liked the Chisholms, but they tended to keep themselves to themselves, an enclave of Catholicism in an area mostly settled by Protestants.
“A man,” Fiona said out of the blue a few moments later.
“A man?”
“A husband,” Fiona clarified. “Most of all I’d like a husband.”
“That won’t be too hard, will it? Not here, where unwed women are as rare as sweet water pearls.”
Something flitted over Fiona’s face, a smugness quickly suppressed that made Alex throw her a long look.
“Mayhap not,” Fiona said, and there it was again, a satisfied little smirk.
*
As a treat after an entire morning hanging over the laundry cauldron, Alex succeeded in wheedling Matthew’s permission to visit their new neighbours – as long as she took Jonah and his musket along. She was curious about the Waltons, the wife and children having come but recently from the east to join the husband who’d been here since spring. Not that she’d met him either, being far too busy at home to do more than send along the odd pie with Matthew on those few occasions when he’d ridden over to help.
“You think it’s safe, mistress?” Fiona sounded nervous.
“As safe as it was yesterday. Anyway,” Alex grinned, “it’s you the Indians will go for, not me.” That made Fiona wipe her palms on the dark cloth of her skirts. Jonah chuckled and made a show of brandishing the musket he was carrying.
Alex swept the forest with her eyes; four years here, and they’d never seen an Indian. A couple of years ago, she and Matthew had come upon a sizeable clearing, with overgrown mounds showing where buildings had stood. Among the weeds, Alex had found shards of pottery and, growing in a corner, a few stands of maize, apparently the result of spontaneous germination in seeds left behind when the inhabitants moved away. The maize she’d taken care of, and now there were several rows of Indian corn growing in her kitchen garden.
Fiona gripped Ruth harder and hurried them on, muttering that this was a fool’s errand in times when Indians were abroad, but Alex turned a deaf ear. She wasn’t unduly worried by the news that Indians had been sighted, and so far all they’d done was steal a horse or two off Andrew Chisholm. No, she was made far more uncomfortable by the humid heat that made clothes stick to damp skin and brought out small beads of sweat along the bridge of Alex’s nose. She tilted her straw hat so that it shaded her face, and examined her new skirts. Matthew had brought back several bolts of fabric from Providence, and this time he had spontaneously added yards of pale green cotton to the standard linen and dark wool, for which she was very grateful – especially on a day as hot as today.
Alex adjusted Sarah’s cap and called Daniel back from his brutal inspection of an ant hill.
“Remember,” she said, “they might not speak English.”
Fiona looked at her with incredulous eyes. “Not speak English?”
“Quite a lot of people don’t.” Alex bit back a little smile.
“Da says only very few speak English,” Ruth piped up, skipping by Fiona’s side. “It is too bad, on account of them not being able to read the Bible.”
“Of course they can,” Alex said. “The Bible was written in several old languages, and it’s been translated into English, just as it’s been translated into Swedish or German or Spanish.”
“But it’s only us that have the true Bible,” Fiona said to Ruth. “Only us of the Scottish Kirk, aye? Ask your da,” she added with a triumphant look in Alex’s direction.
For a moment Alex considered throwing herself into a religious debate with Fiona, but instead she smiled at her children and told them that she wasn’t a Presbyterian, and yet she was quite convinced that she had access to just as valid a Bible as any member of the redoubtable Scottish Reformed Church.
“Is it much further?” Sarah whined. “I’m hot and hungry.”
“I’m not quite sure,” Alex said. The
“A man,” Fiona said out of the blue a few moments later.
“A man?”
“A husband,” Fiona clarified. “Most of all I’d like a husband.”
“That won’t be too hard, will it? Not here, where unwed women are as rare as sweet water pearls.”
Something flitted over Fiona’s face, a smugness quickly suppressed that made Alex throw her a long look.
“Mayhap not,” Fiona said, and there it was again, a satisfied little smirk.
*
As a treat after an entire morning hanging over the laundry cauldron, Alex succeeded in wheedling Matthew’s permission to visit their new neighbours – as long as she took Jonah and his musket along. She was curious about the Waltons, the wife and children having come but recently from the east to join the husband who’d been here since spring. Not that she’d met him either, being far too busy at home to do more than send along the odd pie with Matthew on those few occasions when he’d ridden over to help.
“You think it’s safe, mistress?” Fiona sounded nervous.
“As safe as it was yesterday. Anyway,” Alex grinned, “it’s you the Indians will go for, not me.” That made Fiona wipe her palms on the dark cloth of her skirts. Jonah chuckled and made a show of brandishing the musket he was carrying.
Alex swept the forest with her eyes; four years here, and they’d never seen an Indian. A couple of years ago, she and Matthew had come upon a sizeable clearing, with overgrown mounds showing where buildings had stood. Among the weeds, Alex had found shards of pottery and, growing in a corner, a few stands of maize, apparently the result of spontaneous germination in seeds left behind when the inhabitants moved away. The maize she’d taken care of, and now there were several rows of Indian corn growing in her kitchen garden.
Fiona gripped Ruth harder and hurried them on, muttering that this was a fool’s errand in times when Indians were abroad, but Alex turned a deaf ear. She wasn’t unduly worried by the news that Indians had been sighted, and so far all they’d done was steal a horse or two off Andrew Chisholm. No, she was made far more uncomfortable by the humid heat that made clothes stick to damp skin and brought out small beads of sweat along the bridge of Alex’s nose. She tilted her straw hat so that it shaded her face, and examined her new skirts. Matthew had brought back several bolts of fabric from Providence, and this time he had spontaneously added yards of pale green cotton to the standard linen and dark wool, for which she was very grateful – especially on a day as hot as today.
Alex adjusted Sarah’s cap and called Daniel back from his brutal inspection of an ant hill.
“Remember,” she said, “they might not speak English.”
Fiona looked at her with incredulous eyes. “Not speak English?”
“Quite a lot of people don’t.” Alex bit back a little smile.
“Da says only very few speak English,” Ruth piped up, skipping by Fiona’s side. “It is too bad, on account of them not being able to read the Bible.”
“Of course they can,” Alex said. “The Bible was written in several old languages, and it’s been translated into English, just as it’s been translated into Swedish or German or Spanish.”
“But it’s only us that have the true Bible,” Fiona said to Ruth. “Only us of the Scottish Kirk, aye? Ask your da,” she added with a triumphant look in Alex’s direction.
For a moment Alex considered throwing herself into a religious debate with Fiona, but instead she smiled at her children and told them that she wasn’t a Presbyterian, and yet she was quite convinced that she had access to just as valid a Bible as any member of the redoubtable Scottish Reformed Church.
“Is it much further?” Sarah whined. “I’m hot and hungry.”
“I’m not quite sure,” Alex said. The
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