Mud and Gold

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘Something’s frightened him—he shied away from me, he never does that. Something’s made him bolt, and he’s strained himself in that stiff leg. He’ll be no use for days.’

  He slowly became aware of the unnatural silence of his audience, and looked at the three of them with dawning suspicion.

  ‘Do you know anything about this?’ he asked Amy.

  ‘He… he must have got a fright, like you said,’ Amy hedged.

  ‘What frightened him, then? Eh? What’s been going on behind my back?’

  While Amy struggled to think of an answer that might satisfy him, Charlie’s attention turned to Malcolm.

  ‘What have you been up to, boy? Have you been plaguing my horse?’

  ‘I… I didn’t…’ Malcolm began. But the threat in his father’s face pushed him over the edge into panic, and he made an ill-conceived attempt to run for it.

  Charlie’s thought processes might have been slow, but his reflexes were fast enough to react at once to a calf trying to dodge away from him. He snaked out his long arms and caught Malcolm before the boy had gone two strides, twisting Malcolm around to face him and holding him firmly by both shoulders.

  ‘I didn’t mean to lame him, Pa,’ Malcolm gasped out.

  ‘Don’t be hard on him, Charlie, he didn’t mean any harm,’ Amy said. Charlie ignored her.

  ‘Haven’t I told you not to interfere with the horses?’ he demanded. ‘Haven’t I said you’re to keep away from them when I’m not here?’ He shook Malcolm roughly.

  ‘I-I didn’t mean to—I just wanted—’ Malcolm took a gulp of air and spoke in a rush. ‘I wanted to ride him—I just went for a little ride—I wanted to ride him like you do—I wanted to go to town with you but you wouldn’t take me—you never take me—you think I’m too little—I wanted to ride him but he kicked me off—’

  ‘You’ve lamed that horse, you little bugger,’ Charlie said, angrier than ever. ‘I told you to keep away from them. That bloody horse could have killed you,’ he finished in a roar, but Malcolm was far too frightened to understand that his father’s anger was all the worse because of his fear for Malcolm’s safety. ‘Right, I’m going to teach you a lesson,’ Charlie said, half dragging Malcolm out of sight behind the shed where he kept a stick handy.

  Amy sank onto the back step holding a fearful David close to her, weeping quietly at the familiar sound of Malcolm’s yells. ‘Davie, you must try and be a good boy,’ she said through her tears. ‘You must always do what Papa says so he won’t get angry with you. Promise me you’ll try.’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ David said.

  When Charlie reappeared, trailed by a sobbing Malcolm, David stared at his father and clung harder to Amy.

  ‘You get down to that cow shed and you wait for me there. Understand?’ Charlie said.

  He watched Malcolm run off, then turned to David and gave him a hard look. ‘Now, what about you? Did you try riding my horse?’

  David pressed his face against Amy’s chest, his voice a muffled squeak. ‘David!’ Amy said sharply, pushing him away from her and gripping his shoulders to steady him. Charlie in his current mood was quite capable of giving the child a beating merely for being babyish. ‘Stand up straight and answer Papa properly.’ She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze.

  ‘No, Papa,’ David said in a voice that, although high-pitched with fright, was clear. ‘I didn’t ride the horse. I just looked.’

  ‘Good. See that you don’t.’ Charlie gave Amy a look that told her she would have been liable for a beating herself for letting Malcolm commit his offense if she had not put a stop to such treatment, then turned on his heel and made off towards the cow shed.

  That evening Amy watched Malcolm during the dismal silence of the family’s dinner time. His tears had disappeared, but in their place was the sullen expression he so often wore. The sullenness had been replaced by the merry, open face of a happy little boy during the pleasant few hours she had spent alone with the children, but now it was back with a vengeance. She could do nothing to comfort him; instead she had to watch him eat in silence, then put both boys to bed while Charlie stood in the doorway to see that there was no forbidden babying.

  She would have liked to have gone straight to bed rather than sit in the parlour with Charlie, but there was the never-ending pile of sewing to be tackled and no light brighter than a candle in her room. The candle was enough to read by if she stood it close to her bed, but it was too hard on her eyes to do tiny hand stitches by its light. She tried to ignore Charlie’s presence as she stitched away at a new chemise for herself, until he demanded her attention by speaking.

  ‘Did you see the boy riding Smokey?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ she said, wondering if he was going to make more of a fuss. ‘I got down to the horse paddock just as he was jumping on.’

  ‘You didn’t stop him.’

  ‘I called out to him, but I don’t know if he even heard me, he was so excited about it all.’ She dropped her sewing into her lap and looked across the lamp at him. ‘Charlie, I don’t think Mal did anything so awful today. He’s mad on horses, and he wanted to have a go at riding. It’s a shame he lamed Smokey, but Smokey’ll come right soon enough.’

  ‘I’ve told him before not to go near the horses when I’m not here. He’s got to learn to do as he’s told.’

  You would have been here if you hadn’t been out whoring. It wouldn’t have happened then. ‘He forgot. Children forget what they’ve been told when they get excited. It doesn’t mean Mal’s wicked. It means he’s just a little boy.’

  ‘It’s time he grew up, then.’

  Charlie lapsed into silence, and Amy took up her sewing, then he spoke again.

  ‘What sort of a job did he make of it?’

  ‘What? Oh, riding, you mean?’ She stopped and thought. ‘He was quite good, actually. Especially for the first time he’d ever been on a horse by himself. He’s got good balance, I think. He hung on tight, and he’s got strong legs for kicking. That was the trouble, Smokey’s not used to being belted like that.’

  ‘Was he scared?’

  ‘Mal? Not a bit. Mal’s not frightened of anything.’ Except you when you’re wild with him. ‘Even when Smokey bucked him off, he was too excited to notice the knocks he got.’

  ‘Hmm. He’s no coward, that boy.’

  ‘No, he’s very brave.’ Charlie’s proud of Mal for doing that. He gave poor Mal an awful hiding, and now he’s calmed down he’s thinking what a brave boy he is. I bet he won’t tell Mal that, though. He only ever tells him he’s done wrong.

  Charlie turned the page of his newspaper noisily. ‘I might buy the boy a pony.’

  ‘A pony?’ Amy echoed. ‘That’ll cost a lot of money, won’t it?’

  ‘That’s none of your concern. You keep your nose out of my affairs and get on with your work. Aye, I’ll ask old man Carr if he’s any ponies he’s not wanting.’

  ‘Mal will love that. He’ll be beside himself,’ Amy said. He’d be even happier if you told him you’re proud of him. But you won’t.

  29

  January – August 1892

  Malcolm took to riding more naturally than he had to walking. It was barely a matter of weeks before he was trotting his little pony confidently around the paddock. Charlie’s idea of teaching consisted of giving the boy a leg-up onto the pony’s bare back then slapping the animal on the rump until he broke into a trot, and Malcolm took many tumbles before he mastered the art of keeping his seat. He never so much as whimpered, no matter how painful the fall; he was too busy enjoying himself. It was not long before he was managing to coax the pony, a steady little bay called Brownie, into an occasional canter, and even attempting to jump over logs, though this led to more falls than successes.

  By the time school started again there was no question but that Malcolm would be riding there and back each day, even though by the time he caught the pony before and after school it would have been almost as fast for him to walk. Charlie insisted he
care for the pony himself, but there was no difficulty in making Malcolm do all Brownie’s grooming and feeding. He adored his pony.

  Amy was glad to see his new-found happiness, but she wished it did not have to be at David’s expense. Malcolm was too busy now with his precious pony to have any time for his little brother, and Amy could see that David missed his company. He was still her affectionate little boy, eager for cuddles and kisses when his father was not around to see, but Amy could not provide the rough-and-tumble play David was used to from Malcolm.

  For all his harshness, Charlie was a better father than some Amy knew of. She remembered from her own school-days a few children falling asleep over their desks, having been dragged out of bed to help their fathers with the morning milking then sent off to ride to school with no time for a proper breakfast. Charlie was not so demanding of his sons while they were very young. Malcolm had to help him with the afternoon milking, but he was left to sleep until Amy got the boys up for their breakfast, and David was considered too young to help at all.

  Even so, it was a long day for Malcolm. After breakfast he had to catch his pony, put on the bridle and throw a blanket across Brownie’s back (Charlie had no intention of paying for an extra saddle, and Malcolm would have been the only child in the school with such a luxury if he had), then ride down the track to school. In the afternoon he groomed the pony and put him out to graze, and after some milk and biscuits it would be time for him to help his father round up the cows for milking.

  Amy’s own days were so full that it was some time before she began to suspect that Malcolm did not always come straight home from school. Sometimes he seemed more out of breath than the short ride warranted, and when her suspicions grew strong enough for her to begin taking note of the time on the kitchen clock she soon realised that on the days Malcolm rushed into the kitchen flushed and panting he was at least a quarter of an hour later home than he should have been.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked him one day when the fifteen minutes had stretched to twenty-five and Malcolm had had no time to groom the pony before racing up to the house for his afternoon tea.

  ‘At school,’ he said, giving her a look that dared her to deny it.

  ‘You haven’t come straight home, though, have you?’ said Amy. ‘It only takes a few minutes for you to get home, especially the pace you bring Brownie up the road. Come on, Mal, tell me. Where have you been?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ Malcolm said, his face set. ‘Just riding around a bit.’

  ‘I thought as much. You should come straight home from school, you know. Your father thinks you do.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong,’ said Malcolm. ‘Just went down the road a bit and over a couple of ditches. It’s boring just riding to school and back. Don’t you tell on me.’

  ‘I won’t tell on you, but… oh, if you must go off riding by yourself, at least try and get home a bit sooner than this. Your pa will notice if you keep getting back this late, you know. He expects you here well in time for milking.’

  ‘I’m sick of milking,’ Malcolm muttered.

  Amy gave a little laugh of surprise. ‘Sick of milking? It’s no use being sick of it, Mal, it’s got to be done. I might as well say I’m sick of cooking dinner every night.’

  ‘But I’m sick of it,’ Malcolm persisted. ‘I want to do more riding and things.’

  ‘You can do riding when there’s no school. You’ve got to help your pa, he needs you. It’s going to get harder for him to manage when he gets older, too. Anyway, you used to love going out and working with him.’

  ‘That was years ago,’ Malcolm said, overstating matters. ‘That was before I had Brownie. I hardly ever get to go for a good ride.’

  ‘Yes, you do, you go for a ride every Saturday. Stop moaning and eat your biscuits, your pa will be up in a minute.’ It was hard, she knew, for a six-year-old to accept the inevitable. ‘We all have to do things we don’t want to, Mal. You’re always so keen to be grown-up—well, that’s what being grown-up means. Come on, now, be a good boy and get rid of that grumpy face. It’ll be winter soon enough and only the house cows to milk.’

  Malcolm grumbled most afternoons about having to milk and help with other farm work, though he had the sense not to do so in front of his father. Amy would still sometimes catch a hurt look on Malcolm’s face when Charlie went into town without him, as he generally did once a fortnight or so, but Malcolm did not look aggrieved for long. Instead he would spend the few hours of his father’s absence practising more and more ambitious jumps over logs and stumps, dragging brushwood into heaps to make a more challenging course. Ditches were soon no problem, and before autumn had begun to turn into winter Malcolm was able to coax Brownie into leaping obstacles that Amy would have thought quite beyond the pony’s capability. There was no role for David beyond that of admiring audience in any of these riding exploits, and it wrung Amy’s heart to see the little boy feeling left out.

  One afternoon as she was walking back from the vegetable garden with a load of carrots to go in that evening’s soup, Amy stopped to watch the two boys. Malcolm had just managed to take Brownie over a slim tree trunk he had set up between two stumps. He leapt from the pony’s back, grinning.

  ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘That was neat,’ said David. He took a few steps towards Malcolm and the pony. ‘Can I pat your horse, Mal?’

  ‘All right,’ Malcolm said magnanimously.

  David stood on tiptoe to pat the pony’s neck. ‘He’s nice. I wish I had a horse.’

  ‘Pa might get you one when you’re six,’ Malcolm said, but this was too far into the unimaginably distant future to give much comfort to the four-year-old.

  The memory of David’s wistful little face would not leave Amy. With no money of her own and no influence over Charlie she could not do anything about getting David his own pony, but she wanted to cheer him up somehow.

  The best she could do for the moment, she decided, was to give him a little outing. A few mornings later she got permission from Charlie to visit Lizzie, and set off down the road with David at her side.

  It had seemed a fine idea to give herself and David a change of company, and they were both disappointed at the end of their walk to find Frank’s house deserted, a note from Lizzie on the kitchen table to tell anyone who popped in that the Kellys had all gone to town for the morning.

  ‘I wanted to play with Joey, Mama,’ David said as they walked back down Frank’s track after their fruitless attempt at visiting.

  ‘I know, darling, I’m sorry. We’ll try and come down another day.’

  David was silent for some time, then he said, ‘Maudie’s got a horse, too.’

  ‘Not her own horse, Davie. It’s just one of Uncle Frank’s horses she uses to get to school.’

  ‘But she’s allowed to ride it. She can ride good now.’

  ‘You’ll learn soon. You’ll be able to ride on Brownie with Mal when you start school.’

  ‘I wish I had a horse.’

  ‘I know, Davie. I know.’

  They walked on in silence to the end of the track and then turned on to the road up the valley.

  A cart was coming down the road towards them, a man waving at them from the driver’s seat. When the cart got closer, Amy recognised Matt Aitken.

  Matt drew the cart to a halt, and Amy went over to exchange polite greetings with him, annoyed with herself at being so nervous speaking to a man not within her immediate family. It took an effort of will before she could meet Matt’s eyes and speak sensibly to him.

  ‘I’ve just been up to see to a couple of your uncle’s horses,’ Matt said. Amy knew that he occasionally did some farrier work in the district. ‘I’m on my way home now—would you like to come with me and see Rachel? She doesn’t get a lot of visitors, and her and Bessie get a bit fed up with each other’s company all day. I could give you a ride home afterwards.’

  ‘I should be getting home, really,’ Amy said. Charlie had given permission for a v
isit to Lizzie, not to Rachel Aitken. And he would be furious at the thought of her riding about unsupervised with Matt Aitken.

  ‘Maybe another day, then,’ Matt said. ‘Hey, I bet this boy would like to see Peg’s pups, wouldn’t you, Dave?’

  ‘Pups?’ David echoed, his eyes lighting up.

  ‘That’s right. She’s got eight of the little beggars. I’m bringing a few of them with me when I go out, trying to talk people into taking them off my hands! Come on, up you come.’

  He leaned down and hoisted David into the back of the cart, where Amy now noticed a wooden crate lined with sacking. She looked in and saw four puppies snuggled together in a tangled mass.

  David dropped to the floor of the cart beside the crate and stared at the puppies.

  ‘Aren’t they pretty,’ he breathed in wonder.

  Matt laughed. ‘I thought they were pretty ugly, myself. You’re more than welcome to one of them, Amy, I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of them all.’

  As Amy watched, one puppy separated itself from its fellows and clambered over to stand with its paws pressed against the side of the crate. It nosed against David’s hand and whined in its little voice. David stroked it, and the whines grew more excited. He lifted the puppy carefully into his lap, laughing in delight as the pup’s long tongue snaked out to lick his face.

  ‘He likes me, Mama,’ David said, so excited that his voice came out as a squeak.

  ‘Yes, he does,’ Amy agreed, her heart sinking. She knew what must come next.

  ‘Can I have him? Please, Mama? Can I take him home?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Davie, I don’t think Papa would be very pleased. He thinks he’s got enough mouths to feed without a puppy around the place.’

  ‘Please, Mama. I’ll look after him. Papa might like him.’

  ‘I don’t think so, darling. I’m sorry, I think you’ll have to leave the puppy here.’

  ‘A dog around the house isn’t a bad idea, Amy,’ Matt put in. ‘I got Peg after Te Kooti’s lot came through a while back. The soldiers sent them packing before they caused any trouble that time, but you never know when something like that might happen again. I can’t always be home with Rachel, I like the idea of a dog barking its head off if anyone came poking around who had no business to.’