Settling the Account (68 page)

It had become something of a routine, this
morning drama of Lizzie claiming that she was quite well, Frank
begging her to stay in bed, and the whole scene climaxed by a
violent bout of vomiting. Frank crouched beside the bed holding the
basin for Lizzie, his other arm around her shoulders, steadying her
while her body lurched.

‘Poor old thing. My poor Lizzie.’

A particularly violent spasm left Lizzie
lying limp against his arm. He carefully wiped away the trace of
vomit trickling down her chin and gripped her more tightly. ‘No
more babies after this, eh? I don’t want to see you go through this
again.’

Lizzie gave him a venomous look. ‘If you
think I’m ever going to let you touch me again, Frank Kelly—’ She
was interrupted by another bout of retching.

‘I won’t touch you,’ Frank said wildly.
‘I’ll go and sleep with the boys or something. Heck, I’d just about
cut the bloody thing off before I’d want to get you with child
again. I won’t—’

‘Oh, shut up, Frank.’ Lizzie held herself
very still for a few moments, till it was obvious that the nausea
had passed. ‘Are you going to milk those cows, or are you just
going to sit there all day like a great fool?’

‘I’m going.’ Frank reluctantly released her
and stood up. ‘Don’t get up, eh,’ he said, knowing it was useless,
and Lizzie showed him how right he was by getting out of bed and
putting on her dressing-gown.

‘You boys hurry up and get dressed,’ Frank
heard Lizzie call into the boys’ room as she went down the passage
ahead of him. ‘Don’t keep your father waiting.’

She had the kettle on the range by the time
Frank had finished dressing and had joined her in the kitchen. ‘Do
you want a piece of bread and butter to keep you going?’ she
asked.

‘I don’t feel hungry just now,’ Frank said,
the basin of vomit still too fresh a memory. ‘Tea’ll be nice. How
about you sit down and let me pour it?’

‘I’ll pour it myself,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’d
better do some bread and butter for those boys to have on their way
down.’ She sawed slices from the previous day’s loaf.

Frank studied her, observing the signs of
weariness left by her violent nausea.

‘Lizzie,’ he said carefully, ‘you used to
let me get my own cup of tea of a morning, you know.’

‘Rubbish. I always get you one.’

‘Not when you’re expecting. It’s true,
Lizzie, don’t scowl at me like that. It’s fair enough for a woman
to take things a bit easier when she’s carrying, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, I suppose I might have slowed down a
bit when I got really big,’ Lizzie allowed. ‘Maybe I did sleep in
more when I was further along with the others. There’s no need for
that just yet, though. Not when I’m so well. And I always do well,
I shouldn’t think I’ll have to take things easy at all this
time.’

Frank knew that anything he said just then
would only make matters worse, so he kept silent. He knew plainly
enough just why Lizzie was so insistent that she was perfectly
well: Maudie’s glowing good health, and the ease with which she was
sailing through pregnancy. Lizzie seemed to be taking Maudie’s easy
voyage almost as an insult; certainly as a challenge. Lizzie had
never been one to ignore a challenge.

She plumped cups and saucers down on the
table next to the teapot, then sat down heavily. ‘Don’t forget to
do that message for me in town.’

‘No, I won’t forget,’ Frank said absently,
his mind more concerned with the unpleasant grey tinge of Lizzie’s
face, and with the unaccustomed angularity it seemed to have gained
of late.

‘Are you listening to me?’ Lizzie said
sharply. ‘I want that done today. I’m going to get things sorted
out for Amy.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, never mind about Amy!’
Frank exploded. ‘It’s you I’m worried about!’

‘Frank, are you going to do it for me or
not?’ Lizzie demanded. Her eyes were suddenly wide, and she seemed
to be panting slightly. ‘I’ll have to go in myself if you
won’t.’

‘Hey, hey, calm down, love.’ Frank got up
from his chair and stood behind her with his arms around her
shoulders. ‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off like that. I’ll do
your message, don’t worry.’

‘You’d darned well better.’

‘I just don’t want you upsetting yourself,
not when you’re not feeling the best. I just about told that
Millish girl off, coming around here bothering you like that.’

‘The girl’s got a good head on her
shoulders, for all she’s got some funny ways,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m
glad she had the sense to come and see me.’

‘I suppose so,’ Frank said. ‘I might look in
on Richard and Maudie while I’m in town, see how she’s getting
on.’

‘Don’t you say anything to them about me
sicking up a bit,’ Lizzie warned. ‘I don’t want Madam poking her
nose in, making nasty little remarks about me being too old to have
a baby. She’ll have Richard out here nosing around if you’re not
careful.’

‘I won’t say a word.’

‘Good. It’s not as if I’m ill or anything,’
Lizzie said with more confidence than Frank could muster. ‘It’s
only ordinary old morning sickness.’

*

Amy dressed quickly by candlelight, then
prepared a bowl of bread and milk to take through to Charlie. She
had realised he found it a long wait for breakfast by the time she
finished milking, so had taken to bringing something to him before
she went out.

It also meant she could help him on to the
chamber pot of a morning; he had grown more unsteady on his feet
lately, and on a few mornings he had been too frightened to get out
of bed by himself. That meant a wet bed and a distressed Charlie,
both of which made extra work.

Charlie was already awake when she went in,
and anxious to relieve himself. Afterwards Amy helped him back into
bed, then sat beside him and fed him the bread and milk with a
spoon.

She slipped a finger into his mouth to clear
out the wad of food that had become trapped on one side of his jaw,
then watched as he lay back against the pillows and closed his
eyes, trying to decide whether or not she could risk upsetting
him.

He seemed a little calmer than usual. And
the subject could not be put off forever.

‘Charlie?’ she said quietly.

‘Mmm?’ He answered without opening his
eyes.

‘I thought I might have a word with John
when he comes over today.’

‘What about?’

‘The potatoes.’

His eyes opened, and he glared at her. ‘None
of his business. You keep your mouth shut about my potatoes.’

Amy pressed on. ‘Charlie, I’ve got to. No,
really I have, don’t look at me like that. I went down and had a
look at them yesterday, they’re ready for harvesting. I don’t think
I can do it by myself, not all that great paddock full. I thought
if I asked John—’

‘No!’ Charlie broke in. ‘Don’t tell
him!’

‘Him and Harry’ll be doing their own any
time. They could come over and do ours too, they wouldn’t
mind.’

‘Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him I can’t do
my own.’

‘I think I’ve got to,’ Amy said as gently as
she could.

‘Don’t,’ Charlie said, his mouth trembling.
‘Don’t tell him.’

‘Why not? All they’ll do is—’

‘They’ll fetch you away,’ Charlie said in
mounting distress. ‘They’ll fetch you away home with them if they
find out I can’t provide for you any more.’

‘Charlie, they wouldn’t!’ Amy protested.

‘They will! They’ll fetch you away from me.’
He was shaking with the force of his distress, his good arm
twitching violently.

‘Don’t get upset, please don’t.’ Amy put her
hands on his shoulders until she felt the shuddering die down. ‘My
family’s not like that. They’d be glad to help. I know Harry talks
a lot of nonsense, but he’s good-hearted underneath it all. Anyway,
I wouldn’t go.’

‘I couldn’t stop them if they wanted to
fetch you away.’

‘Maybe not, but I could.’

Charlie frowned at her in a puzzled way.
‘Don’t know why you don’t clear out. Everyone else has buggered
off.’

Amy knew he was thinking of their sons. She
said nothing.

‘I wouldn’t have him back, you know,’
Charlie said more vehemently. ‘Not if he went down on his bended
knees.’

‘I know. And he wouldn’t come back unless
you begged him to. Not after what you two said to each other.
There’s no use dwelling on it.’

‘He defied me,’ Charlie said. ‘He went off
to fight the King of England’s war. I’ll not have him back under my
roof. Not until he begs me.’

It was some time before he noticed Amy
staring at him in surprise. His face screwed up in confusion. ‘Went
off and…’ he muttered under his breath, then shook his head. It
seemed the task of unraveling the memories of his living son and
his dead one was too difficult. ‘Don’t know why you don’t clear off
too.’

Amy studied him as he slumped back against
the pillows. ‘How could I, Charlie?’ she murmured. She smoothed the
covers over him and stood up to go.

‘What about the potatoes, then?’ Charlie
asked, startling her with his sudden burst of lucidity.

‘I’ll manage them somehow.’ She did not dare
upset him again by pressing the point.

‘How?’ Charlie insisted. ‘How will you
manage them?’

‘I suppose I could do a few every night
after I do the milking. I should be able to manage half a row. I
think the lantern would be bright enough to do it by.’

‘Take you a hell of a long time.’

‘Yes, I suppose it will. But I’ll just have
to do my best, won’t I? See if you can get back to sleep, it’s very
early yet.’

The grubby kitchen silently screamed its
accusation of neglect as Amy went through it on her way outside.
Granny’d really have a go at me if she saw the state of this
house
. ‘Well, Granny, you didn’t have fifteen cows to milk
night and morning,’ she murmured to herself.

She wished the potato paddock were not so
clearly in sight as she walked down to get the cows in. The plants
seemed to be taunting her with their rampant growth; jeering at her
foolish suggestion of harvesting them by the light of a lantern.
They would be rotting in the ground before she had done a quarter
of them, she knew; and with them she would lose her only chance of
a cash crop for the year. Her annuity would not keep the farm going
forever. But she could not bear the thought of bringing on another
of Charlie’s terrifying attacks by pushing him too far.

She was so used to milking now that she
could do it without engaging her mind more than peripherally. Open
the gate. Herd in the cows. Lead them into bails and tie them two
at a time. Squeeze out the milk. Empty the buckets into cans.
Release the two cows. Lead in the next two. Her body moved of its
own accord, the cows joining in the rhythm, as expert in the dance
as she was.

The shed was warm, and damp with the breath
of the cows, and the milk made a swishing sound in the bottom of
the buckets. Often Amy was so tired when she did the morning
milking that it was like moving in a dream, and she would finish
the job with no memory of having done it at all. But this morning
her mind was painfully active, chewing futilely at the problem of
the potatoes. What was she going to do about those potatoes?

The cows lowed softly, the sound varied by
an occasional snort. For a moment Amy thought she heard a dog in
the distance, but decided it must have been a cough from one of the
cows. She rested her head against the flank of the beast she was
milking.
Swish, swish
, went the milk in the bucket.
What
am I going to do about those potatoes?
went her chafing
thoughts.

She became aware of a restlessness about the
cows; they milled about more, and their lowing took on a note of
urgency. ‘Steady, girl,’ she murmured to the cow beside her. ‘I
know I’m slow, but you’ll just have to be patient.’

The cow lifted her head and mooed loudly,
and Amy gave a start at the noise. The cow was twisting her head
around towards the open side of the milking shed. Amy sat up on her
stool to follow the animal’s gaze.

She was looking right into the sun, and her
eyes were dazzled. A man was silhouetted against the light; a man
so tall and powerfully built that for a moment she thought it was
Charlie, until she remembered abruptly that Charlie could no longer
even stand unaided, let alone walk all the way down to the cow shed
to tower over the animals.

‘You shouldn’t be doing this by yourself,’
the man said, the voice a little deeper than she remembered, but
still instantly recognisable. ‘Better let me do it for you.’

Amy leapt from her stool and ran to him,
oblivious to the cows that snorted in fright at her sudden
movement. She flung herself at him, and found herself lifted aloft
and swung round and round then clasped so tightly that she could
hardly breathe.

‘Davie,’ she gasped, uncertain whether she
was laughing or crying. ‘Davie!’

David lowered her carefully and looked down
at her with both hands resting on her shoulders, a broad smile
spreading across his face.

‘I’m home, Ma.’

March 1905

Amy stared up into David’s face with tears
of joy streaming down her cheeks, vaguely aware of Biff nuzzling at
her. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t believe you’re
back.’

‘Well, I am.’ He leaned down to kiss her on
the mouth. ‘Believe it now?’

‘Oh, Davie.’ For a moment her heart was too
full for words, then they began pouring out. ‘When did you get
back? How did you know to come home? Have you been looking after
yourself? Did you have breakfast?’

‘Hey, slow down, Ma,’ he said, lifting his
hand to halt the flow. ‘How about I tell you while I finish off
this lot for you?’

Amy looked about her at the cows pressing
towards them. ‘Do you know, I’d forgotten all about them?’ She gave
a little laugh. ‘Fancy forgetting about milking!’