Sentence of Marriage

by Shayne Parkinson

‘You are not! You only turned fourteen a couple of months ago.’

  ‘By the time you’re thirteen I’ll be nearly fifteen.’

  ‘No you won’t! You’ll be fourteen and a half, that’s not “nearly fifteen”.’

  ‘Don’t let’s argue about it.’

  ‘You always say that when you’re losing,’ said Amy. ‘Not everyone gets married, you know. I don’t think I want to.’

  ‘What’s wrong with getting married and having babies? Don’t you want a house of your own one day?’

  ‘I’ve got one. And I’ve got quite enough men to look after, thank you. But Lizzie,’ Amy put her hand on Lizzie’s arm and looked into her eyes, trying to make her down-to-earth cousin understand, ‘it’s not enough.’

  ‘What’s not enough?’

  ‘All this.’ Amy gave a wide sweep of her arm, taking in not merely the house but the whole valley. ‘Spending all my life in this little place, looking after Pa then getting married and having lots of babies, never seeing anywhere else, never learning anything interesting. Miss Evans says I could be a good teacher. I want to do something useful, not just cooking and cleaning and looking after babies.’

  ‘That’s useful enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not for me. Oh, never mind. You know what you want, just let me want something different.’

  ‘You don’t want it really,’ said Lizzie. ‘Just think of all the old maids there must be, stuck at home being bossed around all their lives and everyone making fun of them. That’s why I don’t want to leave it too late.’

  ‘Who ever bossed you around?’

  ‘Pa does sometimes. Ma tries to, when she thinks of it.’

  ‘I expect husbands can be pretty bossy. And I think there could be worse things than not getting married.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like marrying the wrong person. Imagine being stuck forever with someone horrible.’ Amy gave a shudder. ‘I’d much sooner be an old maid.’

  Lizzie slid the tray into the range and shut the door. ‘That’s why you’ve got to be careful picking a husband. I wouldn’t want a bossy one.’

  ‘Mmm, I can’t really imagine Frank telling anyone what to do—especially someone like you. I don’t know how you do it, though.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make a spectacle of yourself like you did today, and not get embarrassed.’

  ‘Why should I be embarrassed? And I did not make a spectacle of myself! I was just being friendly.’

  ‘I suppose you’d call it being “friendly” to propose to a man if he was a bit slow off the mark?’

  ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that… well, not unless I really had to,’ Lizzie answered, so seriously that Amy could not help laughing.

  ‘You’re dreadful!’

  ‘No I’m not,’ Lizzie said. ‘I just know what I want.’

  ‘And you don’t care what anyone thinks of you?’

  ‘Not really. Why should I?’

  Amy thought there should be an answer to that, but she could not think of one.

  2

  August – September 1881

  Jack went off to Auckland, and the house felt empty without him.

  It was the quietest time of the year on the farm. There were only three or four cows to milk, just enough to supply the household with milk and butter. Now that she was no longer working at the school, Amy found herself with more time on her hands than she had had for months. She often brought a book from her bedroom out to the cosy kitchen to lose herself in when there was nothing she had to do.

  On the first fine morning after several days of rain, Amy felt drawn to more solid company than that provided by books. When she had tidied the kitchen, she went outside to catch up with her brothers who had gone to feed out hay to the cows.

  John and Harry had harnessed one of the horses to the sled. It was a rough wooden vehicle with iron runners, made to slip easily across the soft ground of the paddocks where a cart might have foundered in the mud. They put two hay forks on the sled and the three of them took it down to the largest stack, secure behind its fence. Amy laughed to see the cows lined up along the fences, watching them as they passed.

  ‘You won’t have to wait much longer, girls,’ she called.

  She walked around the haystack, waving her arms and clapping her gloved hands in an attempt to keep warm, while her brothers pitched hay onto the sled. Frost crunched under her booted feet. The air was crisp, making Amy’s face tingle, and the sky had a clarity to it that only appeared on winter days. She had spent too much time indoors these last few months, Amy realised.

  The cows snorted with excitement and rushed up to the gate as Amy’s brothers took the laden sled into the first paddock. The hungry beasts were on them at once, nosing at the hay and stealing great mouthfuls of it before John and Harry could get the first forkfuls off the sled. ‘Hey, look behind you, you stupid animal,’ Harry yelled at a particularly stubborn cow, who seemed to prefer stolen hay over what was thrown to her. ‘How about you lead the horse while John and I chuck the hay around,’ he said to Amy.

  ‘Where shall I take him?’ Amy asked, giving steady old Blaze a rub on the forehead.

  ‘Right around the paddock—if we leave it all in one spot the cows’ll tread it into muck.’

  ‘A couple of these girls’ll be dropping their calves pretty soon—only another day or so, I’d say,’ John said, casting an eye over the cows as they fed. ‘I hope Pa gets back before they really get into it.’

  ‘I expect he will,’ said Amy. ‘He said he’d only be away for a week or two.’

  ‘Depends how much of a good time he’s having,’ Harry said, but without any real conviction.

  A few days later John and Harry came back from feeding out and reported that the first two calves had been born during the night. By the time Jack had been gone a week, a third of the herd had calved. When the calves were a few days old, they were taken from their mothers. Amy taught them to drink from a bucket, which had been one of her tasks on the farm from the age of five. John and Harry were milking more of the cows every day; in a few more weeks there would be enough milk for Amy to start making butter and cheese to sell at the general store.

  Lizzie came over one afternoon, just after lunch. ‘Come and do some baking with Ma and me. You can do your stuff at our place, and it’s more fun to do it together.’

  ‘All right,’ Amy said, glad of the change of scene. They walked back to Lizzie’s house together.

  ‘I’m making pies,’ Lizzie said, as if she were imparting a great confidence.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Apple pies,’ Lizzie said meaningfully.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Lots of them.’

  Amy stopped walking. ‘What are you getting at, Lizzie?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking. How well do you think Frank and Ben eat? I mean, two men living together, I bet they just throw a few odds and ends on the table.’

  ‘You’re not really worried about what Ben eats, are you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Lizzie. ‘But he lives there too, so he’ll eat some, I suppose.’

  ‘Some what?’

  ‘Pie, of course.’

  ‘The pies you’ve been making for Aunt Edie, you mean?’ Amy assumed a guileless expression.

  ‘There’ll be enough to go round.’

  Aunt Edie was sifting flour into a large bowl, Lizzie’s baby brother on the floor near her feet, when the girls installed themselves in the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll just roll out a bit more pastry,’ Lizzie said. ‘I think I’ll make a couple more of these pies.’

  ‘All right dear,’ her mother said. ‘Oh, Ernie, what are you up to?’ The little boy’s mouth and half his face was covered with strawberry jam, which Edie wiped off with her apron.

  Edie’s kitchen was not as large as Amy’s, but there was room on the table for all three of them to work without getting in each others’ way.

  When Lizzie had her latest pies in the oven
, she seemed to see the stack of already-cooked ones for the first time. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Oh, I think I’ve made too many pies, Ma.’ Amy stopped her own baking to watch Lizzie’s performance.

  ‘They’ll all get eaten, I suppose,’ Edie said, looking around vaguely to see where Ernie was.

  ‘But I’ve made twelve, Ma.’

  ‘Mmm? Yes, that is quite a pile.’

  ‘Isn’t it a shame,’ Lizzie said, looking very thoughtful. ‘Here we are with all this baking—too much, really—and there are people around who probably never taste a bit of pudding.’

  ‘Who’s that, dear,’ Aunt Edie asked, a worried look on her kindly face.

  ‘You know, people who don’t have women around to cook for them. Like—well, what about Ben and Frank Kelly? I bet they never have any pudding.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t that sad,’ Edie said. She knitted her brows in thought. Lizzie leapt in to help.

  ‘What a pity they can’t have one of our pies,’ she said, glancing sideways at her mother.

  ‘Perhaps we could give them one,’ said Aunt Edie.

  ‘That’s a good idea, Ma!’ Lizzie said, then looked crestfallen. ‘How would we get it to them? Amy and I couldn’t really go there by ourselves, it wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘I suppose Bill could take it down to them,’ Edie said slowly.

  ‘That’s a good idea!’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ll go and find him right now. Come on, Amy, you’ve finished haven’t you?’

  ‘Not really,’ Amy said, her hands deep in scone dough, but she found herself caught up in the whirlwind Lizzie created. She scraped the dough off her hands, pushed it into a heap and resigned herself to being an accomplice.

  ‘Oh, are you girls going with him?’ Aunt Edie looked surprised. ‘Well, take Ernie with you, then—he’ll enjoy an outing.’

  ‘All right, Ma,’ Lizzie said sweetly. ‘I’ll just get ready first.’ She whisked Amy into her bedroom. Amy watched while Lizzie brushed her hair and tied a pink ribbon in it. They rushed back through the kitchen, collecting two pies on their way out the back door, too quickly for Edie to notice they had ‘forgotten’ to take Ernie.

  ‘I don’t know why Ma had to go having a baby,’ Lizzie grumbled as they went down the path. ‘There’s ten years between Alf and Ernie—you’d think she’d have more sense at her age. I hope she’s not going to do it again.’

  ‘Have babies, you mean?’ Amy shrugged. Being farm bred, they had much more idea of the mechanics of reproduction than city girls would have, but they were both rather hazy on the fine details. ‘Babies just happen, I suppose. But Aunt Edie must be getting a bit old to have any more, isn’t she?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  They found Lizzie’s older brother cleaning tack. ‘Ma says you have to take us down to Kelly’s farm’ said Lizzie. ‘Hurry up and get the buggy ready.’

  Bill was happy enough to stop work, though he grumbled as a matter of form. ‘What does Ma want you to go down there for?’

  ‘Just a message,’ said Lizzie.

  She and Amy held a pie each as they rode down to the Kelly farm at the end of the valley.

  ‘Have you ever been to the house before?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Ma says she brought me here when Frank’s mother was still alive, but I don’t remember. I think I was about five when she died. Ma says she was a lovely person.’

  ‘Your Ma thinks everyone’s lovely.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  As they drove past Charlie Stewart’s farm Amy said mischievously, ‘Don’t you feel sorry for Charlie as well? I bet he doesn’t get any nice apple pies to eat, either.’

  ‘Humph!’ Lizzie said. ‘He shouldn’t be so grumpy, then.’

  The Kelly farm was good-sized, but the paddocks were all full of stumps; too full for maize to be grown even in the flattest of them. Every summer, when the men of the valley got together for the communal task of haymaking, Amy’s brothers complained bitterly about how difficult those paddocks were to work.

  They turned off the valley road and crossed the Kelly’s bridge over the Waituhi; Amy had a bad moment when she noticed some missing planks. The farm buildings they passed all had a neglected look, with doors loose on their hinges and a few rotten boards that needed replacing.

  They pulled up in front of the house. It was a good-sized homestead, much like Amy’s, but she could see that it was sorely in need of a coat of paint. The iron roof over the verandah sagged drunkenly at one end, weighed down by the creeper that had engulfed much of it. There were a few rose bushes, grown straggly through neglect, but no other suggestion of a garden.

  ‘You’d better come in with us, Bill,’ Lizzie said as they got out of the buggy.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be in much danger,’ Bill said with a laugh, but he walked behind them up to the house when he had tethered the horses.

  ‘We’ll knock at the back door,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s more friendly than using the front as though we were only visitors.’

  ‘So what are we?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Neighbours, of course,’ Lizzie said briskly. ‘We’re being neighbourly.’

  They went into a porch, where Amy recognised Frank’s ancient felt hat hanging from a peg. She looked closely at the back door and decided it might once have been painted green. Lizzie gave the door a firm rap, waited a few seconds, then rapped again.

  The door was opened and Frank looked out. When he saw Lizzie his eyes grew wide with something that Amy thought just might have been fear; he looked relieved to see Bill behind them.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘Ah, what a nice surprise!’ he added hastily, though his face did not quite match his words.

  ‘Hello, Frank,’ Lizzie said, flashing him her brightest smile. ‘I’ve baked you something. Can we come in?’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ Frank said. He opened the door wider for them. ‘Um, I’m afraid it’s not very tidy.’

  Amy had no idea how many plates the Kellys possessed, but she was sure a large portion of them must be on the table, and most of the rest on the bench. The plates on the table jostled for space with several heavy saucepans, all with spoons or forks inside.

  ‘Haven’t done the dishes for a while,’ Frank said unnecessarily. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ He pulled out a chair, then shoved it quickly back under the table, but not before Amy had seen what was obviously a pair of combinations draped over the seat; probably waiting to be mended, judging from the large rent in the back. Another chair was graced with a pair of socks. Frank pulled these off and threw them towards the door, where his boots were lying against each other.

  ‘What about a cup of tea? The teapot’s here somewhere.’ He lifted the newspapers that were spread over the table among the plates, and sprang with relief on an old enamel teapot.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Lizzie said, to Amy’s horror. ‘Where shall we put these?’ She indicated the pies she and Amy still held.

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ Frank took the pies and looked around for a clear space to put them. Lizzie obligingly stacked some plates together on the bench, and Frank put the pies down. ‘Hey, these look good!’

  ‘I hope you enjoy them,’ Lizzie said sweetly.

  ‘Ah, perhaps you’d rather have it in the parlour,’ Frank said, looking anxiously around the room.

  ‘If you like,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Hey, Lizzie,’ Bill put in, ‘I can’t stay here all day, you know.’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Lizzie said, casting a threatening look at him.

  At that moment the back door opened, and they all turned to see Ben walk in. He stood and stared at the apparition of strangers in his kitchen. There was a long silence; even Lizzie was not bold enough to speak. Then he looked at Frank and said in a tone of utter disgust, ‘Women!’ With that he turned on his heel and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Frank said after an awkward pause. ‘Ben’s not used to visitors.’

  ‘Per
haps we should go,’ Amy said hesitantly.

  ‘No, no,’ Frank said, looking as though he wished they would. ‘You must have a cup of tea first.’

  They let him usher them through to the parlour. ‘It’s a bit tidier in here,’ said Frank.

  It was indeed tidier, and Amy could guess the reason: the room had obviously not been used in years. It was dim until Frank pulled back the drapes, revealing layers of dust on all the wooden surfaces. Frank opened a window, which disturbed the dust. Amy coughed.

  ‘Sorry, it’s a bit dusty in here,’ said Frank. ‘We don’t use this room much.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Lizzie asked in apparent surprise. ‘But it’s a lovely room.’

  Amy decided Lizzie was being sincere, so she looked around the room more carefully. Yes, it was rather a nice room; quite large, with a beautiful view down the valley. The furniture was old but solid, and the fine-looking mirror over the mantelpiece only wanted cleaning to look beautiful.

  Frank ran his sleeve over a pretty little rimu table, transferring much of the dust to his shirt. ‘I’ll bring it in, you wait here.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll help,’ said Lizzie. She was out the door before Frank had a chance to protest. Left alone, Bill and Amy looked at each other, grinned, then burst into helpless laughter.

  ‘Do you think we should go back out there to protect Lizzie?’ Amy said between giggles.

  ‘I know who I think needs more protecting,’ Bill chuckled.

  They could faintly hear the sounds of a one-sided conversation until Lizzie returned, carrying a tray with tea things, Frank following at her heels. She poured for them all, clearly enjoying the role of hostess she had appropriated. ‘How do you like your tea, Frank?’ she asked, looking intently at him as though the question was of vital interest to her.

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘Ah, just as it comes, thanks.’ Lizzie rewarded him with a smile.

  Bill drank his tea quickly, then rose to his feet. ‘We’d better be going. We really had, Lizzie,’ he said, forestalling her protest. ‘Pa’ll go crook if I’m not back for milking.’

  Frank saw them out, and waved from the door. Amy thought he looked relieved. ‘Thanks for the pies,’ he called as they drove away.