Settling the Account (40 page)

September 1901 – May 1902

Amy passed each day in a kind of waking
nightmare, rushing blindly from one task to the next, never
allowing herself to relax her vigilance. Seeing Charlie and Malcolm
together made her feel sick with fear, but if they were together
and out of her sight it was even worse. At least if she could see
them she could judge their moods; see for herself if either of them
was showing signs of an anger that might be lethal.

She had witnessed many skirmishes between
Charlie and Malcolm over the years, but now she was sure there
would only ever be one more fight between them. It would have to be
the last, because at the end of it one of them would be dead, with
that horrible knife of Malcolm’s plunged into his body.

That knife. It dominated her thoughts all
day and much of the night, now that she could no longer sleep
soundly for the fears plaguing her. Malcolm wore it constantly,
only leaving it at home when the family went to church. When
Charlie was around Malcolm left it undisturbed on his belt, but
often when his father was absent Malcolm would take the knife out
while he sat at the table and finger it lovingly, polishing it
against the cloth of his trousers.

Charlie was still stronger than Malcolm,
though they were becoming more evenly matched as the years began to
tell more heavily on Charlie and Malcolm grew towards his full
strength. Perhaps Charlie would be able to wrench the knife off
Malcolm and turn it against his son in lethal self-defence. Or
perhaps Malcolm would thrust it between his father’s ribs and
revenge all the beatings he had ever had, then find himself on
trial as a murderer.

Both prospects were horrifying, and Amy
threw herself into the task of preventing that last, fateful fight.
It was no use trying to talk to either husband or son; an utter
lack of respect for her was one of the many characteristics they
shared. All she could do was try to keep them both as even-tempered
as she was capable of. She devoted all her energies to that duty,
knowing all the while that she was only putting off the evil day,
not preventing it.

She tried to avoid even the smallest
failings that might rouse Charlie’s temper. Meals had always been
driven by his fussy appetite; now she was careful to prepare only
the foods she knew to be his favourites. She returned to the habit
she had picked up in the fear-filled first weeks of her marriage of
having Charlie’s plate loaded and ready to place in front of him
the moment he walked in the door at mealtimes. She made his bed and
folded his clothes with more than her usual fastidiousness, and
tried to anticipate any small tasks he wanted done before he had
the chance to ask for them, whether it was fetching his newspaper,
buttering a piece of bread, or pouring him a mug of beer.

Amy took to carrying morning and afternoon
teas down to wherever Charlie and the boys might be working. She
did it because she could not bear to have them out of her sight for
long, but even more because she wanted to make sure Charlie did not
drive himself too hard with the heavier chores and work himself
into a temper. At least she could see that he stopped every two
hours or so and ate a generous helping of the cakes and biscuits
that he liked best.

So desperate was she to try and sweeten
Charlie’s temper that Amy gave long, hard consideration to the idea
of offering to return to his bed. It was agonisingly difficult to
overcome the revulsion that welled up as she pictured such a
return; all but impossible to think coolly about what she would be
sacrificing.

To return to that bed, with all its memories
of pain and degradation. He would climb on her and hurt her, then
beat her when she did not please him. That would not stop him from
getting her with child; her fruitfulness would betray her within
weeks. She would soon find herself constantly ill and wretched
again, just as she had been during those years when miscarriages
had come every few months, draining away her health and strength
with each outflow of thick, clotted blood.

And for what? Would she be helping Malcolm
by giving up the sanctuary of her own little bedroom? When Amy got
beyond the sick horror of the picture and forced herself to think
dispassionately, she knew it would be worse than useless. She had
never made Charlie happy when she did share his bed; he had always
seemed to get more frustration than pleasure out of her. Cool logic
agreed with her instinctive reaction: she would be better off
leaving Charlie to take whatever pleasure he got out of his
occasional visits to the whores, while she did her best to please
him by running his house as well as she possibly could.

It wasn’t enough. Even as she rushed around
doing the extra work she so desperately hoped might avoid the
impending disaster, she knew that all she was doing was delaying
it. Sooner or later Charlie would become irritated with Malcolm
again and would try to give him a beating. And that would be the
end.

*

There was no question of Amy’s leaving the
farm when Charlie and Malcolm were both home, not when it would
have meant leaving the two of them alone together. But when she
realised one day in early November that she had not seen Lizzie for
weeks, she knew she would have to get permission to pay her cousin
a visit the next time Charlie went out.

Much as she loved Lizzie, it was not the
desire for her company that saw Amy set off down the road soon
after Charlie had left on a trip to town. If she let too much time
go by without seeing Lizzie, Frank would be despatched to check up
on her, and a visit from Frank was guaranteed to put Charlie into a
sour temper.

The familiar walk seemed much more of a
chore than usual. By the time Amy turned off the main track to walk
up to Frank’s house she was puffing with exertion. When she hit her
foot against an unexpectedly large stone and stumbled, nearly
dropping the plate of biscuits she carried, she realised that she
was almost running. It took an effort of will to make herself slow
to a steady walk. She seemed to be doing everything at a frenetic
pace lately, driven by fear and by the urgent necessity to meet
everyone’s wants.

She saw Frank a paddock away, walking behind
the plough while Joey and the two younger boys followed after him,
dropping seed potatoes into the furrow as it was opened up. Frank
waved, then passed the reins over to Joey and started across the
paddock towards her at an easy lope.

Amy stood and waited for Frank to join her,
feeling even more edgy at the forced inactivity. She wanted to get
this visit over with; to put on as bright a face as she could to
reassure Lizzie, then get back to the house well before Charlie was
likely to return.

Frank climbed over the fence between them.
‘It’s good to see you, Amy. Lizzie’ll be pleased you’ve come, she
was saying just the other day you hadn’t been down for a
while.’

‘I haven’t been able to get away lately—I
can’t stay long today, either.’

‘No? Never mind, you can stay for a cup of
tea, can’t you?’

‘Just a quick one, yes.’

‘That’s good. I’ll come up with you, it’s a
good excuse for me to knock off for a bit. Here, I’ll carry that
for you.’

He took the plate from Amy, and they walked
towards the house together. ‘Better not leave the kids at it by
themselves too long, it’s pretty hard work on the plough,’ Frank
said, glancing back towards the boys. ‘It’s good for Joey to have a
go at it by himself, though. He doesn’t need his old man breathing
down his neck all the time.’

Frank smiled as he looked over his shoulder
at the children. ‘He’s a real help to me, that boy. I was telling
him just the other day he’s my right-hand man.’

Amy studied the look of contentment on
Frank’s face and tried not to feel envious. ‘It’s nice the way you
and Joey are friends,’ she said.

‘Mmm? Yes, I suppose we are. He’s my best
mate, really, Joey is. Except Lizzie, of course.’ Frank’s smile
broadened. ‘That’s a bit different, though.’

They came to a paddock where a huddle of
golden brown calves trotted up to the fence to watch them pass.
‘Have you seen my new calves?’ Frank asked. ‘We’ve got a really
good lot this year—one or two champions there, I hope. See the one
over the back with the white mark on her nose?’

He talked on animatedly, but the words did
not reach Amy. Through the sound of Frank’s voice, quiet though
full of enthusiasm, her own thoughts jarred discordantly.

I used to wish Mal and Charlie could be
friends. I used to think maybe they would, like Frank is with Joey.
Now I just wish they won’t kill each other
.

‘Don’t you think so?’ Frank fell silent, and
Amy realised he had asked her a question.

‘What? I’m sorry, Frank, I didn’t hear you.
What did you say?’

Frank gave her a rueful grin. ‘Never mind,
it doesn’t matter. I’m just going on about my cows again, take no
notice. Lizzie says I—’

A shrill voice interrupted him. ‘Papa,
Papa!’ Amy looked over at the house, now only a few yards away, to
see the small figure of Rosie running towards them as fast as her
plump little legs would carry her. She cannoned into Frank and
began tugging at his trouser leg. ‘Up, Papa,’ she demanded. ‘Pick
me up.’

‘You come back here, Rosie!’ Maudie stood in
the doorway with her hands on her hips, looking sternly at her
little sister. ‘Don’t you go running off like that—and you with one
of your chests, too. You know Ma said you should stay inside.’

‘She’s all right, love,’ Frank called back.
‘We’ll bring her in. Hey, stop it, Rosie.’ He made a feeble attempt
to fend off the sturdy four-year-old, who was trying to climb his
leg as if it were a tree. ‘I’ll drop Aunt Amy’s cakes.’

Amy retrieved her plate from Frank’s
precarious grasp. ‘I’ve got them. Pick her up, Frank, she’s
desperate for you to.’

‘Come on, then, monster.’ Frank bent down
for Rosie to fling herself into his arms. She clung around his neck
and pressed her face against his chest as he stood upright, his
hands making a seat for her. ‘Gee, you’re getting heavy, love.’
Rosie beamed, and clung on all the more tightly.

‘She’s got a bit silly like this since Kate
came along,’ Frank said, giving the little girl a squeeze. ‘Wants
cuddling all the time, and Lizzie’s been busy with the baby. This
one gets a bit jealous. You’ll find Kate’s grown since you saw her
last, Lizzie says she’ll be crawling in a few weeks. She never
seems to stop feeding, Kate doesn’t.’

The baby was behaving true to form. When Amy
walked ahead of Frank into the kitchen, to be relieved of her plate
and greeted with kisses by Maudie and Beth, she found Lizzie
sitting at the table nursing Kate. Lizzie told Amy where to sit
down, exclaimed over the length of time since her last visit,
admonished her not to leave it so long before the next one,
promised to let her hold Kate when the baby finished feeding, and
told Maudie to put the jug on. She paused for breath, and to change
the baby to her other breast.

‘Don’t make a pot specially for me, Lizzie,’
Amy said, anxious at the thought of how long it might take the full
kettle to come to the boil. ‘I can’t stay long.’

‘Oh, you’ve got time for a cuppa. Anyway,
you’ll want a cuddle of Kate before you go. Beth, help Aunt Amy off
with her bonnet. You’ve left an eye in that potato, Maudie, peel it
properly.’ Amy saw Maudie poke her tongue out very slightly in
Lizzie’s direction when she was sure her mother’s gaze was turned
elsewhere.

‘Have you finished already, Frank?’ Lizzie
asked.

‘Just about finished making the furrow. I’ve
left Joey working the plough, there’s not far to go. When they’ve
got the spuds in I’ll hitch Blackie up instead, give Blaze a rest.
I can cover the spuds by myself, I thought I might send the boys
down the creek for a swim before lunch. They’ve worked pretty hard
this morning.’

‘Can Beth and me go for a swim too, Ma?’
Maudie asked. ‘It’s
so
hot in here, I’m just about
melting.’

‘We’ll see,’ Lizzie said. ‘If you get those
vegies done in time. Done properly, too—no eyes left in the spuds.
And no poking tongues, either,’ she added, earning an affronted
glare from Maudie.

‘Your ma’s got eyes in the back of her
head,’ Frank told Maudie. Amy noticed Rosie craning her neck to
look behind Lizzie’s head. Seeing no sign of this second set of
eyes, the little girl nestled back into Frank’s lap.

Amy sat between Lizzie and Frank, willing
the jug to come to the boil so that she could gulp down a cup of
tea and leave. She perched on the edge of her chair, voices buzzing
all around her while she sat locked in her own uncomfortable
thoughts.

Maudie and Beth talked quietly to each other
as they worked, and Lizzie and Frank cuddled a little girl each
while they chatted away about the events of the morning. Lizzie did
up her bodice when Kate had finished suckling, so used to the task
after rearing seven babies that she could fasten the buttons
without looking. The sweet smell of milk came from her; a smell
that usually made Amy feel calm and a little drowsy. Today it only
made her feel even more out of place.

Was that jug never going to boil? Amy shot a
glance at the clock. ‘I’d better go, Lizzie. Never mind the tea,
I’ll have some with you another time.’

‘Don’t be silly, of course you’ve got time
for a cup,’ Lizzie said. ‘Beth, that water must be just about
boiling, check it for me. Anyway, you’ve brought those nice
biscuits.’

‘You eat them. I’ll fetch the plate next
time I’m down. I’ve got to go, I’ve been away too long
already.’

‘Rubbish, you’ve hardly been here five
minutes. And if you’re that worried about the time one of the girls
can double you home. You just sit there and have a nice cup of
tea.’