Settling the Account (27 page)

‘Mama, Mama, I want some milk,’ Colin
clamoured. He slid from John’s knee and ran across the kitchen to
Sophie, who was standing by the bench pouring milk into a jug. He
almost tripped in his haste, and steadied himself against
Susannah’s knee as he rushed past, oblivious to the disapproving
glare he earned.

Susannah placed her hands to her head again.
‘That child has the most penetrating voice,’ she said tightly. She
reached out a hand to smooth her skirts where Colin’s chubby fists
had grabbed at them, and gave a small scream when she saw the
sticky blotches on the fabric. ‘Look at my dress! Just look at
it!’

‘You’ve got a bit of jam on it,’ Jack
said.

‘I
didn’t put jam on it. Sophie, that
child of yours has been putting his fingers in the jam jar again.
He’s smeared it all over my dress.’

‘You shouldn’t stick your hand in the jam,
love,’ Sophie said mildly. ‘You get all mucky.’ She wiped Colin’s
hands and face with her apron, removing a small portion of the jam
that had adhered to the child.

‘Goodness knows how I’m going to get this
clean,’ Susannah complained. ‘He’s rubbed it right in! I do wish
you’d watch him, Sophie.’

‘It’s just a bit of jam, Susannah,’ John
said, fixing her with a hard stare. ‘There’s no need to go on about
it.’

‘I’ll have to soak it, I think. This dress
is years old, but I’ve so few nice ones. Really, I’ve never known
such a grubby child.’

John’s eyes narrowed at the slur. ‘He’s no
different from any other kid. It’s no good wearing fancy clothes
with little ones around. You’re just asking to get them dirty,
dressing up like that. You should know that yourself.’

‘I always went to the trouble of keeping my
sons clean when they were small,’ Susannah said.

‘Yes, well, you had precious little else to
do with yourself,’ John shot back, and Susannah had the sense to
subside into dignified silence.

But the wounded look she directed at Jack
spoke volumes. He rehearsed silently the complaints he would hear
when they were alone in the bedroom that evening. ‘Of course you
wouldn’t trouble yourself to defend me when your son abuses me.’
‘No one cares what I have to put up with.’ ‘You begrudge me any
decent clothes, even when your grandchild ruins the few I’ve
got.’

The thought of it wearied him. There was no
way of avoiding those complaints, but at least he could escape from
Susannah’s accusing face for the moment. He rose from his chair,
wishing he did not have to lean quite so heavily on the table to do
so.

‘I’m going out for a bit,’ he announced.

He noticed Thomas catch John’s eye, and saw
the glance that passed between them. Thomas sent a questioning look
at his older brother, and John gave a barely perceptible nod.

‘Where are you going, Pa?’ John asked.

‘Just for a bit of a walk. Any
objection?’

Thomas stood up. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Jack said, more sharply
than he had intended. ‘I just want a spot of fresh air. And some
peace and quiet,’ he added, with the briefest of glances in
Susannah’s direction.

‘That’s a good idea,’ said John. ‘Tom could
probably do with an airing, too. Take him along.’

Jack glared at his eldest son. ‘I’m going
outside for a pee,’ he said in a dignified tone, earning a
tight-lipped look of disgust from Susannah. ‘I don’t need anyone’s
help for that, thank you. And when I’ve finished passing water I’m
going for a walk
by myself
.’

He relented a little at the sight of
Thomas’s hurt expression. ‘Maybe you and I’ll go over and see Amy
later, Tom. You can give me a hand over the fences. All right?’

‘Don’t forget to put your coat on, Jack,’
Susannah called as he opened the back door, startling Jack with her
show of concern. ‘I don’t want you keeping me awake at night
coughing,’ she added, spoiling the gesture.

Jack did put a coat on against the morning’s
chill, and after a brief hesitation he took up the walking stick
that leant against the porch wall. There was no use denying it:
making his way over the rough ground without the aid of a stick was
just too difficult, whatever the urgings of pride told him.

After relieving himself behind the nearest
tree, he looked about him to decide where to walk next. He
considered the steep hill that rose near the house, then rejected
the idea, knowing he would soon be painfully short of breath if he
attempted the climb.

Besides, a large part of that walk was
clearly visible from the house. One of the boys would be sure to
stumble ‘accidentally’ across his path before he had gone far.

Instead he went as briskly as he could
towards a patch of bush a few minutes’ walk away. He glanced over
his shoulder just before he reached the trees and was pleased to
see that no one seemed to be watching him, then plunged into the
shadows.

Many tracks had been worn through the bush
over the thirty-odd years that Jack had had the farm. He wandered
idly, letting his feet take him where they wished. It left his mind
free to wander down its own paths, calling up old memories as well
as mulling over the present.

‘That son of yours has turned into a real
old woman, Annie,’ he grumbled, and was mildly startled to realise
he had spoken aloud. He looked around, assuring himself that he was
not being observed.

‘That’d really get John thinking my mind’s
gone, eh? If he heard me talking to you like you were right here?
Course I know you’re not. Still, you’re good company.’

He walked on. As he started more carefully
observing the path his feet had chosen, details of his surroundings
began to seem familiar.

‘This was one of your favourite walks,
wasn’t it? You and I used to come along here a lot. Haven’t been
here for years. Now, let’s see if I can find that spring you always
thought was so pretty.’

Only a few large trees remained here, in a
spot so easily reached from the house, but the ferns were thick and
the undergrowth lush. There were many young saplings, too, as the
bush recovered from the heavy felling of earlier years. Jack had to
watch his step in the places where the track had become overgrown,
but it was no hardship to go slowly. He was in no hurry.

‘John’ll send Tom out looking for me if I’m
away long, you mark my words,’ he said to the empty air. ‘Amy says
it’s because they’re fond of me. I suppose she’s right. Suppose I
should be grateful they bother about me at all.

‘They’re good little fellows, Tom and
George. You’d have liked them, Annie. Funny, I have trouble
remembering they’re not yours sometimes. Wish they were.’ He
frowned as he tried to do a mental calculation. ‘I don’t know,
maybe you would’ve been too old for bearing by the time they came
along.’

He shook his head at his own words. ‘No, I
can’t imagine you as an old woman. Not you. How old were you when I
lost you? Twenty-seven, was it? Do you know, Amy tells me she’s
thirty now? Thirty-one this year, she says. I can’t credit it, her
being that age. She’s that much like you, I just about call her
Annie sometimes. She’s a good girl, she’s always got time for her
old pa.’

He closed his eyes briefly as a wave of pain
passed over him. ‘I didn’t make a very good job of looking after
our girl. Giving her to Charlie like that! I must have been half
stupid. I shouldn’t have let that
Jimmy
,’ he spat out the
name, ‘near her in the first place. Old fool! Couldn’t see what was
going on under my own nose. It wouldn’t have happened if you’d been
spared.

‘Of course, Jimmy wouldn’t have been
anywhere near the place if you’d still been here, Annie. Neither
would Susannah.’ He recalled one of the last things Annie had said
to him, while she had still had the energy to do more than gasp
agonisingly for each breath.

I hope you find someone else, Jack
,
she had whispered faintly.
I won’t mind. I don’t want you to be
lonely when I’m gone
.

‘You shouldn’t have said it, Annie. You
should’ve told me not to be such a fool. As if any woman could take
your place!’ His eyes grew too blurred to see, and he slumped
against a tree trunk for support. ‘You shouldn’t have died,
Annie!’

The sense of loss was so bitter he could
taste it. He tried to swallow it down past the lump that had
suddenly formed in his throat. ‘I should have looked after you
better, Annie,’ he said, his voice hoarse with pain. ‘I wouldn’t
have lost you if I’d taken better care of you.’

He stood caught up in his thoughts until the
peace of his surroundings slowly penetrated. ‘Telling me off for
being an old misery, are you?’ he said, feeling the weight of grief
lift a little. ‘You always were a great one for making the best of
things. Our girl’s like you in that, too. She says she’s happy
enough. And she’s got the little boys, that keeps her
cheerful.’

Clear in his mind was the picture of Annie
holding Amy in her arms, her face alight with joy at having a
healthy daughter at last. ‘Pity she didn’t have a girl, though. A
woman likes to have a daughter, eh? Still, I’m glad he hasn’t kept
her bearing. Never did like the idea of him having her like
that.’

He roused himself and walked on a short way,
until the trees gave way to a small clearing. A trickle of clear
water bubbled out of the ground and seeped into a moss-edged pool,
which in turn fed a tiny streamlet. ‘This is the place,’ he said,
pleased with himself at having discovered it. ‘Here’s your spring,
Annie!’

He found a dry spot and eased himself to the
ground, leaning heavily on his stick for balance. His heart was
beating uncomfortably fast from the exertion; only after a few
good, deep breaths did it begin to slow.

‘It’s taken it out of me, this walk. I’m not
going to feel up to going back for a while. Never mind, they can do
without me for a bit. Maybe Tom’ll track me down, anyway. I
wouldn’t mind a hand getting back.’

He scooped up a mouthful of water from the
pool, gasping at its coldness. ‘Still tastes good, eh? Nicer than
the stuff out of the barrel. We used to have picnics here
sometimes, remember? Never needed to bring anything to drink, just
had this good water. Used to bring the little ones along. Not every
time, though.’ He smiled at a sudden memory. ‘Seem to remember
getting up to a bit of mischief here once or twice. Must have left
the boys with your ma.’

He gave a deep sigh. ‘Shouldn’t be this
tired after a bit of a walk. I’m getting old, Annie. Old and worn
out. Still, it’s no good moaning about that, eh?’ He looked around
at the trees ringing the clearing, soft greens soothing his eyes as
the silence eased his mind. A bellbird burst into a sudden
outpouring of joy, and it could have been the same bird he and
Annie had listened to all those years before.

‘There’s no rush to get back. Nothing the
boys can’t do by themselves. I might stay here till lunch-time.
What do you think, Annie?’

A deeper sense of peace hovered over him.
Jack lay back against the grass and closed his eyes. ‘You’re still
there? Come on, then. Keep me company a bit longer.’ He patted the
ground at his side, and without thinking why he did so he curled
his arm slightly, as if to make room for someone.

A feeling of warmth gradually spread through
him as he lay there. It might have been merely from the spring
sunlight that poured into the clearing, though it was strange that
he was so much warmer on one side than the other. The side where he
had curled his arm. He sighed comfortably, and his mouth curved
into a contented smile.

He was still smiling when Thomas found him,
hours later. He looked so at ease that Thomas hesitated, unwilling
to wake his father. It was only when he brushed Jack’s arm and saw
how limply it rolled away from his touch that he realised just how
deep this sleep was. And how final.

September – October 1899

The days that followed her father’s death
passed in a blur of misery for Amy. She wept till her eyes were red
and swollen, crying herself to sleep at night then waking to
renewed awareness and fresh tears.

Somehow she stumbled through her regular
tasks, the habits of years guiding her hands while her heart and
mind were elsewhere. Meals were cooked and served, clothes washed,
and the house kept clean and neat, but at the end of each day she
had only the vaguest memories of having done any of those
things.

From time to time one of Jane’s daughters
would appear in the doorway bearing a cake or pie, or a plateful of
biscuits. The girl would dart into the kitchen and put her plate on
the table, then slip out again as silently as she had come, shy in
the face of Amy’s grief.

And when she could spare time from her own
tasks Lizzie would arrive for brief visits, giving Amy her only
source of comfort in those dark days. Lizzie seemed to sense how to
help without the need of many words. If Amy was working when she
arrived, Lizzie would don a spare apron and work at her side. If
she came into the kitchen to find Amy briefly abandoning herself to
grief, head on her arms while she sat at the table and sobbed,
Lizzie would push a chair close to hers and sit quietly with an arm
around her while Amy nestled against her cousin’s soft body and
wept.

The only thing that saved Amy from breaking
down during the funeral service was her anxious concern for Thomas,
white-faced and with blood on his lip where he had gnawed through
the skin in his desperate striving for self-control. His mouth
trembled, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the handle
of the casket as he bore his father’s weight for the last time.

But he held back the tears as he walked
slowly behind John and Harry, with George opposite him looking
bewildered, as if he had yet to take in the fact that their father
had gone. Behind Jack’s four sons, grasping the last two handles of
the casket, came Arthur, bowed slightly under the weight; and
opposite him Malcolm, made solemn by his first close meeting with
death and by the responsibility of helping carry his grandfather’s
body. For one of the very few times in his life, Amy was proud of
her son.