Settling the Account (8 page)

‘Humph!
I
know who the stupid one
is,’ said Lizzie. ‘Frank doesn’t really need the help now, except I
write things out tidy for him. He says he likes us to do things
like that together—things that really matter, he calls them. He can
be soft sometimes, can Frank,’ she added fondly.

‘He says he needs about a dozen farmers to
be able to make a go of it, and he thinks he’s got just about
enough now,’ she went on. ‘Then they’re going to have a big meeting
and thrash it all out. Mr Callaghan’s meant to be going to the
meeting, too. It’ll still take ages after that, I expect—you know
what men are like for just talking on and on instead of getting on
with things.’

‘If Frank’s as keen as all that he won’t let
them muck about too much.’

‘No, he won’t—and they’ll take notice of
him, too. I still have to give him a shove sometimes, Frank still
thinks people might say he’s being stupid if he pushes himself
forward. But they all know Frank knows what he’s talking about,
even if they do try and throw off at him. Everyone knows Frank’s
got the best herd in Ruatane. And even if the men around here are
too stupid to want to buy any Jersey calves off him, they’re all
pretty keen on hiring Duke William.
And
they all want to buy
any of the half-breed calves he’s got to sell, and for a good
price, too.’ A triumphant smile lit up her face. ‘And it’s fair
enough—Frank’s worked darned hard to build up this herd.’

‘You must be awfully proud of Frank,’ Amy
said, trying in vain not to sound wistful. ‘He’s doing so well. And
he’s a good father, too. And a good husband,’ she added
quietly.

‘Oh, he’s a great fool sometimes—and I tell
him so, too, I don’t want him getting too big for his boots.’
Lizzie’s face softened. ‘He’s all right, is my Frank. He knows what
he’s doing.’

*

Lizzie gave Frank’s collar a final twitch,
then stood back to inspect the result.

‘That’s just right,’ she announced. ‘You’ll
look the smartest of any of them.’

‘No one’s going to care what I look like,
Lizzie,’ Frank protested with a laugh. ‘I feel a bit of a fool in
this fancy suit.’

The new suit had been Lizzie’s idea. After
Frank’s first visit to Auckland he had mentioned to her how
well-dressed the city men seemed to be compared to the standards of
Ruatane, and had confessed that this had made him feel rather
awkward when mixing with them.

Lizzie had said little on the subject beyond
exhorting him not to let anyone think they were better than him,
but as soon as Frank had begun planning a second visit Lizzie had
suggested, at first casually then in more and more persuasive
terms, that Frank have a new suit made for himself while he was in
Auckland.

It had seemed a foolish extravagance to
Frank, and even more so when he had asked the price of a suit at
the smartest tailor’s shop he could find in Queen Street. He had
eventually gone to a much smaller tailor’s off the less fashionable
Symonds Street and had had a suit made that, while it might not
have met the standards of the smarter Auckland drawing rooms, would
stand out on the main street of Ruatane for the quality of its
cloth and cut.

As far as Lizzie was concerned, it was quite
the smartest suit any man had ever owned. ‘Good enough for the
Prince of Wales’ was one of her more extravagant claims. The suit
had yet to see the light of day in Ruatane, since it was being
carefully saved for ‘special occasions’. Both Frank and Lizzie
agreed that the long-awaited public meeting to discuss a new
co-operative factory ranked as just such a special occasion.

‘Well, you shouldn’t feel a fool. Just
because you’re looking smarter than the rest of them! That should
make you feel proud, not silly.
I’m
proud of you.’ She
beamed at Frank, then took a step back out of range of his
outstretched arms.

‘No, you don’t—you’ll crease your suit.
Don’t you dare, Frank,’ she said, taking another step.

‘Just let me have a kiss, then. If you don’t
struggle I won’t crease anything.’

‘As if I ever struggle.’ Lizzie delivered up
her face for a chaste kiss. ‘There, are you satisfied?’ she said
when her mouth was free again.

‘Not really. But that’s the best I can do
without getting in trouble.’ Frank took advantage of Lizzie’s
lowered guard to slip an arm around her waist for a quick squeeze.
‘I wish you could come with me.’

Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Why would I want to
go into a public hotel and listen to a lot of men talking?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t really want to take you
into a place like that. But I always feel a bit more sure of myself
when you’re around. I mean, what say they want me to say something
at this meeting?’

‘Of course they’ll want you to say
something! You’re the one who knows all about this stuff, they’ll
expect you to tell them all what to do.’

‘I don’t think I can do that, Lizzie. Not in
front of all those people.’

‘Don’t talk rot. You haven’t been nervous
all this time you’ve been going around talking to everyone about
the factory, have you? I can remember a time when you wouldn’t say
boo to a goose, let alone march all over Ruatane telling people
what they should do. Well, it’s going to be all the same men there
today, with maybe a few more that you didn’t get around to seeing.
Where’s the need to be nervous?’

‘It’s not the same, talking to a great crowd
of them all at once. It was easy just one or two at a time.’ Frank
pictured a sea of faces staring at him. His face felt hot at the
thought of standing up and speaking out in such company. ‘What say
they all just laugh?’

‘Then they’re bigger fools than most of them
look, and that’s saying something.’ Lizzie took hold of his hand
and held his gaze with hers. ‘Now listen, Frank. You needn’t think
I’m going to let you get out of finishing this after you’ve gone to
all that trouble setting it up, not to mention plaguing me talking
about co-operatives day and night. When you stand up there today,
don’t go thinking about how many men are there. You’ve only got two
eyes, haven’t you? So you can only look at a couple of people at
once without whizzing your head around all over the place like a
dopey chook. Look them in the eye, and just pretend you’re still
talking to them one or two at a time. Then look at someone else for
a minute and do the same. That’s not hard, is it?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.’

‘Well, try it today. Then you can tell me if
it works. And if you even think someone’s having a laugh at you,
just look straight back at him and say to yourself, who’s got the
best herd around here? Who brings ribbons home from the big Show in
Auckland? Who gets farmers writing to him from all over the place
wanting to buy his cows? Who gets more money for his milk than
anyone else in Ruatane? If there’s any laughing to be done, I know
who should be doing it.’

The nervous fluttering inside Frank had been
replaced by a warm glow. ‘Gee, you make me feel good, Lizzie.’

‘I’m meant to. It’s my job.’ She let herself
be kissed again, then fetched Frank’s smartest hat from the
wardrobe shelf and passed it to him. ‘Now, get a move on or you’ll
be late.’

Frank cast a longing look at his ancient
felt hat, hanging from its peg in the porch, as he walked out the
back door. Today he felt more need than usual of the anonymity its
broad, floppy brim gave. ‘I still wish you could come,’ he told
Lizzie. ‘It’d be good to see you giving people those filthy looks
of yours if you didn’t think they were taking enough notice of
me.’

‘No need for that,’ Lizzie said. ‘Pa’s going
to be there.’

‘Is that supposed to make me feel better? Do
you mean he’ll tell me if I’m being stupid, save you doing the
job?’

‘I’ll hear no more talk about being stupid,’
Lizzie said, raising a warning finger. ‘You should know Pa better
than that by now. He bosses you around and tells you off, but if he
hears anyone else throwing off at you he’ll go crook as anything at
them.’

‘Just like you, eh?’ Ignoring Lizzie’s
protests about creases, Frank drew her into his arms and savoured
the feel of her body for all too brief a moment before he set off
to where his tethered horse was contentedly cropping grass.

*

The Masonic Hotel had been chosen for the
meeting over its rival, the Royal, for the simple reason that it
had a larger main bar. Even so, by the time all the interested
parties plus those who had wandered in off the street to see what
was going on had assembled, the room was almost full.

The main factor that had enabled Frank to
rouse his neighbours and acquaintances beyond mild interest was one
he could take little personal credit for. After years of barely
surviving depressed prices and indifferent quality of supply, the
owners of Ruatane’s proprietary dairy factory were ready to give up
the struggle. If they were given the opportunity to dispose of
their assets at anything like a worthwhile price, they would grasp
at it eagerly.

Once this had become common knowledge in the
district, even the slowest thinkers had realised that without a
factory they would be forced to return to the days of unloading
what butter they could on to the storekeeper in exchange for
supplies, and the store could not possibly absorb the level of
production that the farmers had built up during the years the
factory had been in existence.

This raised Frank’s talk of a co-operative
from the status of ‘Frank Kelly’s mad idea’ to something well worth
considering. At the same time, Frank’s initial probing of the
factory owners had told him that taking it over would give the
farmers the chance to have their co-operative running well in time
for the new season and for substantially less than they would have
to pay if setting up a plant from scratch.

Those present took the opportunity to
exchange news and pleasantries with neighbours they had not seen
recently, downing several jugs of beer in the process, and it was
some time before the talk died down and faces began turning
expectantly in Frank’s direction.

‘What about this factory then?’ someone
asked. ‘What are you going to do about it, Frank?’

‘And what’s the story with this
“co-operative” talk, anyway?’ came a voice Frank did not recognise;
it must belong to one of the men he had not managed to visit.
‘Sounds to me like we’ve all got to come up with a pile of money
for young Kelly to spend.’

‘Yes, what are you going to do with it,
Frank? Buy more fancy cows? Think the ones you’ve got are going to
peg out soon?’ This raised a laugh, and Frank felt one of the hated
blushes that he thought he had conquered years ago mounting over
his face. For the briefest of moments he considered making a dash
for the door; then a glance at the black look that Arthur was
directing at the last speaker made Frank think of Lizzie, and he
smiled at the thought.

The would-be wit was Mr Carr, Frank saw.
Forestalling any remark Arthur might have been about to utter,
Frank spoke up. ‘Anything wrong with those half-breeds I sold you
last year?’ he asked, affecting concern. ‘Gee, and you said you
wished I had twice as many to sell, too, and you’d be first in the
queue for this season.’ Mr Carr had the good grace to join in the
laughter that was now at his expense.

When the room was quiet again, Mr Callaghan
came in smoothly. ‘Perhaps if Frank just gave us all a run-down on
the idea of the co-operative?’ he suggested. ‘He seems to be the
expert on it.’

‘Yes, let’s hear what you’ve got to say,
Kelly.’

‘Stand up, boy, we can’t see you at the
back,’ someone called, raising a laugh over Frank’s modest
stature.

The bank manager smiled encouragingly, but
it took all Frank’s courage to stand up in front of the sea of
faces that seemed even larger in reality than it had in
imagination. When he pushed his chair back from the table, the
scraping wood sounded harsh in the quiet room. He swallowed
nervously, and even that small action seemed unreasonably loud.

‘Look them in the eye, and just pretend
you’re still talking to them one or two at a time.’ Lizzie’s words
floated into his awareness, and he clung to the vision of her
unshakable confidence. When he made the effort to resolve the sea
of faces into individuals, it was not hard to find friendly ones.
He had known John and Harry Leith, as well as Matt Aitken, all his
life; and Bill was far more a brother to him than Ben had ever
been. Many of the others were people he saw regularly and exchanged
friendly greetings with at church or at the store. These were not
people to be frightened of. Frank cleared his throat and spoke.

‘Well, I think you all know about how the
co-operative’s going to work,’ he began, astonished at how
confident he sounded. ‘We’ll all put in a bit of money, and we’ll
all own it together. The way it is now, it’s like we’re working for
the blokes who own the factory. With the co-operative, we’ll be
working for ourselves.’

He heard murmurs of approval, and thus
encouraged went on. ‘I’ve talked to a lot of fellows in Auckland,
when I’ve gone to the Shows up there. They all reckon a
co-operative’s much better than the old way. Some of them said they
were getting nearly twice as much money for the cream since they’d
got a co-op.’ There were a few gasps at that; he could almost hear
their minds figuring the sums.

‘The factory gets run how we say it’s to be
run. There’ll be a factory manager, and he’ll have men working for
him, but we keep an eye on the manager and see that he’s doing his
job properly. And the more money the factory makes, the more we
get. That’s about it.’ He sat down quickly.

The murmur of conversation sounded positive,
he thought. ‘Where’s the money to set this up going to come from?’
someone called.