A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘You’ll be using the other room, so we’ll need it for Eddie,’ David said when she asked him about the addition.

  No more was said on the subject; it was clear that David and Beth felt that Eddie was not likely to return to his mother any time in the near future. And that Amy was no longer planning to move to Auckland.

  Milly still wrote regularly, and her letters still had the same forced cheerfulness. Eddie might not be fretting for his mother, but she was certainly fretting for him.

  September arrived. Eddie had been with them for almost three months. Amy had sensed from Milly’s last few letters that something was on her mind beyond her usual preoccupation with her work and with Eddie’s wellbeing. A line would be crossed out mid-sentence, followed by an abrupt change of subject to something as innocuous as the weather.

  The month was half over when David came back from town one day bringing a letter from Milly somewhat longer than her recent ones. Eddie had run out to help with the horse and cart, leaving Amy to open the letter while Beth put the jug on. She read the first few lines, and gave a sharp intake of breath.

  The noise caught Beth’s attention. ‘What is it, Aunt Amy?’

  Amy stared at the words to see if she had somehow misunderstood them. But Milly’s message was plain enough. She looked up from the letter to meet Beth’s concerned gaze.

  ‘Milly’s got married.’

  27

  ‘Who to?’ was Beth’s first question.

  ‘Someone she met at the hotel, I think she said. I’ll read it all properly—don’t say anything to Eddie,’ Amy added, seeing that Beth was about to call David and Eddie in for their afternoon tea. ‘I’ll need to think out how to tell him.’

  She tucked the letter away in her apron pocket, and left it there till she had the room to herself. Then she unfolded both sheets of paper and placed them on the table.

  Milly, the letter informed Amy, had married a man called Sidney Carter. He’s very nice, the letter said. He’s a fair bit older than me, but he’s a good, steady bloke, and I think he’ll be a good provider. She had indeed met Mr Carter at the hotel, where he had been an occasional guest. I’ve told him about Eddie, and he says I can have him with us, but to leave it for a bit till we’re settled. It seemed there was some discussion as to just where they might live; Milly’s new husband had for the moment rented a room in Tauranga for the two of them, but it might suit him to set up house somewhere out of the town. Don’t tell Eddie just yet, she said, much to Amy’s relief. Not till I know when I’ll be able to send for him.

  Amy turned to the second sheet of paper. There were only a few lines on it. It’s not like being with Mal was, Milly had written. But you can’t expect to have that twice in your life, eh? She ended the letter with her usual hug for Eddie, but instead of signing it off with the familiar “Milly”, she had carefully written “Amelia Carter”. Amy put the letter away in her top drawer. It was not something to leave lying around for a casual observer; especially with its tender references to Malcolm.

  *

  Milly still wrote regularly, though much of the content of her letters had changed. She had left her job at the hotel shortly before her marriage, and was now occupied with keeping house for her husband. He had taken a house close to the mining town of Waihi, with a small yard in which Milly was trying to establish a garden. She sounded contented enough, though there were none of the affectionate remarks that might have been expected from a newlywed. While she continued to end every letter with a hug for Eddie, and it was clear that she missed him, she said she was not yet ready to send for him.

  Eddie had his birthday in October. Now that he was five years old, the family had assumed Amy would send him to school, but she found herself reluctant to. Milly kept insisting she would be sending for Eddie ‘in a bit’, and there seemed little point in starting him at the valley school only to have to uproot him soon afterwards.

  That was a good enough reason, but it was only part of Amy’s decision to keep him at home. Eddie was enjoying his lessons with her, and she was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to teach him.

  She walked down to the school one afternoon to consult the teacher, and was told that while a child could be sent to school from the age of five, it was not compulsory to do so until the child turned seven. So she continued Eddie’s lessons at home, and wondered how long it might be before he was taken from her.

  It was Sarah’s birthday in November. Before Eddie’s arrival, Amy had expected to be settled in Auckland well before then, and to have been able to celebrate Sarah’s birthday with her for the first time. Now she had no idea when she might be able to indulge in that pleasure. Much as she was enjoying Eddie’s company, it did not stop her from longing for Sarah’s.

  A letter from Milly arrived not long after Sarah’s birthday, containing news that came as no real surprise to Amy.

  I’m expecting. I’ve got the morning sickness bad this time, but people say it doesn’t last long. I didn’t have it hardly at all with Eddie, I didn’t know it took it out of you like this. Sid’s being very good, fetching and carrying for me, and all. He’s that pleased about the baby.

  I hope you don’t mind hanging on to Eddie a bit longer. I can’t have him just yet, I’ve got to sort a few things out first.

  Amy folded the letter back into its envelope. It was fortunate, she mused, that Eddie did not ask questions about his mother, now that they would have been so difficult to answer.

  There was something troubling Amy about all this. Milly repeatedly said she would send for Eddie soon, and yet continued to delay doing so. She was in what sounded like the most settled home she had had since Eddie’s birth, and was no longer having to try and earn money to support the two of them. There was no obvious reason for her to put off sending for him. Amy found herself having to fight against a nagging suspicion that now Milly was carrying a legitimate child she no longer wanted Malcolm’s. The thought seemed ungenerous, and she would not allow herself to dwell on it.

  There were other things to keep her busy. The new house was finally ready for the family to move into in early December. Frank brought his older boys, and Amy’s brothers arrived with their sons, so there were many willing hands to help with moving. Amy’s main task was to keep Eddie from getting underfoot badly enough to have a piece of furniture dropped on him, and to work with Beth providing morning tea for everyone. When their helpers had gone, she and Beth spent much of the afternoon and evening cleaning and dusting. She was worn out by the time she was finally able to go to bed, much later than usual, but seeing David and Beth’s delight at their smart new house was more than worth the effort.

  *

  The size of Lizzie and Frank’s family had meant that for several years now Arthur’s household had gone to Frank’s for Christmas dinner. But this year it was clear to everyone that making Arthur travel even so short a distance was not to be considered. The leg he had injured several years before not only made it difficult for him to walk more than a few steps, but also meant it was painful for him to keep it bent for any length of time. So buggy rides, even brief ones, were no longer possible.

  None of this was discussed with Arthur himself, who would have felt the need to insist that he was perfectly capable of leaving the farm if he chose, and would have made himself and everyone around him wretched in the process of attempting to prove it. But when Christmas Day arrived, each of the households had its Christmas dinner at home. In the evening, Lizzie and Frank brought their family to Arthur’s for a casual meal consisting mainly of leftovers.

  After having been confined to the house the previous Christmas, Beth was eager to spend Daisy’s first Christmas with her family. So the five of them went to Frank’s then to Arthur’s house that day, Amy driving the gig with Beth and Daisy, and an excited Eddie riding beside David on the oldest and slowest of the farm’s horses, the first time he had been allowed to ride so far.

  After their makeshift evening meal it was still light enough for the chil
dren to be sent outside to play, while the adults sat on the verandah. Eddie was absorbed into a group of the younger children, but when Rosie, who had decided to organise a complicated game of some sort, started trying to assert what she imagined to be her authority, Eddie wandered off on his own, exploring the unfamiliar garden. Amy kept an eye on him from the verandah, but he showed no inclination to go out of sight.

  Eddie searched under a small grove of fruit trees, and came back to the verandah cradling something in his hands. He clambered up the steps and over to where Beth sat next to Amy, Daisy on her lap, and held out his hand to the baby. On it, Amy saw, was a small blue half eggshell, obviously dropped from a nest that spring.

  Daisy’s method of exploring the world consisted of putting everything that fell in her grasp into her mouth, and Amy was sure the experiment would do neither Daisy nor Eddie’s treasure much good. She retrieved the eggshell before Beth, who was talking to her grandmother, had quite noticed what was happening.

  ‘Keep it till Daisy’s a bit older,’ Amy told him. ‘We’ll put it in your room for now.’ Eddie was gradually acquiring a collection of such things as dried leaves and berries, and pebbles of unusual shapes or colours. She wrapped the eggshell in her handkerchief and placed it carefully on the arm of her chair.

  Instead of going back out into the garden, Eddie clambered onto her lap and snuggled into place. ‘You’re getting a bit sleepy, aren’t you,’ Amy said, seeing his eyelids drooping. ‘I think we’ll go home soon, or it’ll be getting dark.’

  ‘Do you want to hold Daisy for a bit before we go, Granny?’ Beth asked Edie. She placed Daisy on Edie’s lap, but kept her own arm around the baby, to stop Daisy wriggling from the unfamiliar perch.

  Edie beamed. She seemed to know who Daisy was, though she called Eddie “Mal” whenever she spoke to him. The first few times she had done so, Arthur had tried to correct her, but as he struggled to remember Eddie’s name himself he soon gave up the attempt.

  Arthur looked on benignly at Daisy perched on Edie’s lap. ‘She’s a bonny little thing. She’s not a Leith, but there’s a lot of Leith in her,’ he announced.

  Amy laughed. ‘So there is, Uncle Arthur. Two Leith grannies, that must count for something.’

  ‘I’ve two great-grandchildren now. Yes, Edie, I know you have as well,’ Arthur added when he saw Edie about to speak. ‘Jack would’ve had two, if he’d been spared,’ he said, his expression growing heavier as he looked from Eddie to Daisy.

  Amy held Eddie more tightly. ‘He would’ve liked that.’

  Eddie shrugged off his sleepiness and insisted on going with David to help get the horses ready to take them home. While they waited, Amy exchanged farewells with Lizzie. She noticed Frank and Bill off to one side, heads close together as they talked about what appeared to be a weighty matter.

  ‘Frank and Bill look so serious!’ Amy said, smiling at their expressions. ‘They look as though they’re plotting something.’

  Lizzie looked around, checking that they were not being overheard. ‘They are,’ she confided. ‘Don’t let on to anyone, but…’ She leaned closer to Amy and told her the secret.

  *

  Bill Leith was forty-two years old, but to his father that merely meant he was the oldest of “the boys”, as Arthur referred to his sons. Now that his father rarely left the house, it fell on Bill’s shoulders to see that the work of the farm went smoothly, as well as doing a large share of it himself. He conducted the day-to-day business of the farm, dealing with the factory and the general store. But his father held the chequebook, and held it firmly.

  Arthur had never felt any need to pay his sons a wage. The farm fed and clothed them, and kept a roof over their heads. If he was moved to be generous he would occasionally give out a small amount of cash for the boy involved to treat himself, but any money beyond that had to be asked for. And Bill knew his father well enough to know what was worth asking for. The biggest purchase he had ever successfully requested his father to fund was Lily’s wedding ring, but what he wanted now was a good deal more expensive.

  It had started as more of a vague longing than a settled plan, but it had been in his mind for almost ten years now. Ever since the day he had first heard Lily play the piano.

  She had stunned him with her playing, so unlike any music he had ever heard before. And then he had been startled by the sight of his calm, competent wife weeping, as she was buffeted by the abrupt rediscovery of what music meant to her. Lily was not a woman who readily wept.

  He had asked Frank how much the piano had cost, and the answer had almost made him abandon the idea before it was even fully formed. Almost, but not quite. Perhaps he could not buy so smart an instrument as the one that graced Frank’s parlour, but Lily deserved a piano of her own.

  From that day, he had got into the habit of putting aside any money his father might give him for his own use. It accumulated, but painfully slowly. This was going to require more money than he had ever been able to call his own, and a good deal of patience.

  He had let Frank into his confidence from early on, making the most of what Frank could tell him about the process of buying a piano. Though Frank could give him no advice on what to be careful of when it came to a used piano, as Bill had soon realised he would have to settle for. He had had to risk asking the one person who could give him a knowledgeable answer: Lily herself.

  ‘Do pianos last a long time?’ he had asked her one day with studied casualness, when he had just picked her up from Frank’s house.

  ‘If they’re properly cared for, certainly. I’ve heard of antique pianos that are still in fine condition.’ Lily had smiled, and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry, dear, Frank’s piano’s not going to wear out in a hurry. Lizzie’s very particular about not letting the children be rough with it—she doesn’t let any of them touch it unless they’re actually playing—and of course she keeps it beautifully clean. I’ll be able to go on playing it for as long as I wish.’

  She only had the chance to play it, of course, for brief periods each week, and most of even that small amount of time was in the course of teaching Lizzie’s children. But it was a relief to be told by an expert that a piano did not have to be new to be worthy of Lily.

  He had decided it had to be a Broadwood, the make of piano that Lily had owned until straitened circumstances had forced her to sell it after her mother’s death, and the brand she had recommended to Frank. He could have bought a lesser one more cheaply, but since the whole project was as much dream as solid plan, he felt he might as well dream extravagantly. In any case, it seemed to him something like the difference between buying a broken-down nag of unknown origin, and a well-bred horse with quality lines.

  When he had managed to put together a few pounds, he wrote to the firm Frank had used, asking about the possibility of buying a secondhand Broadwood from them. Writing letters was not something Bill was used to doing, but he found himself needing to become familiar with the task as his negotiations went on. It had to be done when Lily was out of the house but he himself was not busy on the farm, which was an extra difficulty.

  He was told that used Broadwoods were only rarely offered, but with the estimate the firm supplied of the price he would probably have to pay for one, delay was hardly a problem. The company would put his details in their files, they said, and would inform him of any suitable instrument that might become available.

  Once or twice in the intervening years he had heard again from the music shop, when they had acquired a Broadwood that was “almost as good as new”. Almost as good, and almost as expensive. Bill had had to let such opportunities pass him by.

  But a few months before Christmas, he received a letter from the firm that seemed, when he unravelled its meaning, to offer a ray of hope. The letter was full of words with which he had only a passing familiarity; words that he would in other circumstances have asked Lily to decipher for him. Instead, he read and re-read the letter several times, and when he felt he had made
it out, he took it to show Frank.

  ‘They say it’s “fundamentally sound in the vital internal components relating to the quality of its tone,” ’ Bill read aloud carefully. ‘ “It has sustained a degree of superficial damage to parts of the exterior, not including the keys, which are largely unmarked. Such damage is of a trifling nature, affecting only aesthetic details.” I think they’re saying its insides are all right, but the outside’s a bit knocked about. What do you reckon?’

  The words were as remote from Frank’s vocabulary as from Bill’s. But his brother-in-law agreed that seemed to be the gist of the letter. ‘So you think you might send off for it?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Bill. ‘If they’ve still got it when I’ve put a bit more by.’ Quite a bit more, he added to himself. The firm was asking seventeen pounds for the piano, including the cost of sending it to Ruatane, and when Bill had added up his savings he had found that they came to the disappointing total of twelve pounds, one shilling and fourpence.

  Frank appeared to guess his thoughts. Bill sensed that he was on the point of offering to lend (or, even worse, give) him the money. He was grateful for the generous impulse, but even more grateful that Frank chose not to make an offer Bill’s self-respect would have forced him to refuse.

  Self-respect was all very well, but he needed to find a way to build up his savings that did not rely on his father’s fitful, not to mention extremely modest, bursts of generosity. And then an idea came to him one day when he was ordering a new wheel for the spring cart.

  ‘I hear there’s a new bloke started up doing wheels and suchlike, out the other side of town,’ he remarked to Mr Winskill. The wheelwright scowled at the reference to his rival, but made no reply beyond a grunt. ‘He’s doing a good price, I heard,’ Bill added.