Settling the Account (66 page)

By the time they had had a cup of tea and a
few biscuits, Amy felt comfortably full. She resisted the urge to
sit back in her chair and relax; she still had too much work to do
before she would be able to crawl into bed that night.

‘Do you want to go to bed now, or sit up for
a bit?’ she asked. Sometimes Charlie wanted her help to walk
through to his bedroom; after the fright he had had that evening
with tipping his dinner onto the floor, Amy thought he would
probably need her arm.

He frowned in thought, as if even so simple
a problem taxed him. ‘I’ll go to bed now.’

Amy helped him up and steadied him by one
elbow until he was in his room and sitting on the bed.

‘I’ll get you a clean nightshirt, that one’s
got stew on it,’ she said. ‘Can you manage getting changed?’

Charlie nodded. She was not sure just how he
did manage to change into a clean nightshirt once a week, but
somehow he did, with no help from her other than with his buttons.
She worried that he might hurt himself straining with the clothes,
but it seemed his shyness was stronger than his desire for
help.

‘Are you going to bed now?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. I’ve got a few things to do before
that.’

‘You look half dead. You should go to
bed.’

Amy shook her head. ‘I’ve the bread to make
first. I’ve got to wash the dishes, too, and tidy up in the kitchen
a bit.’ And after that there was mending to be done, and a letter
to David to be finished off if she could keep her eyes open long
enough.

‘Women’s work.’ He let her unbutton the
front of his nightshirt, then watched her fetch a clean one from
his chest of drawers. ‘Man’s work all day and women’s work all
night.’

‘Not all night, Charlie. Just the things I
don’t get around to in the daytime. Anyway, I’ve got quite used to
it now, I don’t seem to need as much sleep as I did.’

She saw him staring at her, frowning in
thought as he did so. ‘You never…’ he said uncertainly. ‘You never
complain.’

Amy made no answer. She placed the clean
nightshirt on the chair beside his bed and made to leave the
room.

‘Why not?’ Charlie asked, startling her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why don’t you ever complain? God knows
you’ve reason enough.’

From Charlie the question seemed so
ridiculous that Amy felt a smile twitching at the corners of her
mouth.

‘You were never one to encourage
complaining, Charlie. I learned that soon enough after I came to
live here.’ She gave a shrug. ‘I suppose I just got out of the
habit. That’s no bad thing, is it? Complaining about things just
gets a person down. Much better to get on with it. Good night.’

She felt his eyes following her as she
slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

*

It was morning sickness that made Lizzie
certain enough of her pregnancy to want to tell the world; or, more
precisely, to tell her oldest daughter.

‘I think we should drop in on Maudie this
morning,’ Lizzie remarked to Frank with a studied casualness as the
two of them got back in the buggy after finishing their shopping.
‘We haven’t been around there for a while.’

Not since Christmas, in fact. After Lizzie
had stormed out of Richard’s house in high dudgeon, she had
insisted that she would not go back there until she got an apology
from Maudie. She had relented for Christmas, and the whole family
had crammed into Richard’s parlour on Christmas Day for a brief
visit on their way home from church, but since then she had not
crossed the threshold. Sometimes she chose not to come into town
with Frank, and he always dropped in on his daughter on those days,
but he had not been able to persuade Lizzie to relax her attitude
of injured pride.

Until today. Frank did not press for an
explanation as to why she had changed her mind about waiting for an
apology they both knew would never come; he knew her reasons well
enough.

Lizzie sat in Richard’s parlour balancing a
saucer on her lap and looking around the room with a brazenly
self-satisfied air. Maudie watched her mother, until at last she
could bear the mystery no longer. Lizzie had barely downed the tea
when Maudie hurried her off to the bedroom, ostensibly to see some
baby clothes Maudie had been making.

‘And just what is Lizzie so pleased with
herself over?’ Richard asked Frank as soon as the two of them were
alone. ‘She looks like the cat that’s swallowed the cream.’

‘She does a bit, doesn’t she?’ Frank said.
‘Well, we’ve got a bit of news, Lizzie and I have. Lizzie’s got a
baby on the way.’

‘Ah,’ Richard said slowly and thoughtfully.
‘I see it all now.’ He gave Frank a look that seemed intended to be
reproachful, though Frank was aware of the smile that threatened to
break through it. ‘Someone’s nose is going to be badly out of joint
over this, you realise?’

‘Maudie’ll be all right about it,’ Frank
said. ‘It’ll be nice, the two babies being so close together and
all.’

‘It’s easy for you to say she’ll be all
right,’ Richard said drily. ‘It’s me who’ll have to smooth the
ruffled feathers, you know. I’m afraid I must say that I blame you,
Frank.’

‘Well, I had something to do with it,’ Frank
admitted with a grin. ‘It was all Lizzie’s idea, though.’

‘I’m quite sure it was. Still, you must
confess that you went along with it.’

‘That’s usually the best way when Lizzie
gets her mind set on something.’

‘So I’ve gathered. And is Lizzie keeping
well?’

‘She’s not too bad,’ Frank said, a trace of
doubt in his voice. ‘She’s been having a bit of trouble with the
morning sickness just lately.’

‘Has she? I don’t think Maudie realises
quite how lucky she was over that—she had no nausea at all. Is it a
real problem for Lizzie?’

Frank hesitated, torn between the vague
worry he had over Lizzie’s sickness and the promise she had
extracted from him to say nothing to Richard or Maudie about just
how unpleasant it was. After all, he told himself, it was only
morning sickness, even if it seemed to be worse than Lizzie had had
in her earlier pregnancies.

‘She says she’s all right,’ he hedged. ‘It
won’t last long, anyway.’

‘Lizzie looks quite well,’ Richard said.
‘And she obviously enjoys the best of health normally. I’m sure
she’ll come through it all without too much trouble. Of course I’d
be more than happy to help in any way I can—perhaps you’d like me
to check her over?’

‘I don’t think that’d be a very good idea,’
Frank said cautiously. ‘I don’t think either of us would be too
popular with Lizzie if I suggested that.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Richard agreed. ‘But if
you do think it’s necessary at any time… well, just keep it in
mind.’

Their conversation was abruptly halted when
Lizzie and Maudie emerged from the other room. Lizzie’s smile was
more self-satisfied than ever, while Maudie was tight-lipped, as if
holding back what she wanted to say only with the greatest of
efforts. She kissed her mother goodbye without any real show of
enthusiasm; Frank was relieved when she kissed him with her usual
affection. Maudie had clearly decided for herself where the blame
for her mother’s pregnancy lay.

‘We might pop in and see you next week,’
Lizzie said as she and Frank set off down the path to the
buggy.

‘That’ll be nice,’ Maudie said through
clenched teeth. When Frank glanced back from the garden gate, which
he was holding open for Lizzie, he saw that Maudie was no longer
looking at them. Instead she had turned towards Richard and begun
speaking. At this distance Frank could not hear her voice; he could
only see the movement of her mouth and a little of her expression.
But that was enough for him to make a fair guess at just what she
was saying to Richard.

*

Amy had been putting off the task of
clearing one of the drains for weeks, but when a heavy fall of rain
made the drain overflow into the paddock it ran through she knew it
was time to do something about it.

She waited a few days until the ground had
dried out somewhat, then took a shovel from one of the sheds and
walked down to the paddock.

As soon as she started, she was reminded of
just why she had put it off for so long. It was a filthy job, as
well as exhausting. The thick sludge, half mud and half manure from
the cow shed, clung to her boots with invisible hands, dragging at
her as if trying to draw her down into itself. Taking a step meant
heaving each foot up with an effort, the mud reluctantly releasing
its hold with a loud sucking noise and a stench that made Amy retch
until her nose grew too used to it for violent reaction. If she
left her feet where they were for longer than a minute or two, she
felt them slip down into the sludge until mud oozed over the tops
of her boots.

Small, biting flies clustered around her
face. The back of her hand was slimy against her skin when she gave
in to the urge to rub it across her cheek. Each shovel full could
only be gouged out of the drain with a shoulder-wrenching effort
and a smell even worse than that stirred up by the movement of her
boots. The reek of her own sweat, acrid as hot metal, cut through
it from time to time.

It was a long, slow job, but Amy could see
that she was more than halfway through when she was interrupted by
a call from the direction of the house.

‘Amy?’

From the paddock where she was working she
could not quite see the house, but she recognised the voice as
Charlie’s. She thought she detected uneasiness in his tone, though
it was certainly short of panic.

‘Where the hell are you?’

There was more irritation than uneasiness in
that yell. Amy sighed.

‘I’m coming,’ she called. She heaved her
feet out of the cloying mud and began trudging back up to the
house, her feet unnaturally heavy with the weight of mud clinging
to her boots.

She stopped short when she rounded a corner
and the house came into view. She could make out Charlie standing
in the doorway, and a few steps away from him was a woman in a dark
dress; a woman so tall that she was within a few inches of
Charlie’s height. Amy only knew two women that tall, and she was
quite sure it was not Susannah who stood on the verandah waiting
for her.

‘Hurry up, for God’s sake,’ Charlie called.
‘Don’t keep the woman standing here all day.’ He disappeared back
into the house, pulling the door to after himself, clearly eager to
escape the uncomfortable situation he had found himself in.

There was no help for it. Amy loosened the
skirts she had tucked up into her drawers, shouldered her shovel
and walked up to the house, aware of the eyes studying her as she
came. When she got to the foot of the steps, she let the shovel
fall to the ground and looked up to the verandah.

‘Hello, Sarah,’ she said quietly.

‘Oh, God.’ Sarah reached out almost blindly
for the chair that stood near her and sank into it, her eyes never
leaving Amy.

Amy came up the steps towards her, but
thought better of taking the other chair. She would have to scrub
it clean if she dropped any of her load of dirt onto it. Instead
she sat on the top step of the verandah and studied the pattern of
splattered mud on her skirts before raising her eyes to
Sarah’s.

‘I would’ve smartened myself up a bit if I’d
known you were coming.’ Amy tried to smile.

‘I didn’t realise he’d be here—I just
stepped in the door and he was sitting there, not even properly
dressed,’ Sarah said, clearly distressed. ‘I thought he’d be out on
the farm somewhere and you’d be here by yourself. I thought we’d be
on our own, so we’d be able to talk. I wanted to… I thought I
could… what on earth have you been doing?’ she asked, staring at
Amy with a kind of horrified fascination.

‘Clearing out a drain. I’m not usually in a
state like this, it’s just that it’s such a dirty job.’ Amy was
acutely aware of the unpleasant smell emanating from her.

‘Why were you doing a job like that?’

‘It was blocked,’ Amy said simply. ‘It
needed digging out.’

‘Yes, but why were
you
doing it? Why
wasn’t he?’ Sarah indicated the house, and the absent Charlie, with
a disapproving toss of her head.

‘Mr Stewart’s not feeling very well just at
the moment. He’s not up to the heavy work today.’

‘Then why not leave it till he
is
feeling up to it? Why on earth do such a filthy job yourself?
Goodness me, I know nothing about farming, but I can’t believe
clearing out a drain couldn’t wait a day or two.’

Amy could think of no convincing answer. She
gave a shrug and tried to change the subject.

‘Would you like a cup of tea? Don’t worry,
I’ll wash myself and put some clean clothes on before I touch
anything in the kitchen.’

Sarah was studying her closely. Her eyes
suddenly grew wide with comprehension. ‘He never feels well, does
he?’ she said, then went on more rapidly. ‘All this talk about bad
days and good days—he doesn’t have any good days. You’re having to
do all these filthy jobs for him, and you’ve been keeping it a
secret from everyone.’

‘He gets so upset,’ Amy said helplessly. ‘He
doesn’t want anyone to know. And he
is
better some days than
others, really he is.’

‘However have you been managing? Not very
well, from the look of things. You look exhausted.’

‘It’s the drain, that’s all. It’s an awful
job. I haven’t finished it yet, either.’ Amy had not meant to admit
that, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

‘Let me help you, then,’ Sarah said eagerly.
‘I’m sure I could dig as well as you can—it can’t take any great
proficiency to dig drains. And it’d be easier for me than a little
thing like you.’

‘Oh, no, Sarah!’ Amy said, horrified at the
notion. ‘I couldn’t let you do anything like that! It’s an awful
job—I’m used to it, it’s all right for me, but not for you.’