jenny marriage, although it didn’t exactly take a genius to conclude things were far from peachy.
“In that case, maybe I should take both lads back with me,” Ian said. Adam nodded eagerly, clearly not all that keen on visiting Forest Spring if Ian wasn’t there.
“You do that.” Alex swept the surrounding woods and looked back at him with a frown. “Is she alone?”
“Nay, Patrick’s there, repairing a fence.” Ian’s brows pulled together for an instant. “And you? Should you be walking alone?”
In reply, Alex pointed to where Angus was standing to the side, almost invisible in his immobility.
“Ah.” Ian gave Angus a nod. The tall young man mumbled a greeting, but remained where he was, cradling the loaded musket.
“It’s like having your own private ghost,” Alex said in an undertone. “And I’m not quite sure how much good he would be should it come to the crunch.”
“Wee Angus is a good shot,” Ian replied, just as low. “He’ll see you safe.”
“Yeah, because otherwise Matthew will use his guts for garters.” She gave Ian a little wave and set off at a brisk pace, Angus trotting after.
By the time Alex reached the turnoff to Forest Spring, she had almost forgotten that she had Angus with her. Walking several yards behind her, he moved like a wind through the shrubs that bordered the bridle path. Alex concentrated on her surroundings rather than on her elusive bodyguard, noting that yet another part of the forest had been cleared and fenced, in preparation for more cows.
Just as Alex emerged from the path, she saw Patrick appear in the dairy doorway and hurry off in the direction of the fields. Alex made a face at his disappearing back. She was going to be very glad when Patrick’s term of bondage was up next year, hoping he’d leave as soon as possible. Capable and quiet, but with dark eyes that saw and noted everything, he gave her the creeps. Also, unlike Angus, it was evident Patrick resented his servant status, and at times she’d catch him looking at her elder sons – in particular Ian – with a cold gleam to his eyes and a sneer on his lips.
Forest Spring was built on a much smaller scale than Graham’s Garden. The main house was a weathered cabin, the heavy logs having aged into a silvered brown. There was a small stable and a separate dairy situated beside the spring that gave the small homestead its name. A cat was lying on the door stoop, a couple of hens were scratching at the ground, and Jenny was nowhere to be seen.
Alex found her in the dairy, her back to the door as she packed the diced cheese curd into the wooden pans. When Alex called her name, Jenny jumped, wheeling round so fast she almost dropped the pan she was holding. Hmm… Alex pursed her mouth at Jenny’s bright red face.
“Mother Alex!” Jenny’s shoulders slumped. “What a surprise! I didn’t hear you, and to suddenly have someone calling my name like that, it unnerved me. For a moment there, you even sounded like my mother.”
Alex seriously doubted that. Elizabeth Leslie had spoken with a nasal tone to her voice, far from any noise Alex ever produced. Still, she made a vague confirming sound, and followed Jenny into the main house. Something wasn’t right.
Alex studied her daughter-in-law while she bustled about the kitchen. Jenny’s generally impeccable exterior looked unravelled, and whenever Alex met her eyes, the younger woman ducked her head to hide cheeks that went an uncharacteristic shade of pink.
Had it been one of her own children, or even Naomi, Alex would simply have asked and waited until she got an answer, but her and Jenny’s relationship had never reached that element of familiarity, to a large extent due to Jenny’s mother, who even after death cast a substantial shadow over her most beloved daughter. Alex accepted the offered mug of barley water, smiling when she recognised her own recipe with plenty of ginger and cinnamon.
“I miss you,” she said, seeing a pleased smile appear on Jenny’s face.
“You do?” Jenny sat down opposite to her.
“Yes, you never come over anymore, do you?”
Jenny looked away and muttered something about being very busy with the last of the summer milk.
Alex drank some more barley water. “Your mother wouldn’t approve.” She was taken aback by the dark flush that flew up Jenny’s face. A warning bell rang in Alex’s head.
“Approve?” Jenny asked in a flat voice.
“Of you spending so much time alone.” Alex noted how the tensed back relaxed somewhat, but decided not to push things – at least, not for now. She sighed. Both Jenny and Ian were hurting, and she had no idea how to help. “You don’t spend time with us, and you don’t ride over to see your brother and father. All the time you spend up here, with the occasional visit from Agnes or Naomi.”
Jenny’s light blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to see my father!”
“No, I suppose that might be difficult.”
“Eight months dead she was when he informed me he was marrying again.” Two bright red spots appeared on Jenny’s cheeks. “The woman he’d been married to for more than thirty years, and she’s barely cold in her grave before he goes a-courting again!”
“Maybe he was lonely,” Alex tried, although she totally agreed with Jenny.
“Lonely? Then he could have wed a widow, someone closer to his age, not that…that…”
“Girl?” Alex offered.
Jenny bit her lip and nodded.
“It isn’t her fault. I dare say your father, for all his stellar qualities, did not come top of her wish list – he’s older than her father!”
“Stellar qualities?” Jenny stared at Alex before breaking out in harsh laughter. “There are babies all over Leslie’s Crossing,” Jenny said once she’d stopped laughing, her voice darkening. “Nathan and Ailish seem intent on populating the world by themselves, and then there’s Constance, and I…I…” She looked away.
“Jenny…” Alex clasped her hand. “The babies will come. You’ll see, they’ll come.” Jenny hung her head, refusing to meet Alex’s eyes. “But don’t lose your husband on the way. Don’t let this become a wall between you.” To Alex’s surprise, Jenny slid to her knees, buried her head in Alex’s skirts, and cried.
When Alex left an hour or so later, she was very pleased with herself. They’d had a long heart to heart about the importance of nurturing a relationship, and a red-nosed Jenny had promised that she’d follow Alex’s advice and use the trip to Providence to try and find her way back to Ian.
“Don’t forget to touch him – often,” Alex had said, having to smile at Jenny’s scandalised look. “Not like that, silly. Like this…” She’d exemplified by brushing her hand gently down Jenny’s arm.
Alex smiled pleasantly at Angus when he popped up from behind the woodshed. He gave her a shy smile in return before falling in behind her. Alex swung her basket and hummed to herself. A good day’s work, all in all, and on top of that her basket was full of mushrooms. She decided to fry them with finely chopped onion and parsley, and then she and Matthew could have them for supper – only he and she, in the privacy of their bedroom. And while she was at it, she was going to talk to him about Patrick – she hadn’t liked the way he had looked at Jenny when they came out of Jenny’s kitchen, a lascivious glint in his eyes.
*
Jenny waved Alex off, ignored Patrick’s heated gaze and stepped back inside, leaning heavily against the door. She wasn’t sure how all this had started. There’d been the time when she had run into Patrick in the forest, and he had handed her a flower. There’d been the time when he held her hand to help her across the stream, and all that had been innocent enough, at least on her part. And then, several months ago, he had cornered her in the stable and kissed her. Jenny had been so angry, raising her hand to slap him away, but all he had done was grab her hand and kiss her again, forcing himself into her mouth and leaving both of them panting – him with arousal, her with what she assumed to be rage. But she hadn’t told Ian, and next morning, Patrick had smirked and grazed the back of his hand against her bosom.
He hounded her; he kissed her again, holding her still against the stable wall; he fondled her breasts leaving her in a state of severe disarray.
“I’ll tell my husband!” she’d hissed back in June, backing away from him while she adjusted her bodice.
“Do that,” he’d sneered. “Do that, and I’ll tell him you’ve been kissing me back for weeks.”
“No, I haven’t,” she’d protested, her cheeks mottling with shame – because she hadn’t stopped him either, had she? She was filled with conflicting emotions. One part of her was insulted, another part was mortified, but there was a third part as well: the very big part that liked the way Patrick held her, how his lips felt. That made her even more ashamed, and suddenly the time frame in which she could have told Ian was gone, and she had no idea what to do.
Patrick was like a predator. Confidently, he circled his wounded prey, the circles narrowing until that day in July when he found her in the dairy shed, pressed her down on the workbench, and took her. Not a sound had she uttered, and when he was done, he’d re-laced his breeches, smoothed down her skirts, and walked off. She’d heard him whistling when he resumed his wood chopping, and between her legs, his come had oozed. Jenny had remained where she was for a long time, her eyes firmly shut.
After that, she was trapped. Should she attempt to say no, he threatened her with telling Ian, and no matter how much effort she put in staying away from him, he always found her. He had the upper hand, and he enjoyed it, caressing his crotch as he used his head to indicate that he wanted her to go to the stable, or behind the privy, or into the woods, and Jenny would do as he wished. Even worse, Jenny looked forward to these quick copulations, finding a release in them she no longer found with Ian – not now that their lovemaking had become nothing but a chore.
She cleared away the mugs, brushed the table clean of crumbs, and sat down to think. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. Three days in a row, she had thrown up behind the privy, and her courses were four weeks late for the first time in five years. She leaned her forehead into her hands to stop her head from spinning with shame and hope and revulsion, and took several deep breaths. Oh God, what was she to do?