When they got near the house she saw a small plume of smoke rising from the chimney. So he was up, and had lit the range. At the thought of facing him, her grip on the handle of the milk can slackened. ‘Watch out, Mama, you’re spilling it,’ Malcolm said, bringing her attention back to their burden. She took hold of David’s hand as they went into the house, and held it tightly.
Charlie was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of tea cupped in his hands. She saw that he had hacked the remains of the previous day’s loaf into rough slices. The spoiled bread dough lay in front of him, cold and pale like a dead thing. He looked up as they walked in. When he saw the state of Amy’s face he winced and turned away.
The boys rushed over to him, full of their own importance, while Amy carefully lifted the heavy can onto the bench.
‘Papa! We milked the cows!’ David squealed.
‘Mama milked them, you mean,’ Malcolm corrected him. ‘But we got them in the yard, and I tied them up, and we carried the milk. Didn’t we, Mama?’
‘Of course you did, and I couldn’t have managed without you.’ Amy ruffled his hair, and gave David a squeeze. She was avoiding Charlie’s eyes as much as he was avoiding hers.
‘Are you sick, Papa?’ David asked.
Charlie flinched at the boys’ high-pitched voices. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Mama said you were,’ Malcolm chimed in. ‘She said you had to stay in bed because you were sick. That’s why we had to milk the cows—us and Mama.’
‘Stop your blethering,’ Charlie grumbled. ‘Keep quiet or leave the room.’
‘But we haven’t had any breakfast!’ Malcolm said. ‘I want breakfast.’
‘I’ll make you something,’ Amy said. ‘You two sit down and wait nicely.’ They sat and looked at her expectantly, but she suddenly felt overcome with weariness and sank into a chair herself. ‘I’ll do it in a minute. I just want to have a little rest first.’
‘But I’m hungry,’ Malcolm wailed.
‘So am I,’ David added, not to be left out.
‘Don’t speak at the table,’ Charlie thundered. He lashed out with his fist. Malcolm was unlucky enough to be near him, and he caught the blow on the side of his head. Amy rose, scooped both boys off their chairs and put an arm around each of them. She stroked Malcolm’s hair as he buried his face in her apron and forgot to be grown-up.
She led the boys over to the door. ‘Go outside and play for a while—it’ll be lunch-time quite soon, anyway. Wait a minute.’ She went to one of her cake tins to fetch them a handful of biscuits each. ‘There, that’ll keep the worms quiet.’ She was rewarded with smiles from both boys, though Malcolm’s was rather watery. Cakes for breakfast were an unexpected treat. ‘Take an apple each, too,’ she called out the door after them.
She turned back to Charlie, unable to put off talking to him any longer. ‘They’re just tired,’ she said. ‘They were up late last night, and they’ve worked very hard helping me with the cows. They’re not really being naughty.’ She sat down again, not wanting to stay in the room with him but too weary to leave. Her head was throbbing, and she ached all over. On the floor close to her feet, she saw the marks of the blood that she had only managed to clean up in a cursory fashion the night before. My blood. My baby’s blood.
‘They’ve got to learn to do as they’re told. I’ll not have them prattling at the table. You shouldn’t have done it,’ Charlie said, still not looking at her.
‘Shouldn’t have done what?’
‘Milked the cows. You should have woken me up.’
Amy stared at him in blank amazement. ‘Woken you up?’ she echoed. She gathered her thoughts and answered carefully. ‘I didn’t wake you up because I thought you wouldn’t be very pleased to be disturbed. I didn’t want to… annoy you.’
‘It’s my job to milk them,’ Charlie said, sounding more distressed. ‘I should have done it. You had no business doing it. You’ll have upset my cows with your flapping skirts, too.’
‘Does it really matter, Charlie? It needed doing, and I did it. I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you, and no doubt I didn’t do it very well, but the cows were bellowing and I was too scared to wake you up.’ She had not meant to admit her fear, but the words slipped out before she could call them back.
‘You’d have no reason to be scared if you behaved yourself,’ he grumbled. ‘You push a man too far with your nonsense.’ She said nothing; she was not going to apologise for having been beaten. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t wake up,’ he fretted.
Because you were blind drunk, of course. ‘I expect you were tired.’ Beating me like that must have taken a lot of energy.
‘I didn’t hear you get up.’
Now it starts. ‘No. I wasn’t there.’
He looked at her, shocked. ‘You didn’t… stay out here?’
‘No, I didn’t lie on the floor all night,’ she said bluntly. ‘I slept in David’s room.’ Did you really think I’d crawl into bed with you after that? She shifted on her chair, trying to find a position that did not hurt so much.
‘Sit still, woman! Stop squirming like that.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She apologised out of habit, and was at once vexed with herself. She rose to leave the room.
‘Where are you going? I’ve made some tea. Drink it,’ he ordered.
Amy sat down obediently, and poured herself a cup without thinking. But when she put the hot china to her cut lip, she gasped and lowered it, slopping a little tea in the saucer.
‘I can’t drink this,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘My lip’s too sore. I’ll have some when it’s cooled down.’
‘Eat something, then,’ he said, pushing the plate of bread towards her. Amy shook her head. ‘Why not? You’re a bag of bones now—you’ve got to eat, woman.’
‘I can’t eat that. It’s too hard.’
‘You don’t need to use your lip to eat bread! Shove it in your mouth.’
‘I can’t.’ She put her hands on her lap, and found again the small lump in her apron pocket.
‘Why not?’
‘Because of this,’ Amy flared, taking the teeth in her hand and thrusting them in front of his face.
There was a moment’s shocked silence. ‘Did I…’ Charlie said uncertainly.
‘Yes, you did.’ She put the teeth back in her pocket.
He rose unsteadily and walked to the door. When he reached it he turned and looked at her. ‘You behave yourself and it maybe won’t happen again.’
No, it won’t happen again.
*
All Amy’s work took twice as long because of her injuries. She knew she would only be able to do the essentials for many days. The floors would have to stay unscrubbed, the rugs unbeaten, and there would not be as many cakes as usual; butter making, too, would have to be abandoned for the moment. She could only bear to carry half-full buckets of water, so fetching it took twice the normal number of trips. There would be no chance at all of weeding her vegetable garden; she would just have to hope that the plants were well-grown enough to survive the neglect. Doing the work that could not be avoided was going to be hard enough when lifting anything heavy meant agony, and twisting her body to reach shelves or lift pots from the range sent shafts of pain through her bruised flesh.
Charlie came back from the afternoon milking to find her moving David’s things out to the verandah room, David imagining that he was helping her as he trailed along getting underfoot.
‘What are you doing?’ Charlie asked.
‘Davie’s old enough to sleep out here now.’ Forcing her voice to sound casual, Amy added, ‘I’m going to sleep in his room.’
Charlie nodded. ‘That’s for the best, until you’re well again. You’ll be yourself in a few days.’
It’s not just for a few days. But she said nothing, postponing the confrontation while she could. She wanted to build up as much strength as possible before the battle began.
‘I took the boy milking with
me,’ Charlie said. ‘He behaved all right. He’s old enough to make himself useful around the place.’
‘Yes,’ said Amy. ‘Mal’s growing up. He was a big help to me yesterday—you were, too, Davie,’ she added, seeing his hurt expression. ‘You’re a bit too little to go milking every day, though.’
‘He’ll grow up fast enough,’ Charlie said. Amy had to resist the urge to remonstrate. She did not want to lose her baby boy before she had to; especially now she knew there would be no more babies.
Malcolm came in swaggering with self-importance.
‘I’ve been helping with milking,’ he said. ‘You were slow this morning, Mama—it’s much faster when Papa does it. Milking’s man’s work,’ he added, standing close to his father as he parroted him. Amy turned away from the sight. Today Malcolm’s startling likeness to his father was hard to bear.
Malcolm was still boasting about milking and doing ‘man’s work’ when Amy put the boys to bed that evening. ‘Papa won’t take you, you’re just a baby,’ he said to David.
‘I’m not a baby!’
‘Why won’t Papa take you, then?’ Malcolm countered.
David could not come up with any argument against this, and his lower lip trembled. Amy gave him a hug.
‘Never mind, Davie, you can help me, can’t you? Shall we go and look for blackberries tomorrow, if Mama feels a bit better?’ His face lit up at this. The walk would be uncomfortable, and she could not really spare the time to go blackberrying this early in the season, but Amy couldn’t bear to see the little boy looking unhappy.
Despite her aches, Amy slept better that night than she had in years. To sleep without fear of being roughly awakened seemed a great luxury; she felt almost guilty for enjoying it so much. But she needed her sleep. She needed to get strong.
Amy’s bruises deepened in colour over the next few days. Her swollen eye subsided a little, but her face still looked appalling three days later when Sunday arrived. It was clear to both her and Charlie that she would not be able to appear at church that morning.
‘Now, you be a good boy for Papa,’ she told Malcolm as she watched Charlie hoist the boy up to sit in front of him on the horse. She waved them off, hoping Charlie would not be too impatient with Malcolm, and relieved that he had been so easily persuaded to leave David at home with her. Her little David had never yet felt his father’s wrath at its most frightening; she would hate him to get his first beating while she was still too frail to comfort him properly.
But Charlie looked no more sour than usual when he and Malcolm returned, and Malcolm had clearly enjoyed the adventure of riding with his father. Amy sent the boys outside to get rid of Malcolm’s pent-up energy while she worked on the midday meal. Charlie stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her going to and from the range for some time before he spoke.
‘People asked after you,’ he said, an uneasy note in his voice. ‘I had to say you were poorly.’
‘That was true enough, Charlie. I’m not exactly feeling well.’
‘They thought I meant you were with child. I could see them thinking it.’
‘Let them think what they like. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Your pa…’ The uneasy note was stronger. ‘Your pa said he might call in and see you before lunch.’
Amy dropped a pot lid heavily. ‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t. You should have told him not to.’
‘What could I have said? And don’t you go ordering me around, woman—telling me what I should and shouldn’t say. He maybe won’t come, anyway.’
But Jack did come, striding across the paddocks and up to the back door of Charlie’s house, beaming in the anticipation of seeing his daughter happy, healthy and swelling with new life.
‘Where are you, girl?’ he called from the doorstep. He came into the kitchen, full of the familiar smell of roast mutton, without waiting for a reply. ‘I thought I’d just pop over and see how—’ He stopped abruptly when he saw Amy standing at the far end of the table. ‘No,’ he said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. ‘What’s happened to you?’
Amy put down the plates she was holding and rushed to him. ‘Shh, Pa, it’s all right,’ she soothed, as if she were talking to a child. ‘Don’t get upset. Here, sit down.’
She led him to a chair. He sat at her urging, staring at her face in dumb horror. Amy took a seat close to him. ‘I know I look awful, but you mustn’t get upset. It looks much worse than it is—you know how faces are for swelling up if they get a bit of a knock.’
‘No, I don’t,’ Jack said, finding his voice again at last. ‘I don’t know how women’s faces are when they’ve had a man’s fists slamming into them. It’s not a sight I’ve seen before.’ He reached out to brush his fingers over her swollen eye and bruised cheeks. Amy could not help flinching at his gentle touch. ‘Where is he?’ Jack asked heavily.
‘Over the back somewhere. Keeping out of your way, I expect.’ She took his hand in both of hers. ‘I’m all right, Pa, really I am. I wish you hadn’t seen me like this, but you mustn’t worry about me.’
‘Worry? That bastard I gave you to does this to you, and you tell me not to worry! How long’s this been going on?’
‘This was the first time—the first time like this, anyway. And Pa,’ she said, clutching at his hand, ‘it’s the last time, too. Nothing like this is ever going to happen again.’
‘Damned right it’s not! You’re coming home with me right now. I never should have let you go in the first place.’ He stood and held out his hand to help her rise. ‘Come on, girl.’
Amy closed her eyes for a moment, gathering strength. How easy it would be to take the offered hand, how easy to run away. But the battle had to be fought, and it was her battle with Charlie, no one else’s. Only if she lost would she flee.
‘No, Pa. I’m staying here. He’s still my husband, and he’s the father of my sons.’
‘I can’t leave you here with him!’ Jack protested.
‘Yes, you can. I’ll be all right.’ She stood up slowly so as not to jar her cracked ribs. ‘Pa, it’s not going to happen again. I promise you that.’
‘You can’t know that. You can’t know what he’ll do.’
‘I do know.’ Her voice rang with certainty. ‘I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure it was true. Have I ever lied to you?’
‘Never,’ he admitted. ‘But, girl—’
‘Grandpa!’ David cried out in delight as he burst through the doorway and flung himself at his grandfather. ‘I seed you coming! I runned real fast—faster than Mal. Mal and Papa are coming. Mama looks funny, eh? Mama falled down on her face. Are you having lunch with us, Grandpa?’
‘No, Davie,’ Amy said. ‘Grandpa’s going home now. Aunt Susannah and Aunt Sophie have cooked lunch for Grandpa.’
Jack looked helplessly at her. ‘I can’t do it, girl. I can’t leave you here.’
‘You have to,’ Amy insisted. ‘I’ll be all right. I promise.’
‘What’s wrong, Grandpa?’ David asked, looking in confusion at Jack’s stricken face. ‘Are you crying?’
‘Shh, Davie, Grandpa’s all right. Don’t upset the little fellow, Pa,’ she urged quietly. Jack opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again.
Amy took his hand and led him to the door. ‘Go home, Pa, and try not to worry about me. It’s like Davie said—I fell on the floor and got hurt. That’s nothing to get upset about, is it? I’ll come and see you when I don’t look so awful.’ She offered the less bruised of her cheeks for a kiss; her split lip was still too tender for caresses.
Jack went obediently through the back door, just as Charlie appeared around the corner of the house with Malcolm. Amy stood in the doorway, holding her breath as the two men stared at each other.
It was Jack who broke the silence. ‘My girl tells me she fell down and got hurt,’ he said coldly. ‘An accident, I suppose you’d call it? I don’t want my daughter having any more accidents like that. If she did I’d have to do something about it. Do you understand me?�
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Charlie looked away before he answered. ‘I can’t help accidents. She’ll be more careful now, I’ve no doubt. There’ll maybe be no more accidents after this.’
‘There’d better not be,’ Jack said. He cast a last helpless glance at Amy before turning his face toward home.
Charlie watched Jack’s retreating back, then turned to Amy. ‘You didn’t tell him.’ He sounded confused.
Amy leaned against the door frame for support, aware of the weakness of her body now that the immediate need for strength had passed. That was hard. Poor Pa, I wish he hadn’t seen me like this. ‘I didn’t need to. He knows. Lunch is nearly ready,’ she went on in a determinedly light tone for the benefit of the children. ‘You might as well come to the table.’
‘There’s a buggy coming up the road,’ Charlie said, shading his eyes as he peered in the direction of the rattling noise that Amy now noticed for the first time. ‘It’s Kelly and his brood.’
‘Is the whole valley going to come and see me today?’ Amy said wearily. ‘Charlie, can you make sure Frank and the children don’t come inside? You won’t be able to keep Lizzie out.’
She retreated to the relative privacy of the kitchen, and had time to sit down facing away from the door before Lizzie came up to the house.
‘It’s only me,’ Lizzie called from the doorstep. ‘We’re on our way to Ma’s for lunch, I just dropped in to see how you are. Charlie said you were a bit crook this morning, I wondered—’
‘Lizzie,’ Amy interrupted, still facing away from her cousin. ‘I don’t want you to make a fuss. It’s not as bad as it looks.’ She twisted around in her chair, wincing at the pain of the movement, and saw Lizzie’s puzzled expression turn to shock.
‘Amy, what’s he done to you?’
‘I know I look awful. You should have seen me the morning after he did it.’ She managed a small laugh. ‘It’ll get better.’
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