Mud and Gold (65 page)

Malcolm stared at her, astonished. ‘Pa calls
you that,’ he said indignantly. ‘He says it all the time.’

‘Your father can do—’ she stopped to correct
herself, ‘can
say
whatever he likes to me. He’s a grown man,
and this is his house. But you can just behave yourself.’

It did not take Malcolm long to regain his
composure. ‘Anyway, that didn’t even hurt. You can’t even do
hidings. Silly bitch.’ His expression told Amy he was daring her to
hit him again.

She gazed back at him and sighed, resigning
herself to defeat. He looked so startlingly like his father when he
scowled at her like that, but Malcolm was not Charlie, and she had
no right to treat him as though he was.

It was one thing to assert her rights with
Charlie; he had chosen to marry her, he was a grown man, and he had
to bear the consequences of having gone too far in his treatment of
her. She would give him what duty she still owed him, and give it
ungrudgingly.

But she owed Malcolm more than mere duty; he
was her son as well as Charlie’s, born out of her body, and she
owed him love. Always at the back of her mind when she thought of
Malcolm was a vague feeling of guilt that she did not love him as
much as she should. It was not his fault that his parents had
married with no trace of affection between them, and it was not his
fault that he bore his father’s face. However much he might hurt
her, she could not bear to hurt Malcolm in return.

‘Please yourself, then, Mal,’ she said.
‘Just don’t let your father hear you talking like that—even if he
does say it himself, that doesn’t mean he’ll let you.’

She walked the rest of the way to her copper
and tubs, the boys ambling along in her wake. ‘Why don’t you two go
and climb trees again?’ she asked.

‘Don’t want to,’ Malcolm said, more because
she had suggested it than from any real disinclination, Amy
suspected.

‘You’re in a real mood, aren’t you? All
right, then, don’t. Stand around here and watch me do the washing
if that’s more fun.’

‘I want to climb trees, Mal,’ David
protested.

‘Oh, all right,’ Malcolm said. He went off
readily enough with David, leaving Amy free to finish off the last
load of washing in peace.

Now that the day had reached its full heat
the sun beat fiercely on her despite her wide-brimmed straw hat,
plastering her hair down with perspiration and making her head
ache. She had often wished Charlie would build a roof over the
copper and tubs wide enough to shelter her from the sun, but she
knew it would be no use asking him.

She hung the last of the clothes out to dry
and stood for a moment enjoying the shade of the tree that one end
of her clothesline was attached to. Close to the tree trunk Ginger
was sprawled luxuriously, almost invisible against the dry ground
there. Amy paused to stroke his warm fur, feeling the rumbling purr
deep within him, then headed back to the house. She glanced over at
the small stand of trees where the children had been playing
earlier, but there was no sign of the boys. Weary from her
morning’s labour, at first she did no more than wonder idly where
else they might have gone. As she remembered Malcolm’s defiant mood
a vague foreboding crept over her. Just what was that boy up
to?

‘Mal?’ she called. ‘Where are you? Davie?
Mal?’ There was no answer, and with an inward groan she set off in
search of them.

The snort of a horse caught her attention as
she passed the house and started down the track. She stopped for a
moment and listened, then walked quickly in the direction of the
sound.

The boys had climbed onto the fence of the
horse paddock, and Malcolm had attracted Smokey over with a few
small carrots filched from Amy’s garden. The horse snatched at the
carrots, coming right up to the fence to get at them. Giving
Charlie’s horse a treat was a harmless enough activity, but
something about Malcolm’s stance made Amy stand and watch the boys
instead of turning away and leaving them to it.

Dangling one of the carrots just out of
Smokey’s reach, Malcolm clambered onto a fence post, waving his
arms until he had his balance and could stand upright. He let
Smokey take the carrot, then as Amy watched Malcolm darted out and
caught hold of Smokey’s mane with both hands and flung himself onto
the horse’s back.

For a few moments Amy was too startled to
move, then she gathered up her skirts and ran the rest of the way
to the horse paddock. ‘Malcolm!’ she called. ‘What on earth do you
think you’re doing? Get off there!’

‘Mal’s riding Papa’s horse!’ David
squealed.

‘Mal’s a naughty boy,’ Amy said, unsure
whether to feel angry or anxious. ‘He’s no business getting on
Papa’s horse by himself when he doesn’t even know how to ride.
Malcolm!’

But Malcolm was too busy keeping his
precarious seat to take any notice of her. He clutched a fistful of
mane in each hand and gripped tightly with his knees, kicking the
horse with all his might. Smokey had looked aggrieved when he had
been unexpectedly mounted; as Malcolm dug in his ankles the horse’s
ears went back and he broke into an awkward trot. Malcolm bounced
up and down on the bony back, but his hands kept their hold on
Smokey’s mane and he clung limpet-like with his knees.

‘Gee up,’ he urged the horse. ‘Go faster! I
want to gallop!’

Malcolm’s eyes were flashing with
excitement. It was no use calling out to him; he was beyond hearing
her, even if he had been likely to take any notice. So Amy stood
close to the excited David, keeping a tight hold of the little
boy’s hand in case he decided to dart into the paddock after his
brother, and waited to see how Malcolm’s wild ride would end.

He did not manage to persuade Smokey into a
gallop, or even a canter. Instead Smokey’s trot became faster and
more jolting, his ears flat to his head, until the horse decided he
had had enough of this unpleasant little burden who kept kicking at
his sides so uncomfortably.

It took Amy a moment to realise what was
happening when she saw Smokey lower his head, then she shouted a
warning.

‘He’s going to buck, Mal! Let go his mane
and jump. Go on, jump off now!’

Instead Malcolm clung on tighter, but he had
no chance of keeping his seat when Smokey lashed out with his hind
legs. It only took a few good bucks till Malcolm went flying over
the top of the horse’s head to land in a heap on the grass.

Amy was over the fence and at Malcolm’s side
before she knew she had moved. She dropped to her knees beside him
and reached out to touch his face, her heart pounding at the sight
of his still form.

‘Mal?’ she said, her voice shaking with
fear. ‘Talk to me, Mal!’

Malcolm’s mouth hung open, his face dazed.
He took a great gulp of air and his eyes lit up. ‘Did you see me
riding him? That was
neat
.’ He made to sit up, but his mouth
twisted into a grimace.

‘You’re dizzy, aren’t you?’ said Amy. ‘Lie
still for a minute.’ She laid his head in her lap and stroked his
cheek. ‘You’re going to have an awful headache later. Serves you
right, too,’ she added, annoyance finding its way to the surface as
her fear faded. ‘All right, you can sit up now if you want. Let’s
have a look at you. I don’t think you’ve done yourself much damage,
though it’s not for want of trying.’

She checked Malcolm over, feeling her way
gently along his body. He had taken most of his weight on one hip;
he winced a little as she touched it, but it was clearly nothing
serious. The most painful-looking souvenir of his escapade was a
long scratch along the back of one hand and halfway up to his elbow
where his arm had scraped over a piece of wood lying in the
paddock, leaving a bleeding graze that had stained his shirt
sleeve.

‘You’ve made a good job of that,’ Amy said.
‘You’ve ripped your sleeve, too, and this is the only shirt that
still fits you properly.’ She dabbed at the blood with her
handkerchief. ‘I’ll give this scratch a wash when we go inside,
it’ll be sore for a bit. You’re going to get a huge bruise on that
leg, too. That’ll go with the ones your pa’s going to put on your
bottom. He’s going to be very angry with you, Mal.’

‘Are you going to tell on me?’ Malcolm
asked, giving her a resentful look.

Amy studied his face. Malcolm was trying
hard to look defiant, as though he did not care what his father
might do to him, but she could see fear in his eyes. They both knew
only too well what Charlie’s anger meant.

After a year of going to school, the only
thing Malcolm seemed to have learned was how to defy another woman
besides his mother. At least school meant the hours Malcolm and
Charlie spent together, and therefore their opportunities for
falling out with each other, were limited.

But now that the long summer holiday had
begun, that small relief had disappeared. Again Malcolm was
spending most of the day with Charlie, and again there was trouble
most days. Malcolm did not cry as much as he once had when his
father punished him; perhaps Charlie saw that as a sign his son was
growing up, but Amy suspected it only meant Malcolm was getting
better at hiding what he felt.

She sighed. ‘No, I won’t tell him, Mal. But
he might figure it out for himself—look what you’ve done to poor
Smokey.’ The horse was grazing on the far side of the paddock,
keeping his distance from them, and he was walking with a distinct
limp. ‘He needed a rest, that’s why your pa didn’t take him out
today—you told me that yourself, you silly boy.’

‘I didn’t ride him far. I just wanted a
little go at it. I wanted Pa to take me out on the horse with him,’
he finished, his lower lip quivering. The shock of his fall,
coupled with the fear of retribution that Amy had put into his
head, made him look dangerously close to tears.

‘Well, maybe your pa won’t notice. He
probably won’t even look at Smokey when he comes home, he’ll be
thinking about other things.’ Except that he would have to turn his
bay out into the horse paddock with Smokey; Malcolm would need to
be very lucky for his father to miss seeing Smokey’s lameness. But
there was no sense frightening the child, and perhaps he would
indeed be lucky. ‘Let’s go back to the house and I’ll clean you
up.’

By the time she had washed Malcolm’s grazed
arm and helped him into a clean shirt, the morning had almost gone.
It was high time she started making lunch. Amy glanced at the
kitchen clock and thought for a moment. Despite his refusal to
commit himself, she knew Charlie would not be home until well into
the afternoon; it would have been close to eleven o’clock by the
time he got to town, and he always stayed several hours when he
treated himself to such outings.

‘How do you feel now, Mal?’ she asked,
smoothing down his tousled hair and carefully picking a dead leaf
out of it.

‘I’m all right. This shirt’s too hot,’ he
complained.

‘I can’t help that, it’s the only clean one
you’ve got left until the washing’s dry. But you’re right, it’s
really hot today, much too hot for a proper cooked lunch like your
pa always wants. How would you boys like a picnic instead? We could
take it down to the creek and sit under the trees. You two could
have a swim if you like.’

‘Yes!’ both boys chorused.

‘That’s what we’ll do, then. A swim might
help your sore head, too, Mal. Come and help me pack a basket.’

She made a pile of sandwiches, using some of
the cold meat from the previous day’s roast dinner, and put them
into a basket along with a few scones left over from morning tea,
some cakes and several peaches, with a bottle of her home-made
lemonade to wash it all down.

‘Have a swim first, that’ll make sure you’re
good and hungry,’ she told the boys when they reached the bank of
the creek. She helped David with his buttons while Malcolm
undressed himself. The naked boys jumped into the waist-deep water
with whoops of delight.

Amy smiled as she watched them, happy at the
sight of her sons enjoying themselves. She took off her boots, and
turned her back to the boys while she undid her garters and pulled
off her stockings, then she sat on a rock that jutted into the
creek to dangle her feet in the water, gasping at the delicious
coolness. ‘Don’t you dare splash me,’ she said, seeing the
mischievous look on David’s face. She squealed with laughter as the
two boys flung handfuls of water at her. It was far too hot to
worry about a few splashes.

‘Come and have a swim, Mama,’ said
David.

‘No, I’ll just dip my feet in. That’s enough
for me.’ She was already exposing more of her flesh to daylight
than she had in years, with her skirts pulled up to her knees.

Malcolm threw himself under the water and
came up snorting. ‘Can you swim, Ma?’ he asked.

‘I used to be able to. I suppose I still
can.’ She thought back to other warm days when she and Lizzie had
slipped away to a sheltered part of the creek where they could
strip off and splash about to their hearts’ content, as carefree as
these two children. Lizzie had always taken the precaution of
threatening Bill and Alf with dire retribution from their father if
the boys disturbed them while they were swimming, so the girls
could cavort without fear of being observed. It seemed so long ago,
those days when she had not worn ankle-length dresses, nor been
laced into corsets that barely allowed her to bend in the middle,
let alone run about climbing trees and leaping over fallen logs the
way she and Lizzie had done. And yet, when she came to work it out,
the memories were little more than ten years old.

‘Come here a minute, Davie, and hold on to
my hands, then you can practise kicking,’ Amy said. ‘That’s right.
Kick a bit slower, though, you don’t want to splash all the water
out of the creek.’

Malcolm watched with interest, then let Amy
persuade him into taking his own turn at holding her hands and
kicking vigorously. ‘You’ve got strong legs, Mal, you’re kicking
really well. I can’t teach you properly, though, not when I can’t
get in the water with you. It’s about time you two learned to swim,
I don’t want you drowning yourselves.’