sparse grey hair that hung lank down to his shoulders, and beside him stood his plump little wife, as colourless as her husband. Compared to them, Naomi sparkled with colour and energy, her skin rosy, and what little could be seen of her hair gleaming in the September sun.
“Do you think she might be a changeling?” Mark asked Alex.
“Mark!” Alex hissed.
“One can always hope,” her son muttered, before hurrying over to greet his parents-in-law. Alex tilted her head. Naomi was in no way a beauty, but somehow her parents’ best features had combined into a pleasant whole, and thankfully the girl seemed to have inherited her brain from her father rather than her mother. Shame on you, she chided herself, Mary is a nice woman. Yeah, with the intellectual agility of a ten-year-old.
Matthew appeared from one of the storage sheds, cradling a cask of beer.
“Just what one needs on day such as this.” Peter flapped his hat to create some air.
Matthew nodded and winked at Alex, no doubt to remind her that this was her idea, not his. She stuck her tongue out in response, before suggesting in a loud voice that they should all take their seats at the trestle tables set up below the trees.
Alex had on purpose placed Jenny at the very far end of the table, with Peter exactly opposite, his new wife beside him. But, with the sensitivity of a bull in a china shop, Peter insisted that his daughter come and sit closer so that she could properly admire the new addition to the Leslie family: little James.
“James?” Jenny gave him a cool look.
Peter looked up from where he was studying the vegetable pie that Alex had set in front of him. “James,” he said, through his half-full mouth. “Mmm,” he added, directing himself to Alex, “quite tasty.”
“James is dead.” Jenny’s voice was loud enough to stop all activity at the table.
“Jenny,” Ian said, placing a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.
“He died with your wife, my mother, in April of 1676, and at the time of his death, he was eight years old.”
“I know how old he was,” Peter snapped back.
“And still you give his name to that?” Jenny made a face and stood up. “And if you have a girl, will you name her Jenny? Or why not Elizabeth, in honour of the wife who gave you ten live children?”
Peter had gone an interesting shade of dirty pink, glaring at his daughter. “I’ll name my children as I see fit.” He looked her up and down and expanded his chest, raising his receding chin in a gesture of defiance. “I can’t help it that my wife is fertile, daughter. And mayhap you should wonder at your own barrenness and pray that the good Lord forgive you whatever transgression it is that’s making you incapable of bearing children.”
“Peter!” Alex exclaimed at the same time as Jenny raised a pitcher of ale and upended it over her father before stalking off.
“That was very cruel,” Ian said to Peter before hurrying after his wife.
*
“It wasn’t my fault,” Alex said defensively to Matthew much later. She sank down to sit in one of their few armchairs and frowned. “He shouldn’t have said that, and when that little tight-arsed wife of his proceeded to tell us how it was a known fact that barrenness was a divine punishment, well…”
Matthew added another log to the fire and sat back down. “It didn’t help when you told her that someone with as little sense as she did best in keeping her mouth shut.”
Peter had been out of his seat like an aggravated stoat, demanding an apology, and Alex had exploded, telling him not be such an old fart, and so the party had come to an end before it had even begun, with an apologetic Thomas trailing his brother.
“True, nonetheless,” Mrs Parson said. “And it was a mightily heartless thing for a father to say to his lass.”
“Aye, that it was,” Matthew agreed.
Alex pursed her lips. The expression on Jenny’s face had been not only of hurt and anger, but also of
“Do you think she might be a changeling?” Mark asked Alex.
“Mark!” Alex hissed.
“One can always hope,” her son muttered, before hurrying over to greet his parents-in-law. Alex tilted her head. Naomi was in no way a beauty, but somehow her parents’ best features had combined into a pleasant whole, and thankfully the girl seemed to have inherited her brain from her father rather than her mother. Shame on you, she chided herself, Mary is a nice woman. Yeah, with the intellectual agility of a ten-year-old.
Matthew appeared from one of the storage sheds, cradling a cask of beer.
“Just what one needs on day such as this.” Peter flapped his hat to create some air.
Matthew nodded and winked at Alex, no doubt to remind her that this was her idea, not his. She stuck her tongue out in response, before suggesting in a loud voice that they should all take their seats at the trestle tables set up below the trees.
Alex had on purpose placed Jenny at the very far end of the table, with Peter exactly opposite, his new wife beside him. But, with the sensitivity of a bull in a china shop, Peter insisted that his daughter come and sit closer so that she could properly admire the new addition to the Leslie family: little James.
“James?” Jenny gave him a cool look.
Peter looked up from where he was studying the vegetable pie that Alex had set in front of him. “James,” he said, through his half-full mouth. “Mmm,” he added, directing himself to Alex, “quite tasty.”
“James is dead.” Jenny’s voice was loud enough to stop all activity at the table.
“Jenny,” Ian said, placing a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.
“He died with your wife, my mother, in April of 1676, and at the time of his death, he was eight years old.”
“I know how old he was,” Peter snapped back.
“And still you give his name to that?” Jenny made a face and stood up. “And if you have a girl, will you name her Jenny? Or why not Elizabeth, in honour of the wife who gave you ten live children?”
Peter had gone an interesting shade of dirty pink, glaring at his daughter. “I’ll name my children as I see fit.” He looked her up and down and expanded his chest, raising his receding chin in a gesture of defiance. “I can’t help it that my wife is fertile, daughter. And mayhap you should wonder at your own barrenness and pray that the good Lord forgive you whatever transgression it is that’s making you incapable of bearing children.”
“Peter!” Alex exclaimed at the same time as Jenny raised a pitcher of ale and upended it over her father before stalking off.
“That was very cruel,” Ian said to Peter before hurrying after his wife.
*
“It wasn’t my fault,” Alex said defensively to Matthew much later. She sank down to sit in one of their few armchairs and frowned. “He shouldn’t have said that, and when that little tight-arsed wife of his proceeded to tell us how it was a known fact that barrenness was a divine punishment, well…”
Matthew added another log to the fire and sat back down. “It didn’t help when you told her that someone with as little sense as she did best in keeping her mouth shut.”
Peter had been out of his seat like an aggravated stoat, demanding an apology, and Alex had exploded, telling him not be such an old fart, and so the party had come to an end before it had even begun, with an apologetic Thomas trailing his brother.
“True, nonetheless,” Mrs Parson said. “And it was a mightily heartless thing for a father to say to his lass.”
“Aye, that it was,” Matthew agreed.
Alex pursed her lips. The expression on Jenny’s face had been not only of hurt and anger, but also of
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