Mud and Gold (20 page)

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.’

‘They 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 his
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.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do, you meddling
little bitch.’ He gave her a slap across the cheek. Amy was
grateful it wasn’t her sore one.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. When
do you think you’ll be home?’

‘Don’t know,’ he said shortly.

‘It’s just that…’ Amy knew she was risking
another slap, but Charlie hated to be kept waiting for his meals.
Having his dinner ready late was a worse risk. ‘I wondered when I
should have dinner ready.’

‘I mightn’t be home for dinner.’

‘What?’ That startled her even more. Charlie
had never been out at dinner time before.

‘Are you deaf as well as stupid? I might be
home for dinner, I might not.’

Charlie was not home for dinner. Amy kept
the food warm until seven o’clock before eating her own, and it was
almost eight before he returned. He smelt of beer and of something
else Amy could not quite identify, though it seemed familiar, and
she guessed that he had eaten at one of the hotels. But she asked
no questions, knowing how prying would be rewarded, even though the
looks Charlie cast at her as he ate half a plateful of the food she
warmed for him almost seemed to be daring her to say something. He
looked as though he could not make up his mind whether to be angry
or to lord over her whatever secret he was holding.

That night she was almost as astonished as
she had been by Charlie’s strange outing when, instead of groping
for her in the darkness, Charlie rolled over and went straight to
sleep, his loud snores soon punctuating the silence of the bedroom.
It must be the beer
, she decided. Not that beer usually had
that effect on him.