The Prodigal Son (12 page)

“Strong,” Alex commented. Lucy was a healthy, blooming girl. Unfortunately, Joan seemed incapable of seeing this, stuck on the fact that her daughter was deaf, and therefore, as she now confided with a sigh, probably simple – all deaf people were.

“No they’re not, but it’s difficult to cope without one of your senses, and that makes other people think they’re stupid.” Alex lifted Lucy out of Joan’s arms and hoisted her into the air, making the baby squeal. “She’s perfect. We’ll just have to help her overcome her deafness.”

The one very good thing with winter was how things slowed. Days started later and ended much sooner when the dark closed down upon them. Alex enjoyed these long, candlelit evenings spent with the children and Joan, but mostly with just Matthew in the privacy of their bedroom. Dominated by the four poster bed, it was a rather bare room – uncluttered and airy despite its size – containing a large mule chest, a stool, a table and two pewter candlesticks. The chamber pot was tucked away in a corner, there was always a pitcher of clean water and as Alex hated sleeping behind dusty bed hangings, she’d thrown them out. Sometimes they played draughts, on other occasions Alex would amuse Matthew by singing her way through one rock song after the other. At times he’d join in, singing along in his dark voice, and sometimes Alex even got him on his feet to do some dance moves, which generally resulted in her laughing her head off and him chasing her around the bed.

If Alex liked the long, dark evenings, Matthew enjoyed the late dawns. A slow, leisurely awakening, moments of undemanding proximity in the warm cocoon of quilts he shared with his wife. He moved closer, his morning erection prodding at her arse. Alex rolled towards him with a yawn and stretched. The worn linen of her shift had torn during the night and at her movement one round breast fell into full view, making him laugh.

“What?” She peered at her chest. “Oh that; I guess it’s time to tear this into clouts.”

“You look…” he began.

“Sexy?” she suggested with a smile.

Nay, not ‘sexy’, not with her sleep encrusted eyes and the imprint of her pillowcase on her rosy cheek. He tweaked her messy braid and kissed her nose. “You look like a rumpled angel,” he said, “innocent and…” Young – aye, like a wee lassie woken from sleep to soon.

“Innocent?” Alex laughed. “Is that good or bad?”

Matthew tugged at her hair, releasing one long curl after the other to decorate their pillows. She stroked his head and traced the outline of his mouth. With a satisfied rumble he pillowed his head on her shoulder, her arms coming up to hold him close. No words, just a melting together, a physical nearness that filled him with such deep peace that he would gladly have remained like that for a whole day.

The scream had them breaking apart. With a bang their door opened and Mark tumbled inside. Matthew covered his half-naked wife with a quilt and turned to frown at his son, irritated at having this pleasurable moment so rudely interrupted.

“What?” He had already verified that Mark was not in any way harmed.

“Rachel, it’s Rachel. She’s put leeches all over Ian’s… err… legs.”

“She has what?” Alex sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Where did she get leeches?” She narrowed her eyes at Mark.

“I only wanted to show them to her – I told her to be careful with them.”

“Careful,” Alex said, “that’s a word that doesn’t exist in Rachel’s vocabulary, and you know that, Mark Graham.”

Matthew resigned himself to having to get out of bed and sort this situation, because something told him Rachel had planted the leeches somewhat higher up than on poor Ian’s legs, and from the nursery a string of desperate little yelps continued to be heard. Alex swung her legs out of bed to go with him, but Matthew shook his head.

“Nay. You stay.” He pushed her back down, kissed her and gave her a stern look. “Don’t move, Mrs Graham.”

“Aye, aye , sir.” With a happy sound Alex burrowed deeper into their bed.

“All over his arse and privates,” Matthew sighed later. “A few of them were dead when I got there.” Alex shrugged; she wasn’t a huge fan of leeches, she told him, the only reason she kept some was because they helped to reduce swelling around injuries.

“And how is he?”

“Complaining he has been severely weakened, but I promised you’d make pancakes for breakfast.”

“Oh, you did?” She stretched and yawned. “Well, lucky you; I think we still have the eggs for it. And Rachel?”

He gave her a quick look. “Ten, one for each wee beastie. Hard enough to smart, no more.” He was restrictive with corporal punishments, but when he considered them necessary he administered them without asking her opinion – a source of some contention. As he’d expected, she looked displeased. “I know you don’t like it, but sometimes a sore arse is the best way to rub in a lesson.”

“You think?”

“Aye.” Besides, it was his duty as a father to discipline his children, but he didn’t say that, knowing it would launch them into an acrimonious debate. Instead he stood up and pulled the covers off her, grinning at her protesting noise. “Get up. You have a household to fry pancakes for.”

“Hey, how about someone making me breakfast for a change? Preferably served on a tray in bed.”

“Someday,” he promised, “but not today.”

The peace of the morning was interrupted by the jangling of harnesses, and Matthew’s jaws clenched when the troop of dragoons rode into his yard.

“The third time in a week, and today is Sunday.”

“They probably want to make sure you’re not holding a conventicle,” Alex said.

Matthew said something foul under his breath and went out to meet them, followed by Alex and Joan.

“They’ve got Williams with them,” Joan said. A battered and bruised Davy Williams was sitting his horse unsteadily, his hands tied to the saddle. Behind him sat a man Matthew had never seen before, but from his dark garb and worn demeanour he concluded this must be yet another fugitive minister.

“Please,” Alex murmured, putting a hand on Matthew’s tense back. “Please…”

He nodded to indicate he had heard, and when she slipped her hand into his, he splayed his fingers to braid their hands together. More for his sake than for hers, because unless she anchored him and held him back, he feared the anger in him would leak out and then there was no knowing what he would do.

“Mr Graham, a nice Sunday morn, is it not?” The officer smiled, inclining his head to Alex. “A good day to offer up a prayer to God, but as it should be done, in church, not in unlawful assembly.” He threw his head in the direction of his prisoners. “Your neighbour is in breach of his oath and I fear it will cost him.”

Matthew could feel himself begin to tremble, and by his side Alex shifted, leaning her warm weight against him. He tightened his hold on her fingers, heard her inhale and knew he was squeezing too hard.

“I‘ve been requested to bring you with me,” Lieutenant Gower continued, “that you may witness his punishment.”

Matthew threw a look at Williams. The man was so pale the broken veins on his cheeks and nose stood out like bright red spots. Surely they wouldn’t hang him, would they?

“We don’t have all day,” the soldier said, with a steely threat in his tone.

Matthew nodded and walked towards the stable, Alex clinging to his hand.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, once they were out of hearing range. “No way are you going alone.”

Matthew nodded again; not because he wanted her to come, but because he was beginning to drown in blacks and reds and only her presence could keep him somewhat sane.

It was a long and cold ride. Matthew didn’t say a word, but under Alex’ cloak his hand gripped hers so hard her fingers grew numb. The damned lieutenant kept up a chirpy, one-sided conversation, seemingly unperturbed by Matthew’s stony silence. Alex kept her eyes on Ham’s flowing mane, not wanting to see either Williams or the shivering minister behind him.

Halfway to Cumnock stood the crossroad oak, and standing in silent formation beside it were several other men. Alex hated this particular crossroads, for the same reason she hated thunderstorms. This was where she’d almost been dragged back to her time several years ago, and she studied the ground for any signs of a sudden, widening chasm. It all looked normal enough, just the dirt road and here and there a tuft of withered grass. No bottomless pit to a future she didn’t want to ever return to, no funnels of bright, blinding light.

A loud yelp recalled her to the here and now. Behind her Matthew cursed when first the minister, then Williams, was pulled off the horse they were sharing. Alex didn’t know what to expect, but the fact that they’d been assembled before the massive tree made her fear that perhaps the two men would hang, just like that. Williams and the unknown minister eyed the oak with trepidation.

The smirking lieutenant dismounted and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. At his nod both prisoners were manhandled to stand in front of him.

“You’re in breach of a number of laws, chief amongst them the Act of Conventicle and the Five Mile Act. You…” He indicated the minister. “… You’ve been formally ejected from your religious office and are forbidden under pain of death to proselyte among the people of the kingdom, and yet you go from house to house spreading beliefs that stand in direct opposition to the lawful church.”

The little minister straightened up at that, eyes flaming in anger. “The Church of England is naught but a whore to its erstwhile popish roots, and if you think that I’ll ever accept the king as overlord of my church you have it wrong.”

Lieutenant Gower ignored him and turned to Williams. “It’s not much more than a month since you swore an oath to uphold the laws of this country and abjure any kind of seditious thinking.” He sighed and wagged a finger. “Oaths should never be sworn lightly,” he went on, his eyes travelling over the assembled men. “Because once sworn it ties you to it, and I’m charged with ensuring you uphold it.”

A collective shiver ran through the group, and the lieutenant smiled – rather nastily.

“You will both be scourged here, in front of witnesses. You, Mr Williams will be levied a fine; 200 merks, payable within the month.”

The shocked silence was absolute. Oh my God! Alex’ brain squealed with horror. 200 merks, that was the equivalent of four year’s wages, and no one – no one – had that kind of money. Not around here, anyway.

“How am I supposed to raise such an amount?” Williams said.

Lieutenant Gower shrugged. “I have no idea; sell your farm?”

“I have bairns,” Williams pleaded, licking his lips. “Five, aye? How are they to live if I sell the farm from under us?”

“You should have thought of that before,” the lieutenant drawled. “If you don’t meet the fine within the month they’ll be bonded to make up the difference.”

Had Alex been closer she’d have spat in his complacent face. Probably not a good idea.

“Dearest Lord,” Matthew whispered in an agonised voice. “Poor man!”

“And his family,” Alex said, thinking of strong, capable Mrs Williams and her half-grown brood. The lieutenant was still talking, and from the dazed expression on the men’s faces the minister’s fate was as awful, if not worse, than Williams’.

“The West Indies?” the minister croaked. “But I’m a man of Scripture, I know nothing of the workings of a farm.”

“I’m sure you’ll be put to good use,” the officer laughed, “from what I hear cane crops require very little but brute strength.”

Both men were so stunned that they made no protest when their clothes were taken off them, leaving them in nothing but breeches and stockings. By the time the scourging was done, the minister had slipped into unconsciousness while Williams still stood, swaying like a drunkard when he was ordered to dress.

“Mr Graham,” Lieutenant Gower said, beckoning Matthew to come closer. “Please deliver Mr Williams to his home.”

“And the minister?” Alex regarded the crumpled shape with concern.

“He goes with us – he’ll be staying in custody until his ship sails.” He nodded at one of his men, who hurried over to drag the minister towards the horses. Just as they were leaving the lieutenant reined in his horse and looked at Williams.

“A month; January 12th, at the sheriff’s court.”

Mrs Williams didn’t say a word when she listened to Matthew’s terse account. If the sum of 200 merks made her faint inside she didn’t show it, gripping her youngest boy’s shoulder for support.

“How?” she said. “He hasn’t been tried and convicted, and surely an officer can’t just mete out punishment by himself?”

Williams sighed and leaned forward to hide his head in his arms. “It won’t help to appeal.”

“Nay,” Matthew said in a heavy voice.

As Matthew and Alex stood to leave, Williams grabbed Matthew’s sleeve.

“Who? Is there anyone you know who’ll buy the farm off me?”

“Nay, not for 200 merks. I know of no one with that kind of money.”

“Nor me,” Williams whispered. “God help us, nor me.”

“What will he do?” Alex asked once they rode off in the direction of Hillview. All the way back from the oak she’d been quiet, and the haunted look in Mrs Williams’ eyes when she saw them off, thanking them for bringing her husband back home, was burning small holes of compassion through her heart.

“The only thing he can. He’ll run and leave the farm to be forfeited in payment of his debt. At least that way he won’t see his bairns and his wife sold into bondage.” Matthew looked off in the direction of the moor. “It will be cold – but at least they’ll be free.”

“And poor and hungry and always scared – all because their father chose to set principles before their safety.”

“Aye,” Matthew replied and covered her hand with his.

Chapter 10

“I told you,” Simon said, shaking his head at the terrible fate of the Williams family. “You’re playing with fire.” He was sitting as close as possible to the hearth with a plate balanced on his lap.

“Not anymore, not after seeing that.” Matthew frowned at Simon. “Five times in ten days they’ve been here.” Last time it had taken a lot of effort for Matthew to remain quiet and still while the soldiers stamped their way through his storage sheds, prodding the hay with their swords and even crouching down to inspect the space under the privy.