And I’m glad for Tom’s sake that you’re in such a good mood, was the thought that came to Amy, but she contented herself with a simple, ‘Thank you. It’s good of you to say so.’
Susannah inclined her head and moved away, and Amy looked around at the remains of the meal. There were no servants here to pick up after her, even if she was wearing one of her Auckland gowns. She gathered up some empty plates and carried them to the kitchen.
It would be strange for her to spend the night in Lizzie’s house, and to share a bed in the girls’ room. And it would be a good deal stranger for her to share her own house with Beth.
*
It was indeed strange, and not something Amy found as easy to accept as she had hoped. She did love Beth, and loved her all the more for how much she clearly cared for David, but Amy could not watch her own special place in David’s life evaporate without feeling a pang of loss. Beth came first with him now.
It had to be so, Amy knew; it should be so, even if it never had been between Charlie and her. She had no right to feel resentment.
But it was not easy to consider things sensibly; especially when she had not had a good night’s sleep since Beth’s arrival. The noise those two made! Beth was such a quietly-spoken girl most of the time that Amy would not have expected to hear her through the wall. And had the bed really creaked so loudly during the years she had shared it with Charlie? She could not remember; but speculating on reasons it might be so much noisier under David than under his father led to thoughts Amy was not comfortable thinking about her own son. It was even worse when the bed head started banging against the wall. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump could not be ignored, even when Amy resorted to putting her head under the covers. When the noise stopped for a time, she lay awake waiting, knowing it would soon start again. David and Beth had sent off for a new bed with some of their wedding present money from Sarah; Amy could only hope that it would be a quieter one.
In the daytime David often looked more asleep than awake. Beth was almost as bad, but Amy found that concerned her less.
A few weeks after the wedding, she watched as David yawned hugely, rose from the breakfast table and made his way somewhat unsteadily towards the door. He almost missed his footing on the steps, she noted anxiously. A sensible voice inside her head told her that David was quite capable of looking after himself; she ignored it.
‘Dave’s looking very tired.’
Beth smothered a yawn with her hand. ‘Yes, he is,’ she said, not quite managing to hide a small, contented smile.
At the sight of that smile, Amy felt her own mouth tighten. ‘Dave works hard, you know,’ she said, more sharply than she had intended. ‘It’s all very well, this being just married, but he needs to have a proper night’s sleep sometimes.’
Her words sounded prim in her own ears; she was not surprised when Beth looked hurt.
‘I think he’s all right. He’s not complaining, anyway.’
‘Well, no, he wouldn’t,’ Amy said, increasingly uncomfortable. ‘It’s up to you to look after him. And you should be careful, you know. You need to think about the baby.’
Beth looked startled. ‘Could it hurt the baby?’
‘I don’t know for sure. I’m just saying you need to be careful, that’s all.’ Amy felt a pang of guilt at Beth’s anxious expression; she remembered David’s weary face, and resisted the urge to take back her words.
Beth was quiet as the two of them worked in the kitchen. It was barely half an hour before morning tea time when she said, ‘I thought I might go and see Ma this morning. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it is, Beth,’ Amy said, still feeling somewhat guilty. ‘You don’t need to ask me whether you can go out or not.’ She felt even more guilty over her secret delight at the thought of having David to herself over morning tea.
When she judged he must be on his way to the house she set the table for the two of them, and had the tea things and a plate of scones ready by the time he came inside.
‘Where’s Beth?’ were his first words on entering the room.
‘She’s gone to see Aunt Lizzie. It’s just the two of us.’ Amy saw disappointment flit across his face, and had to fight down a rush of resentment. ‘Just like it used to be, Davie,’ she said, trying to make her voice light.
‘I suppose it is.’
David turned his full attention on the fresh scones until the plate was empty. Afterwards he talked readily enough to his mother about his morning’s work, but Amy noticed how often his gaze flicked across the table, unconsciously seeking the absent Beth. Whenever he realised once again that she was not there, that disappointed look would return.
The house was less bright without Beth, Amy had to admit, if only for the effect her absence had on David. He was lingering longer than usual, no doubt hoping Beth would come back before he had to go outside again. Beth usually went out on the farm with him after morning tea; she and Amy agreed there was not enough work for two women in so small a household as theirs, while Beth delighted in helping David with the animals.
David went off at last, and Amy cleared away their tea things. It occurred to her that this time after morning tea, when she had the house to herself, was the dullest part of her day. Beth, for all her quiet ways, was good company. Amy had grown used to having her about the place; a willing helper and a cheerful companion. Beth, she realised, had become part of them.
For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife; and they two shall be one flesh. The words from the marriage service came to her. David and Beth had certainly become one flesh, but it was more than that: they were like two halves of the same person. It was hard for Amy to imagine that she was needed here. Perhaps, she reflected, it was time David’s mother thought about leaving him.
Sarah had the habit of ending every letter by asking when Amy was coming back to her. In the last letter Amy had received, the familiar question was missing; in fact Amy had had the impression Sarah was preoccupied with a problem of some sort. But there was no sense worrying about that; Sarah was sure be more than a match for whatever (or perhaps whoever) was causing her difficulty. It was here on the farm that it was up to Amy to make things right. Sarah would soon enough be pressing her to come to Auckland again. And Amy rather thought she should accept the invitation.
*
Beth found her mother in the kitchen, holding Benjy’s hands as the little boy took tentative steps. Maisie was putting a tray of biscuits into the range. Beth kissed them all, took a seat at the table, then quietly asked her mother if they could talk in private.
Lizzie picked Benjy up and whisked Beth off to the bedroom. ‘Something about the baby, is it?’ she asked as she plumped herself down on the bed. ‘Everything all right?’
Beth took a chair near the window. ‘I think so. I just wondered…’ Now that it came to the point, she found her question was not easy to ask. ‘Ma, can it hurt the baby if you… you know. If you do it a lot.’
‘Eh? What are you on about, girl?’
Beth looked away, feeling her colour rise. ‘You know. With your husband.’
‘Oh,’ Lizzie said, sounding startled. Beth darted a glance at her mother; she looked thoughtful. ‘It can’t do,’ Lizzie announced. ‘You lot all turned out healthy. You’ll find it can’t be done when you get to be a real size, but that’s a fair way off yet. You might as well enjoy yourselves for now.’
Relief flooded through Beth. ‘Thanks, Ma.’
‘You can ask your Aunt Amy things about the baby, you know. She hasn’t had as many babies as me, but she can tell you what you need to know.’
Beth looked away again. ‘I don’t want to ask her things.’
‘Why not?’ Lizzie asked sharply. ‘Aren’t you getting on with her?’
‘I thought I was. But now she thinks I’m not looking after Davie properly, and I am. She said I—’
‘Now, don’t you go carrying tales,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘I don’t want to h
ear a word of it. You just be a good girl for your Aunt Amy. She hasn’t had things easy, you know.’
‘I know she hasn’t,’ Beth said, resigned to losing the argument before it had begun.
Her mother was silent for several moments. ‘You know she hasn’t, do you?’ she said at last. ‘I’m not so sure about that. What’s Dave told you about his ma and pa?’
‘A little bit. He hasn’t said much, but I know Uncle Charlie used to hit Aunt Amy sometimes. That’s why P—’ She stopped herself just in time. Her father’s insinuation that David might be capable of hitting Beth was a detail she had chosen not to share with her mother. Annoyed as she still was with him over what he had said to David, she was not quite annoyed enough to get him into that amount of trouble. ‘I know he doesn’t like talking about it, though.’
‘No, and he’s quite right not to. The man was his father, after all. That’s all very well, but I think perhaps it’s time I told you a thing or two.’
Benjy wriggled on her lap. Lizzie opened her bodice and put him to her breast.
‘He did used to hit her,’ she said when the baby was suckling contentedly. ‘Right from when they were first married. I’d see bruises on her, for all she’d try and cover them up.’
‘Bruises?’ Beth echoed. ‘I thought—’
‘You thought it was just the odd slap,’ her mother finished for her. ‘Lots of men think it’s all right to treat their wives like that—not your father, I might add—and the law says they can do it. I don’t think many of them are as bad as your Uncle Charlie was, though. You were only about Benjy’s age when he did the worst of it, so Dave must have only been three or so. He mightn’t even remember it.’
‘I think he might,’ Beth murmured. Some of David’s vaguer remarks, quickly stifled, were now making more sense to her.
‘She’d never talk about how he was carrying on. It was only that I popped in to see her not long after it happened.’ Her mother fell silent again for a time. ‘Her face. It was that cut and swollen you wouldn’t have known it was her. He’d taken his fists to her as if he was fighting another man. Not just her face, either—she could hardly stand up, let alone walk. It’s my belief he kicked…’ She left the sentence unfinished. ‘I think he jolly near killed her that time.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Beth whispered.
‘No, of course you didn’t. It’s not something to gossip about—and don’t you go telling anyone else this stuff, either. Not Maudie or anyone. I’m only telling you because you need to understand a few things.’
‘I won’t tell anyone, Ma.’
‘She told me he never laid a hand on her after that, but he still used to talk nasty to her all the time. And he’d have kept her locked up in the house if he could—she had to ask him every time she so much as wanted to go next door, and as often as not he’d say no, just to be contrary. That’s the sort of thing she had to put up with all those years. I don’t know how she stayed as bright as she did. She had her boys of course, but… well, I don’t want to speak ill of Mal, but he was a trial to her, getting into bad company and all. And then she had the upset of him going off and dying like that, and your Uncle Charlie getting worse than ever. The only one she had for company was Dave. Do you understand what I’m saying, girl?’
‘I know Aunt Amy’s very fond of Dave—he is of her, too.’
‘He was the one that kept her going, it seemed to me. When he went off to Waihi, I was worried she might go funny in the head. But we got him back in the end. He’s been a good son to her, and you can’t expect her to dance a jig about having to share him with someone else, even when it’s you. I expect the two of you go off to bed early?’
‘A bit early,’ Beth admitted.
‘And she’s left sitting up on her own, when she’s been used to having Dave for company. And when the three of you are together, he wants to talk to you as often as not—probably more than he does to his ma. Now, I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong,’ Lizzie said; Beth realised her sense of guilt must be showing on her face. ‘It’s natural the two of you want to spend all the time together you can. I’m just saying you need to think about what it’s like for your Aunt Amy.’
‘What should I do, Ma?’ Beth asked, still reeling from her mother’s revelations. ‘I want us all to get on and everything.’
‘Just be patient. Things’ll sort themselves out soon enough, especially once the baby arrives. She’ll be that pleased—and you and Dave will settle down more, too, when you’ve got a baby to think about.’
Benjy had lost interest in feeding; Lizzie buttoned her bodice and held him against her shoulder. ‘You’ll be all right. Your Aunt Amy’s very fond of you, she always has been.’
‘I’m fond of her, too,’ said Beth. ‘I really am.’
*
Beth rode back to David’s farm, so lost in her thoughts that the horse found its own way with little guidance. She entered the kitchen determined to say something to make up for any hurt she might have caused her aunt, but before she could utter a word Amy had crossed the room and placed a kiss on her cheek.
‘I’m glad you’re back,’ Amy said. ‘It’s been too quiet without you.’
‘Has it?’ Beth said, mildly stunned at the warmth of her reception. She was still struggling to find the right words when Amy spoke again.
‘Beth, I’m sure everything’ll be all right with the baby. You wouldn’t do anything that’d hurt it. And I think you’re making a good job of looking after Dave.’ She reached out and touched Beth’s arm. ‘I hope you know I’m very happy about you and Dave being married.’
Beth flung her arms around Amy’s waist and felt herself enfolded in a hug. ‘Thank you, Aunt Amy. And I do want to look after Davie—and the baby—and I like living here with you.’
Amy kissed her again, then extricated herself. ‘I can finish getting lunch on. I think you should go and find Dave—he missed you at morning tea.’ She smiled at Beth. ‘He’s a lot happier when you’re here.’
15
A week after the wedding, Susannah had a cable from her sister to tell her their mother was considered to be in her last hours. Thomas could not detect any signs of grief as she calmly made arrangements for the two of them to travel to Auckland; not even when a further cable the morning before they were to sail told her that her mother had died. ‘We’ll be there in time for the funeral,’ she said, as if that were the only thing to be concerned about.
Thomas had not seen George for some weeks; though his brother had, of course, been invited to the wedding, he had not felt it necessary to interrupt his sailing schedule in order to attend. Thomas knew that George would not be particularly interested in their grandmother’s death, but he left a message for him at Ruatane’s wharf in case his brother should call in while they were out of town and wonder where they were.
They arrived in Auckland the evening before the funeral was to take place, and were driven to his Uncle Henry’s. To Thomas, the house seemed huge. The drawing room (as he was promptly informed it was called when he mistakenly referred to it as “the parlour”) was sombre, its mantelpiece draped in black crepe while the house was in mourning. A constant stream of visitors seemed to call during the day to express their condolences. Many of them said they remembered Thomas from the previous time his mother had taken him to Auckland, nine years before when his grandfather had died; one or two ancient-looking women even claimed to remember seeing him on an earlier trip, one Thomas had only vague memories of, though he did recall that Amy had been with them on that journey. Thomas was not used to meeting so many unfamiliar people at once, and when at last he was able to go to bed he soon fell into an exhausted sleep.
At the funeral, his main concern was his mother. Although she continued to appear calm, Thomas wondered if the occasion might prove too much for her. But she remained serene and composed. Her only display of emotion was her surprise and evident pleasure when George arrived at the church while they were waiting to go in.
‘I got Tom’s note, and we were bringing the boat up anyway, so I thought I’d see if I could get here in time,’ George said cheerfully. He looked more smartly turned out than Thomas had seen him in years, wearing a suit that appeared freshly pressed.
He and Thomas escorted their mother into the church, and sat either side of her during the service. On such a solemn occasion Susannah would not allow herself anything more than the hint of a smile, but Thomas was sure she was delighted at having the presence of both her sons. He suspected she was equally delighted that George took himself off soon after the funeral, staying just long enough for Susannah to display the two of them, but not long enough for any of the other mourners to start asking awkward questions about George’s somewhat irregular private life.
*
Henry Kendall considered himself a fortunate man. He was successful in his profession; he had a wife who made his house a comfortable place to live, was a good hostess, and was for the most part sensible; and he had five fine children. It was hardly Constance’s fault that her brother had so little to recommend him. Henry tolerated Jimmy’s presence when obliged to, but he took no pleasure in it.
A family gathering at his house on an evening soon after the funeral of his mother-in-law was an occasion for the exercise of such tolerance. Of Henry’s children, only Laura was present. His sons had returned to Wellington, where they both had positions in the public service, the day after the funeral, and his older daughters were at home with their own families. But Susannah and Thomas were still staying with the Kendalls, and Jimmy and Charlotte had been invited to dinner.
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