Mud and Gold

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘It must do,’ Amy said tartly. ‘They seem to want to do it often enough.’

  ‘I know! For a while there I was so tired! Frank never seemed to want to sleep.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He’s a bit better now, but not much. He’s terrible,’ she said, a fond smile on her face.

  ‘That was enough, wasn’t it? You must know whether you’re doing it right or not.’

  ‘I thought we were. It did hurt the first time—it hurt a lot! I was ready for it, I was sure I could keep quiet when it happened, ’cause I knew Frank would get upset if I let on that it hurt me. Hurt a bit! It really hurt, Amy. And I let out a yell like a pig having its throat cut. I was so annoyed with myself. Oh, Frank was so upset. He sort of jumped away from me and started going on about how it was all his fault, he’d hurt me, he didn’t want to hurt me, he should have gone somewhere and found out how—I don’t know what he meant by that. It took me ages to shut him up and get it into his head that it was meant to hurt. Then he said that wasn’t fair on me. So I told him that’s how he could know it was the first time for me. I think he quite liked that.’

  ‘He would,’ Amy said quietly, but Lizzie was in full flow and carried on as if she had not heard.

  ‘I finally convinced him it wouldn’t hurt me again and he should have another go. It was all right after that. But then, wouldn’t you know it? The next week what should come along but my bleeding. Just when we’d really got the hang of it. I asked Ma what I should tell Frank. “Just say it’s not convenient,” she said. “He’ll know what you mean.” How on earth was Frank supposed to know that? I said it anyway, and Frank looked all sort of hurt. “I wish you’d just tell me if you don’t like it, Lizzie,” he said. So then I had to tell him I was bleeding down there. What a fuss that caused! Frank started going on again about how he’d done it wrong and damaged me. I had to put my hand on my heart and swear it was normal for women before he’d believe me.’ Lizzie gave a sigh. ‘And the bleeding’s been coming back every month ever since!’

  Amy looked at her in amazement. ‘Frank’s awfully sweet to you, Lizzie. You’re a very lucky woman.’ I mustn’t feel sorry for myself. I’ve no right to. ‘It sounds to me like you two are doing it right. Just be patient.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just tell me how it’s done?’ Lizzie wheedled. ‘Just so’s I could be sure? Please?’

  ‘No. That’s enough about it, Lizzie.’ Amy tried to sound firm.

  Lizzie looked crestfallen. ‘Well, if you won’t tell me I suppose I’ll have to ask Ma. I’ll have to tell her we might be doing it wrong. I don’t want to do that, Amy. She’s sure to tell Pa, then he’ll take Frank aside and have a talk to him. Frank would be so embarrassed if Pa did that—imagine having his father-in-law find out he’s been married six months and still doesn’t know what he’s doing. Frank hates people laughing at him. I sort of forgot that for a bit, but Frank reminded me.’ Lizzie sighed heavily. ‘I’ll have to ask her, though, if you won’t tell me.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake! All right, I’ll tell you if you’ll just shut up about it afterwards. You lie on your back and the man gets on top of you, then he sticks that thing up between your legs and moves about.’ Amy gave a shudder at the memory. ‘And the next thing you know you’re the size of a house. Are you satisfied?’

  ‘Yes!’ Lizzie looked delighted. ‘That’s just what we do! And that’s really all there is to it?’ Amy nodded. ‘So do you think I’ll have a baby soon?’

  ‘I expect you will, Lizzie. You’re pretty good at getting what you want.’

  *

  Amy had not thought it possible for her to become any more uncomfortable, but she continued to grow bigger and more awkward. With the end of October the memory of Ann’s birth, never far from her mind, became stronger, and with it the pain of loss. She spent the second of November weeping for her little girl, now one year old, whenever she was alone. Charlie frowned at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes, but said nothing.

  ‘Don’t you dare come today,’ Amy murmured over and over to the creature causing her such discomfort. ‘Don’t you dare take Ann’s birthday.’

  But the day passed with no sign of labour. Another week went by before Amy felt a sharp twinge one morning while she was cooking breakfast. She brushed it off as the baby moving, though she had not felt it move for the previous day or two. But the spasm was followed by another, half an hour later, then another while Charlie was loading milk cans onto his cart.

  It’s started. Amy was sure it would be many hours before the baby arrived, and Charlie had to get his milk to the factory or it would spoil, so she sat quietly until she heard the cart rattle away down the road. Then she hastily assembled the clothes she thought she would need and wrapped them in a large shawl, placing the whole in her drawstring bag. She put her cloak beside the bundle; the sky looked grey and threatening, and she might need the cloak’s shelter while Charlie took her into town.

  Charlie had refused to accept the idea of a strange woman’s staying in his house and running the household, even to deliver his precious child, so Edie had helpfully arranged for Amy to stay with Mrs Coulson, a maternity nurse who occasionally took women from particularly isolated farms into her house for their confinements. Amy barely knew Mrs Coulson by sight. As she carried her bundle out to the kitchen she wondered what the nurse would be like. She’ll probably be horrible, she thought with a shudder, remembering Sister Prescott’s rough handling. A wave of pain gripped her, and she forgot about everything else.

  When Amy heard Charlie return from the factory, she walked awkwardly to the door and called to him. Charlie took one look at her face and ran over.

  ‘It’s started?’

  ‘Yes. I think you’d better take me into town now.’

  Amy put on her cloak, then stood and watched as Charlie unharnessed the horse from the spring cart and let it out into the horse paddock. He did not bother to take the empty milk cans off the cart; they tipped over noisily as it tilted. He caught a fresh horse and harnessed it to his new gig, then hoisted Amy’s bundle onto the seat and helped her climb in.

  It was the first time Amy had ridden in the gig. Charlie had proudly brought it home a few weeks before, announcing that Mr Winskill had said it was just the thing now Charlie was a family man.

  ‘I’ll maybe need a bigger carriage as more bairns come along,’ Charlie had said, ‘but this one’ll do for now. It’ll carry you and me with a couple of little ones.’

  The gig was solid enough, but Amy soon found that its builder had not been generous with springs. It was far bumpier than her father’s buggy. As they jolted their way along the beach Amy’s contractions merged into the bone-shaking bumps until the whole ride seemed one continuous labour pain. The only respite came when the heavens opened, drenching them within moments, and Charlie stopped to remove his own coat and place it over Amy’s head and shoulders.

  ‘You’ll get cold, Charlie,’ Amy protested feebly, but he ignored her.

  The rain had turned into drizzle by the time they pulled up in front of a neat little house with a tiny flower garden, close to the centre of Ruatane. Amy clambered out of the gig with Charlie’s help, and waited while he lifted her bundle off the seat. She walked beside him up to the gate, but when Charlie pushed it open Amy froze in fear. Suddenly she could not bear the thought of walking up that path and into a stranger’s house to be pushed and bullied and abused; to lie screaming on a hard bed with no sympathy, only contempt; to abandon herself to the pain that was surely worse than dying could ever be.

  The door of the house opened, and a wiry-looking grey-haired woman of about fifty came out onto the verandah. ‘Mrs Stewart?’ she called. ‘Hurry up, dear, come inside out of this wet.’ She smiled encouragingly at Amy, but Amy remembered the smile Sister Prescott had given her under Jack’s watchful gaze. She was sure this woman’s apparent kindness was for Charlie’s benefit.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Charlie said irritably. ‘What are you doing, standing there like an idiot?’

/>   ‘I’m scared,’ Amy whispered. She reached a hand towards Charlie’s sleeve. At least he was familiar.

  But Charlie was not someone to cling to. Amy let her hand drop, and did not resist when Charlie took her by the elbow and propelled her up the path.

  Mrs Coulson held the door open until they were in a small passage. She tut-tutted over Amy’s sodden state.

  ‘Never mind, dear, I’ll soon have you warm and dry. Now, Mr Stewart, off you go home. I don’t want you under my feet.’

  Amy waited for Charlie to erupt in fury, but Mrs Coulson’s matter-of-fact orders left him dumbfounded. He retrieved his coat from Amy’s shoulders, walked to the door, then turned and asked, ‘When do I come back?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning’s soon enough. I expect we’ll have a little someone for you to meet by then. Goodbye, Mr Stewart.’ She gave Charlie a small shove out towards the rain and closed the door firmly behind him, then turned to Amy.

  ‘Let’s get these wet things off you, my dear,’ she said brightly. ‘Oh, what a frightened little face! Don’t worry, we’ll soon have you comfortable.’ Mrs Coulson slipped an arm around Amy’s shoulders, and Amy gave a shudder. She backed away from Mrs Coulson, whimpering in fear.

  ‘Goodness me, you are frightened, aren’t you, dear? Has some old woman been telling you terrible stories? Don’t you take any notice—some women enjoy frightening young girls like you. It won’t be as bad as all that. Come on, sweetheart.’

  Amy tried to take another step backwards, but a powerful contraction gripped her. She clutched her belly and moaned, then leaned against Mrs Coulson and let the woman lead her a short way down the passage and into a bedroom.

  Mrs Coulson sat her on the edge of the bed and deftly removed Amy’s shoes and stockings. Amy let her do as she wished. If she closed her eyes she could imagine it was her grandmother undressing her for bed, until another shaft of pain brought her back to the present.

  ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ she asked when the pain subsided enough to let her speak.

  ‘Now, why shouldn’t I be?’ Mrs Coulson said with a laugh. ‘Aren’t people usually nice to you? Put your arms up, darling.’

  Mrs Coulson undressed her, then got the nightdress out of Amy’s bundle and helped her into it.

  ‘There we are, now we can get on with things. Lie back, sweetheart.’ Amy lay on the bed and lifted her knees, then let them drop outwards. ‘That’s a good girl,’ Mrs Coulson said. ‘I’m going to have a little look to see how you’re going, you tell me if I hurt you.’ But she didn’t hurt. Her touch was firm but gentle, and Amy found it almost comforting.

  Mrs Coulson stood back from Amy and raised her eyebrows. ‘My goodness, dear, it’s a good thing you didn’t leave it much longer getting here. You’re well on the way. Why did you wait so long?’

  ‘I-I didn’t want to be any trouble. My husband was busy with the milk, and I thought nothing would happen for hours and hours.’

  ‘You were wrong there! Another hour or two, three at the most, that’s all. And you would have troubled your husband a lot more if he’d had to deliver your child out on the road.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Amy began, then she cried out as pain gripped her.

  ‘Never mind, dear, you’re here now. Lie still for a bit, I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

  She disappeared from the room and came back holding a thick pad of cloth over a dark brown bottle, just as Amy let out a shriek of pain. ‘Yes, poor little thing, it hurts, doesn’t it?’ Mrs Coulson crooned. ‘Don’t be frightened, this’ll make the pain go away. Take a deep breath.’ She tilted the bottle for a moment, turned it upright and replaced its cork, then held the pad close to Amy’s face.

  ‘What’s that? Is that chloroform?’

  ‘That’s right, darling. Come on, don’t twist your face away.’

  The pain was making it hard to think. Amy struggled to concentrate on Mrs Coulson’s kind face, but it kept fading into Sister Prescott’s grim scowl of disapproval. ‘I thought I couldn’t have that. I thought it had to hurt.’

  Mrs Coulson suddenly looked fierce, and Amy cringed, but her anger was directed elsewhere. ‘Is that what the old women have been saying to you?’ she demanded. ‘Just because they suffered in childbirth they want every woman to, and they tell girls like you that the good Lord meant women to suffer. They’re wrong, child. I had my first three with nothing to take the pain away, and I’ve blessed the Lord for this wonderful thing every day since I bore my fourth with hardly more pain than cutting my finger. This is God’s gift to women.’

  ‘I’m not allowed,’ Amy said, desperately longing to take hold of that cloth and the relief it promised.

  ‘Who said you’re not allowed? Did your husband tell you that? You can be sure he’d be yelling for the chloroform if he had a broken leg that needed setting. I’ll tell you what, my dear—the day a man bears a child is the day I’ll take notice of any man’s opinion on the subject. Anyway, I won’t tell him and you won’t either. Come on now, be a good girl.’ She held the pad over Amy’s face just as a sharp pain made Amy cry out louder than ever.

  Amy gasped for air and felt a delicious numbness creep over her body. She breathed deeply again and again until the pad was taken away. ‘It doesn’t hurt now,’ she said in wonder. She closed her eyes and savoured the strange, floating feeling that had taken hold of her in place of the pain.

  She was still unconscious two hours later when a lusty cry broke the silence of the room. ‘A fine big boy,’ Mrs Coulson murmured to herself. ‘That should cheer the poor, frightened little thing.’

  7

  November – December 1885

  This was the strangest dream Amy had ever had. She struggled to wake from it, but hands seemed to be pulling her down into the thick darkness. There were muffled noises around her; they slowly resolved into voices, and even more slowly into audible speech.

  ‘Come on, darling,’ a voice said. ‘Time to wake up now.’

  Granny? Is that Granny calling me? Have I slept in? I’ll be late for school. I mustn’t be late, Miss Evans said I could start on the new reading book today.

  She felt a hand patting her cheek. ‘Wake up, dear.’

  It’s not Granny. Granny’s dead. I don’t want to wake up.

  ‘Open your eyes, darling. You want to see your baby, don’t you?’

  My baby? Ann’s here? Amy forced her eyes to open, but everything around her seemed dim and unfocussed. ‘My baby,’ she slurred. ‘Where’s my baby? I want her.’

  ‘Him, you mean. Here’s your fine big son.’

  Amy began to see a little more clearly. An ugly, wrinkled face topped with a fuzz of red hair was thrust near her own.

  ‘Look at your baby, dear.’

  ‘That’s not my baby. What have you done with my baby? I want her.’ Amy tried to push herself upright in the bed, but her body refused to obey.

  ‘Why does she say it’s not her baby, Mrs Coulson?’ Amy heard the voice of a young girl. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hush, girl, of course it is. She’s muddled in her mind, she’s still stupid from the chloroform. Don’t take any notice of what she says, she’ll be right as rain when she’s woken up properly.’

  ‘I want my baby,’ Amy whimpered. She felt tears running down her face, but it seemed too much effort to wipe them away.

  ‘I’ll put him to her breast for a bit. That should steady her, and I want him to suck—it encourages the milk to come in. Undo her buttons for me, Nellie.’

  Amy felt hands fumbling at the yoke of her nightdress. She blinked away the tears and tried to focus on the red-headed creature. Its face was twisted in what looked like anger, and a thin wail came from its mouth. For a moment the small face blurred into Charlie’s large one, contorted with rage as he swung his hand at her. Amy closed her eyes against the sight. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘No one’s going to hurt you, darling. The little fellow wants a drink, that’s all. My Lord, Nellie, I’ve never seen a girl
as frightened as this one. Have you got her bodice undone yet? That’s the way, pull it right open.’

  A hand was reaching for her breasts. Amy opened her eyes, and now the face that she saw, half Charlie’s face and half a strange creature’s, was full of hunger. ‘Don’t,’ she begged. ‘I don’t want to. Please don’t make me. I don’t want to!’ She waved her hands feebly, trying to ward off the assault on her body.

  ‘Now you’re being silly,’ a voice said sternly. ‘Hold her arms down for me, Nellie. She nearly caught the little fellow a clout then.’

  Strong hands gripped Amy’s own and forced them down to her sides. I mustn’t struggle. Charlie will be angry with me now. He’ll hit me. ‘I’m sorry I was bad. I’ll be good now. I’m sorry, Charlie.’ She closed her eyes and waited for a blow; instead she felt her breasts being fumbled with and tugged at. Amy lay limp and unresisting. I belong to him. It’s his right to do whatever he likes.

  ‘Who’s she talking to, Mrs Coulson? Who’s Charlie?’

  ‘That’s her husband. Stop prattling, girl, you pop out to the kitchen and put the kettle on for me. She’ll want a nice, hot cup of tea when she comes around properly.’

  The mild discomfort of having her nipples sucked at cleared the last of the clouds from Amy’s head. When the sucking stopped she opened her eyes and recognised Mrs Coulson, holding a blanket-wrapped bundle.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ Mrs Coulson asked. ‘Do you know where you are now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Wasn’t someone else here a minute ago?’

  ‘That’s Nellie, Mrs Finch’s girl from next door. She helps me around the house when I’ve got mothers staying here—she loves babies, that one. Of course I keep her well out of the way while the real business is going on, but she’s a good, useful sort of girl.’