Sentence of Marriage

by Shayne Parkinson

  Running water! Amy tried to imagine what it would be like never to have to haul water again, but gave up the attempt. She mused on what other wonders Auckland might hold. It did not seem worth asking Susannah about the city; it would probably only annoy her, anyway. And she had somehow never had the chance to talk with her father about the things he had seen in Auckland; they hardly ever seemed to be alone together long enough to talk any more.

  Susannah might be an extra pair of hands, but she did contribute an awful lot of washing, too. She laundered her own things, but took so long over each one that she did very little of the rest.

  She looked with distaste at the state of the men’s work clothes. ‘Those are disgusting,’ she said, wrinkling her nose at a pair of trousers liberally spattered with mud and cow dung.

  ‘Men get dirty on farms,’ Amy said, picking up the offending trousers. ‘The clothes come clean, you just have to scrub them really well.’

  ‘Don’t take that superior attitude with me, child,’ Susannah said sharply.

  ‘I’m not—I was just trying to explain…’ Now I’m contradicting again, aren’t I?

  But Susannah was distracted when she noticed Amy washing the pink dress. ‘I suppose I’d better organise a new dress for you, I can’t have you going about as though no one cares how you look.’

  ‘I’ll go in on Thursday and get some material—I can make one quite quickly.’

  ‘There is a dressmaker in this place, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, I think Mrs Nichol does dressmaking—she keeps the millinery shop and drapery. But I always make my own things.’

  ‘I was thinking of my own clothes,’ Susannah said. ‘I hope some country dressmaker is capable of making wearable gowns. I’m sure you can run something up for yourself.’

  ‘Do you think…’ Amy said hesitantly, then plucked up her courage. ‘I’d love to have a silk dress.’

  ‘Nonsense, child, you’re far too young for silk. You can have mousseline de laine or something like that. You’ll grow out of a dress in a year, anyway.’

  Amy lowered her eyes to avoid looking at Susannah with what she knew must be a rebellious expression.

  Tuesday’s ironing at least caused no complaints; Susannah was used to the drudgery of that task, and it seemed the city had no magic way to improve on it. On Wednesday morning Amy was cleaning the range while Susannah did some dusting, when Lizzie arrived with her mother and little Ernie.

  ‘Thought we should pop over and say hello,’ Edie said, beaming all over her good-natured face. She was puffing slightly from the exertion of the last hill. ‘I’ve brought you a sponge cake.’

  ‘How kind,’ Susannah said. ‘And you’ve brought the dear little boy with you, too.’ She patted Ernie on the head. ‘You will take tea with me, won’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no.’

  ‘Amy, make some tea and bring it through to the parlour.’ Susannah swept Edie out of the room, Ernie clutching his mother’s hand.

  Lizzie looked after Susannah in disapproval. ‘I don’t think much of the way she talks to you. No “please” or “thank you”, just “Make some tea”. Talks as if you were a servant.’

  ‘I told you, Lizzie, I don’t think she likes me.’ Amy scrubbed her hands clean, then started making the tea.

  ‘Humph! She must be pretty silly, then—everyone likes you.’

  ‘How are you getting on with Frank?’ Amy asked, to change to a more pleasant subject.

  Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Well, I haven’t seen him for a while, except at church, and I don’t get much chance to talk to him there.’

  ‘You haven’t taken any more pies down to him?’ Amy asked with an exaggerated expression of innocence.

  ‘I can’t get away with doing that too often, or even Ma would notice. I’m going to have to find some other excuse to see him.’

  ‘You’ll think of something,’ said Amy. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ She picked up a tray with tea and biscuits to carry out to the parlour.

  ‘I’ll help you with that—I want to get another look at her,’ Lizzie said, taking the plate of biscuits from the tray.

  They found Susannah was doing most of the talking, punctuated by an occasional expression of interest from Edie.

  ‘Yes, my father is rather well-known in our area,’ Susannah said as they entered. ‘He has his own building firm, and my brother works with him. He’s been quite successful, of course things have been quieter the last year or two.’

  ‘How interesting,’ Edie said dutifully.

  ‘My sister is married to a lawyer.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, here’s our tea. Run along, Amy, I’ll pour it.’ Lizzie gave Susannah a withering glance, which the latter unfortunately saw. ‘Is something wrong, dear—Elizabeth, isn’t it?’

  Edie laughed. ‘Lizzie, you mean—she’d be in bad trouble before I’d use her whole name.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie if you prefer—I always think names sound so much nicer used as they were meant to be. Anyway, what’s wrong, Lizzie dear? You look as though you’ve got stomach ache.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me,’ Lizzie said haughtily. ‘I was just surprised at the way—’

  ‘Lizzie,’ Amy took her cousin’s arm, ‘come and help me in the kitchen.’

  ‘Yes, you can get on with that cleaning while I’m busy, dear,’ Susannah said to Amy. ‘Oh, your little boy is rubbing a biscuit into the rug.’ She looked disapprovingly at Edie.

  Edie pulled Ernie onto her lap. ‘Don’t do that, sweetie.’

  ‘I’ll clean it up,’ said Amy. She fetched the dustpan and swept the crumbs from the rug before pulling Lizzie out of the parlour.

  ‘Is she much help to you?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘A bit,’ said Amy. ‘She does a lot of the cooking, and we did the washing and ironing together. She’s not very keen on cleaning, though. She said they had a servant to do the “rough” work, whatever that is.’

  ‘You mustn’t let her boss you around.’

  ‘What can I do about it? Pa says she’s my mother now, so I’ve got to do what she says, don’t I?’

  Lizzie looked at her with a troubled expression. ‘I don’t like to see anyone talking to you like that.’

  ‘I don’t mind—not really. It’s no more work than before, and I can get away from her quite a bit in the daytime. She often goes to bed pretty early, too. Pa sometimes does, too, since he came home. I suppose they’re still tired from that long trip.’

  ‘You’re too easy-going. I’ll have to think of something.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Lizzie, don’t you go husband-hunting for me! Things aren’t as bad as all that!’

  ‘Who said anything about a husband? You’re too young for that to be much use yet, anyway. I just don’t like her manner.’

  ‘Forget it, Lizzie. It’s not your problem.’ But Amy knew Lizzie would not forget it, and she had a vaguely uneasy feeling when her aunt and cousins left for home.

  ‘She’s a pleasant enough woman,’ Susannah commented while they were making dinner. ‘Empty-headed, but quite agreeable. Her baby’s a grubby little creature, though—she looks rather old to have one that young, anyway. And that girl’s a sour-faced thing. I hope you don’t mix with her too much.’

  ‘She’s my friend,’ Amy said, stung into defending Lizzie. ‘And she’s not sour, she’s lovely.’

  ‘I see,’ Susannah said, looking at Amy through narrowed eyes.

  *

  October came in with blustery weather, as if spring was reluctant to show itself. It was much warmer, though, and the grass was growing luxuriantly, so the cows produced plenty of milk for Amy to make into butter and cheese.

  She had never resented her tasks in the dairy, seeing them as part of her routine, but now she positively looked forward to her time there as a chance to be alone. She lingered, shaping the butter almost lovingly into perfectly-formed blocks, and when the work was done she lingered a little longer over a book.
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  At first Amy felt guilty over smuggling a book down to the dairy, but she knew Susannah disliked her company and would not miss her for an extra half hour. So she indulged herself by laughing at Mrs Bennet’s efforts to catch husbands for her daughters, or shivering with fear at Jane’s discovery of Rochester’s mad wife. When she closed the covers of She Stoops to Conquer, Amy wondered what it would be like to see a play on stage in a real theatre. Susannah had talked of going to the theatre in Auckland. Amy decided it must be like having a dream come to life.

  October the thirteenth was a Thursday, and Amy woke to see sunshine creeping through the gap between her drapes. When she flung them open she could see the valley was bathed in sunlight, and she smiled at the beauty of the scene.

  ‘I’m thirteen,’ she whispered to the day.

  The weather was so much warmer that Amy decided to put on one of her summer dresses, and the kiss of cool cotton instead of scratchy wool or linsey-woolsey as she slipped the dress over her head made her feel in a holiday mood. She beamed at her father and brothers when they came into the kitchen after milking, and she even felt a warmth towards Susannah when her stepmother came yawning into the kitchen.

  ‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ Susannah said, edging Amy aside from the range where bacon was sizzling.

  ‘It’s such a lovely day,’ Amy said. ‘And it’s…’ she drifted away, shy at telling Susannah what the day was.

  ‘It is nice weather,’ Susannah said, looking out the window. ‘Even this place looks reasonable in the sunshine.’

  ‘Would you like to take a walk later Susi—annah?’ Jack asked. He was learning slowly, Amy noticed. ‘The ground’s much drier now.’

  ‘I might,’ Susannah condescended.

  Lizzie came over soon after breakfast, when John and Harry had left the house but Jack was still having his last cup of tea. She carried a bunch of violets and a lace-edged handkerchief.

  ‘Happy birthday.’ She gave Amy a hug and presented her with the gifts.

  ‘Thank you, Lizzie,’ Amy said, carefully not looking at her father.

  ‘It’s your birthday!’ said Jack. ‘Why didn’t you remind me?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Pa.’

  ‘I always had your ma or your granny to remind me before—you’ll have to do that from now on, Susie.’

  ‘I could hardly remind you when I didn’t know myself, could I?’ Susannah said, affronted. ‘Happy birthday, dear.’ She planted the lightest of kisses on Amy’s cheek.

  ‘I haven’t got you anything,’ Jack fretted. ‘Come to think of it, I didn’t bring you anything when I came back from Auckland. Of course I did bring you a new mother,’ he added, looking pleased with himself. ‘You couldn’t ask for a better present than that, could you?’ Amy and Susannah both pretended they had not heard. ‘Make something nice—a cake or something. Then we can have a party at lunch-time.’

  When Lizzie had gone home again Amy made a large currant cake as part of the morning’s baking. She watched the cake being devoured when the men came back at midday.

  ‘Good cake,’ Harry said through a mouthful. ‘You should have a birthday more often, Amy.’

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t speak with your mouth full, Harry,’ Susannah said. ‘It’s not very nice, is it?’

  Harry glared at her. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s just not nice—tell him not to, Jack.’

  ‘What was that?’ Jack said, his own speech muffled by cake. ‘What did you say?’

  Susannah pursed her lips. ‘Really, you’re all so rough.’

  ‘Airs and graces,’ Harry muttered. He left the table abruptly, and Amy felt a shadow had fallen on her day.

  I wish she didn’t always have to cause trouble.

  *

  As November drifted into December the weather grew warmer and more humid. Susannah seemed to become more short-tempered; Amy decided the heat must be getting her down. ‘Shall I get a joint to cook for lunch?’ she asked Susannah one Tuesday morning in early December. ‘Or would you rather have stew?’

  ‘Mutton!’ Susannah said in disgust. ‘I’m sick to death of mutton. Don’t you ever have anything else?’

  ‘We do usually have mutton… would you like to have chicken instead?’

  Susannah thought for a moment, her lower lip stuck out like a petulant child’s. ‘Yes. I want chicken.’

  ‘I’ll tell John or Harry to get one of the roosters.’

  ‘No you won’t—I’ll tell them. This is my kitchen, don’t you go giving orders.’

  Susannah went to the door and spied Harry not far away in one of the sheds. ‘Harry!’ she called in a piercing voice. There was no response. ‘Harry! Come here right now!’ she called even louder, and Harry ambled up.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked ungraciously.

  ‘Get me a rooster, please.’ Amy’s brothers at least rated a ‘please’.

  Harry grunted a response and wandered off. When he had not returned half an hour later Susannah became fretful.

  ‘Where has that Harry got to,’ she said, looking out the window.

  ‘Perhaps he’s had trouble catching a rooster,’ said Amy.

  ‘I’m going to see what he’s up to.’ Susannah marched out of the house.

  ‘I don’t think you should,’ Amy said, hurrying after her. She had noticed that Susannah found distasteful many of the things Amy took for granted as part of everyday life; killing of animals was one of these.

  Susannah turned on her. ‘I don’t care what you think,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t tell me what to do—you mind your place.’

  ‘You won’t like it,’ Amy said, but all she could do was scurry after Susannah as her stepmother strode across the garden and out the gate.

  As she feared, Harry was just outside the fence with an axe poised above a struggling rooster. Susannah stopped in her tracks, Amy narrowly avoided running into her, and they both watched the axe describe an arc through the air then sever the rooster’s neck, triggering a short-lived bloody fountain. For a long moment nothing seemed to happen, then the rooster’s body began to twitch violently and Susannah started to scream.

  ‘It’s still alive—and you cut its head off—it’s still alive!’ she shrieked, then picked up her skirts high enough to show a few inches of silk stocking and took to her heels, still screaming.

  Harry laughed uproariously. ‘That got her going,’ he said, nearly choking on his mirth.

  ‘Harry, it’s not funny,’ Amy said. ‘She really got a fright.’

  ‘Serves her right,’ said Harry. ‘She can move when she wants to—did you see those skinny ankles?’ He laughed again, and Amy couldn’t suppress a smile at the memory of Susannah’s headlong flight.

  ‘It was a bit funny,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s all very well for you to laugh—you won’t have to spend the rest of the day with her.’

  ‘Yes, poor you. It’s a pity she’s such a bitch.’

  ‘Harry!’

  ‘Well, she is.’

  ‘You mustn’t say that—she’s Pa’s wife.’

  ‘She’s still a bitch.’

  Amy took the unfortunate rooster from Harry and reluctantly went inside to look for Susannah. The kitchen was deserted. She laid the corpse on the table and walked through the passage into the front bedroom.

  ‘Susannah?’ she said quietly. Her stepmother was lying face-down on the unmade bed; she rolled over and looked accusingly at Amy.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Susannah, I’m sorry you got a fright—I did try to warn you. It’s just something that happens when you cut chooks’ heads off, they’re not really alive, it just looks as though they are. I suppose it does look a bit awful.’

  Susannah looked as though she was going to be sick. ‘You did it on purpose.’

  ‘No I didn’t!’

  ‘Yes you did—it was you who said we should have chicken for lunch.’

  ‘That was only because you said you were sick of—’

  ‘
And that Harry laughed at me! You did too, didn’t you?’

  ‘No! I didn’t laugh at you! And Harry didn’t mean any harm.’

  ‘You set it up between you, didn’t you? So you could make fun of me. You all hate me!’ She turned her face back to the pillow and started sobbing.

  ‘No we don’t—please don’t cry.’ Amy went over to the bed and put her hand on Susannah’s heaving shoulder, but Susannah pushed the hand away.

  ‘Go away!’ she screamed. ‘I’m going to tell your father about you two—I’m going to tell him right now! You go and get him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t argue! Go and get your father.’

  ‘All right,’ Amy said with a sigh.

  Harry was back in the shed when Amy went outside. ‘Where’s Pa?’ she asked.

  ‘Over in the back paddock with John, they’re moving some stock. What do you want him for?’

  ‘Susannah wants him.’ Amy sighed. ‘You and I are in trouble now.’

  ‘Oh,’ Harry said, looking unconcerned. ‘What are you in trouble for?’

  ‘The same as you—because she got frightened by the chook. She thinks we did it on purpose.’

  ‘Silly bitch,’ Harry muttered.

  Jack and his older son were persuading some cattle to go through an open gate when Amy reached them. ‘Susannah wants you, Pa,’ she said.

  ‘What for—can’t it wait? We’re busy here.’

  ‘She’s a bit upset.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘She saw a chook being killed, and it gave her a fright. She’s having a lie-down.’ It sounded a rather feeble reason to summon her father. ‘Actually, she’s very upset,’ Amy amended.

  Jack groaned. ‘Can’t you settle her down?’

  ‘I tried—I made her worse, I think.’

  ‘Well, she’ll have to wait until we’ve got these cows moved. Give us a hand, Amy.’

  Amy went over to the far side of the cows and the three of them worked together for a few minutes, then she and her father walked up to the house together.

  Amy took the rooster outside to pluck, carefully saving the feathers in a bag to be used for stuffing pillows. She took it back into the kitchen to finish preparing, then when it was in the oven she started the ironing; she was fairly sure she would be doing it by herself that day, and it had been delayed long enough.