Mud and Gold

by Shayne Parkinson

  By the time he reached home Frank had decided a straightforward approach would be best. After all, Ben was his brother, not the wary father of a young girl. Ben would be all right. He’d tell Ben while they were milking.

  But during milking Ben’s attention was so taken up with the cows that Frank was reluctant to distract him, and perhaps annoy him. Over dinner might be a better time.

  Then again, perhaps after dinner. Ben would be in a good mood when he had a full stomach, Frank thought as he gnawed at a chop. It seemed a particularly tough chop, and Frank remembered the tasty stew he had had for lunch. The chops didn’t seem the kind of food to put anyone into a good mood. When should he bring up the subject? After Ben had had a cup of tea? When he started reading the paper? Why not right now?

  Frank watched Ben hack another slice of bread from the loaf, then took a deep breath and spoke before he had time to change his mind.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of news, Ben.’

  ‘Uh?’ Ben grunted, showing more interest in his piece of bread and butter.

  ‘Yes. Good news.’ Ben was looking expectantly at him now. ‘It’s about Lizzie.’

  Ben’s eyes narrowed. ‘That girl? What about her?’

  ‘Lizzie and me are going to get married.’ There, it was said.

  Ben’s mouth dropped open, and he looked at Frank in stunned silence for several seconds. ‘You bloody idiot!’ he said, finding his voice at last. ‘What the hell do you want to do a fool thing like that for?’

  This was not going well. ‘Calm down, Ben. There’s no need to go crook about it.’

  ‘You’ve asked her, have you? It’s too late to get out of it?’ Ben pressed.

  ‘I don’t want to get out of it! I want to get married. It’ll be really good to have a woman around the place.’

  ‘Why? What’s so good about having a woman telling you what to do?’

  ‘She’ll make things nice. She’ll clean the place up—we won’t have to bother with washing and dishes and things any more. She’s a really good cook, too. No more tough chops.’

  ‘What’s wrong with my chops?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with them, but Lizzie cooks roasts and things, and she makes beaut puddings.’

  ‘Make things nice, will she?’ Ben said in disgust. ‘What, cloths on the table, I suppose? Leave your boots at the door and all that rubbish. Frilly things lying around. Ugh.’

  This was an aspect that had not occurred to Frank. But he would gladly put up with cloths on the table if it meant not having to eat out of saucepans. And mention of frilly things made him imagine Lizzie’s underwear. He wondered just what she kept hidden under those long skirts of hers. He would find out soon.

  ‘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 lik
e.’ 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.’

  It felt the most lavish praise anyone had ever given her. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ Amy said. She smiled hesitantly at Charlie and watched him eat several more slices before he even started on his bacon and eggs. I’ve done something he likes. I’m learning.

  After the success of her bread, Amy felt brave enough to rattle off a long list when Charlie asked what she needed from town later that morning. She stopped when she noticed he was looking incredulous.

  ‘What do you want all that stuff for?’ he asked. ‘What do you need hops for? And caustic soda?’

  ‘Hops are for making yeast, and soda—’ she picked up a bar of soap that was lying on the bench. She had already noticed its suspiciously regular shape. ‘Do you buy this?’

  ‘I don’t get it out of a cow’s backside. Where do you think it comes from?’

  ‘It’s just that I always made it at home. I’m sure it’s cheaper making it myself. That’s what I need the soda for.’

  Charlie grunted. ‘Well, you can’t have all that stuff, anyway. Tell me two things you really need.’ That was discouraging, but Amy resigned herself to building up her kitchen stocks gradually over a few months.

  When the evening meal was over, Charlie announced, ‘We’re going to church tomorrow. My mare’s quiet enough, you can ride her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t ride a horse, Charlie.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I used to see you riding to school, years ago.’

  Fancy him remembering that. It was so long ago—I was only twelve when I finished school. ‘I used to ride like a boy then—you know, just throw a blanket across the horse and ride astride. But I can’t really do that now. And you haven’t got a side-saddle.’ She had already checked the shed that held Charlie’s tack.