Mud and Gold (4 page)

‘What are you grinning about?’ Ben asked.
‘That girl’s already got you dancing to her tune, eh?’

‘No!’ Frank protested. ‘Lizzie’s a really
nice girl, Ben. You’ll like her when you get to know her.’

‘Not bloody likely,’ Ben grumbled. ‘Well,
what’s she like, then? Is she the sort of woman who keeps her mouth
shut? I don’t want some rowdy woman wagging her tongue all day
long.’

‘Oh, Lizzie’s not a noisy person,’ Frank
assured him. That was true enough, he told himself. No one would
call Lizzie quiet, but it wouldn’t be fair to call her noisy. After
all, she never seemed to shout. She just never stopped talking.
Perhaps he could have a word with her, and tell her not to say too
much around Ben.

‘Will she do as she’s told?’

‘Ahh…’ Frank hesitated, reluctant to tell an
outright lie.

‘You’d better keep her in line, Frank. No
woman’s going to rule this place while I’m here. You get her sorted
out right from the start.’

‘Lizzie’ll be all right, don’t you worry.’
He really would have to have a word with Lizzie.

‘She might be all right if you show her
who’s boss. I’m warning you, if she doesn’t behave I’ll sort her
out myself.’

‘What are you talking about, Ben?’

‘If you’re too stupid to keep the little
bitch in line—’

‘Don’t call my wife a bitch!’ Frank
interrupted angrily. ‘And you can keep your hands off her,
too.’

‘I don’t want the little tart,’ Ben snarled.
‘You can tumble her all you want. Dunno why you can’t go to the
whorehouse if you’re that desperate for a woman.’

‘Shut up!’ Frank shouted. ‘I’m going to
marry Lizzie, and you’ll just have to put up with it. And if
there’s any sorting out to be done I’ll do it myself. You can shut
up about whorehouses, too.’ As if he would go to a place like that
and have his ignorance laughed at by bold-faced women. It was going
to be hard enough with Lizzie, and he knew she wouldn’t laugh at
him.

‘Shit,’ Ben spat. ‘You’ve been bloody well
sucked in, haven’t you?’

‘It’s my look out if I have.’ Frank took a
deep breath and unclenched his fingers from the edge of the table.
‘Just calm down, Ben. You’ll get used to it, and it’s too late to
row about it, anyway.’

‘Huh!’ Ben grunted. ‘Too bloody late. A
woman around the place!’ He cut himself another slice of bread and
stabbed at the slab of butter. ‘She’d better not try telling me
what to do.’

*

Charlie rose from the breakfast table and
went out, leaving Amy with the sense of relief his absence already,
after only two days of marriage, gave her. When she had washed the
dishes she looked around her kitchen in frustration. There really
was nothing in it to make anything very tasty with. Charlie had
told her he would go into town for supplies the next day, but in
the meantime she couldn’t even make something as simple as scones
without so much as a bit of baking powder. And she was tired of
stale shop bread, but she couldn’t make bread without yeast. There
was only one thing for it: she would have to borrow a few things
from Susannah. She loosened her hair on one side and pulled a lock
forward to cover the bruise Charlie’s back-hander had left, then
set out.

As she clambered over the boundary fence Amy
reflected that if corsets were uncomfortable simply to stand around
in, they were doubly so when climbing fences.

It was a strange feeling to be back on her
father’s farm and not be allowed to think of it as home. Charlie’s
house wasn’t home; it was merely where she had to live now.

Susannah was rolling out scone dough while
the little boys scoffed handfuls of raisins. She looked up when the
door opened, and when she saw it was Amy an uneasy expression
flitted across her face.

Thomas and George rushed over and demanded
cuddles. Amy knelt and gave them each a squeeze, then straightened
up and turned to Susannah.

‘I’ve only come to borrow a few things,’ she
said. ‘Just until Charlie goes into town. I haven’t got much in the
kitchen yet.’

‘Oh,’ Susannah said, clearly relieved.
‘That’s all right then, help yourself.’

‘I need some baking powder, and a few of
those raisins if you can spare them?’

‘If these monsters have left any—oh, you’ve
been treading them into the floor, you horrible little
creatures—don’t pick them up and eat them, George, that’s
disgusting.’ She slapped George’s hand away.

Amy picked the guilty raisins off the floor
and dropped them into the slops bucket. ‘Could I take a bottle of
yeast?’

‘I’m not sure if I’ve got much left, and I
hate making it.’

‘You’ve got lots. I made a big batch the
other day so you wouldn’t have to bother for a while. See?’ Amy
opened a cupboard and pointed to the row of bottles.

‘Did you? I hadn’t noticed. Take one,
then.’

Amy took a bottle of yeast, then found two
empty jars and spooned a little baking powder into one and put a
handful of raisins in the other.

‘Do you want anything else?’ Susannah
asked.

‘I don’t think so—oh, I know! Can I take a
few cloves?’ An apple pie made spicy with cloves; Amy was sure
Charlie would like that. Everyone seemed to like apple pies, and
Amy knew she made good ones.

‘Take as many as you like.’ Susannah watched
Amy stow her jars into the large front pocket of her apron.

‘Amy, come and see,’ Thomas said, taking
hold of her hand.

‘Come and see what, Tommy?’

‘Come and see,’ he insisted. Amy let herself
be pulled through the door into the passage.

‘See?’ Thomas said proudly, leading Amy
through the door of her old bedroom. ‘I got my own room now!’

‘So you have, Tommy,’ Amy said, fighting
back tears. A few toys were lying on the floor, and some of
Thomas’s clothes were on the bed.

Susannah followed them into the room. ‘I
thought Thomas was old enough to move out of our room. I’ll put
George in here with him in a few months.’

‘You can sleep in my bed with me,’ Thomas
said, beaming up at Amy.

‘No, I can’t, Tommy.’ This time Amy could
not hide the catch in her voice. ‘I’ve got another bedroom
now.’

‘Don’t you want to sleep with me?’ There was
disappointment in the little boy’s voice.

‘Shh, that’s enough of that,’ Susannah cut
in. ‘Come out of here, Thomas, I don’t want you making this room
any more untidy than it is.’ She took hold of Thomas’s arm and led
him back to the kitchen, with Amy following at their heels. ‘Do you
want to have a cup of tea before you go home, Amy?’

Amy pictured herself sitting at the familiar
table in the comfortable kitchen. ‘Thank you. But I’d better get
back. Charlie’ll want a cup of tea himself soon.’

‘Where you going, Amy?’ Thomas asked.

‘She’s going home. Don’t you go making a
fuss, Thomas,’ Susannah said. ‘Amy will come back and visit soon.
Here, have some more raisins.’

With Thomas successfully distracted,
Susannah walked Amy to the door. ‘Your hair looks rather odd
hanging down on one side like that, Amy—here, I’ll tidy it for
you.’

‘Don’t,’ Amy said, but it was too late.
Susannah lifted the stray lock, revealing Amy’s bruised cheek.

‘I see.’ Susannah let the hair drop. ‘That
didn’t take long, did it? What did you get that for?’

Amy looked down at the floor. ‘Burning
breakfast.’

‘Is that all? I thought you might have done
something silly, like tried to fight him off. He is difficult,
isn’t he? You’ll have to be more careful.’

‘I know,’ Amy said through clenched teeth.
‘Please don’t tell Pa.’

‘Of course I won’t. He’d only go making a
fool of himself. It’s none of his business now, anyway.’

‘It won’t happen again, as long as I’m
careful,’ Amy said, trying to sound confident.
Charlie will like
the apple pie. Maybe he’ll even say something nice about
it
.

She walked back across the paddocks, holding
the bottle of yeast in one hand so it would not get too shaken
about. When she saw the back door standing open she was grateful
that she had refused Susannah’s offer of a cup of tea; Charlie had
come home a little early for his own.

Amy took her boots off in the porch and
hurried into the kitchen, vaguely taking in the fact that every
door in the house seemed to be open. ‘You haven’t been waiting
long, have you, Charlie? I’ve just—’

Charlie rushed at her and took hold of her
shoulders. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he roared.

‘I-I went next door,’ Amy stammered. His
face was wild with rage, but something else seemed mixed with his
anger. If the idea had not been so ridiculous, Amy might have
thought it was fear. ‘I needed to borrow a few things from
Susannah.’

‘Don’t you ever,’ he punctuated each word
with a shake that jerked Amy’s head painfully back and forth,
‘don’t you ever set foot off my land without asking me. I’ll not
have you roaming around wild. You
ask
me. You
understand?’

‘I d-didn’t know,’ Amy gasped out between
shakes. ‘I didn’t know I w-wasn’t allowed. I’m s-sorry.’

‘Your pa let you run around where you
pleased, didn’t he?’

‘Y-yes. I w-was allowed out b-by
myself.’

‘And look what you did! You found a man to
roll in the grass with. Didn’t you! I’ll not have you making a fool
of me, you little bitch.’ He gave her a hard shove, slamming her
against the wall. Her head snapped back, hitting the wall with a
thud, then her legs gave way under her and she slid to the floor,
still cradling the bottle of yeast in her hands.

Amy looked at the angry face glaring down at
her and watched it blur as tears of pain and bewilderment brimmed
in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I only wanted to make you
something nice for your dinner.’

Charlie’s enraged expression faltered.
‘That’s a poor excuse,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t wander off like
that again.’

‘I won’t.’

‘And for God’s sake stop bawling all the
time! I hardly touched you.’

Amy dried her tears on her apron, then
carefully picked herself up, wincing from the pain in her shoulder
blades, and placed her borrowings on a shelf before putting the
kettle on to boil. She didn’t make herself a cup; instead she
busied herself at the bench while Charlie drank his tea. That way
he would not see the tears that kept welling up afresh.

When she heard the back door close behind
him Amy poured herself some tea and sat down at the table. Her head
was beginning to throb from being banged against the wall, and
every movement made it hurt more.
I can’t please him. Whatever I
try just seems to annoy him. All these rules that I don’t know
about until I break them, then he hits me. What if it keeps getting
worse? What if I can’t bear it?
Her father’s house, such a
short run across the paddocks, made an enticing picture. What would
happen if she just took to her heels and ran home?
Pa wouldn’t
make me come back here, not if I told him Charlie hit me. I’d still
be married—I wonder if it would still count as making me
respectable if I didn’t live here
.

She took a gulp of the hot tea, hardly
noticing as it scalded her mouth.
I can’t do that. Charlie would
want to divorce me or something, and it would be a terrible
scandal. Anyway, I belong to Charlie now, and if he said he wanted
me Pa would have to give me back to him. Pa would be really upset
then
. She replaced the cup on its saucer, spilling a little as
her hand shook.
All those people who wanted me to back out of
it, and I was so sure I could bear it. Can I?

Amy picked up the spoon Charlie had left
beside his cup and stirred her tea, quite unnecessarily as there
was no sugar in it.
I’ll just have to bear it. There’s no use
being miserable. Things are awful, but they might get better when I
get more used to them. It’s always worst when it’s the first time.
Last night wasn’t as bad as the first time—well, he only did it
once instead of twice, so that was better, anyway. And I was so
tired that I went to sleep as soon as he finished. He only hits me
when I annoy him, so when I learn all the rules that won’t happen
any more. And he was right to be annoyed with me about going home.
I used to be allowed to go wherever I wanted, and I did sneak off
and do bad things with Jimmy. No wonder Charlie doesn’t trust me. I
don’t deserve to be trusted
. New tears welled up.
I hope I
can learn to be good. I hope he won’t hit me too much.

Charlie ate a generous share of the
golden-crusted apple pie without comment, but Amy was sure he had
enjoyed it. While he was still lingering over his second cup of
tea, she took the largest basin the kitchen held and put it on the
table. She measured flour into it along with a little sugar and
salt before carefully pouring in yeast from her borrowed bottle.
Charlie watched as Amy stirred in some lukewarm water and started
working the mixture.

‘Are you making bread?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ Amy shot a sideways look at him, and
was gratified to see interest in his face. ‘I’ll bake it in the
morning, then you can have some nice and fresh for breakfast.’

Amy got up next morning as soon as Charlie
had dressed and left the room. Her dough had risen beautifully
overnight. She gave it a good, long kneading and filled two loaf
pans. The loaves had risen and were ready for baking by the time
she had the range cleaned and heated and had gathered fresh eggs.
By the time Charlie came in for his breakfast Amy had turned the
golden brown loaves on to a rack.

The room smelt deliciously of fresh, warm
bread. Amy cut the first few slices, and Charlie took one and
buttered it. The butter melted into the bread as he lifted it to
his mouth. Charlie chewed his slice slowly, and Amy watched, hardly
daring to breathe. He reached for another slice, turned to her and
said, ‘That’s not bad bread. Not bad at all.’