Mud and Gold (80 page)

Photographing Jack and Susannah with Jack’s
five children was the next task. ‘I want my girl on this side,’
Jack instructed, patting the right arm of the chair Thomas had
carried out from the parlour for him. Amy sat down, took her
father’s hand in hers and squeezed it. Jack seemed to have put
whatever it was that he and Susannah had been arguing about out of
his mind. It was good to see her father happy, though Amy could not
help but notice how deeply the lines on his forehead and around his
eyes seemed to have been etched in the last few years. The
knowledge that her father was growing old sent a pang through her,
but she thrust it down. Today was a day for celebrating, not for
thinking mournful thoughts.

‘John, you stand here,’ said Jack. ‘You’re
the oldest. Harry, you stand beside Amy, and the little fellows can
sit on the grass in front of me.’ Susannah stood behind the chair,
resting her hand lightly on Jack’s shoulder, and Mr Hatfield took
several shots so as to be sure of success.

‘What about one with the kids?’ Harry said,
beckoning Jane over.

Jack agreed, declaring that he wanted a
picture of himself with all his descendants. Sophie and Jane
retrieved those of their children old enough to walk and lined up
for the photograph, and David ran over to stand beside Amy when he
saw his cousins lining up.

‘Do you want him in it?’ Jack asked Amy,
flicking his hand in Charlie’s direction. Charlie settled the issue
by refusing to participate, and no one seemed disappointed at his
absence.

Malcolm eyed the group dubiously and looked
reluctant to join in. ‘You ask him, Pa,’ Amy said when her attempts
at cajoling met with a defiant look. ‘He doesn’t take any notice of
me.’ She tried to ignore the disapproving sniff from Susannah.

‘Come on, Mal,’ said Jack. ‘We can’t have a
photo without you. You’re the most important fellow here.’

‘Am I?’ Malcolm asked, drifting a little
closer. ‘Why?’

‘Come and sit by me and I’ll tell you,’ Jack
encouraged. ‘I might even have a toffee in here somewhere.’ He
patted his jacket pockets.

‘Pa!’ Amy protested. ‘Mal doesn’t need
lollies, not after the feed he’s just had.’ She could not help
laughing at the sight of Malcolm letting himself be tempted by the
mention of sweets.

Malcolm came over to sit by Jack’s feet,
close to Thomas and George. ‘That’s the boy,’ Jack said. ‘Now, you
know why I’ve got to have you in my birthday picture?’ Malcolm
shook his head. ‘Because you’re my oldest grandchild, that’s
why!’

Jack slipped the promised toffee into
Malcolm’s hand, too engrossed to see that all trace of laughter had
been wiped from Amy’s face.
He’s not. He’s not your oldest
grandchild. Ann is. My little girl—my little Ann. Everyone pretends
you never happened
.

It took Amy some time to get her feelings
sufficiently under control to manage a shaky smile for the camera.
As soon as the photographs were finished she walked away from the
rest of the group to get what privacy she could. She wanted to run
away into the bush, to hide from everyone and fling herself down
beside the Waimarama to weep in solitude. But Charlie would follow
her, intent on retribution; she was not allowed to ‘wander’.
Instead she pretended to study with interest the climbing rose that
trailed up one side of the house, reaching out a hand to stroke the
small pink blooms that she could see only through a blur of
tears.

‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?’ Frank’s voice
close behind her made Amy jump. ‘We’ve got some like that at our
place.’

Amy blinked rapidly to clear the tears, and
wiped the back of her hand across her eyes before turning to face
Frank. He was leading Mickey by one hand, steadying the
two-year-old’s attempts to run.

‘I had to take Mickey around the back,’
Frank said. ‘All that lemonade he’s been drinking.’

Amy nodded, swallowed to clear the lump in
her throat, and knelt to straighten Mickey’s clothes, which Frank
had left twisted at the front after pulling the little boy’s
drawers closed. ‘That’s better, isn’t it, Mickey.’ She gave him a
kiss before standing up.

‘Thanks, Amy, I didn’t notice that,’ said
Frank.

‘Lizzie’s left you in charge of him, has
she?’

‘Mmm, just for a bit. She’s gone inside to
give Danny a feed. Boy, can that kid drink! He wants feeding all
the time. Lizzie says he’s slowing down now, though. It’s a good
thing, too—I reckon Lizzie was a bit more tired with him than she’s
been with the others. She’s all right now, but it took her a while
to come right. She had that trouble with sore legs, too, before
Danny arrived. Of course, he was a big baby,’ Frank added proudly.
‘The biggest of them all.’

‘Yes, he was,’ Amy agreed. ‘More like one of
my babies. He’s growing well, too.’

‘He sure is. He’s taken it out of Lizzie,
though. I think she should have a bit of a rest before the next
one.’

Amy was more touched that Frank trusted her
enough to share such a personal thought than embarrassed that he
should do so. She was about to rest her hand on his arm and say
something reassuring when she saw Charlie look up from his seat
near the beer barrel and stare at her through narrowed eyes.

She was too weary to think of some polite
excuse; the truth would have to do. ‘I’m sorry, Frank, I can’t talk
to you by myself—I’ll get in trouble if I do.’ She walked away
before he had the chance to reply.

Amy almost collided with Thomas and George
as they ran from the house wearing their everyday dungarees.

‘Watch out, you two.’ She lifted her arms as
if to fend off an attack. ‘Now, how did you talk Mother into
letting you put your old clothes on?’

‘We didn’t,’ George said. ‘Tom asked Pa, and
he said we could.’

‘But he said to keep out of Mother’s way, so
we’re going down to the creek,’ Thomas added. ‘You want to
come?’

Amy glanced over at Charlie, who seemed to
have once more lost interest in her now that she was only talking
to children. It was tempting to let the boys’ enthusiasm drive out
her dark mood. ‘I wouldn’t mind a paddle. I’d better not, though.
Uncle Charlie’s starting to look a bit tired, we might have to go
home soon.’

‘Come and see our tree house first, Amy,’
said Thomas. Amy let herself be tugged over to a large puriri that
had been left standing for the sake of the small amount of shade it
gave the lower part of the garden.

She admired the rough platform the boys had
made in the tree, but refused all attempts to persuade her to climb
up for a better look at it.

‘Ladies don’t climb trees,’ she told them.
‘Not in their good clothes, anyway,’ she added, remembering her
first clumsy attempts at rigging a clothesline.

The boys slithered down the trunk and
dropped to the ground beside her. ‘I’m going to have to stop
calling you my little brothers soon,’ Amy said, noticing how much
they had grown in the last few months. ‘You’re taller than me
now—even you, George. Sit down with me a minute before you go
rushing off to the creek—you won’t make me feel so little if we’re
sitting down.’

‘Where’s Ma?’ Thomas asked, looking
anxiously over at the guests.

‘She’s talking to Lily, see? Don’t worry,
she won’t think of looking for you for a bit. And don’t forget
you’re meant to say “Mother”.’

‘Only when she can hear,’ George said with a
scowl in his mother’s direction.

The three of them sat down with their backs
against the broad trunk. ‘Have you two had a falling out with
Mother?’ Amy asked.

‘Sort of,’ said Thomas.

‘Her and Pa had a big row last night,’
George volunteered. ‘It was about us.’

‘Mother wants to get rid of us, and Pa
doesn’t.’

‘Of course she doesn’t!’ Amy protested. ‘You
mustn’t say such things!’

‘She does,’ said George. ‘She wants to send
us away.’

‘Pa won’t let her, though,’ Thomas said. ‘He
says he wants us here with him.’

‘You two have been listening at the bedroom
wall again, haven’t you?’ said Amy. Both boys refused to meet her
eyes. ‘That’s how you’ve got such a silly idea in your heads. Now,
why would Mother want to send you away?’

‘To school,’ Thomas said. ‘She wants us to
go to Auckland, to a special school.’

‘A grandma school,’ George put in.

‘It’s not a grandma school,’ said Thomas.
‘It’s a word like that, but it’s not grandma.’

‘It is,’ George insisted. ‘Mother says we
could live with Grandma and Grandpa and go to a grandma
school.’

‘A grammar school, I think she must have
said,’ Amy suggested. ‘The Church of England Grammar School. That’s
in Auckland.’

‘Yes, that’s it!’ said Thomas.

‘Mother said that’d cure us of being rough
farm boys,’ said George. ‘She said a grammar school would teach us
to be young gentlemen.’ He pulled a face at the prospect.

Thomas looked puzzled. ‘Pa got really wild
then. He said, “Did your brother go there?” That’s Uncle Jimmy,’ he
explained to Amy, not noticing her sudden change of expression. ‘He
came to stay with us once when I was real little—I sort of remember
him, but George doesn’t. I think Mother said yes, but I couldn’t
hear her properly. Pa said he didn’t care for what they taught boys
at that school. He said he didn’t mind if people called his sons
rough, but they weren’t going to call us…’ he trailed off and
looked at Amy rather shamefacedly. ‘He said some bad words.’

‘I’m sure he did. He didn’t know your big
ears were flapping away, listening to their private talk. That’s
what comes of listening at the wall, Tom. You hear things you’ve no
business to.’

The boys were not used to having Amy speak
sharply to them, and Thomas’s bewildered expression sent a pang of
guilt through her. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, Tommy,’ she
said, giving the boy a quick squeeze. ‘I’m not really grumpy. Not
with you, anyway. But you shouldn’t listen to other people’s
business, you know.’

‘Isn’t it our business too?’ Thomas asked.
‘I mean, they’re talking about what they’re going to do with
us.’

‘And then you go hearing things you don’t
understand and getting all muddled about them. You’d be better off
waiting till Pa tells you the whole story.’

‘They talked about you, too,’ George put
in.

‘I’m sure they did.’ It would be difficult
for Jimmy to be dragged into the argument without her own name
coming up. ‘No, I
don’t
want to hear what they said about
me,’ Amy said, forestalling George’s attempts to enlighten her.
‘I’m quite sure you didn’t understand it, anyway. And don’t you go
listening to gossip about me, either, or I really will get grumpy
with you.’

‘Well, anyway, we’re not going to some
stupid school,’ George said.

‘No,’ Thomas agreed. ‘Anyone would think
we’re little kids. I’m going to finish school next year, then I’ll
work with Pa all the time,’ he said proudly.

‘Is that what you want, Tom?’ Amy asked.

‘Of course,’ said Thomas.

‘You wouldn’t like to go to a High School
and learn lots of interesting things?’

‘Pa knows all sorts of stuff about the farm
and all that. That’s what I want to learn.’

‘Me too,’ George put in. ‘Only I have to
wait two years,’ he added, screwing up his face. ‘She won’t be able
to tell us what to do once we’re working.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Thomas.

Amy studied their avid expressions. ‘That’s
what you really want, is it? To help Pa on the farm?’ They both
nodded vigorously. She gave them each a hug. ‘That’s good, then.
It’s good when people get to do what they want.’

*

Frank was freed from his baby-sitting task
when Lizzie returned from the house, a contented Danny in her arms.
He left Mickey with her and went to get himself a mug of beer.

He paused on the way to chat with Mr
Hatfield, interrupting the photographer’s attempts to pack his
equipment away.

‘Have you still got those pearls in your
shop?’ Frank asked, keeping his voice low so that no one else would
hear.

‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Hatfield said. ‘I’m not likely
to get rid of those. Sometimes I take them home with me of an
evening and keep them there for a change. If you don’t see them in
the window, that’s why.’

‘Well, don’t go selling them to anyone
else,’ said Frank. ‘I’m going to buy those off you one day, you
just wait. Lizzie’s going to have those pearls.’

Mr Hatfield gave him an indulgent smile.
‘Yes, I think I could bear to part with them to you. You’d give
them a good home.’

Despite his kind words, Frank knew that Mr
Hatfield thought there was little chance Frank would take him up on
the offer. It would be a long time, he admitted to himself, before
he would be able to afford fifty pounds for such a luxury, but he
was prepared to be patient.

Going to the beer barrel meant standing
closer to Charlie than he would have chosen, but the warmth of the
day and the several mugs he had downed earlier had left Frank
feeling too mellow to be particularly concerned. In fact he felt
ever so slightly dizzy, but the drowsiness the beer had given him
was more pleasant than otherwise. When he had filled his mug it
seemed too much of an effort to walk straight back to Lizzie;
instead he leaned against a tree trunk, from where he had a good
view of her with their two youngest children.

It was a pleasant sight. Danny lay on a rug
close to Lizzie, waving his plump little arms and legs around and
chortling to himself, while Mickey rested his head in Lizzie’s lap
with his eyes half closed. Lizzie stroked Mickey’s hair, her eyes
darting around keeping watch on the other three children. A lock
had escaped from beneath her bonnet to lie across her neck; it
glinted golden in the dappled sunlight. She looked very young and,
in Frank’s eyes at least, very beautiful.