The Prodigal Son by Anna Belfrage Page B

away,” she interrupted. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
    “Alex,” he put his arm around her, but this time she shook it off.
    “No,” she said, retreating to stand several yards away. Her face was a pale oval that seemed to float, disembodied, in the dark that surrounded them.
    “I must do as my conscience bids me,” he tried.
    “Your conscience?” She near on stuttered. “And what about your responsibilities as a father, as a husband? What does your precious conscience say about that, huh? I would die without you, you hear? I… ” She broke off, wiping at her eyes.
    “Ah, Alex! I would never…” Inch by discreet inch he shuffled towards her, wanting to envelop her, hold her safe against him.
    “What?” she demanded. “What would you never do? Take risks? Set your beliefs before your family?”
    He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. “I go canny, aye?” He made a grab for her, but she evaded his hand and pushed him, sending him stumbling backwards.
    “Go! I don’t want you to touch me, I don’t want you to talk to me. Leave me alone. I might just as well get used to it, right?” She turned her back on him, and for a long time there was no sound but that of her unsteady breathing. Finally she cleared her throat.
    “Not once have I wished myself back in my time, not one single time. But tonight I wish I had never met you, Matthew Graham, never had your children to tie me to your side.”
    “You don’t mean that,” he said, swallowing at the pain he felt at her words. “Tell me that you don’t.”
    “I don’t?” She turned to face him. “No of course I don’t. But I sure wish I did.”

Chapter 7
    After persistent wheedling Matthew had gotten Alex off the hill, but she hadn’t said a word to him on the way back. Once they were inside she’d gone to bed without even wishing him goodnight, maintaining as much distance from him as was possible in a bed not more than four and something feet across. In the morning when he woke, her half of the bed was empty, and when he came down to the kitchen she moved away to put the table between them.
    She looked exhausted, the skin under her eyes was bruised and puffy, and he realised she’d been weeping again. Something about how she held herself made him want to sweep her into his arms and place her on his lap, rocking her until she felt safe, but she maintained a constant distance, sidestepping him whenever he tried to get close. Even the bairns noticed, with Jacob and Rachel snuggling up to their mother far more than they usually did, small hands patting at her in concern.
    Alex helped Sarah clear away after breakfast, nodded to the men when they trooped by her on their way back to work. She backed away when Matthew approached her, muttered something about needing to go out, and when he held out his hand she just shook her head.
    “Alex,” he said. “We must talk.”
    “Talk? About what?”
    For an instant her eyes met his, two yawning wells of deep blue, and then she had her damp cloak in her hand, her basket in the other. She rushed out the door, stumbled halfway across the yard but regained her balance, and off she went – not in the direction of the woods, but up towards the Cumnock road. No doubt to see if he went or not, he sighed, following her with his eyes until she ducked out of sight behind the elders.
    For the first time in the more than seven years he’d known her, he was aware of being judged by her. There was a mental scale in her head, and what he did or didn’t do today would forever determine their life together. She was making it very simple for him – his convictions or his wife. He met his sister’s eyes and bowed his head.
    “I have to.”
    “Aye, I think you do. And she’s right; you’ll have to sooner or later anyway. They’ll use force if they have to – even Sandy knows that.”
    “You think?”
    “Sandy is no fool, Matthew. For all his fiery words, he’ll understand – and so will God.”
    Ham