Like Chaff in the Wind (14 page)

“I’m here,” she whispered, “I’m here, Matthew.”

Chapter 19

2006

“What is it you’re painting?” Magnus leaned over Isaac’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” the six year old artist said. “I think it’s a hill.”

Magnus looked at the mass of greens and browns and purples and picked it up to stand it on the easel before taking a step back.

“Yes, I think you’re right. It’s a hillside, isn’t it?”

Isaac slid down from the stool and dug around among the half squeezed tubes of paint until he found a vivid pink, squeezing out a small blob on his miniature palette.

“You think?” Magnus said doubtfully. He rather liked the overall muted impression of the picture in front of him. Isaac ignored him, picked up a brush and added a couple of dots before stepping back.

Magnus looked from the painting to him in amazement.

“How did you know?” The pink spots had brought everything together, and Magnus found himself thinking that if he sniffed long enough he would actually smell the scent of sun warmed heather and briar roses. Isaac flushed at his Offa’s praise, but busied himself with putting all the caps back on his paint tubes.

Magnus sucked in his lower lip and regarded his grandson with a slight frown. His eyes slid back to the little painting. The hillside was eerily alive – shit, he could swear he saw the heather move, and what was that, a rabbit darting off? Impossible. A single drop of sweat slid down his spine. Magnus blinked and shook his head. The little canvas settled down into a still life, and Magnus decided he had imagined what he’d just seen. Oversensitive, that was what he was, so scared of finding in Isaac’s painting anything that whiffed of magic. Yet another look at the depicted hillside, and he almost laughed: smudges of brown and green, no more no less, right?

Isaac had finished with his tubes and was now tidying the table.

“He’s such an adult when it comes to this,” Diane had said the other week, standing with Magnus to watch Isaac clear his workspace. Yes, he was; when he was painting Isaac became someone very different from the boy he normally was, turning inward with such concentration that he didn’t hear unless you stood in front of him. Now, however, their junior Monet was hungry, and he skipped all the way down the stairs with his hand in Magnus’, wheedling that he be allowed at least two hours Playstation instead of the daily maximum of one.

*

Fridays were Magnus’ and Isaac’s special days, and had been since the day Alex went missing. Originally, because John felt Magnus needed the boy so as not to succumb to grief, and then it had become convenient during the months when John and Diane went through a tentative courtship. Since the twins, it was mostly for Isaac’s sake, a whole day of uninterrupted access to one of his adults. These days always followed a pattern: Magnus picked Isaac up from school, they went shopping together, and then returned home, one to cook, the other to paint.

“Offa?” Isaac curled up beside Magnus on the sofa.

“Hmm?” Magnus tugged his hand through the short dark hair of his grandson.

“Why don’t we ever go to the churchyard?”

The question threw Magnus completely, and he closed his book and sat up straighter.

“Why would we do that?”

“Stuart goes there all the time. He goes with his Mum and they put flowers on his granddad’s grave.”

“But I’m still here. So why would you want to go to the graveyard?”

Isaac blew out of his nose so heavily it made him sound like an aggravated rhinoceros.

“But Mama isn’t, is she?”

Magnus sighed. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? He looked down at Isaac, wondering yet again where those delicate features came from. In some he saw Mercedes, but there was nothing of either himself or of Alex in the face turned up to meet his eyes.

“Your mother doesn’t have a grave,” Magnus said, deciding there was no way out of this but to tell the truth. “We don’t really know where she is.”

Isaac frowned at him. “But Diane says she’s gone and won’t be coming back.”

Magnus nodded. “And she’s right. It’s just that we don’t really know what happened the day she…”

“Died,” Isaac supplied.

“Went missing,” Magnus corrected. Isaac eyed him for a couple of minutes, clearly confused.

“But if she’s missing, then she can come back.”

“Oh, shit…” This wasn’t his decision to take. “Wait here,” Magnus said and went over to call John.

*

John was as uncomfortable as Magnus, studying his son seriously. Finally he opted for an abbreviated version of the truth.

“Alex – Mama – went out for a drive one day and she never came back. We found the car, we even found her phone, but we never found her. There was an awful thunderstorm that night and the police think that maybe she was hit by lightning and you know, poof.”

“Poof,” Magnus nodded in agreement.

“Poof?” Isaac blinked. “Like zapped into a puddle?”

“More or less,” John said. “So you see, as there was nothing left of her there was nothing we could bury.”

Isaac digested this for some time. Finally he shrugged.

“Can I have some ice cream?”

Chapter 20

Mrs Gordon promised to wait for her in the kitchen, no matter how long it took, and gave her an encouraging pat on the back.

“Close, aye?”

Alex was so nervous she stumbled over her feet as she followed the house maid down the hallway to the master’s office. Please let him be alright, she prayed, please let me not have come too late. She was too jittery to sit, and instead walked back and forth across the room, taking in its impressive but somewhat heavy furnishing. Everything was in dark wood; the desk, the chair behind it, the intricately carved chest, the panelling. The floor was laid in a herringbone pattern and stained almost black, and to the side stood a large table, covered in a deep red Turkish carpet.

“Mrs Graham, I believe. What can I do for you?” The man who entered the room looked irritated, his face still heavy with sleep. He settled an impressive wig on his shaved head, and strolled over to lean against his desk.

“I wish to buy my husband’s indenture from you,” she said.

Fairfax looked at her with increased interest. “Your husband?”

“Mr Matthew Graham.”

Fairfax hitched his shoulder. “Mr Graham? I have no idea if he’s here. My overseer handles the indentures, not me.” His mouth came together into a little pout, conveying just how superior he was to the men presently slaving themselves to death on his land. Bastard.

“You bought his indenture late last May,” she said, “and as far as I can make out he’s still with you.”

“He is?” Fairfax was scrutinising her, eyes travelling over her breasts, her face, back to her tits. It was all Alex could do to remain standing still, unnerved by how he was eating her with his eyes. “He might be dead,” Fairfax added with a yawn, “they die quite rapidly at times. The heat, I assume.”

Helped along by the fact that you probably don’t feed them all that much. Alex threw a look out the window at where half a dozen men shuffled by, shrunk shapes in faded ragged clothes. She gulped. What if he’d died? Starved to death, and all because she’d been delayed? No; she took a calming breath, pressed a hand to her stomach.

“But you’d know if he was dead, right?” she said, and she hated it that she was pleading.

“I would? Not likely.” He smiled at her – or rather leered – and a pink tongue darted out to wet his plump lips. He indicated that she should sit, and sat down as well, regarding her in silence for a long time.

“Assuming that Graham is indeed working for me, why would I want to sell him? He’s well broken in by now.”

Alex had to stop herself from spitting in his face. Broken in? This was a man they were talking about – her man – not some beast of burden. He was back to gawking at her chest, small dark eyes gleaming with interest. He dropped his gaze to her waist, did a quick up and down the contours of her legs and smiled. Alex shifted on her seat. Fairfax grinned, clearly delighted by her discomfiture. Ignore him, concentrate on the matter at hand.

“He was abducted,” she said, “deceitfully sold into indenture. He’s an innocent man who has never been convicted in any court and by rights he shouldn’t even be here.” Once again he smiled, that overlarge tongue coming out to lick his lips. “I’ve heard the most amazing rumours,” she continued, working hard to remain unperturbed by his staring, “of a planned venture whereby planters here actively participate in the abduction and subsequent indenture of free men.” She attempted a light laugh, raised her eyes in his direction. “But surely that’s something no God-fearing man would ever do. At least that’s what I told Captain Miles before coming here today.” That struck home. The smile was wiped away, replaced by an expression Alex could at best describe as a frightened scowl.

“Miles? Here?” he said, smoothing his features back into blandness.

“I travelled over on his ship,” Alex said.

“Hmm.” He cracked his knuckles, pursed his mouth together and regarded her for a long time. Finally he shook his head. “Terrible, how terrible this must be for you – and your husband.” As if he cared, but Alex nodded all the same.

Fairfax strolled over to the door and opened it wide, barking for someone to find Jones. He yelled some more, and a maid appeared with lemonade and heavy cut glass goblets, serving them before she curtsied her way out of the room.

Fairfax sat down, fussed with the tails of his coat to ensure they fell just so, and went back to studying her, a speculative look in his eyes. He conversed about the weather and the strenuous climate, inquiring as to how she liked Jamestown. Was she perhaps planning on settling? No, she told him, perturbed by his continued inspection, she had a son to return to, a boy of two. He nodded that he understood, and drained his glass just as Jones came through the door.

“Ah, Jones!” Fairfax clapped his hands together at the sight of his overseer, a large, heavyset man with huge hands. He carried a short whip, swatting it every now and then against his boots, and Alex recognised him as the man she’d seen at the harbour the day she arrived. “Tell me Jones, is Mr Graham still with us?”

Jones looked nonplussed. “Mr Graham?”

“Matthew Graham,” Fairfax clarified.

Jones pulled at his lip. “Yes, he’s out on the new fields.”

“Ah.” Fairfax nodded, swivelling to face Alex. “It would seem you may be in luck, Mrs Graham; your husband is still alive and healthy.” Jones coughed, an amused expression flashing over his face. Oh God; she choked on a rush of saliva. He’s alive, she told herself, however badly used he’s still alive.

She managed to give Fairfax a grateful smile. “May I see him?”

Jones shook his head. “He’s a day’s ride away. They’ll be back in a week.”

A week! Anything could happen in a week. Alex’s stomach contracted at the thought of being this close and then…

“Maybe I could ride out to him?”

“No,” Fairfax replied in a tone that brooked no discussion. “Too dangerous, and I would not want to see you harmed.”

Almost fifteen months since she had seen him last, and now one more week seemed unbearable. Alex knotted her hands into her skirts and concentrated on blinking back the tears that welled in her eyes. He was alive and that was all that mattered. One more week she could wait, of course she could.

Fairfax dismissed Jones. “Make sure Mr Graham is here next Friday,” he said, receiving a surly nod in return. “Good news,” he smiled, pudgy fingers toying with the perfumed curls of his wig.

“Very,” Alex said.

“And now all that remains is the little matter of the price.” Fairfax poured her some more lemonade before sitting back in his chair.

“I will of course compensate you for your purchase price,” Alex hastened to tell him.

“Of course you will, Mrs Graham, but I don’t think that will be enough.” He leered at her, displaying yellowing teeth. Bastard; he was going to charge her an overprice. Alex squared her shoulders. Even if she had to pay twice the amount he’d paid, she had the money to do so – just. Fairfax rose, moved over to his desk.

“So, shall we draw up a contract?” The quill rasped on the thick paper and he blotted the ink before handing her the document to read. “You can read, my dear?”

She nodded, her eyes flying over the scrawled words to find the price. Twenty pounds, the same as he had paid for Matthew, and Alex felt a flush of shame at having so misjudged this man.

“We will sign it afterwards,” Fairfax suggested.

Afterwards? Something plummeted inside of her at the look on his face.

He tapped the deed with his finger and grinned. “This is the official price. The real price includes an element of…service.” He positively beamed when she began to protest, already half out of her chair. “I hold his life in my hand,” he reminded her, “and you, my dear, is the price I set on it.” He undid his brocade coat and sat back expectantly.

For an instant she considered blurting that she knew, that she would expose him for what he was to the community, but in the same moment she realised that she couldn’t – not if she wanted Matthew returned to her alive.

“Please…I’ll pay you more, I’ll—”

“Oh no, Mrs Graham; I have no need for more money. I do, however, have other urges.” He crooked a finger to beckon her over. “It’s up to you, my dear,” he added when she remained where she was, incapable of taking even one step in his direction. With a sigh he stood up, retrieved the document and made as if to tear it up.

“Wait!” Alex swallowed and swallowed. “I’ll do it.” She forced her legs to move towards him.

“I daresay it won’t take that long,” he said as he pushed her down on the desk, hands already shoving the skirts out of the way.

*

An eternal half hour later, Fairfax buttoned up his breeches, smirked at Alex and left the room, whistling. Alex got to her feet and began to order her clothes. She was shaking from head to foot, crying as she pulled at her garments, yanked at her lacings. Despicable man! She was sore everywhere, and in her mouth lingered the rancid taste of him. She wiped at her lips, dragging the back of her hand back and forth. Oh God! All of her smelled of him, and between her legs…

Folded on her skirts lay the contract, now duly signed, and she tucked it inside her bodice, thinking fiercely that of course it was worth the price. She was nauseous with shame at what had been done to her, and in her head rang a little voice that wondered what Matthew would think of it all.

Mrs Gordon looked at Alex, looked again, and her face set in an impressive scowl.

“What did he do to you?”

“Not now.”

Mrs Gordon muttered but didn’t push, hurrying after Alex up the lane.

The afternoon was beginning to shift into dusk and they both walked briskly, none of them wanting to be this far out of town when it grew dark. Halfway back Alex began to cry, long heaving sobs, and Mrs Gordon stopped and hugged her.

“I found him,” Alex snivelled, “he’s alive, and come next week I can come and get him. Look,” she said, digging into her bodice, “look, I even have a contract!” She threw the document onto the dirt road and cried even harder.

Mrs Gordon bent down to retrieve the deed and tucked it into her own bodice. She pulled Alex close and shushed her, stroking her tenderly over her head. Alex cried and cried, she clung to Mrs Gordon who stood like a rock, whispering that it would be alright, and that she’d keep her lassie safe, no matter what.

“So, what did yon worm of a man do to you?” Mrs Gordon asked, once Alex’s sobs had subsided.

Alex rubbed her sleeve hard over her swollen face.

“He did what he wanted to do. He set the price and I had no choice but to pay. Which he knew, slime ball that he is.” She absentmindedly used her nail to remove a blot of wax from her skirts. “We’d best get moving, the light’s going fast.”

“Matthew will never forgive me,” Alex said once they’d resumed walking. Mrs Gordon rolled her eyes in an exasperated gesture.

“You had no choice, lass.”

“I know that, and you know that, but to Matthew it will never be that clear cut. One part of him will always think I should have refused.”

“Aye, and then he would be dead and none of us would need to worry about his opinion,” Mrs Gordon muttered.

Alex smiled weakly.

“Are you planning on telling him?” Mrs Gordon asked.

“I don’t know. Should I?”

Mrs Gordon did yet another eye roll. “Of course not! Not unless you absolutely have to.”

“But that would be dishonest.”

“All truths don’t need to be told lass. Trust me, aye? He doesn’t need to know.”

Once they got home, Mrs Gordon insisted that Alex take a bath and then she tucked her into bed, wrapping the quilts tight around her.

“There is one thing we must do,” Mrs Gordon said, frowning down at her knitting.

“What?” Alex asked through a yawn.

“We must make sure there is no child.”

Alex’s eyes flew open in consternation. A child! With that disgusting toad of a man?

“When did you last bleed?”

Alex counted back the days and relaxed against the pillows. “Four weeks ago.”

Mrs Gordon just nodded and went back to her knitting. “No major risk then; we’ll wait for some days, and if nothing happens we will help it along. I have what I need, I think, and if not that sweet Mr Parson will find it for me.”

“Mr Parson?”

“The apothecary, and a right little treasure trove his store is.”

Despite everything, Alex smiled. Not yet three weeks here, and already Mrs Gordon had herself an admirer. What was it with this woman? Did she perhaps use some sort of secret perfume?

*

Eight days later, Alex set out for Mr Fairfax’s plantation, and in her pouch she carried the price of twenty pounds, and at her breast lay the signed contract. This was going to create a huge dent in their finances, but she didn’t care – not today. She had washed her hair, put on clean linen, and was quivering all over at the thought of seeing Matthew again. As she approached the plantation she began to tremble for another reason; let Fairfax not be here, let her not have to see that satisfied smirk again.

It was a huge relief to hear that Mr Fairfax was indisposed and have the whole transaction handled in silence by his overseer. She hoped the toad would die of this indisposition, or have his member rot and fall off – leave him incapacitated forever. At least she wasn’t pregnant, so thank heavens for small mercies.

“Well then.” Jones got to his feet after having counted the money for the third time. “Let’s go and find him.”

He led her out into the yard and told her to wait by the barns.

“I can come with you.”

Jones shook his head. He had his instructions and they were very simple; she was to wait here while he found her man.

She watched him stride away and stood and held herself together, wondering why it felt as if she was about to disintegrate into atoms now, when he was so close. I’m afraid, she admitted, I’m so afraid of what he has become.