Read Online Like Chaff in the Wind by Anna Belfrage - Free Book Online
Authors: Anna Belfrage
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tobacco leaves until he was certain his arms had lengthened permanently. Often he couldn’t sleep, the air in the little shed smothering him, and he crawled out of his makeshift bed to stand for hours in hot summer nights, trying to find some oxygen to draw into his overworked lungs.
He hated it here; the heat and the humidity, the far too vivid greenery, the strange bugs and unfamiliar birds. He longed for cool winds and the rustling shade of oaks and alders, he yearned for robins and blackbirds, and the endless twilights of the northern summer skies. He was a servant, and he had never been one before, never had to adapt himself completely to the will of another man. His days began when someone else decided, and they ended when that someone chose them to. And sometimes the days were very long, with a disinterested Jones insisting that the barn had to be emptied, however late the night.
Initially, Matthew entertained ideas of running away, somehow evading the dogs and making it unscathed to Jamestown. Whatever notions he had of escaping were wiped clean out of his mind a couple of days after his arrival, when one of the veteran indentured workers jerked his head in the direction of six desiccated objects nailed to one of the barns.
“Hands,” he said, “they tried to run.”
“Ah,” Matthew said. All that day his wrists itched.
Matthew attempted repeatedly to convince Jones that he was here erroneously, ignoring the big man’s warning scowl as he once again explained what had happened to him.
“Please listen,” he pleaded one Saturday, lengthening his stride to match Jones’. “Will you not try and help? I have a family, a wee lad who needs his father.” He could hear the begging note to his voice, but he had to try. Jones ignored him, his eyes on the barn for which they were heading. Once inside the barn, Jones wheeled, bringing his open hand down in disdainful slap across Matthew’s face. Jones hit him again, this time with full force. Matthew stumbled back, raising his arms in defence.
“I don’t care,” Jones said, advancing on him. “I’ve already told you, twenty pounds and you are free to go. Until then, hold your tongue and do as you are told.”
Matthew stood his ground. “I have a right to speak out, and I’m here unlawfully. Mayhap I should walk into town and talk to the magistrates there.” The moment he said it, Matthew understood it had been a mistake. At the look in Jones’ eyes, the way the small mouth was sucked in to all but disappear into the heavy jowls, Matthew retreated a couple of paces.
“Threatening to abscond?” Jones asked, crowding Matthew. He moved his head slowly from side to side. “We can’t have that, can we?” He lunged with surprising speed, and felled Matthew to the ground with one well-directed kick. The next kick hit Matthew squarely in the stomach, and he couldn’t breathe, mouth wide open as he tried to draw some air into his lungs. A fist in his face, and Matthew groaned. Yet another blow, and Matthew bit through his tongue.
“I will not tolerate more complaints,” Jones said only inches from his ear. Matthew remained where he was until he heard the barn door creak closed.
“You bring it on yourself,” Elijah berated Matthew, supporting him to stand. “You must learn to hold your tongue.” Matthew tried to speak, but his jaw hurt, his mouth hurt, his whole face hurt.
“Aye,” Duncan put in, slinging Matthew’s arm around his shoulders. “You rile him. And now he won’t leave you alone.”
Elijah nodded in solemn agreement. Together his two shipmates half carried, half dragged Matthew back to the shed. As they lowered Matthew down onto his blanket, Matthew closed his hand around Elijah’s wrist.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he managed to say.
“But you are.”
Aye, Matthew sighed, unfortunately he was.
*
Duncan was right. Matthew’s life deteriorated further after this incident. Jones consistently singled him out for the chores
He hated it here; the heat and the humidity, the far too vivid greenery, the strange bugs and unfamiliar birds. He longed for cool winds and the rustling shade of oaks and alders, he yearned for robins and blackbirds, and the endless twilights of the northern summer skies. He was a servant, and he had never been one before, never had to adapt himself completely to the will of another man. His days began when someone else decided, and they ended when that someone chose them to. And sometimes the days were very long, with a disinterested Jones insisting that the barn had to be emptied, however late the night.
Initially, Matthew entertained ideas of running away, somehow evading the dogs and making it unscathed to Jamestown. Whatever notions he had of escaping were wiped clean out of his mind a couple of days after his arrival, when one of the veteran indentured workers jerked his head in the direction of six desiccated objects nailed to one of the barns.
“Hands,” he said, “they tried to run.”
“Ah,” Matthew said. All that day his wrists itched.
Matthew attempted repeatedly to convince Jones that he was here erroneously, ignoring the big man’s warning scowl as he once again explained what had happened to him.
“Please listen,” he pleaded one Saturday, lengthening his stride to match Jones’. “Will you not try and help? I have a family, a wee lad who needs his father.” He could hear the begging note to his voice, but he had to try. Jones ignored him, his eyes on the barn for which they were heading. Once inside the barn, Jones wheeled, bringing his open hand down in disdainful slap across Matthew’s face. Jones hit him again, this time with full force. Matthew stumbled back, raising his arms in defence.
“I don’t care,” Jones said, advancing on him. “I’ve already told you, twenty pounds and you are free to go. Until then, hold your tongue and do as you are told.”
Matthew stood his ground. “I have a right to speak out, and I’m here unlawfully. Mayhap I should walk into town and talk to the magistrates there.” The moment he said it, Matthew understood it had been a mistake. At the look in Jones’ eyes, the way the small mouth was sucked in to all but disappear into the heavy jowls, Matthew retreated a couple of paces.
“Threatening to abscond?” Jones asked, crowding Matthew. He moved his head slowly from side to side. “We can’t have that, can we?” He lunged with surprising speed, and felled Matthew to the ground with one well-directed kick. The next kick hit Matthew squarely in the stomach, and he couldn’t breathe, mouth wide open as he tried to draw some air into his lungs. A fist in his face, and Matthew groaned. Yet another blow, and Matthew bit through his tongue.
“I will not tolerate more complaints,” Jones said only inches from his ear. Matthew remained where he was until he heard the barn door creak closed.
“You bring it on yourself,” Elijah berated Matthew, supporting him to stand. “You must learn to hold your tongue.” Matthew tried to speak, but his jaw hurt, his mouth hurt, his whole face hurt.
“Aye,” Duncan put in, slinging Matthew’s arm around his shoulders. “You rile him. And now he won’t leave you alone.”
Elijah nodded in solemn agreement. Together his two shipmates half carried, half dragged Matthew back to the shed. As they lowered Matthew down onto his blanket, Matthew closed his hand around Elijah’s wrist.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he managed to say.
“But you are.”
Aye, Matthew sighed, unfortunately he was.
*
Duncan was right. Matthew’s life deteriorated further after this incident. Jones consistently singled him out for the chores
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