Footsteps of a Stranger

Chapter 3

Matthew dug into the dirt. The soft soil pooled around his wrists. He lifted his handful and dumped it beside the shallow hole. "We start by digging a place for the plant to grow."

Francis sank to his knees beside Matthew. Though he grimaced when his nice trousers touched the dirt. "You don't have tools for this?"

"We do for larger plants, but I'm just going to show you pumpkins," Matthew said.

"Pumpkins?" Francis asked.

Matthew grinned and reached into the pouch at his hip. He withdrew a handful of seeds. "They're orange and round. We use the fillings and seeds for food."

Francis plucked a seed from Matthew's palm. "And they come from this?"

"Have you never seen a seed before?"

Shrugging guiltily, Francis grinned. "I've never dug in the dirt before."

Matthew's mouth made a rather adorable 'o' shape. "What?"

"'It is not something a young gentleman does,'" Francis said in a snooty voice.

Matthew laughed. "Who says that?"

"My mother. Another reason I came here," Francis plunged his hands into the soft soil. "She's always there. She always has to make sure I'm not doing anything that would ruin our family name. She even monitors what I eat, making sure I'm fit to take control of the house when Father dies."

"At least your mother likes you," Matthew said. "Our mother didn't even want us."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Here I am, complaining about my mother," Francis had the decency to look ashamed.

Matthew smiled. "Don't worry about it. Your hole needs to be a tad deeper."

Francis nodded and scooped another handful of dirt out. "If you don't mind me asking," he accepted a seed from Matthew's palm. "How did you two happen?"

"Well, our father was one of the first to come to this land," Matthew said. He didn't get to share his story with much of anyone besides the sister tribes and they all already hated him. Francis had no reason to hate him. "He was stricken with our mother, who wanted nothing to do with him. So, he did what all wealthy white men do. He took her."

Francis buried the seed, Matthew's hands were on top of his. The soil was gritty and soft between their skin.

"Once she had us, our father let her go. He raised us until he died. We were supposed to get the money, but our uncles took it. We were shoved here and our mother wants nothing to do with us," Matthew finished. He stood, pulling his hands away from Francis's.

"I'm sorry, Matthew," Francis stood himself, then copied Matthew's motions of wiping his hands on his trousers.

"No worries. It's all we've known so it's not too hard," Matthew smiled. "Congratulations. Your pumpkin is on its way."

Francis grinned. "I'm gonna have my very own pumpkin!"

Matthew laughed. "It takes a while for them to grow. How about I show you some other stuff?"

"Sounds great." Francis replied.

With a shy smile, Matthew turned and walked to the river. Fishing was a good skill. And the idea of Francis trying to catch a fish made Matthew giggle.

"I thought you said you could write," Arthur frowned.

"The last time I wrote in English was when I was eight," Alfred snapped. His ears were red and he felt tears pricking the backs of his eyes.

He had written his name the best he could, and Arthur was yelling at him. In front of his entire camp. Who were all staring.

"You could have started with that," Arthur grumbled. "Write your name again, but slower."

Alfred sighed and picked up the pencil. He forced himself to slow down as he wrote his name. It did come out better, but it was still shaky.

"Good. Do you know how to do Matthew's name?" Arthur asked in a soft voice. Alfred felt goosebumps rise on his skin.

"I think so," Alfred furrowed his brow as he wrote his brother's name. It took him a moment, but he remembered the movements.

"Very good. How about my name?"

"I don't know how to spell it." Alfred admitted with a blush.

"Do you know the alphabet?" Arthur asked patiently.

"Yes," Alfred was confident with that answer.

"Alright, now write the letters I tell you. A, R,"

Alfred had to concentrate especially hard while writing Arthur's name. The most he had written ever had been his and his brother's name and other simple words like 'cat', 'dad', and 'rain.'

"Great job, Alfred!" Arthur praised. He leaned close to Alfred, their shoulders brushing.

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Alfred smiled. "Really?"

"Yes. It looks like my kid cousin Peter wrote it, but it's great for what you know," Arthur teased.

Alfred shoved Arthur's shoulder. "Why do I need to learn this anyway?"

"You are going to meet my king, I can't have you embarrassing me," Arthur replied.

Alfred huffed and fingered the edge of the paper, then he had an idea. "Can you teach Mattie, too? He liked this a lot better than I did…"

"I would love to teach your brother," Arthur smiled fondly.

"Great! He's going to be so excited!" Alfred said.

Arthur patted Alfred's knee. "Now, enough dawdling. Why don't you write the alphabet?"

Alfred suppressed a groan and began to write. He was quite proud of his legible his 'A' was, but the rest of his letters were lacking on how clear they were.

"Filthy Indian," a gruff man growled as he walked past them.

Alfred merely glanced up before returning to his letters, but Arthur stood so fast his chair fell over. "What did you say?"

The man stopped and glared at Arthur. "I said, filthy Indian," he pronounced Indian like injun.

Arthur nodded and smoothed the front of his shirt. Alfred stopped writing and watched the two with interest. "Well, I suggest you do not say it again."

"Or what?" the man was a good foot taller than Arthur, but the blond didn't seem to care.

"Try me," Arthur's emerald eyes were blazing with anger. Alfred found it rather attractive.

The man grinned, though he didn't have much teeth to grin with. "Injun."

Arthur gave a single nod, then brought his arm back before hitting the man in his right eye. He hardly had time to let out an 'oof' before he was on the ground.

He didn't get back up for another ten minutes.

"Arthur!" Alfred breathed out, before dissolving into laughter. "What did you do!"

The Englishman smoothed his shirt again and fixed his seat before settling beside Alfred again. "I didn't agree with what he said."

"So you punch him?" Alfred wasn't mad. It was rather hilarious that a man, who was rather short compared to the rest of the white men that he was with, was able to take one down with a single hit. All because he called Alfred a 'filthy injun.' Alfred was rather touched.

"Just because I was raised in a mansion, doesn't mean I don't know how to stand my ground," Arthur crossed his legs and tapped Alfred's shakily drawn 'J'. "That's backwards, dear."

Alfred shook his head and quickly rewrote the letter. He glanced at Arthur who smiled in approval. Feeling warm, Alfred finished the alphabet.

"I told Francis to meet us again tonight," Matthew said from the front of the canoe.

"Why?" Alfred frowned. "Haven't you had enough of his weird beard?"

"His beard is not weird. You're just jealous because you can't grow one," Matthew said, tossing his long braids over his shoulder.

"I can grow a beard! I just choose not to!" Alfred splashed his brother, who gasped and shot Alfred a glare.

"What's so wrong about meeting with them tonight?" Matthew stopped rowing and placed the oar across his lap.

Alfred sighed and copied his brother. "Nothing. I want to go see them."

"Then what's the issue?" Matthew frowned.

"If we disappear too often, people will start to notice," Alfred said. It sometimes baffled him that he could be the smart one and Matthew was the one who did what he wanted.

Matthew pouted. "They hardly pay any attention to us, Alfred. They would be glad if we really disappeared."

"I know that, Mattie," Alfred said. "But with these new white men, everyone will be on their toes."

Matthew glared at Alfred. Though it killed him to admit, Alfred was right. Especially since they were half white themselves, the tribe could start to see them as a threat.

"Do you think we can go at least tonight? Then keep it strictly to day?" Matthew asked. He was afraid he had grown quite fond of Francis and was already eager to see him again.

Alfred screwed his lips to the side. "Fine. But I mean it, tonight only."

Matthew grinned and sunk his oar back into the water. "Good, because I told them we would feed them."

"Matthew!" Alfred scolded. Now they had to steal along with lying.

"Have you seen the food they have on that boat? It's awful," Matthew said. "Francis showed me."

"I know. Arthur made me eat some for supper. It was worse than Dad's cooking," Alfred grimaced at the thought. They had made it back to the rocky shore of their village.

Matthew chuckled and swung into the shallow water to pull the canoe in. "Remember when-"

"Where have you two been?" a shout came from inside the circle of huts.

Alfred clamored out of the small boat as their mother came barreling down the hill, her hair flying.

Kiatana stopped in front of her boys and glared hotly at them, though her eyes were filled with tears. "I thought you'd been injured by those horrible men!"

"What?" Matthew reached out to touch her shoulder, but dropped his hand before he could. "What happened?"

"We had some men by the beach, watching the white men. One of them left their camp and spotted our people. He used a weapon of smoke, fire and thunder, they said. There is a terrible wound in his stomach," Kiatana took a shaky breath. "The Healer says he won't survive."

Alfred felt his stomach roll. He had heard that shot as Arthur was showing him out of the camp. They had both dismissed it as someone shooting a deer or quail.

"That's awful," Matthew said. His throat felt hot and clamped. Here he was, flirting with Francis all day and someone was dying.

"Get inside the camp," Kiatana nudged the twins to the circle of huts. "The chief wants to address everyone."

Alfred look at Matthew. They both knew what this meant; sneaking out would be a lot more difficult than it already was.

The chief was holding the hands of a sobbing pregnant woman. Alfred had to grip Matthew's arm to keep from vomiting. The child would never know their father, and the mother was a widow at far too young.

Once everyone was gathered together, the chief spoke. His voice was grim and the woman beside him continued to cry. "This is the second man these white monsters have killed, they are too dangerous to speak to," he paused. His dark eyes seemed to bore into Alfred, like he knew what the twins were doing.

"I have made contact with our sister tribe. They have agreed to help protect us from the newcomers," another pause and a frustrated look to his people. "We must place new rules for our protection. No one is to leave unless they are armed. No one must go alone. No one is allowed to the beach. After sunset, no one is to leave the village."

Matthew glanced at Alfred, who kept his mouth clamped shut. He didn't know if he should say anything in protest, they were not prisoners, but didn't want to risk it.

"We will begin to build walls to protect ourselves, and guards posted all day and night. Now, please, let us continue to mourn our lost brother," the chief lowered his head and the village was silent. The woman's sobs were the only thing that broke the quiet of the people.

"We can't go," Alfred hissed as Matthew went ahead of him.

"We have to," Matthew replied. He ran towards the next hut, slowly getting farther from the chief's hut.

"It's too dangerous!" Alfred caught up to Matthew and held his breath as a guard walked just where they were.

"Alfred, you don't understand," Matthew whispered after the guard passed.

"I think you're the one not understanding!" Alfred looked around before darting to their canoe.

Matthew caught up with him. They didn't speak again until they were halfway to their meeting spot.

"Alfred," Matthew turned to look at his brother. The moon's reflection bounced off the water and lit his eyes. "What I'm trying to say, is that I think Francis likes me."

"Wait, what?" Alfred narrowed his eyes.

"I mean, I think he does. It's just that he's so nice to me, I can't help but like him."

"You mean in a romantic way?" Alfred asked.

"Well, yes," Matthew said bashfully.

"You met him like, two days ago," Alfred had to hold back some accusation from his voice. He liked Arthur. And in that way.

"I know, I know. I shouldn't. But he's so nice and handsome and endearing and he speaks French, Alfred! How cool is that?"

"We speak English and the same language as the tribe," Alfred replied. "What's so great about French?"

"Do you know anyone who can speak French?" Matthew grinned.

"Well, no," Alfred admitted.

Matthew rolled his eyes and grinned. "If you're going back with them, you might want to learn how."

Alfred smiled sheepishly. "That reminds me, Arthur said he'll teach you how to write. He even has a few books to read."

"Really?" Matthew was almost overflowing with happiness. "Books? And he'll show me how to write?"

"Yeah. He tried to show me earlier today but I haven't improved much since we were eight."

"You see never that great to begin with," Matthew teased.

"Oh, shut up."

They continued on their way down the river to two strange men. Their hearts were light and their thoughts full of possibilities of their future.