A Second Chance (33 page)

Beth was quiet as the two of them worked in
the kitchen. It was barely half an hour before morning tea time
when she said, ‘I thought I might go and see Ma this morning. Is
that all right?’

‘Of course it is, Beth,’ Amy said, still
feeling somewhat guilty. ‘You don’t need to ask me whether you can
go out or not.’ She felt even more guilty over her secret delight
at the thought of having David to herself over morning tea.

When she judged he must be on his way to the
house she set the table for the two of them, and had the tea things
and a plate of scones ready by the time he came inside.

‘Where’s Beth?’ were his first words on
entering the room.

‘She’s gone to see Aunt Lizzie. It’s just
the two of us.’ Amy saw disappointment flit across his face, and
had to fight down a rush of resentment. ‘Just like it used to be,
Davie,’ she said, trying to make her voice light.

‘I suppose it is.’

David turned his full attention on the fresh
scones until the plate was empty. Afterwards he talked readily
enough to his mother about his morning’s work, but Amy noticed how
often his gaze flicked across the table, unconsciously seeking the
absent Beth. Whenever he realised once again that she was not
there, that disappointed look would return.

The house was less bright without Beth, Amy
had to admit, if only for the effect her absence had on David. He
was lingering longer than usual, no doubt hoping Beth would come
back before he had to go outside again. Beth usually went out on
the farm with him after morning tea; she and Amy agreed there was
not enough work for two women in so small a household as theirs,
while Beth delighted in helping David with the animals.

David went off at last, and Amy cleared away
their tea things. It occurred to her that this time after morning
tea, when she had the house to herself, was the dullest part of her
day. Beth, for all her quiet ways, was good company. Amy had grown
used to having her about the place; a willing helper and a cheerful
companion. Beth, she realised, had become part of them.

For this cause shall a man leave his
father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife; and they two
shall be one flesh.
The words from the marriage service came to
her. David and Beth had certainly become one flesh, but it was more
than that: they were like two halves of the same person. It was
hard for Amy to imagine that she was needed here. Perhaps, she
reflected, it was time David’s mother thought about leaving
him.

Sarah had the habit of ending every letter
by asking when Amy was coming back to her. In the last letter Amy
had received, the familiar question was missing; in fact Amy had
had the impression Sarah was preoccupied with a problem of some
sort. But there was no sense worrying about that; Sarah was sure be
more than a match for whatever (or perhaps whoever) was causing her
difficulty. It was here on the farm that it was up to Amy to make
things right. Sarah would soon enough be pressing her to come to
Auckland again. And Amy rather thought she should accept the
invitation.

*

Beth found her mother in the kitchen,
holding Benjy’s hands as the little boy took tentative steps.
Maisie was putting a tray of biscuits into the range. Beth kissed
them all, took a seat at the table, then quietly asked her mother
if they could talk in private.

Lizzie picked Benjy up and whisked Beth off
to the bedroom. ‘Something about the baby, is it?’ she asked as she
plumped herself down on the bed. ‘Everything all right?’

Beth took a chair near the window. ‘I think
so. I just wondered…’ Now that it came to the point, she found her
question was not easy to ask. ‘Ma, can it hurt the baby if you… you
know. If you do it a lot.’

‘Eh? What are you on about, girl?’

Beth looked away, feeling her colour rise.
‘
You
know. With your husband.’

‘Oh,’ Lizzie said, sounding startled. Beth
darted a glance at her mother; she looked thoughtful. ‘It can’t
do,’ Lizzie announced. ‘You lot all turned out healthy. You’ll find
it can’t be done when you get to be a real size, but that’s a fair
way off yet. You might as well enjoy yourselves for now.’

Relief flooded through Beth. ‘Thanks,
Ma.’

‘You can ask your Aunt Amy things about the
baby, you know. She hasn’t had as many babies as me, but she can
tell you what you need to know.’

Beth looked away again. ‘I don’t want to ask
her things.’

‘Why not?’ Lizzie asked sharply. ‘Aren’t you
getting on with her?’

‘I thought I was. But now she thinks I’m not
looking after Davie properly, and I am. She said I—’

‘Now, don’t you go carrying tales,’ Lizzie
interrupted. ‘I don’t want to hear a word of it. You just be a good
girl for your Aunt Amy. She hasn’t had things easy, you know.’

‘I know she hasn’t,’ Beth said, resigned to
losing the argument before it had begun.

Her mother was silent for several moments.
‘You know she hasn’t, do you?’ she said at last. ‘I’m not so sure
about that. What’s Dave told you about his ma and pa?’

‘A little bit. He hasn’t said much, but I
know Uncle Charlie used to hit Aunt Amy sometimes. That’s why P—’
She stopped herself just in time. Her father’s insinuation that
David might be capable of hitting Beth was a detail she had chosen
not to share with her mother. Annoyed as she still was with him
over what he had said to David, she was not quite annoyed enough to
get him into that amount of trouble. ‘I know he doesn’t like
talking about it, though.’

‘No, and he’s quite right not to. The man
was his father, after all. That’s all very well, but I think
perhaps it’s time I told you a thing or two.’

Benjy wriggled on her lap. Lizzie opened her
bodice and put him to her breast.

‘He did used to hit her,’ she said when the
baby was suckling contentedly. ‘Right from when they were first
married. I’d see bruises on her, for all she’d try and cover them
up.’

‘Bruises?’ Beth echoed. ‘I thought—’

‘You thought it was just the odd slap,’ her
mother finished for her. ‘Lots of men think it’s all right to treat
their wives like that—not your father, I might add—and the law says
they can do it. I don’t think many of them are as bad as your Uncle
Charlie was, though. You were only about Benjy’s age when he did
the worst of it, so Dave must have only been three or so. He
mightn’t even remember it.’

‘I think he might,’ Beth murmured. Some of
David’s vaguer remarks, quickly stifled, were now making more sense
to her.

‘She’d never talk about how he was carrying
on. It was only that I popped in to see her not long after it
happened.’ Her mother fell silent again for a time. ‘Her face. It
was that cut and swollen you wouldn’t have known it was her. He’d
taken his fists to her as if he was fighting another man. Not just
her face, either—she could hardly stand up, let alone walk. It’s my
belief he kicked…’ She left the sentence unfinished. ‘I think he
jolly near killed her that time.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Beth whispered.

‘No, of course you didn’t. It’s not
something to gossip about—and don’t you go telling anyone else this
stuff, either. Not Maudie or anyone. I’m only telling you because
you need to understand a few things.’

‘I won’t tell anyone, Ma.’

‘She told me he never laid a hand on her
after that, but he still used to talk nasty to her all the time.
And he’d have kept her locked up in the house if he could—she had
to ask him every time she so much as wanted to go next door, and as
often as not he’d say no, just to be contrary. That’s the sort of
thing she had to put up with all those years. I don’t know how she
stayed as bright as she did. She had her boys of course, but… well,
I don’t want to speak ill of Mal, but he was a trial to her,
getting into bad company and all. And then she had the upset of him
going off and dying like that, and your Uncle Charlie getting worse
than ever. The only one she had for company was Dave. Do you
understand what I’m saying, girl?’

‘I know Aunt Amy’s very fond of Dave—he is
of her, too.’

‘He was the one that kept her going, it
seemed to me. When he went off to Waihi, I was worried she might go
funny in the head. But we got him back in the end. He’s been a good
son to her, and you can’t expect her to dance a jig about having to
share him with someone else, even when it’s you. I expect the two
of you go off to bed early?’

‘A bit early,’ Beth admitted.

‘And she’s left sitting up on her own, when
she’s been used to having Dave for company. And when the three of
you are together, he wants to talk to you as often as not—probably
more than he does to his ma. Now, I’m not saying you’re doing
anything wrong,’ Lizzie said; Beth realised her sense of guilt must
be showing on her face. ‘It’s natural the two of you want to spend
all the time together you can. I’m just saying you need to think
about what it’s like for your Aunt Amy.’

‘What should I do, Ma?’ Beth asked, still
reeling from her mother’s revelations. ‘I want us all to get on and
everything.’

‘Just be patient. Things’ll sort themselves
out soon enough, especially once the baby arrives. She’ll be that
pleased—and you and Dave will settle down more, too, when you’ve
got a baby to think about.’

Benjy had lost interest in feeding; Lizzie
buttoned her bodice and held him against her shoulder. ‘You’ll be
all right. Your Aunt Amy’s very fond of you, she always has
been.’

‘I’m fond of her, too,’ said Beth. ‘I really
am.’

*

Beth rode back to David’s farm, so lost in
her thoughts that the horse found its own way with little guidance.
She entered the kitchen determined to say something to make up for
any hurt she might have caused her aunt, but before she could utter
a word Amy had crossed the room and placed a kiss on her cheek.

‘I’m glad you’re back,’ Amy said. ‘It’s been
too quiet without you.’

‘Has it?’ Beth said, mildly stunned at the
warmth of her reception. She was still struggling to find the right
words when Amy spoke again.

‘Beth, I’m sure everything’ll be all right
with the baby. You wouldn’t do anything that’d hurt it. And I think
you’re making a good job of looking after Dave.’ She reached out
and touched Beth’s arm. ‘I hope you know I’m very happy about you
and Dave being married.’

Beth flung her arms around Amy’s waist and
felt herself enfolded in a hug. ‘Thank you, Aunt Amy. And I do want
to look after Davie—and the baby—and I like living here with
you.’

Amy kissed her again, then extricated
herself. ‘I can finish getting lunch on. I think you should go and
find Dave—he missed you at morning tea.’ She smiled at Beth. ‘He’s
a lot happier when you’re here.’

A week after the wedding, Susannah had a
cable from her sister to tell her their mother was considered to be
in her last hours. Thomas could not detect any signs of grief as
she calmly made arrangements for the two of them to travel to
Auckland; not even when a further cable the morning before they
were to sail told her that her mother had died. ‘We’ll be there in
time for the funeral,’ she said, as if that were the only thing to
be concerned about.

Thomas had not seen George for some weeks;
though his brother had, of course, been invited to the wedding, he
had not felt it necessary to interrupt his sailing schedule in
order to attend. Thomas knew that George would not be particularly
interested in their grandmother’s death, but he left a message for
him at Ruatane’s wharf in case his brother should call in while
they were out of town and wonder where they were.

They arrived in Auckland the evening before
the funeral was to take place, and were driven to his Uncle
Henry’s. To Thomas, the house seemed huge. The drawing room (as he
was promptly informed it was called when he mistakenly referred to
it as “the parlour”) was sombre, its mantelpiece draped in black
crepe while the house was in mourning. A constant stream of
visitors seemed to call during the day to express their
condolences. Many of them said they remembered Thomas from the
previous time his mother had taken him to Auckland, nine years
before when his grandfather had died; one or two ancient-looking
women even claimed to remember seeing him on an earlier trip, one
Thomas had only vague memories of, though he did recall that Amy
had been with them on that journey. Thomas was not used to meeting
so many unfamiliar people at once, and when at last he was able to
go to bed he soon fell into an exhausted sleep.

At the funeral, his main concern was his
mother. Although she continued to appear calm, Thomas wondered if
the occasion might prove too much for her. But she remained serene
and composed. Her only display of emotion was her surprise and
evident pleasure when George arrived at the church while they were
waiting to go in.

‘I got Tom’s note, and we were bringing the
boat up anyway, so I thought I’d see if I could get here in time,’
George said cheerfully. He looked more smartly turned out than
Thomas had seen him in years, wearing a suit that appeared freshly
pressed.

He and Thomas escorted their mother into the
church, and sat either side of her during the service. On such a
solemn occasion Susannah would not allow herself anything more than
the hint of a smile, but Thomas was sure she was delighted at
having the presence of both her sons. He suspected she was equally
delighted that George took himself off soon after the funeral,
staying just long enough for Susannah to display the two of them,
but not long enough for any of the other mourners to start asking
awkward questions about George’s somewhat irregular private
life.

*

Henry Kendall considered himself a fortunate
man. He was successful in his profession; he had a wife who made
his house a comfortable place to live, was a good hostess, and was
for the most part sensible; and he had five fine children. It was
hardly Constance’s fault that her brother had so little to
recommend him. Henry tolerated Jimmy’s presence when obliged to,
but he took no pleasure in it.