He thought back to the time when the couple who had owned what was now Charlie’s farm had lost it to the mortgage men. Frank had been only a child then, but he remembered hearing the adults talk about it in hushed voices. It had seemed the most dreadful thing possible. Was it going to happen to him?
He couldn’t let it happen. Frank spent most of the afternoon walking around the farm, trying to work out how he could raise the money. It would mean selling all the new calves, of course. And maybe he could manage with one less horse, though it would mean working the remaining ones harder. He would have to ask the storekeeper if he could leave paying his bill for a while. On top of that, if he turned all the milk money over to the bank he might just be able to do it. But that would leave nothing to live on.
Well, they would just have to live frugally till the money was sorted out. Even then, he was not sure he would be able to scrape together fifty pounds in time. If worse came to worst, he would have to swallow his pride and ask Arthur for help, but things would have to be dire before he would admit to his father-in-law that he could not provide for Lizzie. In the meantime, there was no point worrying Lizzie about it.
His mind was so busy running the problem over and over that Frank had trouble doing justice to his dinner, especially the mountain of pudding that Lizzie put in front of him.
‘Eat up, Frank,’ she encouraged, looking up for a moment from spooning food into Maudie’s open mouth. ‘I made that sultana pudding specially for you, I know it’s your favourite.’
‘Yes, it’s nice,’ Frank said, toying idly with his spoon.
‘You’d better eat it—I paid a fortune for those sultanas. Sevenpence a pound if you please! I gave that Mr Craig a piece of my mind, I don’t mind telling you. I only bought enough for this pudding—six ounces, it takes, and I made him weigh them out just right. “I’m only buying these because I promised my husband I’d make his favourite pudding tonight, Mr Craig,” I told him, “so I’ve got to get enough for that. But you needn’t think I’m buying any more while they’re that price.” That fixed him! Sevenpence a pound, indeed! He must think we’re made of money.’
The food sat like lead in his stomach, though it was the turmoil of his thoughts and not Lizzie’s light, fluffy pudding that made Frank feel ill. He pushed the bowl away. ‘I don’t want any more, Lizzie.’
‘You’d better finish it. Honestly, if we’re going to be ruined paying those prices for food you’d better enjoy it. Eat that up and don’t be silly.’ She pushed the bowl back towards him.
‘I said I don’t want it!’ Frank shouted, shoving the bowl away roughly.
Lizzie dropped the spoon she was holding. She and Maudie both stared at Frank in astonishment. ‘All right, I’m sorry I spoke. There’s no need to bite my head off.’ Frank turned away and looked at the far wall, but he was all too aware that Lizzie was studying him closely. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked. ‘What’s got you in such a sour mood?’
‘Nothing.’ He met her eyes and tried to sound unconcerned. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’ve just got a few things on my mind, that’s all. It’s a really nice pudding, I’ll have some more. Hey, don’t be scared, Maudie, Papa’s not wild really.’ Maudie smiled, at once reassured, but Lizzie continued to look at him oddly. Frank knew he would have to be more careful if he wanted to keep his worries a secret.
*
Amy managed to snatch a brief visit two weeks later, hitching a ride on Charlie’s spring cart when he took the milk to the factory. Lizzie greeted her warmly enough, but there was a tight look around her cousin’s mouth that had troubled Amy the last few times she had seen Lizzie.
‘I’ll put the jug on,’ Lizzie said when they had settled the children in one corner. ‘You don’t mind not having any biscuits, do you? I haven’t got all that many.’
‘Want a bikkie, Mama,’ Maudie piped up.
‘No, Maudie. You can have one when Papa comes back,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s no good pulling faces, either. You can’t have one now and that’s that.’ Maudie gave her a wounded look, which Lizzie took no notice of.
‘I would have brought you some if I’d known you were running short, Lizzie. Did you run out of things for baking?’
‘No, I’m just cutting down on things like that. As long as there’re biscuits and things for Frank he won’t notice. We’re only having bottled fruit and cream for puddings all the time now, that doesn’t cost anything. I’ve patched this petticoat till it’s nearly falling to bits, too.’ She turned up the hem of her dress to reveal a much-mended flannel petticoat. ‘It should hang together till the end of winter, no sense wasting money on more material.’
‘Why are you cutting down, Lizzie?’
Lizzie looked over her shoulder as if she half expected to see Frank in the doorway, then leaned a little closer to Amy. ‘Frank’s a bit worried about money. He thinks I don’t know, and he doesn’t want to tell me.’
‘What’s he worried about?’ Amy asked, surprised. ‘The farm’s doing all right, isn’t it?’
Lizzie pursed her lips. ‘It would be if that Ben hadn’t left a millstone around Frank’s neck.’
‘The money he borrowed, you mean? Why’s that suddenly a worry?’
‘I’ll show you. Come up here a minute.’ Lizzie rose from the table, then abruptly doubled over, clutching at her middle.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amy rushed to put her arms around her, but Lizzie pushed her away.
‘It’s nothing. Just my stomach playing up again.’
‘Are you still getting that?’
‘Sometimes. Don’t make a fuss.’ Lizzie straightened up, but she was still in obvious discomfort.
‘It’s got worse, hasn’t it, Lizzie?’ Lizzie shook her head, but Amy persisted. ‘Yes, it has. That’s why you look so worn out lately—that and worrying about Frank. Have you told him you’re crook?’
‘I’m not crook. And I’m not going to tell him, not while he’s worried about the money.’
‘You should tell him. Maybe you should go to the doctor.’
‘No! All I’ve got is the odd stomach ache, Frank doesn’t have to pay good money for the doctor to tell me that. Anyway, I don’t want the doctor poking around at me. I’ll be better soon, shut up about it. Come on.’
Lizzie set off purposefully up the passage, and Amy followed in her wake. When they were in the front bedroom Lizzie closed the door behind them. She opened a drawer and lifted a crumpled sheet of paper from it. ‘I found this in Frank’s pocket when I was doing the washing. He doesn’t know I’ve seen it, I put it in with his shirts afterwards and he must think he left it there himself. I can tell he’s been reading it over and over from all the new creases in it.’
She passed the page to Amy, who read the bank’s letter in growing shock. ‘That’s awful, Lizzie! Do you think Frank’ll be able to get enough money?’
‘Oh, he’ll do it one way or another,’ said Lizzie. ‘Even if he has to borrow a bit off Pa—he won’t want to do that, though. Pa would go on and on at him, he’d never hear the end of it. Frank must be really worried—he hasn’t even been very interested in you-know-what lately. I wish he’d talk to me about it, that’s all.’ Her face set in firmer lines. ‘I won’t make him if he doesn’t want to. If he wants to sort it out by himself, then he darned well can. I’m just making sure I don’t ask for a penny more than I have to until this is all straightened out.’
‘Yes, that’s all you can do,’ Amy agreed. ‘But Lizzie, I do think you should tell him about those stomach aches being so bad. The doctor would—’
‘No,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘If I’m still getting them when we’re straight again maybe I’ll go to the doctor. Don’t you dare breathe a word to Frank about it.’
It was no use arguing with Lizzie when her mind was made up, but Amy felt uneasy about her cousin when she left to go home.
She was so preoccupied with thoughts of Lizzie and Frank that she went through her tasks mechanically for
the rest of the morning. As the afternoon wore on Malcolm became bored, wearying Amy with his constant demands to be entertained.
‘I wish you were old enough to go out on the farm with your Papa, Malcolm,’ she said when he tugged at her skirt yet again, whining for something to do. ‘I can’t play with you all the time. Oh, I suppose it’s hard for you, stuck inside with me and Davie, but I can’t do anything about it. You’re too little to go wandering around all by yourself.’
‘Want to go outside. Want to play with Papa.’
‘Papa won’t play, Mal. I don’t think he knows how to. Anyway, he’s busy doing fencing, you can’t go way over the back of the farm looking for him.’
‘Come out and play, Mama. Come and play with me.’
‘Don’t nag at me, Mal. I can’t go out, I’ve got too much to do. I wish I could go out,’ she said, looking out the window at the clear sky. ‘It’s a lovely day, and here’s you and me stuck in the kitchen.’ She looked at Malcolm’s resentful expression and sighed. ‘If I let you go outside by yourself, will you be a good boy?’
‘Yes, Mama,’ Malcolm said eagerly.
‘Just play around the house. You can swing on that rope Papa tied to the tree for you. Promise you won’t go far away?’ Malcolm nodded. Amy took him out to the porch and put his shoes on. Malcolm ran towards the tree and was soon swinging back and forth.
The rest of the afternoon passed more quickly once she was left in peace. Amy soon had her cleaning finished so that she could start preparing the evening meal. When she took a break from cooking to feed David, she was surprised to see how late it was. Mal’s very quiet out there. Suspiciously quiet, she decided. As soon as David finished feeding she put him back to bed and went outside to check on Malcolm, and was startled to find he was nowhere in sight. The rope he had been swinging on lay in a heap under the tree; when Amy examined it she saw that its hastily tied knot had come undone from being chafed against the branch. Her heart beating fast, she looked about her trying to decide which direction Malcolm might have wandered off in. Not down to the creek, she begged silently. I shouldn’t have let him go outside by himself, he’s too little. Where’s he gone?
Since the creek was the most obvious danger, Amy was about to set off in that direction when Malcolm appeared around the corner of the cottage. Amy rushed to him and knelt down to throw her arms around him, at first too overcome with relief to notice his troubled expression or how muddy his clothes were.
‘Where have you been, Mal? Mama’s been worried about you! You told me you wouldn’t go away from the house. That was naughty, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to.’ Malcolm looked up at her with tears in his eyes, much to Amy’s surprise. The scolding died on her lips.
‘Don’t cry, love,’ she soothed, holding him close. ‘Mama got a fright, that’s all. There’s no need to cry.’
‘Don’t tell Papa,’ Malcolm pleaded.
‘All right, I won’t tell him. But you mustn’t go off by yourself again, Mal.’
‘Rope falled down. I wanted a swing.’
‘You should have come and told Mama. Mama could have fixed it for you.’
‘I wanted a swing,’ Malcolm repeated. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘Didn’t mean to what? What’s wrong, Mal? Did something give you a fright? And how did you get so muddy?’
‘I didn’t mean to!’ Malcolm began to cry in earnest.
‘Shh, it’s all right. You didn’t mean to run off, did you? Come inside and we’ll get some clean clothes on you.’
Malcolm slipped his grubby hand into hers and let her lead him into his room. ‘I’m tired, Mama. I want to go to bed.’
‘Do you? It’s very early for you to go to bed, Mal. Do you feel sick?’
‘Ye… es.’
Amy felt his forehead. ‘You don’t feel hot. I think maybe you just tired yourself out, running around this afternoon. I tell you what, you can have your dinner now then I’ll pop you in bed. But you won’t see Papa if you go to bed early, you know.’ Malcolm looked solemnly back at her and said nothing.
Amy undressed him and put his nightshirt on, so that he would be ready for bed when he had eaten. He gulped down his dinner, looking up nervously from his plate at the slightest noise, then scurried off to bed as soon as he had finished. Amy tucked him in and looked down at him thoughtfully. Something had frightened him, she could see, but there seemed no point pressing him about it. By morning he would probably have forgotten whatever had upset him.
It was twilight before Charlie came in from milking. Amy had had the table set and his meal keeping warm for half an hour. Whatever had made him so late would not have put him in a good temper, she was sure. The ominous set of his face when he walked into the kitchen soon showed her forebodings had been correct.
‘You’ve been a long time, Charlie. What happened? Is everything all right?’
‘No, it’s bloody well not all right. I’ve been chasing round the bush getting my cows back. The paddock gate was open and half a dozen of them wandered off.’
‘Oh, no! Did you find them all?’ It was no wonder he looked so grumpy. Especially since he must be furious with himself for having been careless enough to leave a gate open.
‘Aye, I did. It took me half the afternoon, but I got the lot of them. I could have lost them, you know. They could have got clear away and gone wild, or maybe fallen in the creek where it’s swift. I could have lost six cows.’
‘It’s lucky you didn’t, isn’t it? Your dinner’s ready, I’ll dish it up right now, shall I?’
‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘Not yet. Where’s the boy?’
‘Mal’s in bed. He said he was tired, so I didn’t keep him up. He seemed a bit upset about something.’
‘He would do.’ Charlie turned to leave the kitchen.
‘Where are you going, Charlie? You’re not going to wake Mal up, are you?’
‘I’m going to sort him out tonight.’
‘Sort him out? What’s he done?’
‘What do you think?’ Charlie stopped just before he reached Malcolm’s bedroom door and turned to face her. ‘Who do you think let the bloody cows out, you silly bitch? I didn’t let them out myself, did I? Even you’re not stupid enough to leave the gate open, and the little fellow’s barely walking. Who does that leave? The boy.’ He turned the door handle and went into the room. Amy followed him, knowing that what he said must be true. It certainly explained the state Malcolm had been in.
Malcolm was lying on his side with his eyes closed far too tightly for genuine sleep.
‘Come on, boy, out of bed.’ Charlie shook Malcolm by the shoulder. ‘Hurry up about it.’
Malcolm opened his eyes and looked apprehensively at his father. ‘Papa? I was asleep, Papa.’
‘You’re awake now.’ Charlie pulled back the covers and hauled Malcolm into a sitting position. ‘You let those cows out, didn’t you?’
‘No, Papa,’ Malcolm said, all wide-eyed innocence. Amy could see at once that he was lying.
‘Don’t you lie to me, boy. You left the gate open, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’ He gave Malcolm’s shoulders a rough shake.
‘I didn’t mean to, Papa,’ Malcolm said, abandoning all attempt at deception. ‘I wanted a swing. I swinged on the gate. I opened it for a swing and the cows runned out and I couldn’t make them come back. I chased them and chased them and they runned away and they wouldn’t come back. I didn’t mean to.’ Tears ran down his face as he gasped out his confession.
‘He didn’t mean any harm, Charlie. Don’t be hard on him,’ Amy said.
Charlie turned on her. ‘You keep out of this. If you’d been keeping a proper eye on the boy it wouldn’t have happened. He’s got to be taught a lesson. This place will be his one day, he’s got to learn that you don’t leave gates open for stock to wander.’
‘He’s too little to understand. He’s had a fright, he won’t do it again. Will you, Mal? Tell Papa you’re sorry.’
&n
bsp; ‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ Malcolm said instantly.
‘See? He really is sorry, Charlie. He didn’t understand about the gate. You’re right, I should have been watching him better. I won’t let him go off by himself like that again.’
‘I told you to keep out of this! Get out of here.’ He swung his fist towards her, but the blow went wide of the mark. Amy moved closer to the door, but she could not bear to leave the room.
‘Listen, boy, I’ll tell you what’s to happen. You and me are going over the back of the hill, and I’ll cut a good, big stick. Then you’re going to get a dozen whacks of it.’ Malcolm stared as if hypnotized at his father towering over him.
‘Charlie, you can’t!’ Amy said. ‘Not twelve whacks, not with a stick! He’s not even three yet—you’ll half kill him!’ As if her voice had broken the spell, Malcolm began to wail.
‘Shut up!’ Charlie took a swift step towards her and gave her a slap on the side of the head that set her ears ringing. ‘I’m going to bring my son up right. Don’t you go interfering.’ He left the room with Malcolm firmly grasped by one wrist, and Amy followed as soon as she had regained her balance. Charlie strode out of the house with Malcolm in tow, the little boy’s legs pumping and his nightshirt flapping as he struggled to keep up with his father’s stride without falling over.
Amy ran after them as quickly as she could, stumbling once or twice as she followed Charlie to where a stand of trees twined with supple-jack vines grew.
‘Stay there—don’t you move,’ Charlie ordered Malcolm. The child appeared too terrified to disobey as he watched Charlie select a length of supple-jack and saw through the tough vine with his knife. When Charlie came towards him with the stick he howled louder than ever, as if he had only just realised what was going to happen to him. ‘Stop that noise. Bend over and take your medicine like a man.’
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