Settling the Account (13 page)

Instead of lifting the wire loop that held
the gate closed, the bigger boys began to kick and shove at it. The
gate’s hinges did not put up much resistance, and it was soon lying
at a drunken angle while they clambered over it. Two of the biggest
boys completed the job by taking hold of the gate and hauling at it
until they had wrenched it right away from its post and flung it to
the ground.

The vicarage was only a few yards away
across the grass, with a fence separating its garden from the
paddock that served as grazing for Reverend Simons’ horse and his
house cow. David could make out the shapes of the trees that shaded
the house, darker shadows against the gloomy sky. There was a small
byre in the corner of the paddock nearest the house; a sign that
the minister clung to the English custom of keeping his cow under
cover at night and in bad weather even in the mild Bay of Plenty
climate. The byre’s jutting roof was high enough to shelter a horse
in bad weather while still leaving room for its usual occupant. On
this calm evening the horse was on the opposite side of the paddock
from the boys who had invaded its domain, but apart from a snort of
protest it ignored them.

‘What are we going to do now?’ one of the
boys asked Liam.

‘How about we chase his horse out,’ another
boy suggested, earning David’s disgust at his ignorance. The boy
obviously knew nothing about horses; clearly he was a town boy from
a family too poor to have a horse.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Malcolm said. ‘If you
chase it out it’ll just hang around in the road then come back in
the paddock. It’s not going to run off anywhere.’

‘Who are you calling stupid?’ the other boy
demanded. ‘Cheeky little bugger! Want me to push your face in the
cow shit?’

‘Shut up, the pair of you,’ Liam said. ‘You
can fight it out when we’re finished here.’ The keg of beer made
the rounds again while Liam looked around the paddock. He caught
sight of a neat haystack. ‘Right, let’s get stuck into that.’ Liam
led the way to the stack and dropped the effigy he had carried from
the bridge. He snatched up a pitchfork that had been left lying
beside the pile of hay, and with a jerk thrust it into the
stack.

As if the thrust of the pitchfork had been
some kind of signal, all the boys threw themselves at the stack,
tearing at it with their bare hands. For a moment David stared in
shock, remembering all the stacks he and Malcolm had helped build.
But he pushed aside the uncomfortable picture of what their father
would do to them if he caught them demolishing haystacks, instead
launching himself into the task. He was soon caught up in the
frenzy of destruction, laughing with delight as the stack was
reduced to an untidy sprawl of hay and trodden into uselessness in
the dirt of the paddock.

All efforts at silence were abandoned now
that excitement and a good deal of beer were having their effects
on the boys. When the stack had been destroyed they rushed to the
fence separating the paddock from the house and surged over it,
David falling flat on his face in the process. He picked himself up
and ran on, heedless of his bruised knees.

Liam suspended his effigy from the verandah
rail, the rope above its jacket holding it like a noose, and shoved
it so that it began to swing. He took the pitchfork that he had
carried from the ruin of the haystack and stabbed it into what
would have been the dummy’s chest, laughing as he did so.

There was something about Liam’s laugh that
sent a small shiver through David; or perhaps it was the way the
older boy thrust the pitchfork with such relish. Crudely made as it
was, the dummy looked too much like a man as it swung wildly on its
rope, the weight of the protruding pitchfork making its motion
erratic.

‘Time Mr Simons came out to see his
visitor,’ Liam said. ‘Let’s wake him up.’ He gathered a handful of
gravel from the path that led up to the vicarage’s front door and
hurled it onto the roof, where it made a satisfyingly loud rattle
against the corrugated iron.

The other boys joined in, and for several
seconds the noise of gravel on the roof was like a hail storm.
David forgot the uneasy feeling Liam had given him earlier. He
hurled double handfuls of gravel until he realised the other boys
had stopped.

A dim light flickered through the etched
glass panel of the front door, then the brighter light of a
hurricane lamp flared up as it was lit from the flickering candle.
The door was flung open, and the tall figure of Reverend Simons
emerged. His face looked unnaturally white in the lamp light,
contrasted against his dark clothes and with his black hair unruly
around it.

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, shouting
even louder than he did in his most impassioned sermons.

Authority rang from Reverend Simons’ voice,
and David was used to obeying authority even in its most
impenetrable forms. He shrank instinctively away from the anger in
that voice until he had put several of the other boys between
himself and the black-clothed figure on the verandah.

‘Thought you might like a visitor. He
doesn’t say much, but he could tell you a few things about what
happens to interfering old busybodies,’ Liam called. He sauntered
up to the verandah and shoved at the dummy.

Reverend Simons gave a start as the effigy
began swinging, but he soon regained his outward composure. ‘Get
out of here,’ he said. ‘Go on, get on home, the lot of you.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask your visitor in for
a drink?’ Liam taunted.

‘If you’re not off this property in one
minute I shall be forced to summon the sergeant,’ Reverend Simons
said.

‘Huh! He’d be too scared to show his face.
Even if we did let you out of here.’

‘I’m warning you, lad.’

‘You?’ Liam took a step closer, placing his
foot on the edge of the verandah. ‘What are you going to do, old
man? How are you going to stop me coming inside if I want to?’

‘Hey, leave him alone, eh?’ another boy
said, tugging at Liam’s sleeve. ‘You said we’d just give him a bit
of a fright.’

Liam shook off the hand. ‘Shut up. You can
go slinking home to your mam if you want. I reckon this old
fellow’s got a bit of money stashed away inside. I reckon he could
share it around. What do you say to that, old man?’

Reverend Simons stood his ground and fixed
Liam with a steely glare. ‘I say you’re to leave my property
immediately.’ His voice was as steady as if he were talking to a
stray cat instead of a hulking youth.

Liam stepped up onto the verandah and stared
back at the minister. They were much the same height, though Liam
was broader across the shoulders. He reached towards his jacket
pocket, and suddenly David knew without having to see it that there
was a knife in there.

Liam shifted on his feet slightly, and the
lantern light glinted on the long blade. David’s mouth had gone
dry. He stared mesmerised at the tableau, hardly daring to breathe
for fear that he might break the spell.

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ This time the voice
came from behind the group of boys, from the street facing the
vicarage’s front gate. ‘What was all that shouting about? There
wasn’t a house in the street we couldn’t hear you from.’

David looked in the direction of the voice,
and saw five men standing in the road. The one who had spoken was
holding a large stick.

‘Gilbert,’ Reverend Simons called out,
unmistakable relief in his voice. ‘I’ve a few visitors I didn’t
invite.’

‘You young rascals! What do you think you’re
up to?’ The man Reverend Simons had called Gilbert opened the front
gate and began advancing up the path, the other men close behind
him. David saw that as well as a lantern each they were carrying an
assortment of spades, sticks and shovels; each item looked quite
capable of serving as a weapon.

He only had a moment to take in these
details. As the men approached them, the boys abandoned any notions
of bravery and took to their heels, clambering back over the fence
into the paddock rather than confront the men who barred the way to
the front gate.

David had little experience in escaping from
such situations, so he was slower to react than the others. It was
only when he heard Malcolm call his name that he turned and ran
after them. But he was nimbler than the bigger boys, and it took
him only moments to fling himself over the fence.

As he landed in the paddock, for a terrible
moment he thought one of his pursuers had grabbed hold of him. He
gave a desperate wrench, and there was a ripping noise as he tore
himself free of the large nail that had snagged his trouser leg. It
came loose with a suddenness that sent him sprawling. He scrambled
upright and began to run, giving a yelp of pain when he found that
he had twisted his ankle in the fall.

‘See if we can catch any of them,’ one of
the men called. A wave of panic rose in David as he realised that
with his twisted ankle he could not possibly outrun them. The other
boys were already at the outer gate of the paddock; he would be the
only one who would fall into the hands of those angry men. It would
be like being beaten by five copies of his father.

He had to get away. Despite the pain in his
ankle, David forced himself to run. Their eyes a little blinded by
the hurricane lamps they carried, the men could not see in the dark
as well as he could. He had a few seconds before they would catch
sight of him; not long enough to get out of the paddock and back to
the bridge, but time enough to find a hiding place.

The cow gave only the mildest of snorts as
David wriggled between her and the manger full of hay, hardly
disturbed from her standing doze by the arrival of one small boy.
She allowed David to pat her flank, then he crouched against the
manger and tried to make himself even smaller.

‘It’s no use, Gilbert, they’re well clear by
now.’ David jumped when he heard Reverend Simons’ voice just
outside the byre.

‘None of them hiding in this shed of
yours?’

‘No. Esmeralda would have made a fuss if
they’d come near her, she’s not used to anyone but me handling
her.’

Esmeralda? David had never heard such an
outlandish name for a woman, let alone a cow. He crouched in the
darkness, feeling the warm breath of the cow dampening his hair,
and his heart filled with gratitude that Esmeralda had not betrayed
him.

‘Did you recognise any of them?’ one of the
men asked.

‘Not really,’ Reverend Simons said. ‘I think
I’ve seen that hulking great fellow who seemed to be the
ringleader—he pulled a knife, by the way—probably hanging around
the hotels, but I couldn’t put a name to him. And then there was…
well, I didn’t get a good look at any of the others, but I rather
thought one of them had red hair.’

‘Not a lot of redheads around here.’

‘No.’ The minister was silent for a moment.
‘Mrs Stewart’s older boy has red hair.’

‘Mal?’ The other man sounded dubious.
‘Charlie Stewart wouldn’t allow his boys out at night, he doesn’t
stand for any nonsense from wife or child from what I’ve heard.
Probably a boy from town, just one you haven’t seen before.’

‘Perhaps.’ Reverend Simons sounded
unconvinced.

‘I don’t know, Gil, I’ve seen Mal hanging
around with those Feenans a few times,’ one of other men put in.
‘They’re usually pretty close to any mischief going on.’

‘Maybe you’re right, then. I know this for a
fact, anyway—Charlie’d flay the boy alive if he found out he’d been
here.’

‘Well, I’ve no proof. I shouldn’t go
accusing anyone in particular. But I’ll certainly keep my eyes open
from now on, see if any undesirables are loitering around.’

‘You do that. And if you ever have any
trouble, just sing out.’

‘I’m most grateful. Would you good men like
to pop inside and sample the cup that cheers but does not
inebriate?’

The other men declined Reverend Simons’
invitation, pleading anxious wives as an excuse. The sound of their
voices soon faded away into the distance, and David knew he was
once again alone with the cow.

‘Thanks, Esmeralda,’ he whispered, reaching
up to rub behind one furry ear. ‘Thanks for keeping quiet.’ The cow
turned her head towards him, and in the moonlight that crept
through cracks in the wall he saw that she had large, soft eyes
with a surprisingly knowing expression.

David eased himself upright from his cramped
position and sat on the edge of the manger while he thought about
what to do next. He wriggled his ankle experimentally and found
that while it was still tender the worst of the pain had gone.

He did not blame Malcolm for leaving him
there; if Malcolm had stayed they would probably both have been
caught. He was glad the other boys had got away; glad that by now
Malcolm must be cantering along the beach, well clear of danger.
But it was going to be a very long walk home.

David tried to picture the route in his
mind. He would have to creep along the dark streets back to the
bridge, and from there down to the beach. He hoped there would be
enough moonlight to guide him along the sand; there were two or
three small streams to cross, easily forded on horseback but
probably none too easy by foot. And what if he missed the track up
into the valley? Malcolm seemed to know the way, and Brownie could
probably find his way home by himself if he had to. But David was
not sure that he would be able to pick out the rough beginning of
the track by himself and in the dark. How far down the coast might
he get before he realised his mistake?

He had to do it; he had to try and find his
way home. If he sat in the byre all night he would be found there
in the morning, and the most hideous vengeance would descend on
him; first of all from the minister, and later from his father. The
thought terrified him, and he stood up ready to make a start. But
the picture of walking all those miles alone and in the dark
crowded in on him, his fear made sharper by the jolt of pain in his
foot when he put his weight on it. Alone and in the dark.
Mysterious nighttime noises swarming around him. Shadows holding
nameless terrors. Large tears welled up in his eyes and made warm
trails down both cheeks.