much to do lately.”
“You mustn’t be remiss regarding your spiritual wellbeing,” Sandy said.
“There’s nothing wrong with my spiritual wellbeing.”
“Ah no? And yet I dare say you cannot name me the books of the Holy Writ, nor even Jacob’s sons, can you?”
“If I want to know I can look it up,” she shrugged, and Sandy’s brows sank into a bulging ridge over his eyes.
“Some things one should know by heart, I think.”
“Waste of space, if you ask me,” she muttered, hitching a shoulder.
“Hmm.” Sandy sounded displeased, and looked over to her son. “Laddie, can you name me Jacob’s sons?”
Alex rolled her eyes at how Mark shone up, hurrying over to take Sandy’s hand as he recited his way through the twelve tribes of Israel. Sandy went on to tell Mark about Joseph and his dreams, about the Hebrew captivity in Egypt and Moses, the lawmaker.
“I know a song about that,” Alex said, and began singing about Moses, who went down to Egypt’s land to tell the pharaoh to let his people go. Both Sandy and Mark were delighted, and by the time they were back at the mill, Sandy had the verses down pat.
“… So spoke the Lord, bold Moses said, let my people go. If not I’ll strike your firstborn dead, let my people go’ …” He broke off and grinned at Alex. “It has a ring to it, aye?”
Alex nodded, wondering if she should tell him this was a song written by slaves – black slaves. Sandy surprised her by nodding seriously once he’d finished the song for the third time.
“The man who wrote it knew what it was like to be a slave.”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “You hear it in every ‘ let my people go’ .”
She met Matthew and Simon on the way down, and briefly recounted the events. Matthew clouded, a dark scowl settling on his features, while Simon went an interesting shade of greyish pink.
“What…” he asked, but Alex shook her head.
“Not now, not here. After supper, when we’re alone.”
Simon paced the parlour with his hands clasped behind his back, giving him a startling resemblance to a strutting pigeon.
“I told you the last time I was here. You must stop this, you can’t put yourself at risk for men like Sandy Peden.”
“Of course I can,” Matthew said. “He’s a friend.”
Simon shook his head. “You knew him when you were young men, and aye, you share the same faith, but he’s in breach of the law, a wanted man with a price on his head!” Simon slammed his hand down on the table. “You risk it all; you risk your life, your home and your family. Is that what you want, to see your family destitute with you being picked clean by the crows?”
“You’re exaggerating, they wouldn’t hang me.” Matthew tried to sound unconcerned.
“No?” Simon knuckled at his irritated left eye. “Ah, no. They may be content with transporting you overseas. As a slave, like.” Matthew frowned at him, but Simon pushed on. “Not to Virginia, Matthew, to the West Indies. And if you were badly treated in Virginia you’ll have it tenfold worse in the West Indies.” He wheeled to Alex. “Tell him! Tell him how men die in the sun, worked to death at the sugar plantations! Tell him, aye?”
“I already have.” She shared a quick look with Matthew, who groaned inwardly. Repeatedly she raised the subject, obdurately he insisted he had to follow his conscience and help those who stood up to fight for the right to hold to their beliefs.
“I told you; Luke knows, and if Luke knows then he’ll use it to have you destroyed. Not simply killed, because then Mark inherits, but somehow charged with treason or something, with all your worldly goods befalling the king.” She sounded matter-of-fact, keeping her eyes on her shoes, her skirts, anything but Matthew.
“It won’t happen,” Matthew said. “They’ll never catch anyone here.”
Alex made a face. “Well excuse me for not believing that. If it hadn’t been for Mark, they’d have dragged both Sandy and you
“You mustn’t be remiss regarding your spiritual wellbeing,” Sandy said.
“There’s nothing wrong with my spiritual wellbeing.”
“Ah no? And yet I dare say you cannot name me the books of the Holy Writ, nor even Jacob’s sons, can you?”
“If I want to know I can look it up,” she shrugged, and Sandy’s brows sank into a bulging ridge over his eyes.
“Some things one should know by heart, I think.”
“Waste of space, if you ask me,” she muttered, hitching a shoulder.
“Hmm.” Sandy sounded displeased, and looked over to her son. “Laddie, can you name me Jacob’s sons?”
Alex rolled her eyes at how Mark shone up, hurrying over to take Sandy’s hand as he recited his way through the twelve tribes of Israel. Sandy went on to tell Mark about Joseph and his dreams, about the Hebrew captivity in Egypt and Moses, the lawmaker.
“I know a song about that,” Alex said, and began singing about Moses, who went down to Egypt’s land to tell the pharaoh to let his people go. Both Sandy and Mark were delighted, and by the time they were back at the mill, Sandy had the verses down pat.
“… So spoke the Lord, bold Moses said, let my people go. If not I’ll strike your firstborn dead, let my people go’ …” He broke off and grinned at Alex. “It has a ring to it, aye?”
Alex nodded, wondering if she should tell him this was a song written by slaves – black slaves. Sandy surprised her by nodding seriously once he’d finished the song for the third time.
“The man who wrote it knew what it was like to be a slave.”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “You hear it in every ‘ let my people go’ .”
She met Matthew and Simon on the way down, and briefly recounted the events. Matthew clouded, a dark scowl settling on his features, while Simon went an interesting shade of greyish pink.
“What…” he asked, but Alex shook her head.
“Not now, not here. After supper, when we’re alone.”
Simon paced the parlour with his hands clasped behind his back, giving him a startling resemblance to a strutting pigeon.
“I told you the last time I was here. You must stop this, you can’t put yourself at risk for men like Sandy Peden.”
“Of course I can,” Matthew said. “He’s a friend.”
Simon shook his head. “You knew him when you were young men, and aye, you share the same faith, but he’s in breach of the law, a wanted man with a price on his head!” Simon slammed his hand down on the table. “You risk it all; you risk your life, your home and your family. Is that what you want, to see your family destitute with you being picked clean by the crows?”
“You’re exaggerating, they wouldn’t hang me.” Matthew tried to sound unconcerned.
“No?” Simon knuckled at his irritated left eye. “Ah, no. They may be content with transporting you overseas. As a slave, like.” Matthew frowned at him, but Simon pushed on. “Not to Virginia, Matthew, to the West Indies. And if you were badly treated in Virginia you’ll have it tenfold worse in the West Indies.” He wheeled to Alex. “Tell him! Tell him how men die in the sun, worked to death at the sugar plantations! Tell him, aye?”
“I already have.” She shared a quick look with Matthew, who groaned inwardly. Repeatedly she raised the subject, obdurately he insisted he had to follow his conscience and help those who stood up to fight for the right to hold to their beliefs.
“I told you; Luke knows, and if Luke knows then he’ll use it to have you destroyed. Not simply killed, because then Mark inherits, but somehow charged with treason or something, with all your worldly goods befalling the king.” She sounded matter-of-fact, keeping her eyes on her shoes, her skirts, anything but Matthew.
“It won’t happen,” Matthew said. “They’ll never catch anyone here.”
Alex made a face. “Well excuse me for not believing that. If it hadn’t been for Mark, they’d have dragged both Sandy and you
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