Mud and Gold Page 15

  ‘Perhaps you should go home,’ Frank said, trying not to look disappointed. He knew Lizzie wanted her mother with her, and Edie’s placid presence was a comfort to him.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense! It won’t hurt them to get their own lunch for once, and I want to be here to see my grandchild into the world.’

  ‘But I don’t want to get you in trouble.’ Edie’s rear was well padded, but Frank did not want to be responsible for getting it strapped.

  ‘I won’t get in trouble. Arthur’s bark’s worse than his bite. Of course if he’d told me I had to be home by such and such a time I’d have to do as he said, and quite right, too.’ Edie stated this as an unarguable fact, one she accepted without question, and Frank wondered briefly how she could have had so little influence on her daughter’s nature. ‘You don’t live with a man for twenty-two years without finding out how to keep him happy.

  She rose from her chair. ‘Lizzie’s quite comfortable now, and Mrs Parsons is seeing to her. Would you like me to make you a cup of tea? You must be ready for a drink.’

  ‘I didn’t have any breakfast,’ Frank said, noticing his grinding hunger for the first time.

  ‘Didn’t you? Of course you didn’t, poor boy, you’ve been rushing about since daybreak. You sit right there and I’ll make you something.’

  After he had eaten the huge plateful of bacon and eggs that Edie produced, Frank wandered about the farm doing his work, all the time listening anxiously for a cry from the house. He gave Belle a nosebag of oats to salve his conscience for his rough treatment earlier. He fed out hay to the unhappy cows stamping their feet in the ash-covered paddocks, and milked the two who were still in milk. Then he walked around the paddocks looking for any damage, but the wild, earthquake-filled night had left no sign except the ash. Being smothered by ash was not going to do the grass any good, Frank knew, and he was vaguely aware that he might have a problem finding enough grazing for the animals later in the year, but his mind was too full of Lizzie for any other worries to take root.

  When he heard Edie’s voice he ran to the house, but he arrived panting to find that she had only called him for lunch. Edie ate her own lunch hurriedly, then went off to sit with Lizzie, giving Mrs Parsons the chance to eat. The nurse looked so stern that Frank was reluctant to question her, but he plucked up his courage to ask how Lizzie was.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mr Kelly. I know my work,’ Mrs Parsons said briskly, in a tone that did not encourage further questioning. She looked at Frank’s downcast face and seemed to take pity on him. ‘Your wife’s asleep. I put her under the chloroform a few minutes ago. I don’t think it’ll be much more than two hours or so now.’

  It seemed a very long two hours. Frank hovered about in the passage for some time. Then he stacked the dishes on the bench and began to wash them, but he dropped a plate when he thought he heard a noise from the bedroom. After he had picked up the broken pieces of china he sat at the table, idly fingering a corner of the tablecloth. He dropped the cloth guiltily when he saw the deep creases his twisting fingers had left in it.

  He had just decided to go outside for a while and try to find something, anything, to do when the bedroom door opened and he heard Edie softly calling him. He started up the passage at a run, but Edie put her finger to her lips and Frank went the rest of the way on tiptoe.

  ‘What’s happened? Is she all right?’ Frank asked, but one look at Edie’s face told him that all was well.

  ‘You’ve got a daughter, Frank,’ Edie said, beaming with happiness. ‘You can come in and see them, just for a minute.’ She opened the door wide for him. He walked over to the bed, holding his breath in anticipation.

  Lizzie lay back against the pillows. Her hair hung lank, much of it plastered to her scalp with perspiration. Her face was shiny and flushed with exertion, and her mouth could manage only a crooked smile. ‘You look beautiful,’ Frank told her. And he meant it.

  Tucked into the curve of Lizzie’s arm was a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle. Lizzie could hardly keep her eyes open, but they were shining with delight. ‘Look, Frank,’ she said, slurring her words as if her mouth would not quite obey her. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’

  Frank carefully turned down the top of the blanket and looked at his daughter. The baby’s unfocussed gaze wandered about the room; then, as if she suddenly became aware of her father’s presence, Frank found those blue eyes trained on him with what seemed a rather disapproving expression.

  ‘She looks as though she’s going to tell me off,’ he said, a bubble of relieved laughter welling up inside him. ‘She’s going to take after you, Lizzie.’ He carefully put his arms around both wife and daughter.

  ‘Careful, Frank, don’t squash her,’ Lizzie warned.

  ‘I won’t squash her.’ Indifferent to his audience, Frank lowered his face to Lizzie’s and planted a soft kiss on her waiting mouth.

  9

  June – December 1886

  Malcolm’s eyelids were drooping, and Amy laid him gently in his cradle. It was a relief to straighten up without his weight dragging at her; at seven months he was a sturdy-limbed child and big for his age. But it seemed to make Malcolm more contented if she carried him around as often as she could whenever he was awake. She was determined to be a good mother to him, and if that meant balancing him on one hip while she stirred a pot of soup, collected eggs, pulled carrots out of the garden, or performed any other tasks that could be done, albeit awkwardly, one-handed, she would manage somehow. Amy almost welcomed the difficulty. It was all part of trying to make up for the guilt of not having wanted Malcolm.

  She went outside to find Charlie for his afternoon tea. It was tempting to leave him to his own company, but he might be angry with her if she ‘forgot’ to call him. He had been in a foul temper for most of the day; the earthquakes had kept both of them awake during the early hours, and had disturbed Malcolm with their rough rocking of his cradle. Amy had had to sit shivering on the chair beside the bed holding Malcolm in her arms and soothing him back into drowsiness. It would have been much easier to take him into bed with her; but that was against the rules. That might make the boy soft.

  And what a sight had greeted them when daylight came. ‘That muck will kill every blade of grass!’ Charlie had said, aghast. He had proceeded to track large quantities of ‘that muck’ over the floor as he went in and out of the house, swearing all the time. By lunch-time he had calmed down somewhat, but was still muttering under his breath about grazing. Amy had considered putting Malcolm on his father’s lap; that usually softened Charlie’s manner. But today Charlie seemed too sour for even Malcolm’s influence to do any good, and there was always the risk that Malcolm might bring up some milk or soil his napkin. Charlie was in no mood to take that indignity calmly.

  A faint, high-pitched sound caught her attention; Amy stopped and listened for a moment. Yes, it was Jane’s voice. She and Harry were having one of their rows. They were already becoming proverbial in the valley for their fiery, though short-lived, altercations, and such small details as a night of earthquakes followed by an ash-covered morning would not distract them. Lizzie claimed that when the wind was right she could hear them from her home at the mouth of the valley, but Amy was sure that must be an exaggeration.

  Amy shook her head over her brother and sister-in-law’s mystifying relationship. When they were not hurling abuse they seemed so fond of each other; embarrassingly so at times. It was almost as though they enjoyed fighting. Perhaps they did; though Amy was sure it must be costing Harry a fortune to keep replacing all the china Jane delighted in throwing at him.

  Charlie was in a paddock not far from the house, where some cows were nosing disconsolately at wisps of dried grass half-buried in the ash. ‘Look at this hay,’ he said, pointing to the ground at his feet. ‘Half of it trodden into this muck—the cows’ll never eat it now.’

  ‘No,’ Amy agreed. ‘But they must have had a fair bit before they started treading it in.’

  ‘The
y still look half-starved.’

  ‘Couldn’t you give them some more?’ She had not thought her remark would annoy him, but Charlie turned on her and slapped her across the side of the head; a casual blow using his palm rather than the back of his hand, more to express his irritation than to punish her for speaking out of turn.

  ‘Silly bitch,’ he grumbled. ‘Are you saying I should give them a week’s worth of hay?’

  It didn’t hurt much. Certainly not enough for her to risk annoying Charlie more by letting herself cry. ‘No. I’m sorry I said the wrong thing. I didn’t think. Would you like some afternoon tea now?’

  ‘What am I going to do when the hay runs out? Well?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve made scones.’

  ‘There won’t be any new grass coming on. What am I going to feed my cows on?’

  I expect you’ll have to buy some feed. But Charlie did not like her to talk about money. ‘They’re date scones.’

  ‘I’ll have to sell some of the calves as soon as they’re born. I wanted to build up my herd this year, now I’ve got the boy to think about. I’ve got to keep you fed and clothed too, you know.’

  Why don’t you wait and see if the grass does start growing? You could always send some of the cows away for grazing, just till the ground comes right. That ash can’t be everywhere. But you don’t really want to hear what I think. ‘I’ve put jam and cream on them.’

  ‘Stop going on about your bloody scones.’ He looked as though he was considering giving her another slap, but Amy had carefully stepped a little out of his range. ‘What sort of jam?’

  ‘Strawberry.’ His favourite. Food was something she could usually rely on to soften Charlie’s harsher moods. After sixteen months of marriage she knew all his likes and dislikes; and Charlie was, after so many years of living alone, a fussy eater and reluctant to try new things. But cooking was not something Amy found difficult, and after preparing meals for three men and a far fussier Susannah it was no hardship to cater to Charlie’s finicky appetite. That particular hunger was readily satisfied; she only wished the other one could be so easily sated.

  ‘All right, I’ll come and have some. Can’t do much good out here.’ He kicked idly at a fallen branch and started back to the house, with Amy keeping up as best she could.

  They had almost reached the back door when the noise of hooves on the road, muffled slightly by the ash, caught their attention. Amy recognised Frank approaching at a gentle trot.

  ‘What’s that idiot coming up here for?’ Charlie grumbled. Amy wondered if he was worried he might have to share his scones. ‘He should be sorting out his farm, same as me.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s about Lizzie. I hope everything’s all right.’

  As soon as Frank was close enough for her to see his expression, Amy knew that all was very well indeed. He jumped off his horse before it had quite stopped moving, and knotted the reins hurriedly around the top rail of a fence before running over to where Amy and Charlie stood watching him. His face was glowing as the words tumbled out.

  ‘I’ve just been up to Arthur’s to tell him the news—I saw you in the paddock just before, so I came up for a minute—I knew Lizzie would want me to tell you, Amy.’ Frank stopped and caught his breath. ‘I’m a father,’ he said, his wonder at the fact making his voice shake. ‘We’ve got a little girl.’

  ‘Oh, Frank, that’s lovely news,’ Amy said. ‘And they’re all right? Lizzie and the baby?’

  ‘They’re… they’re wonderful. It’s a bit before the proper time, but Edie says the little one’s perfect. Only six pounds, but healthy and strong. A daughter.’ Frank’s eyes were bright.

  Charlie cleared his throat. ‘Well, you’ll maybe have a son next time,’ he said magnanimously.

  ‘Eh?’ Frank looked at him blankly. ‘Next time? I haven’t got over the shock of this time yet!’ He grinned, then let out a laugh. ‘I just feel so… so happy!’ Before she realised what he was doing, Frank took hold of Amy’s shoulders and kissed her on the mouth.

  The kiss was over before Amy had the chance to pull her face away. She took a step back when Frank released her, not daring to look at Charlie.

  ‘I’ve got to get home, they might wake up soon, then I’ll be able to see them again.’ Frank was already striding back to his horse. When Amy risked a glance, she could see that Charlie was too stunned by Frank’s audacity to protest. For the moment, anyway.

  ‘What? Oh, yes… give my love to Lizzie, Frank. Tell her I’ll come and see her as soon as I can.’ Amy’s voice shook a little, but she knew Frank would not notice.

  Amy closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what her punishment might be, then opened them to see Charlie looming over her. He looked as angry as she had feared he would. She waited for him to start shouting at her, but for a long moment he was silent. That was even more frightening than shouting.

  His voice when it came at last was a low growl. ‘Is that the way of it? Did Frank Kelly practice on you before he started courting? Eh? Tried it out on a whore before he went looking for a decent woman to wed?’

  ‘N-no,’ Amy stammered.

  ‘Am I the laughing-stock of this town? Did every boy between here and Ruatane get between your legs?’

  ‘Please don’t, Charlie, please. I don’t know what to say when you talk like that.’

  ‘Bitch!’ he shouted. His fist caught her a blow on the side of her head that sent Amy sprawling. She raised herself onto her hands and knees, her ears ringing from the knock, and looked up to see Charlie standing over her, red-faced with rage. He reached down and took hold of her bodice front to haul her to her feet. He yanked at the fabric, forcing Amy to stand on tiptoe, and lowered his own face till it was close to hers. ‘Tell me the truth. Has Frank Kelly been in you? Don’t lie to me, woman.’

  ‘Frank’s never touched me before. I swear it, Charlie, I swear it’s true.’ She hurried on, trying desperately to convince him. ‘Frank never seemed very interested in girls. He didn’t even court Lizzie—she courted him.’ She knew that was not very loyal to Lizzie and Frank, but her own need was more urgent.

  Charlie’s hold on her bodice relaxed, and Amy staggered backwards, barely regaining her balance in time to stop herself from falling. ‘That sounds true enough. He doesn’t look as if he ever had the gumption to get a woman for himself.’

  His face took on a disdainful expression. ‘All that fuss about a girl child! He maybe can’t father boys, a runt like him. It’s taken him long enough to get a bairn on her at all—they were wed only a couple of months after us, and the boy’s six months old already.’

  ‘Seven,’ Amy put in. ‘Malcolm’s seven months old now.’ She studied Charlie’s face carefully. Pride at his own prowess seemed to have overshadowed his anger; she had got off lightly, she decided. Her head was beginning to pound from his blow, but the spot was mostly covered by her hair. Except where his knuckles had ground against her cheekbone it would not leave a visible bruise; she would only have to hide her face from other people for a few days. ‘I think I was with child the first week we were married.’

  ‘No sense wasting time,’ Charlie said loftily. But he had not forgotten that kiss; Amy saw the resentment in his face as his eyes narrowed. ‘Did you enjoy that? Did you like him kissing you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Amy assured him.

  ‘Why not? He wears trousers, that’s all you’re interested in, isn’t it? Why didn’t you like it?’

  ‘I don’t want other men kissing me.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Amy shook her head vehemently. He brought his face close to hers again. ‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ he asked in a low voice.

  What do I say? ‘If… if you want to.’

  ‘What do you want?’ he pressed.

  Amy struggled for words that would not make him angry but would still be the truth. ‘I want to please you. That’s all.’ She waited for Charlie’s reply; when none came she dared to speak again. ‘Can I go inside now, please?’ She took hi
s continued silence as permission.

  Charlie followed her into the kitchen. Amy filled the teapot and carried it to the table, aware of his eyes on her. Perhaps she had not got off so lightly after all. She felt his heavy tread on the floor behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her round to face him, then took hold of one of her heavy, milk-filled breasts through the thick fabric that covered them and squeezed it hard, at the same time pressing his mouth against hers. His beard rasped against her face. He smelt of tobacco and sweat. Not now, Amy begged silently. Don’t make me go to bed now. Not in the daytime. Not so I’ll have to look at you.

  He let go of her and stood upright, towering over her. ‘Did you like that?’

  I hated it. But it was his right to do as he wished, and her duty to try and please him. ‘I’m your wife. I want whatever you want.’

  Charlie made a growling noise in his throat and sat down heavily at the table. Amy knew her response had not satisfied him, but affection was not like obedience. Fear and duty were not enough to make her feel whatever it was he wanted from her.

  She poured the tea and put a cup in front of Charlie, along with the promised scones. At least he was not going to force her into bed then and there. That part of the punishment would not come till evening.

  He had seemed so troubled earlier about the effects of the ash on his pasture that Amy was startled when Charlie announced after he had finished his snack that he was going into town.

  ‘What for?’ she asked.

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘But… it’s nearly four o’clock. I thought you wanted to check all the fences and see if they’re all right after the earthquakes. You won’t have time if you go out.’