Settling the Account (23 page)

‘They’re only little fellows really,
though,’ Jack said pensively. ‘They’re a sight younger than John
and Harry—there’s twenty years between John and Tom, you know.
That’s something to think about.’

‘How do you mean, Pa?’

‘I’ve got to do right by them all. If a man
goes taking a new wife and fathering sons when he’s old enough to
be their grandfather… well, it’s up to me to treat them all
fair.’

‘Of course you do,’ Amy said, made uneasy by
the troubled note in his voice.

‘Twenty years, you see,’ Jack said,
seemingly as much to himself as to Amy. ‘It wouldn’t be fair, now,
would it? I can’t give the little fellows the same as John and
Harry, not when the older boys have worked twenty years longer. And
it’d be no good splitting the farm four ways, anyway—they’d none of
them get a decent living out of it then. But I’ve got to provide
for the young ones, too. They’re good little fellows, and they’re
my boys as much as John and Harry are.’

His meaning was clear to Amy now. ‘Pa, don’t
talk like that. You don’t have to think about that sort of thing
for years and years yet.’

‘I’m not getting any younger, girl,’ Jack
said, squeezing her hard for a moment. ‘I’ve got to get all that
business sorted out, not go leaving everyone to squabble over it
when I’m gone.’

‘They wouldn’t!’ Amy said, shocked at the
notion.

‘Well, maybe the boys wouldn’t. There might
be others who’d make a fuss. I want it all down in black and white,
in proper lawyer talk so no one can argue about it.’

‘Please don’t talk about it—I don’t want to
think about that.’ Amy wound her arms more tightly around his neck.
‘What would I do for hugs if I didn’t have you?’

Jack gave a tired laugh. ‘All right, that’s
enough miserable talk, then. Don’t know why I’m going on to you
about it, anyway.’

He seemed to struggle to find a cheerful
subject to raise, and Amy’s heart was still too full of his
references to his own mortality for her to contribute one. ‘You
still keen on those books of yours?’ he said at last.

‘They’re like my friends,’ Amy said,
managing to smile. ‘I just about know them all off by heart, I’ve
read them so many times.’

‘You should shout yourself some more, then,’
Jack said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

‘I haven’t got any money, Pa,’ Amy said
gently, anxious not to let him think it worried her.

‘You must have a little bit—doesn’t he give
you any for yourself?’

Amy shook her head. ‘If I need a new dress
he’ll usually let me charge up some material. He wouldn’t give me
money to spend how I liked, though.’

‘Miserable sod,’ Jack muttered.

‘He doesn’t know any better, Pa. And what do
I need money for, anyway? I’ve got enough to eat and a roof over my
head.’ She would not dream of troubling her father by admitting
with what longing she sometimes studied advertisements for book
shops in the
Weekly News
.

‘I suppose so,’ Jack said. He looked at her
thoughtfully, until Amy distracted him with more of her cakes and
questions about the goings-on at her old home.

They chatted away, sharing memories of the
times that they both regarded with nostalgia. Much as Amy was
enjoying her father’s company, as the time wore on she cast
surreptitious glances at the clock with increasing concern, aware
of the pile of washing still to be pegged out. If it got much later
it would be time to start preparing lunch, and she would have no
chance to catch up on her work.

That would be difficult enough, but another
thought began to trouble her. Jack had looked weary when he had
arrived at Charlie’s door, and she was sure he had been favouring
one leg. She did not like the idea of letting him struggle home by
himself, not with all the fences to negotiate. But going with him
would mean first finding Charlie and asking his permission for the
outing, then taking up a large chunk of what was left of the
morning trudging at her father’s slow pace across the paddocks.
Even if she ran back afterwards, she would have difficulty getting
Charlie’s lunch on the table in time.

A noise at the back door made Amy give a
start. She leapt up and looked guiltily towards the door, expecting
to meet a disapproving glare from Charlie at being caught on her
father’s lap.

To her surprised relief, it was not Charlie
who appeared in the doorway but her young brother. Thomas stood
looking around awkwardly, and Amy rushed to give him a welcoming
hug.

‘I have to stand on tiptoe to hug you now,’
she said. ‘Tom, I’m so glad to see you—you never come over here
usually.’

‘So why have you turned up today, boy?’ Jack
asked, surprising Amy with the sternness of his voice. ‘Not that I
don’t know.’

‘I… I just thought I’d like to…’ Thomas
trailed off and stared at his own feet.

‘That brother of yours sent you over here,
didn’t he?’ Jack said. ‘Told you to come looking for me?’

‘No,’ Thomas said. He raised his eyes, met
his father’s gaze and dropped them again. ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

‘I thought as much. John seems to think I’m
like a child that needs to be on leading-strings these days—well,
I’m not as far into my dotage as that. I don’t need to ask my own
son’s leave to come and go, do I?’

‘Pa, don’t growl at Tom,’ Amy said, seeing
how troubled Thomas looked. ‘John just wondered where you were,
there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’

‘Don’t like my own son checking up on me,’
Jack muttered, so like a petulant child that Amy had to hide a
smile.

She took hold of Thomas’s hand and pulled
him a little further into the room. ‘Now, aren’t you glad John
thinks enough of you to care if you’re all right?’ she asked. ‘And
Tom’s come over here specially to find you. I bet you wouldn’t like
it if none of us bothered where you were or what you were
doing.’

‘Suppose not,’ Jack said.

‘Of course you wouldn’t. Anyway, I’m glad
Tom’s come over, it gives me a chance to see him. Sit down with us,
Tom, so we can talk for a bit. You can have some cakes if Pa’s left
us any.’

‘Maybe I should go straight home again,’
Thomas said, eyeing the cakes in question with obvious longing.
‘I’ve been gone a while—I went over to Uncle Arthur’s first.’

‘You can stay long enough to eat a couple of
cakes,’ Amy told him. ‘John’s not going to be as worried as all
that. Then you and Pa can keep each other company on the way home.
I really had better get on with this washing in a minute, Pa.’

‘Come and sit down, then, Tom,’ Jack
relented. ‘I suppose it’s not your fault if that brother of yours
is such an old woman. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when
we get home, sending you out after me as if I was a straying
cow.’

Jack and Thomas left a few minutes later.
Amy stood in the doorway and waved them out of sight. Jack had one
arm flung around Thomas’s shoulders in what looked like an easy
gesture of affection, but Amy saw how heavily he was leaning on his
son for support. She wondered if her father could have got home
unassisted without risking a fall; John was right to be keeping a
careful eye on him, even if it did ruffle Jack’s pride.

Her father had grown old. It pained Amy, for
all she knew she should accept it as natural. She did not want to
lose him; could not imagine life without the man she had adored
since her childhood. She remembered him swinging her high in the
air; spinning her around while she squealed in delight. Now walking
across a few paddocks left him so weary that he needed the support
of a strong, young pair of shoulders to help him home.

And instead of the father she remembered
from the early days, always hearty and joking, was a wistful old
man who talked candidly of his own death. Amy searched her apron
pocket in vain for a handkerchief, then gave up and wiped her eyes
on her sleeve like a child.

*

Frank had greeted Lizzie’s announcement that
she wanted him to buy a piano with astonishment rapidly succeeded
by delight. It was so unlike Lizzie to ask for anything remotely
impractical that at first he doubted the evidence of his
senses.

He wasted no time in finding out how to
about ordering a piano, anxious not to give Lizzie’s pragmatic
nature the chance to reassert itself. He pored over the
advertisements in the
Weekly News
, becoming more and more
mystified by the effusive descriptions each vendor gave of their
own particular range. It was only when Lily had recovered somewhat
from the birth of her latest baby that Frank was able to enlist her
expertise to help him make a decision and send off his order.

After that it was a matter of waiting.
Maudie soon became so impatient for the arrival of ‘her’ piano that
Frank was convinced his daughter must be concealing hitherto
unsuspected musical gifts.

At last a telegram arrived telling Frank he
could expect his piano when the
Waiotahi
made its next trip
to Ruatane.

‘I suppose the spring cart will do for
hauling it home,’ he said to Lizzie the day before the boat was due
in, eyeing his small cart doubtfully. ‘I’m not too sure, though.
Pity I haven’t got a big dray like the one they use at the
factory.’

‘Borrow that one, then,’ Lizzie
suggested.

‘Hmm, maybe I could ask the manager,’ Frank
said. ‘See if he needs the dray tomorrow.’

‘Never mind
asking
him, you tell the
man. You’re the Chairman, aren’t you? He’s got to do as you
say.’

‘He doesn’t really,’ Frank said, smiling at
her confidence. ‘He doesn’t work for me—well, no more than he does
any of the other farmers. Still, borrowing the dray’s not a bad
idea. I’ll have a go.’

The factory manager raised no objections
when Frank called on him the next morning, and even lent one of his
assistants to help with loading the piano. Frank eyed the tall,
well-muscled youth with some relief. He had brought an eager Joey
along with him, ostensibly to help but mainly as an excuse for the
boy to escape a day’s school; but Frank knew that however keen Joey
might be, his ten-year-old strength was going to be of only limited
use.

One last passenger clambered onto the raised
board at the front of the dray when Frank stopped in Ruatane’s main
street. During a conversation a few weeks earlier with Mr
Callaghan, the bank manager had mentioned that if Frank wanted any
help getting his new piano in tune he should speak to Mr Hatfield,
who as well as being the town’s jeweller, watchmaker and
photographer was the nearest thing Ruatane had to an expert piano
tuner. This was the first Frank had ever heard of a piano’s need
for tuning. He had at once decided to have Mr Hatfield on hand when
the piano arrived rather than risk doing any damage to his valuable
new possession.

Mr Hatfield had shut up his shop for the
afternoon to accompany Frank. He sat on the dray clutching a black
bag on his lap, his pale blue eyes alight with interest. When they
arrived at the wharf, he startled Frank by the confidence with
which he issued instructions to the
Waiotahi
’s captain, as
well as to Frank and his team of helpers, as they manhandled the
large crate off the boat and onto the dray.

‘It’s a monster,’ Frank said, staring at the
crate in awe when they had it safely loaded. ‘I only wanted a
medium-sized sort of piano, I hope they haven’t sent me an extra
big one. We’ll never get it in the parlour.’

‘It’s just well-packed, Mr Kelly,’ Mr
Hatfield said. ‘That just goes to show you’re dealing with a
reputable firm in Auckland, and they’ve gone to the trouble of
packing the instrument correctly.’

That was all very well, Frank reflected, but
there was still the matter of getting this monstrous crate home,
and its contents into the house. He studied the large dray,
grateful that he had not made a fool of himself by arriving at the
wharf with his hopelessly inadequate cart.

By the time he had negotiated his awkward
load the first few miles, Frank had a more profound awareness than
ever before of just how many ruts there were along the track, and
just how deep some of them were. Several times along the way they
had to stop and lend their strength by pushing the dray from behind
while Joey pulled on the bridle of the lead horse. If the track had
not been unusually dry for September, Frank doubted if they would
have managed the task at all. When Mr Hatfield mildly made the
suggestion that a bullock wagon might have been more suitable,
Frank had to bite back the retort that it would have been more
useful to suggest it a few weeks earlier. Instead he kept silent,
and told himself he was going to get this damned piano home if it
took him all night.

It did not take all night, though it did
take a good two hours longer than Frank had expected. They at last
brought the dray to a halt outside the house, the annoyances of the
trip home almost forgotten in the relief that it was over.

Lizzie rushed outside when she heard them
coming up the last part of the track. She exclaimed in amazement at
the size of the crate. There was clearly no chance of getting it
inside, so when the men had carefully lowered it onto the grass
Frank sent Joey running to the tool shed for a crowbar to wrench
the crate open.

‘It’s in bits!’ Frank said in dismay when
they had lifted the lid off the crate, revealing several
mysteriously-shaped objects of varying sizes, all well-wrapped.
‘What am I meant to do with a piano in bits?’

‘You can figure out how to fit it together,’
Lizzie said with the utter confidence she always showed in Frank’s
abilities. ‘Joey, run and get a hammer and nails for your
father.’

‘Oh, that won’t be necessary, Mrs Kelly,’ Mr
Hatfield said. ‘Goodness me, there’s no need to take to the
instrument with a hammer! Now, if you gentlemen will lift these
pieces out—carefully, mind—and carry them through to the parlour,
we’ll have this set up in no time at all.’