Sentence of Marriage

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘So you’re roping me in to help you manhunting,’ Bill said when they were out of earshot. ‘You could give me fair warning next time.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m sure,’ Lizzie said, looking prim. ‘I was just taking Ben and Frank a present from Ma.’ Amy saw her prim expression relax into a smug smile.

  *

  ‘It’s about time Pa got back,’ John said at breakfast the next Friday. Only a few of the cows were still in calf by this time.

  ‘We’ll be milking the whole herd by the end of next week, I’d say. That’ll be a beggar with just the two of us,’ Harry said.

  ‘He won’t be away much longer, I shouldn’t think,’ said Amy. ‘I thought he would have been home by now, really.’

  The days went quickly, and the following Thursday Amy was surprised to realise almost another week had passed. That morning she went into town with Harry.

  They collected the mail from the Post and Telegraph Office while their supplies were being loaded into the buggy. ‘There’s a cable from Auckland,’ Harry said.

  ‘It must be from Pa! What does it say?’

  ‘Give us a chance to open it… damn!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘He says he won’t be back for another two weeks! Damn and blast the old…’ Harry remembered Amy’s presence. ‘I mean, it’s a bit rough, leaving the farm for that long, when he knows we’re flat out with milking and everything. Damn it, we’ll have to organise selling the calves we don’t want soon.’

  ‘I hope he’s not ill.’

  ‘No, he says he’s “very well indeed”. See for yourself.’

  Amy read the cable and found it was just as Harry had reported. ‘That’s really strange.’

  ‘I can think of another word for it,’ Harry muttered.

  John was as dumbfounded as Harry and Amy over their father’s truancy. They received another cable at the end of August to tell them Jack would be arriving on the following Thursday.

  ‘He expects us to come and get him, of course,’ Harry said.

  ‘Well, he can’t walk all this way, can he?’ said Amy. ‘You’d better go in and fetch him, John,’ she added, thinking it might be sensible to put off Harry’s reunion with Jack. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  She and John drove in together after lunch on the second Thursday in September. The tide was only an hour past full, so they took the rough inland track instead of going along the beach.

  ‘Should be all right to come back along the sand,’ John said as they jolted over the rutted surface.

  ‘Good!’ Amy said jerkily.

  The day was overcast, with a chilly breeze; when they ascended the last hill before reaching town they saw that the sea looked grey and sombre, with a heavy swell.

  ‘He’ll have had a rough trip,’ John remarked.

  Amy hurried onto the wharf while John hitched the horses. She saw that the Staffa had already tied up, and she looked eagerly for a sight of her father, but he was nowhere to be seen among the knot of passengers milling about on the deck.

  ‘Look at that,’ John said quietly as he came up behind her. ‘That fancy piece waiting for someone to help her along the gangplank.’

  Amy followed his gaze. ‘Oh, what a vision of loveliness!’ she said, smothering a giggle.

  The woman who had attracted John’s attention was immediately obvious among the other travellers. Not for any particular beauty; her mouth was too thin, her features too sharp and her nose too long for that, though she was tall and slim; almost bony, Amy thought.

  But her travelling costume was clearly designed for more sophisticated surroundings than Ruatane Wharf. It was of dark green wool, with contrasting buttons and cuffs in bright red, and it had what seemed to Amy an astonishing number of tucks and gathers. The frill around her hooded cape was of the same red, and it ended in a broad ribbon that came down her back until it rested on a slight bustle. Her hat was trimmed with a green ostrich feather, and red roses that Amy thought might be of velvet. To complete the picture, the woman was looking over her fellow passengers with an obvious sense of her own superiority.

  Amy’s attention was caught by a new movement on the deck. ‘It’s Pa!’ she said excitedly. ‘Pa!’ she called out.

  Jack recognised them and waved, then to their surprise he took the vision’s arm and led her up the gangplank.

  ‘She must have been fluttering her eyelashes at him,’ John murmured.

  ‘John! He’s just being a gentleman,’ Amy said, trying not to laugh. As her father approached them, Amy noticed that the woman’s face had a delicate green tinge that toned in with her costume.

  ‘Well, here we are at last,’ Jack said, a foolish grin on his face. Amy wanted to throw her arms around him, but she felt awkward under the vision’s gaze. ‘You’re both here, that’s good. I want you to meet,’ he took hold of the woman’s hand and slipped her arm through his,

  ‘Mrs Leith—my wife.’

  Amy stared at him, certain she must have misheard.

  ‘Amy,’ Jack said, taking her arm and pulling her closer, ‘aren’t you going to kiss your new mother?’

  3

  September 1881

  The four of them stood on the wharf looking at one another; John and Amy in utter shock, Jack grinning stupidly, and the vision’s expression changing from a bright smile to a look of embarrassment. Amy realised that her mouth was hanging open; she shut it abruptly.

  The woman turned to Jack. ‘You did tell them about us, didn’t you, dear? You did say you’d write and tell them.’

  Jack shuffled his feet and looked at the ground before meeting his wife’s eyes. ‘Well, I meant to. But when it came to it… I just couldn’t think how to put it. I knew they’d be pleased as anything when they met you, so I thought I’d just let it be a surprise…’ He trailed off awkwardly.

  ‘You can certainly see it’s a surprise,’ the vision said. ‘Well, I’m here. You must be John? Surely you’re the oldest one?’ John looked at her dumbly, still too amazed to speak; when Amy nudged him in the ribs he recovered himself enough to nod. ‘And this is little Amy.’ She turned her gaze on Amy, and her smile wavered. ‘You’re older than I expected from the way your father spoke.’

  She shot a look at Jack, who put his arm around Amy’s waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘That’s because she’s my little girl. Come on, Amy, say hello to your ma.’

  ‘Hello,’ Amy said dutifully.

  ‘I think you’re both a little too old to call me Mama,’ the vision said. ‘You can call me… well, I suppose you’d better just call me by my name. I’m Susannah.’ She removed her arm from Jack’s and extended her hand; first John then Amy shook it.

  ‘That doesn’t seem right, calling you by your name like that, Susie,’ Jack said, frowning slightly.

  ‘It’s Susannah, dear,’ Susannah said in the tone of one who has repeated the same words more than once. ‘I can’t have a grown man like this calling me Mother.’ She indicated John with a dramatic gesture.

  ‘Well, maybe… but Amy should.’

  ‘Whatever you say dear,’ Susannah said, smiling sweetly at her husband.

  ‘Let’s get you home, then,’ Jack said cheerfully.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m so looking forward to seeing it all,’ Susannah gushed. ‘The countryside is so pretty, isn’t it? And it’s such a relief to be off that horrible ship.’ She shuddered, and cast a look of loathing over her shoulder at the steamer.

  ‘Take one of these trunks, boy,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll take this one, and you can come back for the last one.’ They hefted the heavy-looking trunks and carried them over to the buggy, along with Jack’s modest case.

  ‘You sit in the back, my dear,’ Jack said, gallantly offering his arm to help Susannah into the buggy. ‘John can drive, then I can point things out to you.’

  ‘I don’t think we can fit all this stuff in, Pa,’ John said, finding his voice again at last.

  ‘Of course we can,’ said Jack. �
��Put this trunk in the front, my case can go between you two, there’s room for this one behind us… hmm, you’re right, we can’t fit this last one in. Never mind, we can leave it in the cargo shed overnight and pick it up tomorrow.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just come straight back and get it, Jack?’ Susannah asked. ‘I do need all my things right away.’

  ‘It’s a bit far for that, Mrs L.’ Jack laughed at the notion. ‘It’ll be safe enough here, don’t you worry.’ Susannah obviously was worried, but she said nothing as Jack sent John over to the cargo shed with the last trunk.

  Amy had to put her feet on one of the trunks, and it was so high that she found herself perched awkwardly on the seat, but she was too busy trying to adjust to the fact of her father’s new wife to take much notice.

  ‘Oh, what a pretty little town it is,’ Susannah said as they drove through Ruatane. ‘Not many shops, of course, but a few nice little ones—I see a milliner’s there—and the gardens around all the houses are sweet. I suppose you come in here most days?’

  Jack roared with laughter. ‘We’d never get any work done if we came in here every day! No, we come in once a week for supplies, and then on Sunday to church. That’s often enough.’

  ‘Twice a week?’ Susannah repeated. ‘But don’t you go visiting, or to the theatre, or—’

  ‘Theatre?’ Jack laughed again. ‘There’s nothing like that here, Susie.’

  ‘Oh.’ Susannah lapsed into silence for some time.

  ‘The tide’s out enough now to go along the beach, so you’ll have a nice, smooth ride,’ Jack said.

  ‘Along the beach? Why do you want to go along the beach?’

  ‘You’ll know the answer to that the first time you go over the inland track. The beach is much easier going.’

  ‘But is it safe?’ Susannah asked.

  ‘Now, would I take you somewhere that wasn’t safe?’ Jack smiled indulgently.

  ‘No,’ Susannah answered, but she gave a little shriek when they turned off the road after crossing the Waipara Bridge and went bumping down to the beach.

  She seemed to calm a little when they reached the firm sand below the high tide mark and the ride became smoother. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ she asked when they had been going about ten minutes.

  ‘Not quite.’ Jack caught Amy’s eye as she turned her head towards him, and gave her a wink. ‘Can’t see the island today, it makes a fine sight in clear weather.’ He pointed in the general direction of White Island.

  ‘There’s some good farms over there,’ Jack went on, pointing in the direction of the sand dunes. ‘Course you can’t really see them from here. This part’s called Orere Beach, it turns into Waituhi Beach after the next creek. That’s Carr’s place we’re passing, I got some of my first cows from him. Now, you’ll see the difference when we go past this next one—well, you would if it wasn’t for those dunes. That’s where the Feenan lot live. Half the fences have fallen down, the pasture’s more thistles than grass, and they don’t have the sense to keep their cows away from the tutu.’

  ‘Tutu?’ Susannah echoed weakly.

  ‘Poisonous plant. Cows gorge themselves on it if they get the chance, specially when the pasture’s rough as blazes like that lot, then they go into convulsions—they usually die. The Feenans muddle along somehow, but Lord only knows how they feed that tribe of kids, they can’t make much out of that place. Now, here’s a decent farm again, Forster’s place is next, young Bob Forster farms that now the old man’s gone.’

  He gave a running commentary as they passed each property, and Amy wondered how much it meant to this strange woman. Jack’s words to her were still echoing in her head: ‘Your new mother.’ Words that made no sense.

  After another twenty minutes they jolted through a shallow stream where it emptied into the sea, and Susannah interrupted Jack for a moment to say, ‘Surely we’re nearly there now?’

  ‘About half-way,’ said Jack.

  ‘Half-way?’

  ‘Barely.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was so far from town?’ Her voice betrayed the effort it cost to appear calm.

  ‘I thought you knew… I didn’t think it mattered, anyway. Look, you can see the bluff from here.’ He pointed to the hill that marked the end of the Waituhi Valley.

  When they turned into the valley road Jack said, ‘We’re on the last leg now. But the road gets a bit rough from here.’

  ‘Rougher than what we’ve been on?’ Susannah asked in horror.

  ‘A bit rougher, yes. Now this first farm belongs to the Kelly boys, Ben and Frank. Not a bad place. Some of the fences are a bit scruffy, though, and they haven’t made much of a job of taking the stumps out of this paddock, see?’

  He pointed to the paddock beside the road, and Susannah looked dutifully, though without any interest that Amy could detect. Amy noticed Frank two paddocks away leading his cows in for milking, but she decided not to embarrass him by waving.

  The school’s horse paddock was empty when they passed it; the children had all gone home for the day. Amy turned away from the sight of the schoolroom and all it meant to her.

  ‘This is Charlie Stewart’s place squashed in between my farm and the Kellys’. It’s only a hundred acres, two of the old private’s allotments joined together.’

  ‘Privates?’

  ‘Yes, after the wars—the soldiers all got a parcel of land, but most of them weren’t interested in working it. That’s how I got my place, bought it from a captain or major or whatever he was. Got it in July 1866, and we moved out here in September that year.

  ‘Charlie bought his place about seven or eight years ago, there was a couple on it for a few years before that, but they chucked it in and moved up to Tauranga. He lives there by himself—he’s a bit of a strange one. He’s got some funny notions about the Queen and something called Jacobee—Amy, what’s that thing Charlie bailed up the new minister over when he heard Reverend Hill came from Glasgow?’

  ‘The Jacobite Succession, Pa,’ Amy answered. ‘Mr Stewart thinks…’ she struggled to recall a history lesson. ‘He thinks someone called James the Third should have been King after James the Second, instead of Mary and William. It’s to do with him being Scottish, I think.’

  ‘I’m Scottish, and I don’t think that,’ said Jack. ‘Well, I was born in Dumfries, even if I don’t remember living there, so I’m as Scottish as he is.’

  They passed the boundary fence. ‘This is it,’ Jack announced proudly. ‘Your new home, my dear.’

  Susannah looked more animated for a moment, but as they passed over a particularly rough spot in the road she clutched at her stomach. Jack seemed oblivious to her discomfort.

  ‘You can see we’ve done a lot of work on the place over the years. This paddock by the road, it was one of the first we cleared—it’s a good flat one. Arthur and I broke the two farms in together. His place is next door, I’ll take you over to meet him and Edie in a day or two.’

  ‘I can’t call on her until she’s visited me first,’ said Susannah. Amy supposed this must be some mysterious rule of polite society. She could see no reason for it herself; Susannah, she thought, would find country ways rather rough and ready.

  Amy wondered how the farm must appear to a city-bred woman like Susannah. To Amy it was all so familiar that she hardly thought about it. She knew that her father looked at each paddock and remembered all the labour that had created it: clearing the undergrowth, felling the larger trees when they could use the timber, burning much of the bush where it stood, pulling out stumps when they had rotted enough, slowly getting drains dug so the paddocks wouldn’t turn into mire when stock were grazed.

  Amy knew that Jack saw the wilderness it had been, the good farm he had made it, and the even better farm he and his sons would make. Perhaps Susannah would see only a rough road leading through muddy paddocks with the dark green of the bush-clad hills as a backdrop. As they turned off the valley road on to Jack’s farm the lowering sky began a drizzle tha
t threatened to turn into rain, and even Amy could see that the farm looked a cheerless place.

  ‘See that building there?’ Jack pointed to a two-roomed slab hut with a shingle roof. ‘Over by that patch of white pines. We use it for keeping feed in now—well, that was the first house we had on this place.’ His eyes took on a distant look. ‘Two years we had in that hut, Annie and me and the two boys. The first girl was born in it—died there, too. Amy was born there—she was meant to arrive in the new house, but you came a couple of weeks before you should have, girl.’ He ruffled Amy’s curls. ‘It took Arthur and me a bit longer than we thought it would to get the real houses finished, anyway, so Amy was a month old before we moved in. Can’t have been much fun for Annie living in that draughty hut and cooking over an open fire—the roof leaked like a sieve whenever it rained, too—but I don’t remember her ever complaining about it. She only had three years in the new house. She deserved better.’ He fell silent.

  For a few moments nothing was said, then Susannah spoke. ‘I’m sure she was a paragon of every virtue. I hope I won’t disappoint you too much.’ Amy could not tell from her tone whether she was angry or just miserable.

  ‘Eh?’ Jack said, jolted from his memories. ‘Oh, things are different here now, Susie—you’ll never have to live rough.’

  Susannah was very quiet for the last part of the drive. When they got to the house and Amy climbed down from the buggy, she saw that Susannah’s face was covered in moisture from the drizzle. But Amy did not think it was rain that had made the small trails down Susannah’s cheeks from each eye.

  ‘Ohh,’ Susannah said as Jack helped her down. ‘It is a terrible long way, isn’t it. Oh, I must sit down—I’d love a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll make one,’ Amy said quickly. She ran on ahead while John went to unharness the horses and Jack took Susannah’s arm.

  Amy rushed into the kitchen and found Harry sitting at the table. ‘Pa’s brought a new wife home,’ she panted out to him as she filled the kettle and set it to boil.