Mud and Gold

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘Not long to wait now, eh?’ The voice at his shoulder startled Frank. He turned to see Bill standing close behind him.

  ‘I’ll be glad when I’ve got them safe at home,’ Frank said, glancing back at the approaching boat.

  ‘I’ll bet. Me and Alf have come to give you a hand driving them.’

  ‘Hey, thanks, Bill,’ Frank said. ‘I was a bit worried about doing it by myself. Won’t your pa go crook, though? He’s been funny with me ever since I said I was buying them.’

  ‘It was Pa’s idea,’ Bill said with a grin. ‘He said if you were going to ruin your family buying fancy cows we’d better at least see that you didn’t lose them on the way home—he reckoned the Feenans might pinch them off you when you went past their place! Anyway, Pa won’t let on, but he wants to know all about these cows—he’ll be pumping us for all the news later.’

  The boat was still several yards from the wharf when they heard a loud bellowing, and as soon as it was tied up the noise was almost drowned out by a human voice.

  ‘Where’s Frank Kelly?’ the captain roared. ‘Come and get this mad bull of yours off my boat before I chuck him over the side.’

  Frank was on the boat before the captain had finished speaking. He rushed anxiously to the open area near the stern where the animals had been tethered. The three cows stood quietly, and raised their heads to gaze at Frank with what looked like pleading in their soft brown eyes. But the bull was tossing his head and bellowing furiously, tugging at the rope that tethered him as he tried to hurl himself towards the dry land now so tantalisingly close.

  Frank studied the animals, pride swelling in his chest. They were beautiful. The cows had soft coats of a rich, warm brown, and their eyes were huge dark pools in sweet faces. They were smaller than his Shorthorns, and finer-boned, but their proportions were perfect, though Frank would have preferred to see more flesh on them. And in Frank’s eyes the bull was magnificent. Like the cows, he was smaller than a Shorthorn, but he looked sturdy and heavily-muscled, and his coat was thick and healthy.

  ‘How are we going to get him off?’ Alf asked, eyeing the angry animal nervously.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ Frank said. He walked up to the bull and patted him on the head, and the bull quietened a little. ‘Come on, boy,’ Frank said in a soothing voice as he tied a length of rope through the animal’s nose ring.

  ‘He knows you,’ the captain said. ‘Crazy animal. Jerseys, eh? Remind me never to carry Jerseys again.’

  The three of them walked beside their horses, leading the cattle on ropes, till they were safely through town. All along the main street, Frank saw women peering through lace curtains and men staring more openly over fences or standing outside the hotels.

  ‘These your fancy cows, eh?’ someone called out. ‘Pretty skinny, aren’t they?’ Frank ignored him.

  ‘Pa says they won’t last six months,’ said Alf.

  ‘Shut up, Alf,’ Bill admonished.

  ‘He did!’ Alf insisted.

  ‘He only said it because he was in a bad mood. Here, that cow’s going to wrap her rope around a pole—keep an eye on her.’ Thus distracted, Alf said no more on the subject.

  Once they had reached the beach, they mounted and drove the cattle along the sand at a quiet pace. The animals seemed too relieved at being back on dry land to show any inclination to stray.

  It was a long journey, since they were restricted to the slow pace of the cattle, but at last they turned off the beach, went the mile or so up the main track, then drove the cattle on to Frank’s farm. Lizzie saw them from a distance and came rushing out to meet them with Beth in her arms, Maudie and Joey running ahead of her.

  ‘Aren’t they beautiful!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘So thin, though.’

  ‘A few weeks of good feed, they’ll soon have plenty of flesh on them,’ Frank assured her. ‘It’s a good job I sorted out all those thistles, eh? Can’t put fancy cows like these on scruffy pasture.’

  When the cattle had been put into paddocks, the bull in solitary splendour with one to himself, Bill and Alf went straight home, refusing Lizzie’s offer of afternoon tea. ‘It’s nearly milking time,’ Bill said. ‘Anyway, Pa will be standing on one leg waiting to find out all about this lot, we’d better put him out of his misery.’

  Frank checked the animals over carefully, assuring himself that the long walk after their voyage had done them no harm, but the vigour with which they were cropping grass showed they were settling in happily. Satisfied, he went up to the garden gate, where Lizzie was standing with the three children.

  ‘Well, we’ve done it, Lizzie.’

  Lizzie’s smile had a hint of anxiousness. ‘You’re still sure it’s a good idea?’

  ‘Surer than ever.’ He held out his arm for Lizzie to slip her own through. ‘Let’s take another look at this fellow.’

  They stood by the fence and stared at the bull, who was ripping up great mouthfuls of grass. ‘He’s a beauty, eh?’ Frank said. ‘I’ve never had a bull before. No more borrowing your pa’s bull for my girls.’

  ‘What do you want a bull for, Papa?’ Maudie asked.

  ‘Don’t ask so many questions,’ Lizzie said briskly. ‘Take the little ones up to the house, Maudie, and give them a bikkie—you can have two if you like.’

  Maudie stood there for a moment, apparently considering pressing the point. The alternative won, and she led Joey and Beth away.

  ‘He looks healthy,’ Lizzie said, studying the bull. ‘He’s not very big, though, is he? He’s smaller than Pa’s bull. Do you think he’ll be… well, up to the job?’

  Frank slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘I’m not very tall, either. You’ve never complained,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘You haven’t got twenty-odd wives,’ Lizzie retorted.

  Frank patted her bottom. ‘A good thing, too. One’s enough. Don’t you worry, he’ll be up to it.’ He gazed proudly at the bull. ‘This herd is going to be really good, Lizzie. This is just the beginning.’

  23

  February 1891

  The last week of haymaking was spent on Frank’s farm, and all the men involved took full advantage of the opportunity to study ‘Frank Kelly’s funny-looking cows’, as they were generally called. Frank put up with the jokes and comments cheerfully enough; he was quietly proud of his Jerseys with their rich, creamy milk.

  The fine weather held throughout the week, and the work went smoothly in spite of the time lost discussing the Jerseys. Charlie took Malcolm out to the haymaking most days. Malcolm usually so tired himself out running around with the other boys and swimming in the creek that he had no energy left to be troublesome when he did come home.

  On the last day of the season, Lizzie invited everyone in the valley to her house for a supper to celebrate the end of the annual task. Charlie returned home to do his afternoon milking, and when he had finished the four of them walked down to Frank’s farm in the golden light of late afternoon. While the men built the last of the haystacks, Amy helped Lizzie and the other women carry mountains of food out to the verandah.

  To David’s delight, Charlie had for once decided his younger son could join him and Malcolm with the men. From the verandah Amy saw Malcolm and David running about with the other children, carrying armfuls of hay missed by the workers over to the stacks, then climbing all over the haystacks chasing one another until one of the men would see them and yell threats.

  The men worked harder than ever, seeing the end in sight, and well before dusk the last stack was finished and everyone had gathered on the shady verandah to attack the food. There was a huge ham surrounded by mounds of sandwiches, pies, and savouries of all kinds, followed by several of Lizzie’s most magnificent sponge cakes as well as cakes brought by the other women; lemonade for the women and children, and generous amounts of beer for the men. The evening had a holiday feel about it. Even though most of the men would have to get up at first light to milk, the hay was safely in for another year and the w
inter feed was assured.

  Charlie made the most of the free beer. He installed himself in a corner near the barrel and drank glass after glass, showing no inclination to join in any of the chatting groups. Amy was aware of the occasional glances he cast at her, but as long as she kept within sight he seemed willing to let her move about freely.

  People plumped down in seats as they found them, but with the wariness she had learned over the years Amy was careful where she sat. Since Rachel Aitken was confined to the house by her latest pregnancy there was an empty place beside Matt, but Amy avoided taking it, knowing how Charlie would react to the sight of her sitting close to Matt Aitken.

  She looked around the verandah for somewhere safe, and saw her cousin Bill waving her over. Amy smiled at him and picked her way through the press of people to his side.

  It was delightful to chat away about old times with Bill, bringing to life again years in which, looking back, it seemed to Amy that she had never known what unhappiness was.

  ‘Remember how I used to talk you into giving me half your lunch when you’d just started at school?’ Bill said. ‘I kept telling you I’d forgotten mine, and you believed me.’

  ‘I think I gave you the whole lot once or twice,’ Amy said, smiling. ‘I must have felt sorry for you.’

  ‘I liked those little cakes your granny used to put in with your sandwiches. I had to be careful Lizzie wasn’t around when I was getting them off you, though.’

  ‘Lizzie figured it out before long, of course,’ said Amy.

  ‘Yes, and she said she’d tell Miss Evans if I didn’t cut it out—heck, I think she might even have said she’d tell Pa.’ He grinned at Amy. ‘You kept giving me the odd cake, though.’

  ‘I got Granny to put in extra so I’d have some for you.’

  ‘You always were a soft-hearted little thing,’ Bill said. ‘And Lizzie was always good at making everyone do what she thought they should. You’ve neither of you changed much, have you?’

  Amy glanced over at Charlie, and saw him looking at her with a face like thunder. What have I done wrong now?

  She looked away. Even if there was to be a reckoning later for whatever transgression she had committed, right now she was enjoying herself. It was a joy to relive those long-ago days when they had all been playmates together. For a few hours she could forget what she had made of her life, forget what she had to go home to, and pretend to be a little girl laughing with her cousin, not a care in the world.

  ‘Lizzie’s been a mother hen to us all since she was little,’ Amy said. ‘What would we do if she changed? No one to boss us around and tell us when we’re wrong. Do you remember the school picnic when we all went down the coast on that old wagonette, and a wheel fell off when we were just leaving to come back?’

  Bill snorted. ‘That’s right. Lizzie had us all organised in no time—the biggest boys to lift up the wagonette, other fellows to have a go at putting the wheel back on, then when that didn’t work she sent out the two fastest runners to bring someone back with tools.’

  ‘And the older girls had to look after the little ones, and see they didn’t wander off. She had it all worked out. Miss Evans just laughed and said she might as well have stayed home, Lizzie had everything in hand. No wonder she’s so good at running a house.’

  ‘She’s got a good man,’ said Bill. Amy saw him glance at Charlie. There was a moment’s awkward silence before Bill went on.

  ‘Remember that time Lizzie talked us into coming down here so she could give Frank those pies?’

  ‘Oh, that was so funny,’ Amy said. ‘Frank standing in the back doorway looking like he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Then you and me sitting in that dusty parlour trying not to laugh out loud while Lizzie got a cup of tea organised and Frank trailed around after her like an orphan calf.’

  ‘Frank never had a chance, eh?’ Bill looked over at Frank, who was sitting on the far side of the verandah with a drowsy Maudie sprawled on his lap. ‘I don’t think he regrets it. Hey, do you remember those New Year picnics we used to have when we were little? There was so much food! And it always seemed to be hot and sunny. I wonder why the summers seemed longer then.’

  ‘Because we hadn’t lived so long,’ said Amy. ‘Remember how the food tasted better, too?’ And so they continued their agreeable series of ‘do you remembers’.

  It was the pleasantest evening Amy had spent in a long while, and she was quite sorry when the time came to go home. The evening had drawn in, more food had been brought out and eaten, and the beer had all been drunk. Charlie had had more than his share of it.

  Amy retrieved her boys from a pile of children asleep in a corner, and the four of them set off in the soft darkness. A huge yellow moon hung low in the sky, shedding ample light to see their steps by.

  Malcolm was buoyed by the novelty of being up at such an hour, and he chattered away as they walked, but within a few minutes David was stumbling with drowsiness. Amy picked him up to carry the rest of the way. He nestled against her side, winding his arms around her and burying his head with its thick, dark curls into the curve of her neck. She could soon tell from his breathing that he was fast asleep.

  She became aware that Charlie’s silence was from something more than just tiredness and having drunk too much. She remembered the black looks he had been casting at her, and wondered what trouble was brewing. Perhaps if she could get him home and into bed quickly enough, he would forget whatever had upset him. She noticed his steps were a little unsteady, and hoped he wasn’t too drunk to make it back to the house; tempting though it might be to leave him in a ditch, the consequences did not bear thinking about.

  They got home without incident, and Charlie sat at the kitchen table while she put the boys to bed. Malcolm was still full of the excitement of the day and insisted he wasn’t sleepy, but a warning growl from Charlie, who heard his protests from the kitchen, settled him. Amy could see that he would be asleep within minutes.

  David did not stir as she carried him to his own bedroom, tucked him in and kissed him softly on the cheek. Malcolm had been refusing kisses from her since he was younger than David was now, and she dreaded the day when David would announce that he was too grown-up for kisses and cuddles.

  Amy returned to the kitchen to get things ready for morning. She would be up late making bread for the next day; that would be the price of her pleasant evening, but well worth paying.

  Charlie had brought out some beer for himself and was downing it by the mugful. He would have trouble getting up in the morning, Amy thought, but she was not foolish enough to tell him so. At least all that beer on top of a hard day’s work in the hay paddocks made it unlikely he would disturb her rest when she at last had the chance to go to bed.

  He finished a bottle and sat, still silent, staring at her as she kneaded the bread.

  ‘Don’t wait for me, Charlie,’ Amy said, working away at the dough. ‘I’ll be a while yet. You go to bed if you like.’ Silence. She looked at him, then looked away from his black stare. He stumbled over to the dresser, got something from inside it, and sat down again.

  ‘Would you like me to get you a cup of tea?’ Amy offered. When she turned to face him, she saw that he had brought some whisky from the dresser and was taking swigs of it straight from the bottle. Her heart sank; whisky always put Charlie into the foulest of moods. He was concentrating on his bottle for now, so she turned back to her kneading and hoped he would ignore her.

  Amy caught his movement out of the corner of her eye and assumed he was walking back to the dresser. When she felt his hands on her shoulders she gave a small cry.

  ‘Charlie, you frightened me.’ She tried to still the trembling of her hands by gripping her apron, twisting the cloth between her fingers. He turned her round to face him, still with his hands on her shoulders, lowered his head and crushed his mouth against hers, grinding her lips against her teeth. His breath stank of beer and whisky, and his beard rasped at her. She tried without succe
ss to suppress a shudder. He drew back. Still he said nothing, and still he stared at her with the same black intensity.

  ‘Please, Charlie,’ Amy said, struggling to make her voice calm, ‘it’s very late, and I’ve got to finish this. Please, couldn’t it wait? You go to bed, and I’ll come along as soon as I can. Please?’

  He made a sound in his throat like a growl, and gripped her shoulders more tightly. Again Amy shuddered.

  ‘Why do you shrink from my touch?’ he snarled. ‘Any man but your lawful husband, is that it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t mean to annoy you. I’m tired, and I said the wrong thing. I’ll come to bed now if that’s what you want.’

  ‘And what do you want, you dirty little bitch? To crawl into bed with any other man who’ll have you?’ He shoved her away from him; she staggered, but kept her feet.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean—of course I don’t want anyone else. Please don’t call me those names.’

  ‘Slut!’ He gave her a slap that made her ears ring. ‘I’ll call you whatever I like. You think you can make a fool of me right under my nose with other men and then come over all dainty and coy when I touch you. Tired! Who’s tired you out? I’m not blind—I can see what you’re up to.’

  ‘Please tell me what I’ve done wrong,’ Amy begged. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done.’

  He lashed out again, this time with his fist closed, and caught her a blow on the cheek. The crack of his fist against her cheekbone was like a gun going off beside her head. She fell to the floor, catching herself with one hand. He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet, then pulled her higher so that her face was close to his, forcing her to stand on tiptoe. Her head ached and her heart was pounding. She had never seen him so angry before.