Mud and Gold (6 page)

Charlie put down his cup and rose to go
through to the parlour. At the door he turned. ‘You left my good
bit of rope tied to those trees,’ he said, frowning. ‘I had to get
it down and put it away. Now, don’t go bawling whenever you’re told
off, you silly bitch.’

February – April 1885

One day at a time
, Amy told herself
whenever things threatened to weigh her down beyond bearing. She
was used to working hard, and strong enough to cope with the
drudgery of this house.

Charlie allowed her to bring out her
bedspread, but he announced that her lacy doilies were too fussy
for his room, so they lay neglected in a drawer. Amy did not risk
asking permission to bring out her books, and she could not bear to
think of her mother looking down at the bed and all its horrors
with her loving smile. She left the photograph in a drawer with her
books.

Her beautiful white bedspread looked out of
place in the starkness of Charlie’s room. Sometimes its familiarity
gave Amy comfort; she liked to stroke it as she climbed into bed,
remembering her grandmother’s hugs. At other times she regretted
having brought it from home to cover what took place in that
bed.

Desperation taught her ways of coping with
the ordeal of her nights. She learned to make her body relax when
her instinct was to go rigid, and she slowly trained herself to let
her mind wander as Charlie grunted and moaned above her. She would
lie very still and plan what meals to cook the next day, what she
might ask Charlie to buy at the general store that week, how she
could make time to weed the neglected vegetable patch. As the days
wore on into weeks Amy often found herself left to lie in peace for
two or even three nights in a row, but she never knew just when a
hand would reach out in the darkness and pull up her nightdress.
She soon learned always to sleep on her back.

Loneliness made things even harder. Lizzie
was too far away and too busy with wedding preparations to pop
over, and there was no one else to visit her. It was a week before
Amy managed to pluck up her courage and ask permission to visit her
old home so she could return her borrowings, but she was not
allowed to stay long enough to have a cup of tea with her
father.

On Sundays she saw her family on the drive
to and from church, and it gradually became less of a trial to be
inspected by the other churchgoers as her hasty marriage became
less of a novelty. But even after the service she had little
opportunity to talk to Lizzie. There always seemed to be someone
talking to Lizzie and Frank about their approaching wedding, and
Amy was reluctant to butt in on such conversations. If she did,
some well-meaning woman would make a remark about Amy’s being a
happy young bride, and Amy would feel like a liar. If her father
was nearby she would have to make a special effort to smile.

On the third Sunday after her wedding, Amy
stood outside the church waiting for her father to take her home.
The previous week Jack had invited them for Sunday lunch that day,
and after some thought Charlie had agreed. As she watched Charlie
walking towards his horse, she heard a voice at her shoulder.

‘Hello, Amy, you keeping well?’

Amy turned and saw Matt Aitken, with his two
older children at his heels.

‘I’m very well, thank you,’ she replied
automatically. ‘Hello, Bessie.’ She smiled at the little girl.
‘You’re getting so big! You must be eight now.’

‘I’ll be nine soon,’ Bessie said proudly.
‘I’m in the fourth row at school.’

‘Are you? You must be working hard.’ Her
brief spell of teaching seemed so long ago that it was almost as if
it had happened to someone else. Someone who still believed in
dreams.

Amy turned back to Matt. ‘How’s Rachel?’ She
knew Rachel was only a month or two away from having her fifth
child.

Matt grimaced. ‘Fed up with being stuck at
home, poor old girl, specially in this heat. She’s well enough,
though. You should come and see her some time, she’d like
that.’

‘Maybe I will, if I’m allow… I mean, if I
have time. Tell her I was asking after her.’

‘I hope you can come around, Amy. It’d cheer
her up.’

Amy opened her mouth to say she would try,
but instead she gave a startled cry as her arm was grasped. She
turned and saw Charlie there.

‘Charlie, I was just telling your wife she
should—’ Matt began, but Charlie ignored him. He tugged at Amy,
giving her no choice but to walk with him away from the church and
towards the horse paddock.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her arm.
‘You’re hurting me, Charlie.’

‘I’ll hurt you worse if you don’t behave
yourself,’ he said, gripping her arm more tightly. Amy bit her lip
to keep back a cry of pain. ‘Don’t you talk to that Matt Aitken,’
Charlie growled.

‘Why? Don’t you like him?’

‘I don’t like seeing my wife talking to him.
Understand?’

‘We were talking about Rachel, that’s all.
He asked me—’

Charlie gave her arm a shake, and this time
Amy could not hold back a yelp. ‘Are you arguing with me,
woman?’

‘No! I’m sorry, I won’t talk to him again. I
didn’t know—’

‘You’ll know another time.’ He led Amy over
to her father’s buggy. ‘You just wait there and stay out of trouble
until your pa comes.’ Charlie went over to Smokey, but made no move
to leave. Instead he stood rubbing the horse’s nose and fiddling
with the bridle, occasionally casting a glance in Amy’s direction.
Only when Jack and Susannah arrived at the buggy with their
children did he mount and ride off ahead of them.

When the buggy reached Charlie’s gate he was
standing there waiting. ‘Hop in, we’ll give you a lift,’ Jack said,
halting the horses.

‘We’re not coming,’ Charlie said. ‘We’re
stopping home.’ He reached out a hand to guide Amy down from the
buggy.

‘But you’re coming for lunch,’ Jack
protested.

‘I’ve changed my mind. Hurry up, Amy.’ Amy
avoided her father’s eyes as she got down.

‘Now, Jack, it’s only natural Charlie wants
to have Sunday lunch at home,’ Susannah came in smoothly, covering
the awkward moment. ‘They’ve only been married a few weeks, and Amy
is
a very good cook. Leave them in peace, they can come
another day.’

Jack laughed. ‘You’re right. Come next week,
then, Charlie—I miss my girl, you know. Bring her over to see me
soon.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Charlie.

Jack drove off, and Charlie took Amy’s arm,
digging his fingers into the tender spots he had made earlier. He
marched her up the slope, making Amy half-trot to match his stride,
and did not release his hold until they reached the house.

Amy rubbed at her sore arm. ‘I haven’t got
anything ready for lunch, Charlie,’ she said in a small voice,
wondering just why she was in trouble.

‘Get on with it, then.’ Charlie glowered at
her. ‘If it wasn’t the Sabbath I’d teach you not to make a
spectacle of yourself with men.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed
to talk to him.’

‘You keep away from men, you little bitch.
I’ll not be made a fool of. I’ll not have people saying my wife’s a
whore. Whatever you were before I wed you, you’ll do as I say and
act like a decent woman now. Understand?’ He shook her.
‘Understand?’

‘Y-yes,’ Amy stammered. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to annoy you.’ Charlie gave her a dark look and stalked
inside, leaving Amy to follow in his wake.

As she lay in bed that night struggling for
breath under Charlie’s weight, Amy thought about his words.
He
thinks I’d do this with another man if I got the chance. He thinks
I’m a whore. That must be a woman who does this with lots of men. I
wish he trusted me. I wish I hadn’t been so bad
.

A more cheerful thought struck her, and Amy
mentally counted days, trying to estimate when her bleeding might
start. She dreaded the thought of having to explain to Charlie why
he wouldn’t be able to touch her for a few days, but the relief
would be worth the fearful task.

She counted twice to be sure, then once
more, but each time the sum came out the same way. Her bleeding was
already a few days late.

I’ve only had one lot since Ann was born,
maybe it’s not regular yet
.
Or maybe I’ve remembered the
dates wrong
. Amy pushed back against the knowledge that was
seeping into her awareness. She was with child again; Charlie’s
child.
I don’t want it
.
I don’t want it!

*

In early April the days were still warm, and
Amy had still not told Charlie about the child on its way. Telling
would make it seem a certainty, and she clung desperately to the
hope that she might be wrong. She did not want to go through the
misery of pregnancy and then be ripped apart again to bear this
child of her degradation; the child of a union not of love, but of
fear and revulsion on her part and contempt coupled with lust on
his. So she ignored it, and hoped it would go away.

*

April had seemed safely in the distance for
so long that it came as a shock to Frank when he realised the month
of his wedding had arrived. Only two more weeks and he would be
bringing Lizzie home with him. The thought of sharing his life and
his house with Lizzie made him feel warm and comfortable; when he
thought about sharing his bed with her excitement fought a war with
nervousness, and each day that the wedding drew closer the two
emotions became stronger.

He knew that whatever went on in married
couples’ bedrooms couldn’t be very difficult to learn; after all,
people seemed to have babies all the time. But just how did they
learn? He had got the impression from hay paddock jokes that most
men seemed to know all about it, even the ones who weren’t married.
There were always plenty of remarks about lacy drawers, and about
women letting down their rigging, which he suspected referred to
corsets.

He supposed he would figure it out, given
time, but what if he hurt Lizzie first, doing it the wrong way? He
never, ever wanted to hurt Lizzie. And how would he know if he had
done it wrong? Lizzie would have no more idea than he did; this was
going to be one area where she would not try to tell him what to
do. He was the man; it was up to him to know. And he had no real
idea.

Frank was so preoccupied with his weighty
problem that it was some time before he noticed how strangely Ben
was acting. His stay-at-home brother had taken to making mysterious
trips into town; trips which he refused to discuss when asked,
beyond saying he was ‘arranging a few things’. When Frank told Ben
he wanted him to be his best man Ben scoffed at the idea; when
Frank pressed him he swore and muttered, ‘Please yourself. Shut up
about it.’ Frank didn’t mention Ben’s reluctance to Lizzie; he was
sure she would say there was no point making Ben be best man if he
didn’t want to, but Ben was, after all, his brother, and the only
family he had. Until he gained his new wife, of course. At least
Ben had stopped his complaints and threats against Lizzie’s
arrival. Frank had enough to make him nervous without that.

A week before the wedding, Frank was still
none the wiser about what would happen in seven nights. His mind
was full of his problem as he loaded his empty milk cans onto the
spring cart after dropping the milk off at the cheese factory, so
it was some time before he became aware of the conversation going
on around him.

‘Reckon that Charlie Stewart’s got a glint
in his eye these days,’ one of the men said. Frank looked up from
the cart to see Charlie driving away.

‘Yep. Tasty little wife in his bed, that’s
why,’ another voice replied. Frank looked at the speakers and saw
they were Mr Carr and old Mr Aitken.

‘Bet he makes her squeal,’ Mr Carr
commented. Squeal? How would he make her squeal? Did they mean
Charlie hurt Amy?

‘First night, anyway. They let out a good
yell then—even the ones who’ve got no need to.’

‘Well, my old woman reckons Charlie had a
bite at that cherry a while before the wedding—reckons that’s why
they got married in such a rush. So she did her screaming out in
the paddock, I guess.’

‘You reckon? Now, how did he talk a good
looker like her into rolling in the grass with him?’

Mr Carr shrugged. ‘Dunno. But I suppose he
must have—don’t see why else Jack would’ve given her to him.’ He
noticed Frank looking at him. ‘Hey, Frank! Your big day’s coming up
soon, eh? And your big night!’ He winked, and Frank felt himself
redden.

‘Bet he hopes it’s
big
that night,’
Mr Aitken said, and both men guffawed.

Frank smiled nervously. He climbed onto his
cart and drove off as quickly as possible, hearing the laughter die
away behind him. That did it. All that talk of making women scream.
He was sorry for Amy if it was true, and it was easy to believe
Charlie might hurt her, but Amy was not his responsibility. Lizzie
was, and he had no intention of hurting Lizzie. He was just going
to have to find out how to do it properly.

When Frank went to Lizzie’s house for lunch
the next day he felt brave and determined, but his boldness soon
evaporated. It was only seeing Lizzie smiling across the table at
him that gave him the courage to do what he intended. Lizzie
trusted him; he could see it in her face.

Lizzie suggested a walk after lunch, and she
looked surprised when Frank refused.

‘Maybe later,’ he said, looking out the
window to see which direction Arthur had taken. ‘I want to have a
bit of a talk with your pa first.’

‘Why?’ Lizzie asked.

‘I just… I just want to ask him some
things.’

‘Oh, well, if you’re that keen.’ For a
moment Frank thought Lizzie was going to be huffy, but she soon
relented. ‘All right, I’ll do the dishes now instead of later, then
we can go for a walk when you’ve finished with Pa.’