Sentence of Marriage

by Shayne Parkinson

  No, he’d have a good lunch and a chat with Arthur; maybe he’d ask the older man for a bit of advice about that drain they were struggling with. There was no need for Ben to look so disapproving about it all.

  It was a funny thing about Lizzie, he mused as he passed the school. She seemed to have turned almost overnight from a plump little girl with fair pigtails sitting in the front of the class into… well, into a young woman. She was so friendly, too; always interested in how he was and what he was doing. He smiled at the thought of Lizzie’s beaming face. What a good-natured girl she was. There was no harm in being friendly back.

  ‘Frank! Good to see you,’ Arthur said when he caught sight of Frank reining in Belle. ‘Right, you can let that horse out in this paddock with mine and we’ll have a look around the place. I’ll show you a few things—what do you want to see specially?’

  ‘Me? Ah, whatever you want to show me,’ Frank said as he loosened Belle’s girth and took off her bridle, wondering if he had missed part of the conversation.

  ‘That’s the idea,’ said Arthur. ‘You’re interested in everything, aren’t you?’

  Arthur’s oldest son, seventeen-year-old Bill, waved a friendly greeting from beside the pig sties where he was pouring whey into troughs, but made no move to join them. Eleven-year-old Alf, though, had no intention of being left out, and he attached himself uninvited to Frank.

  ‘What are you doing here, Frank?’ Alf asked.

  ‘He’s come because I asked him to,’ Arthur said before Frank had the chance to reply. ‘Frank wants to see how to do things properly around a farm.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alf sounded disappointed. ‘I thought you might have come to help pull some of those stumps out of the north paddock.’

  ‘I… I will if you want me to,’ Frank said, looking questioningly at Arthur. He was glad he had decided not to wear his Sunday best after all.

  ‘No, of course I don’t—who asked you, Alf?’ Arthur leaned across Frank to Alf and aimed a half-hearted clout at his son that came nowhere near its target. ‘Go on, get out of here if you’re going to butt in where you’re not wanted.’ Alf continued trailing along beside Frank, but he moved a little further out of his father’s range.

  Arthur led Frank a short way down the track the younger man had just ridden up, until they stood beside a wooden gate leading into one of the paddocks. ‘Now, Frank,’ he said, ‘you see this gate?’

  ‘Yes,’ Frank said, looking closely at the gate and wondering what special significance it had.

  ‘What do you notice about it?’

  Frank studied the gate. ‘It’s a good, solid-looking one,’ he offered, somehow feeling that more was wanted.

  ‘It’s that, all right. But you watch this.’ Arthur unhooked the loop of wire that held the gate. He swung it open, then closed, then open again, then he closed and re-fastened it. Frank watched carefully.

  ‘Now, you’ll have seen,’ Arthur said, ‘how well this gate opens. I’m not one to criticise, Frank, but I can’t help noticing that gate you’ve put in between your two road paddocks has slipped a bit on its hinges, so you’ve got to lift it a foot off the ground to get it open at all. Do you know what that means?’

  Frank thought of the guilty gate, with the ever-deepening hole it gouged every time it was dragged open. He had had a bad feeling about that gate as soon as he and Ben had started on it, but Ben had gruffly shrugged off his concerns. ‘It means it’s not much of a gate, doesn’t it?’ he said, avoiding Arthur’s eyes.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ Arthur said kindly. ‘But you should think about putting a better lot of hinges on it—that set you’ve used wouldn’t hold up a cupboard door.’

  So that was the problem, Frank thought, storing away the information. He was so busy thinking that he forgot to answer Arthur, and he didn’t notice Arthur looking at him quizzically.

  ‘Did you follow what I said, Frank?’

  ‘Mmm? Oh, yes, of course—thank you, Mr Leith, I’ll remember that.’

  ‘I hope so. Now, come and look at this fence—you see these battens? What do you make yours out of?’

  ‘Just whatever there’s plenty of—I think it was rewarewa last time.’

  ‘I thought as much. Rewarewa’s all right, but the best thing’s kohe. It’s tough, but it splits well. You remember that.’

  ‘Kohe. Right, yes.’ Frank stored the information away carefully. He followed Arthur around several more paddocks, listening to the older man’s opinions on raising cattle and pigs, and growing potatoes and maize.

  ‘You should get on and pull a few of the stumps out of one of your flat paddocks and get some maize in there—it’s fetching a good price, and it’s easier than milking cows.’

  Maize sounded a good idea to Frank, but he knew how much Ben hated change, and they had never grown maize before. So he nodded and smiled, and said nothing.

  Arthur finished the tour by showing Frank one of his drains. He was pointing out the carefully-shaped angle of the walls when Bill joined them.

  ‘Lizzie says it’s time for lunch. And she says to hurry up before it gets cold.’

  ‘She can wait till we’re ready,’ Arthur said, but he turned in the direction of the house and started walking, with his sons and Frank around him. ‘Never let yourself be ruled by women, Frank—they’ll do it if you let them get away with it.’

  Frank thought of his own gentle mother, who had never tried to rule anyone, and had always seemed in awe of her husband.

  ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ Arthur said, breaking into Frank’s reminiscences, ‘I want you to take a good look at that drain.’

  ‘Drain?’ Frank repeated stupidly, still thinking about his mother.

  ‘Yes, Frank,’ Arthur said very deliberately, ‘that drain just behind you, the one we’ve been looking at. There’s something else for you to take note of—it’s straight.’

  Frank looked at the drain. ‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘It’s very straight.’

  ‘And doesn’t it look better than if it was weaving all over the paddock? Drains are meant to be straight—you remember that.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Frank promised. He was vaguely aware of Alf sniggering behind him as the four of them walked up to the house together.

  And there was Lizzie, standing in the doorway looking out for them. ‘Here you are at last,’ she said. ‘I thought you were never coming.’ But she gave Frank a warm smile. She had her Sunday best on, a pink cotton dress with a wide white collar and a white sash, and a matching pink ribbon in her hair.

  ‘Frank and I had a lot to talk about,’ Arthur said, looking at his daughter’s finery in some surprise. ‘Didn’t we, Frank?’

  Frank pulled his eyes away from Lizzie. ‘Eh? Oh, that’s right, Mr Leith. It’s been really interesting—I’ve learnt a lot just talking to you.’

  ‘Well, now you’re here hurry up and sit down,’ Lizzie said briskly. ‘I’ve dished the soup up, and I don’t want it to get cold. Frank, you can sit here.’ She pointed out the chair at her father’s right hand. It was Bill’s place, but her older brother took his seat next to Frank with no more than a quizzical grin and a slight raising of his eyebrows at Lizzie, who studiously ignored him. Alf sat on Bill’s other side, next to his mother at the foot of the table.

  ‘I’ll give thanks,’ Arthur said just as Frank was reaching for his soup spoon. Frank felt hot at the thought that he had nearly disgraced himself. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, guiltily conscious that he and Ben never said grace; sometimes, remembering his mother’s attempts to teach him, Frank would say a few words silently to himself, but most of the time it was just a bit too difficult to feel grateful for the sort of meals he and Ben produced.

  Lizzie sat directly opposite Frank, sharing her side of the table with little Ernie. ‘Do you like vegetable soup, Frank?’ she asked, looking at him intently.

  ‘Ah, yes, I like it a lot,’ Frank assured her. ‘Hey, this is really nice,’ he said when he tasted the soup.r />
  Lizzie beamed at him. ‘That’s good. I made it specially—I thought maybe you don’t bother with soup at home.’

  ‘No, we don’t. I don’t think I’ve had soup like this since Ma died. This is just like she used to make.’

  ‘Do take another slice of bread, Frank,’ Lizzie encouraged. She held the plate out to him.

  ‘Mmm, thanks. It’s nice bread—really fresh.’

  ‘I just made it this morning.’ Again Lizzie smiled warmly at him.

  ‘Excuse me, Lizzie,’ Arthur said loudly. ‘Do you think anyone else could have some of that wonderful bread of yours? Perhaps Frank doesn’t need it all.’

  Frank reddened, and he quickly passed the plate of bread to Arthur. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Leith, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Forget it, Frank.’ Arthur dismissed Frank’s apology with a wave of his hand, and took a slice of bread. ‘My daughter seems to have forgotten there’s anyone else eating here.’

  ‘I’m just trying to be a good hostess,’ Lizzie said tartly, but she lowered her eyes at a sharp look from her father.

  When they had finished the soup, Lizzie carried a roast shoulder of mutton to the table, along with dishes of roast potatoes, boiled beans, and a large jug of gravy. Frank’s eyes opened wide in appreciation, and when Arthur had carved the meat and the plates were piled high Frank attacked the meal enthusiastically.

  ‘Do you like everything, Frank?’ Lizzie asked superfluously, and Frank stopped eating for a moment to assure her that he most certainly did. ‘Oh, that’s good, I hoped I was cooking things you liked.’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with this meal, Edie?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘Mmm?’ Edie looked up for a moment from her task of cutting Ernie’s food into small pieces and encouraging the two-year-old to eat. ‘Oh, no, nothing at all—Lizzie shooed me out of the kitchen. She wanted to do it all by herself so I could have a rest this morning while the little fellow was having his sleep. Isn’t she a good girl?’ She beamed at her daughter, who sat with her eyes modestly downcast.

  ‘Yes, she’s a very good girl,’ Arthur said, looking at his daughter in amusement. ‘I’m really quite impressed with you, Lizzie.’

  ‘Thank you, Pa,’ Lizzie said demurely. ‘Oh, Frank,’ she said, noticing that his plate was empty, ‘would you like some more meat?’

  While Frank hesitated, torn between politeness and hunger, Alf reached his fork towards the platter of meat. Lizzie’s hand snaked out and slapped his wrist away.

  ‘Hey, what was that for?’ Alf asked indignantly.

  ‘Guests first,’ Lizzie said. ‘You can have some more when Frank’s had another helping.’

  ‘Why should I wait for him?’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Alf,’ Arthur growled. ‘Your sister’s right, have a few manners.’ Lizzie smiled smugly, and Alf scowled at her and muttered under his breath. ‘What was that, Alf?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Alf looked at his empty plate disconsolately.

  ‘Good. I thought I was going to have to teach you how to behave in front of visitors for a minute there.’ He stared hard at the boy, and Alf glanced at him then looked away at once.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Frank said awkwardly. He piled some more meat onto his plate, then pushed the platter towards Alf.

  ‘Do you like steamed pudding, Frank?’ Lizzie asked when the meat and vegetables were finished and she had cleared the plates away.

  Frank had to make an effort to remember what steamed pudding was like. ‘I think so.’ In a burst of courage he added, ‘Everything else is so nice, I’m sure it’ll be lovely.’ Lizzie rewarded him with a glowing smile. She dished him up a huge helping of pudding and handed him a jug of cream.

  ‘I like it too, Lizzie,’ said Arthur. ‘How about giving me some?’

  ‘Of course, Pa,’ said Lizzie. ‘I was just going to, but I wanted to see that Frank was all right first.’ She smiled at Frank again.

  After two helpings of pudding and a cup of tea Frank sat back in his chair feeling deeply content, then he reluctantly said, ‘I suppose I’ll have to go now. That was a wonderful meal,’ he added with feeling. He looked at Lizzie in admiration, then, remembering his manners, turned to her mother. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Leith.’

  ‘No need to thank me, Frank,’ she said, looking away from wiping Ernie’s face. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with it, you thank Lizzie. But I’m glad you came,’ she added, smiling at Frank in a way that reminded him for a moment of Lizzie. ‘You come again—soon, too. Arthur, you should ask Frank again soon. He needs a few more good meals.’

  ‘Yes, you’ll have to come again, lad,’ Arthur said, clapping Frank on the shoulder. ‘We’d all be pleased to see you, wouldn’t we, Lizzie?’ He looked at his daughter with a slight smile, and she stared straight back at him.

  ‘Yes, Pa,’ she said very innocently. ‘It’s nice to have visitors.’

  Arthur and Bill walked Frank back to the horse paddock, and Bill helped him catch Belle and put her tack on. As Frank mounted, Arthur said, ‘Now I meant that, Frank, you’ll have to come again soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Leith, I’d like that—I’d like it a lot.’ He started Belle off at a gentle walk, and his eyes slipped away from them. Arthur followed Frank’s gaze to see Lizzie standing in the doorway waving and smiling.

  What a nice family, Frank thought as he guided Belle towards home. He kept the horse to a walk, feeling too pleasantly full to want to trot. Anyway, he was in no hurry to get home; he was enjoying the memory of his visit too much. Arthur had been so friendly to him; Frank was still a little puzzled as to why Arthur had wanted to give him all that advice, but a lot of it was interesting. Edie had said she wanted him to come again, too, and she seemed to mean it.

  And Lizzie. He remembered Lizzie, and felt something he couldn’t put a name to. She had made such a fuss of him, as though he was someone special. She was really quite pretty, especially when she smiled at him like that. And what a cook she was! What a meal. He belched contentedly.

  *

  ‘Well, Lizzie,’ Arthur said when he walked back into the kitchen. Lizzie was clearing the table, and she looked up at him as he spoke. ‘Did you enjoy your visitor?’

  ‘My visitor, Pa?’ Lizzie said in apparent surprise. ‘But you invited him.’

  ‘You were very pleased to see him, I noticed—you got dressed up, too.’

  ‘I just wanted to be polite. You’d gone to the trouble of asking Frank, so I thought I should make an effort to make him feel welcome.’

  ‘You certainly did that.’ Arthur gave her a hard look, but Lizzie went back to her work and seemed unaware of his scrutiny.

  ‘He’s such a nice boy,’ said Edie. ‘So polite. He enjoys his food, too—I like to see a boy enjoy his food. Did you get on well with him outside?’

  Arthur sat down in the chair next to his wife and took Ernie onto his lap. ‘He’s heavy going sometimes.’ He noticed Lizzie watching him out of the corner of her eye, for all she was pretending to be wrapped up in her work. ‘I wasn’t always sure if he understood what I was saying, though he seemed to be paying attention.’

  ‘Poor boy,’ Edie sighed. ‘It must be hard for him with no father—a boy needs a father, and he was only fourteen when he lost his.’

  ‘So, Edie, do you think that’s what he’s after?’

  ‘What, dear?’ Edie looked puzzled.

  ‘Do you think young Frank’s looking for a father… or something like that, anyway?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Arthur—what’s “something like” a father?’

  Arthur looked thoughtfully at Lizzie. That girl, he decided, was growing up faster than he had realised. She wasn’t quite as grown-up as she liked to think, though; how old was she? Barely fifteen. ‘Well,’ Arthur said, ‘Frank hasn’t got a father, so perhaps the next best thing would be… a father-in-law?’ He had the satisfaction of hearing Lizzie bang a plate down heavily on the bench, as though for
a moment her grip had slackened.

  10

  August 1882

  Darkness closed in early on the winter evenings. As Amy worked in the kitchen one afternoon in mid-August she knew the sun would dip below the steep hills that walled the valley before dinner was over.

  Amy was enjoying the peace of having the kitchen to herself. Her father and brothers were still out working, and Susannah had taken to having a lie-down every afternoon since she had found that her ankles swelled uncomfortably if she stayed up all day. As Susannah now also stayed in bed late in the morning, with Amy bringing breakfast in to her, Amy could imagine herself once again mistress of the house.

  Poor Susannah, Amy thought. Her stepmother was far too tired now to be bad-tempered, and when she did get out of bed she moped around the house in lethargic misery. Most days she had at least one fit of weeping, and everyone in the house was very aware Susannah had backache, Susannah’s legs hurt, and Susannah was generally uncomfortable and unhappy. And now it seemed the baby was a week or so late, at least by Edie’s reckoning. It seemed unfair that Susannah should have to put up with the whole wretched business for longer than the appointed time.

  But Amy could not deny to herself that her stepmother’s condition had made life easier. Her brothers had become more cheerful, too, now that Susannah played such a small part in their lives. Jack sometimes showed signs of weariness from spending his nights with a querulous and restless woman, but Amy sensed he, too, found a weepy Susannah easier to cope with than a snappish one.

  Amy decided to make the lemon curd tart Susannah always seemed to enjoy, hoping that might cheer the poor woman a little. She already had stew simmering gently on the range and the vegetables sliced ready for cooking. When the tart was assembled and ready to be popped into the oven, Amy had time to read a few pages from her slim volume of Shakespeare. She closed the book and daydreamed briefly of actually going to the theatre and seeing a real play, then stood to give the stew a stir.