A Second Chance
Shayne Parkinson
Copyright © S. L. Parkinson 2008
Smashwords Edition
License Notes
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This is a sequel to the three-volume work Promises to Keep.
Other titles by Shayne Parkinson at Smashwords:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/shaynep
Family trees and some extra background to the book’s setting may be found at:
http://www.shayneparkinson.com/
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Prologue
April 1906
The clear autumn sunlight lent a hint of gold to the rich green of the grass. Flowers glowed where the light caught them: daisies growing wild in the grass, neat posies in earthenware pots, and a whole basketful of blooms carried by a slight figure dressed all in black.
She carried the basket over one arm, her other arm looped through that of the tall woman who walked at her side. Her hat with its black veil barely reached her companion’s shoulder, and a casual observer might have taken them for a woman in charge of a young girl. But closer inspection would reveal fine lines around the eyes of the black-clad woman, and a few threads of silver in her dark hair; while her companion’s face was smooth and unlined, and her hair glossy black wings under her white straw hat.
They stopped in front of a small slab of pale grey marble, the woman in black releasing her hold on the other with a hesitation that spoke of how precious the contact was. She crouched before the slab and placed a posy of pink roses in the vase that stood there.
‘This is where Granny’s buried—your great-grandmother,’ she said.
The younger woman crouched beside her, and traced the words on the stone with her fingers. ‘Her name was Amy, too. You were named after her.’
‘Yes, I was.’ Amy stroked the blue silk of the younger woman’s skirt. ‘And I named you after Mama.’
She rose and went the few steps to where another, larger, slab marked a double plot. ‘Come and see Mama and Pa’s stone,’ she said, looking over her shoulder. The younger woman joined her.
‘ “In Loving Memory of Ann Leith,” ’ Amy read aloud. ‘ “Dearly Beloved Wife of Jack Leith”.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘She was beloved, too. I don’t think Pa ever really got over losing her.’
‘So young,’ her companion murmured, studying the stone. ‘Only twenty-seven.’
‘I can just remember her,’ Amy said. ‘She was lovely—that’s why I gave you her name.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘It hides Mama’s name, having Sarah in front of it. I know they wanted to give you a new name, but I can call you Sarah Ann when it’s just us two, can’t I?’
‘Of course,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m not ashamed of the name you gave me.’
Amy placed more of her roses before the stone. ‘ “And of the above Jack Leith”,’ she read. ‘See how new the writing looks compared to Mama’s? It’s six years since Pa passed away, though. I wish you could have met him.’
‘I doubt if we would have been friends,’ Sarah said, a tightness creeping into her voice.
‘I think you—’ A look at Sarah’s set expression silenced Amy. ‘I hope you would have,’ she murmured.
‘I found one of these red roses this morning,’ she went on more brightly. ‘Pa always liked these ones best—Mama planted the bush, and I took a cutting from it. They don’t usually have flowers this late, I was lucky to find one.’ She held the rose out. ‘Would you put it on Pa’s grave for me? Please?’
Sarah hesitated only a moment. ‘I think not,’ she said crisply. ‘I can’t see that my attentions would make my grandfather rest easier in his grave.’ She put a hand on Amy’s arm. ‘Whenever I think of him, I can’t get past the knowledge that he made you marry that dreadful man. That he made you give me away.’
Amy shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that. Pa was only trying to do the right thing for me.’
‘If that’s the case, he had an odd way of going about it.’
‘He did his best.’ Amy slipped the red rose back into her basket and walked a short distance with Sarah, to a small plot marked by a low white stone. ‘This was your baby brother.’
‘ “Alexander John Stewart”,’ Sarah read aloud. ‘Such a little grave it is.’
‘They told me he was tiny. He was born much too early, and he only lived a few hours. I wasn’t allowed to see him.’ Amy took a small spray of jasmine from her basket and placed it in front of the stone. ‘I used to think I’d like to have some of that iron that looks like a cradle around Alexander’s grave. They do that with babies’ graves sometimes—there’s one over there, see? Alexander never had a real cradle.’
‘Why didn’t you have his grave done like that, then?’ Sarah asked.
Amy gave a small shrug. ‘Charlie didn’t seem to think of it, and I didn’t like to ask. I suppose it would have cost a lot of money.’
‘I’ll see that it’s done.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter now, Sarah, not after all this time.’
‘Yes, it does,’ Sarah said. ‘He was my baby brother, after all. Half-brother, anyway. There’s no need to discuss it, the thing’s settled.’
Amy squeezed her hand in silent gratitude, and kept hold of the hand to lead Sarah over to a tall, imposing monument. ‘There’s a wonderful stone for Mal, anyway. The whole town put in money to have this put up. Mal was the only boy from here that went to the war.’
‘He must have been well thought of,’ Sarah remarked, studying the inscription.
‘He… people thought well of him after he died, anyway. I suppose that’s how it usually goes. He wasn’t a bad boy, not really.
‘I had them put Charlie as near Mal’s memorial as I could.’ Amy shook her head as a rush of memories crowded in on her. ‘It tore the heart out of him when Mal died, I think.’
‘Are you sure he ever had one?’ Sarah said acidly.
‘Oh, yes. Especially for Mal. Charlie was never the same again after that.’ She gazed up at the monument. ‘But he wouldn’t ever talk about it—not till right at the end, anyway. He never even saw this memorial.’
She turned aside to the last of her dead. ‘And now he’s just about alongside it. That was the best I could do for him.’ She reached into her basket for the final bunch of roses.
‘I hope you’re not going to ask me to put flowers on his grave,’ Sarah said, with the familiar sharpness that edged her voice whenever she spoke of Charlie.
Amy shook her head. ‘No, I don’t expect yo
u to take any notice of Charlie. He wasn’t anything to you.’ She placed the roses on the still-bare mound of earth.
There was only one flower left in her basket now: the single red rose. Amy took it up and turned it over in her hand, careful of the thorns. ‘I suppose I’d better put this on Pa’s grave myself, then,’ she said, doing her best to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
‘Amy, you are the most soft-hearted creature I’ve ever met,’ Sarah scolded. She plucked the rose from Amy’s hand, strode back to the double grave, and crouched before the stone.
‘Amy thinks that you and I would have been friends, Grandfather,’ she said. ‘I’ve my doubts about that. But Amy loved you, and I’m prepared to believe you cared for her, too. So that will have to suffice for me. Here you are, then.’ She placed the rose in front of the stone.
Amy came up behind her and slipped her arm around Sarah’s waist as the younger woman stood up. ‘Are you happy now?’ Sarah asked.
‘Oh, yes. I think I’m the happiest woman in the world.’
‘Good.’ Sarah slid her own arm around Amy’s waist. ‘I’d do a good deal to make you happy, Amy.’
Her solemn expression melted into a smile, and she lowered her face to Amy’s. Her breath tickled delightfully against Amy’s skin as Sarah whispered the secret that, in all the world, only the two of them shared:
‘Mama.’ The word slipped almost soundlessly into Amy’s ear. ‘Little Mama.’
1
David yawned hugely. He belatedly remembered his manners and covered the last part of the yawn with his hand.
‘I’m off to bed, Ma,’ he told Amy, standing up to punctuate his words. ‘I’m just about asleep already.’ He stooped to kiss Amy good night.
She twined her arms around his neck to return the embrace. ‘Good night, Davie.’
‘I suppose you two are going to sit up half the night talking again,’ David said, casting a grin in Sarah’s direction.
Amy smiled up at her son, noting with fresh pleasure the subtle likeness between Sarah and him. ‘We’ll sit up a bit longer, won’t we, Sarah? We won’t talk loud, though.’
‘You must’ve just about talked yourselves out by now,’ David said. ‘I don’t know what you keep finding to talk about.’
‘Why, you, of course,’ Sarah said at once, allowing herself a small smile. ‘I’m surprised your ears don’t burn with it.’
‘Well, maybe they would if I didn’t sleep so sound.’ He yawned again, this time managing to catch the whole of the yawn with his hand. ‘Night, Ma. Night, Miss Millish.’
‘Dave doesn’t quite know what to make of us,’ Sarah remarked when David had closed his bedroom door behind him. ‘Whatever is his sensible mother doing, spending all her time talking to that odd woman from Auckland?’
‘Davie doesn’t think you’re odd.’ Amy spoke in a whisper, all too aware of how thin the wall was between the parlour and David’s room. ‘He’s just not used to seeing me sit up so late.’ She reached out and took Sarah’s hand. ‘He doesn’t know I’m trying to catch up on twenty years without you.’
Sarah squeezed her hand in answer. Amy stared into her face, still struggling to take in the wonder of it: that the baby she had only been allowed to keep for a precious few weeks should have found her; should have come back to her as an assured young woman, with all the gifts Amy had ever prayed her child might have. And the greatest joy of all was that Sarah was as ready to return her love as Amy was to offer it. No wonder that Amy resented even the hours spent sleeping, when they meant time spent away from her daughter.
‘Let’s go and sit in my funny little bedroom,’ Sarah said. ‘I haven’t the patience to be whispering all the time.’
Amy followed Sarah out through the front door of the cottage and into the room that had been formed from a closed-in portion of the verandah. It held a bed and a low chest of drawers, and the floor boasted a small rag rug that stopped a few of the draughts that nudged through the floorboards on winter nights. For years it had been ‘the boys’ room’, then ‘Dave’s room’ when Malcolm had gone. Now David slept in the bedroom that had been his father’s, and the verandah room had been empty since Charlie’s death. Until three days before, when Amy had miraculously acquired a full-grown child to put in this room.
Sarah propped the pillow against the wall as a back rest and patted the space beside her on the bed. ‘Sit here next to me. We can both use the pillow if we sit close—though you can’t help but sit close in here, can you? However did you fit two big boys in this room?’
Amy joined her on the bed. ‘We managed somehow. My boys didn’t know any different, so I don’t suppose they ever thought they should have a bigger room.’
Sarah had touched on the one thing that troubled Amy about having her under their roof: the plainness of the lodging. ‘I’m sorry it’s not very flash here—I know it’s not what you’re used to.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Amy, I didn’t come for the sake of the accommodation! And you’re not to apologise for the fact that that man couldn’t provide you with a decent house to live in.’
‘It’s not as bad as all that. Anyway, I’m used to it.’
‘Then it’s high time you grew used to something better.’ Sarah took Amy’s hand and looked straight into her eyes with that disconcertingly direct gaze of hers. ‘I want you to come to Auckland with me.’
Amy had been expecting the words for days. ‘I can’t, Sarah. I just don’t see how I can be away from the farm.’
‘But you must come. You know I can’t stay here for long, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can,’ Amy said. ‘You’ve got your business to look after and everything.’
‘And you surely don’t want us to part again so soon? Not when we’ve so much catching up to do.’
‘I… well, I hoped you could stay for a bit longer. I knew it couldn’t be as long as all that, though.’
‘And after my “bit longer”? What did you expect us to do after that? Make do with letters?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to think about you going away again.’
‘Well, you must think about it,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve got to go home within the next few days—by the end of the week at the latest, I’ve a meeting on Monday that can’t be put off. But I don’t want to go without you.’
‘I wish I could, honestly I do. But how can I go away and leave Davie? Who’d look after him?’
Sarah gripped her hand hard, then abruptly let it drop. ‘Must David’s convenience govern your entire existence? Haven’t you spent enough of your life running around after him?’
‘It’s not like that, Sarah. Dave works hard, and he’s got to have someone to get his meals on and everything. You do see that, don’t you? He needs me.’
‘Dave’s had you for twenty years. Isn’t it time I had my chance with you?’
‘Not twenty,’ Amy murmured.
‘What did you say? Don’t whisper so,’ Sarah said, irritation clear in her voice although she kept it low.
‘It’s not twenty years. Dave’s only eighteen.’
‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, are you going to turn pedantic on me now?’ Sarah’s mouth twisted in annoyance. ‘Eighteen years, then, if we must be precise. That’s long enough, isn’t it?’
Her face hardened, and she stared at the bedroom wall; directing her disapproval towards the oblivious David, Amy knew. ‘And for all your fussing over him, David didn’t concern himself over you, did he? Not when he went wandering off for years and left you alone with that man. I don’t see that he thought beyond his own comfort.’
Amy sighed, and wished silently that things did not have to be quite so complicated. ‘It wasn’t like that. Dave didn’t want to go away.’
‘Why did he go, then?’ Sarah asked, making no attempt to hide her scepticism.
‘He…’ Amy hesitated. Sarah felt enough bitterness towards Charlie without Amy’s giving her more cause. ‘Maybe you should ask Dave yo
urself.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ said Sarah. ‘Leaving you with that man! How could he?’ She shook her head in perplexity. ‘However did you cope, Amy? Living all those years with that coarse, brutish creature! No, don’t you go scolding me, you know well enough what I thought of him, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise’
Amy stared at the opposite wall, aware of Sarah’s careful scrutiny. She tried to keep her expression calm as memories washed over her.
Twenty-one years since she had come to live in this house. She had been barely sixteen, haunted by nameless fears that lurked in the shadows of her awareness. She had learned soon enough to give names to those fears; learned that this house held things more substantial than shadows to be afraid of. The worst Sarah had known of Charlie was his lack of social graces. His coarse way of speaking had been the last vestige of the terrifying husband Amy had once known; it had roused more pity than distress in her.
‘Amy.’ Sarah’s voice dragged Amy back to the present. Sarah was studying her, a slight frown creasing her forehead. ‘Do you know, I can see the thoughts writing words over your face. I almost feel I could read you as clearly as a book if only I knew the language a little better. What is it, Amy? What are those thoughts of yours saying?’
Amy gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, nothing much. Just things that happened years and years ago. I suppose… well, it’s a good thing you didn’t meet Charlie earlier. You only met him once he’d got easy to get along with.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Sarah muttered. ‘Oh, never mind him. Don’t you want to come with me, Amy?’
‘Of course I do. But I’ve got to try and do the right thing by everyone—you as well as Dave. That’s what’s so hard.’
‘Don’t worry about trying to please other people—me included, come to that. Just do what you want.’
‘But… but that’s what I do want,’ Amy said helplessly. ‘I want to try and make everyone happy.’
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