How Do I Love Thee? (37 page)

He stared at her for a moment then walked away without a word.

She set the frying pan down and folded her arms to hide the fact that she was shaking, then sat down on one of the
tree-stump stools outside the front door, drawing a long, shuddering breath. He’d try again to get the money off her, she knew. He was stubborn when he wanted something. Well, so was she.

After some thought, she sent Jenny out to play and made a hiding place for her money in the lining of her sewing box. She stitched up the seam again then got on with her chores, feeling sad it should come to this.

Several times after that she came home to find things slightly out of place and knew he’d been searching for the money. But he didn’t find it.

His black moods were lasting longer than ever before now that it was obvious group settlement was neither a quick nor an easy way to make money. Long years of hard work stretched ahead of them and she was quite sure some of the other groupies would go under.

She was determined their family would succeed, however hard she had to work. Only—would Bill last the distance?

It was the few moments she spent in the forest every day that helped her stay calm. She’d walk a little way along the rough track listening to the birds singing and calling. Or she’d watch the beautiful patterns of light and shadow beneath the tall trees and marvel at the delicate native flowers that were so much smaller than garden flowers. With Ted’s help,
she was starting to know and recognise the plants, birds and little animals now.

One Sunday afternoon, Maggie suggested the whole family go for a walk. ‘We used to do that at home on Sunday afternoons. Why not here? We could go to the next settlement, call in on Jean and her family.’

Bill stared at her as if she was mad. ‘This is my day of rest, and I’ve damned well earned it.’

When did she get a day of rest? she wondered.

‘Anyway, there’s nothing beautiful about those bloody trees. It’s backbreaking work felling them and I can’t stand the sight of them. The sooner they’re down the happier I’ll be. Besides, I see enough of other people during the week, thank you very much. That foreman’s always poking his nose in and he cheats on the measurements.’

The men got four pounds ten shillings an acre for clearing, but for that they had to fell every tree under eighteen inches in diameter, clearing the roots and all the scrub to leave the land in a ploughable condition. They got an additional eight shillings per acre for ring-barking every tree over that size. She couldn’t imagine Ted cheating anyone.

Peter went to play with one of Elsie’s younger sons, so in a fit of rebellion, Maggie went for a walk with Jenny. She
taught her daughter a new song which they sang together as they walked down the track.

When a stranger came into sight, she stopped singing and hesitated. Then two little boys came running after him and she felt better. Silly to be worried. Who else could it be but another groupie here in the forest?

He smiled and touched his hat to her. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’

‘Beautiful. I love walking among the trees.’

‘So do I. I bring these rascals out every fine Sunday afternoon. It gives my wife a bit of a rest. She’s expecting a baby in two months’ time. I’m Daniel Marr, by the way.’

‘Maggie Spencer.’

She studied him covertly. He was a fine figure of a man, with an open, friendly expression. His skin was tanned from working outdoors, which made his eyes look very blue. His brown hair was sun-streaked and needed cutting. Her fingers itched to tame it.

They chatted for a while and she was sorry when he left. She watched him stride off down the track. At the corner he stopped and turned round. For a moment or two they stared at one another, then he lifted his hand and she waved back.

Such a lovely man. She wished Bill was more like him. That felt disloyal, but Bill was so difficult to live with these days and his unhappiness had given him a pinched look.

Daniel’s wife was lucky to be carrying his child. Maggie would have loved another baby, but no chance of that with Bill still not wanting to touch her. She’d always hoped for a large family like her mother’s, with children to play together and help one another when they were grown, as she and her brothers and sisters had. She blinked away a tear.

No use wishing for the moon. She’d written to her mother and was expecting a reply soon. That would cheer her up.

From then on she and Daniel met quite often on fine Sundays, stopping to chat while the two boys and Jenny played. It was Daniel who told her the name of a pretty pink flower that smelled so sweet, even the leaves had a faint perfume: crowea. They lent each other books, too, because they both loved reading.

His wife never came with him and the boys. Bill never came with her and Jenny.

Daniel wasn’t there one Sunday and she heard later that Mrs Marr had lost the baby. He didn’t come till three weeks later, and he looked sad, telling her his wife was still weak.

Maggie felt guilty sometimes about how much she looked forward to their meetings. She mentioned the first one to Bill and occasionally said she’d met the man with the two boys again, but didn’t tell him that they met often or how long they chatted sometimes.

They’d done nothing wrong. Daniel was just—a friend.

At the end of April the cows were to be delivered. Maggie and Peter waited eagerly to see what theirs were like. Bill built a shelter for milking, crooked but sturdy enough to keep the rain off. On one side of it he built a dairy out of corrugated iron, where the cream could be separated and the buckets scoured. That would be Maggie’s province.

The cows arrived just before noon and for once the Spencers were the first to get a choice. Bill was clearing trees some distance away so Jenny ran to fetch him.

The cows looked tired and dusty, milling around on the track outside. They were a mixed bunch, brown, black and white in colour, and all had full udders.

‘Which ones do you want, missus?’ one of the men asked.

‘You choose while I make you a cup of tea.’

‘I’ll pick some good ones for you. They’ll settle in more easily with you having a cow already.’

When she brought the tea, she found Bill chatting to the men, making no attempt to deal with the six cows ambling about on their land. She kept control of her temper with difficulty. ‘Come on, Jenny. Let’s get the poor creatures a drink.’

She sent Peter to lug more water from the creek. She was
looking forward to having a proper rainwater tank when they got their house.

After the two men left, Bill strolled over. ‘They look a miserable bunch.’

‘That’s because they’re dusty and tired. Why don’t you drive them into the paddock?’ At her urging he’d fenced off an area roughly with poles from the young trees he’d chopped down.

‘Can I call the little one Alice?’ Jenny asked.

‘You can call them what you want as long as you learn to milk them properly,’ Bill snapped.

Maggie sighed and went to get the milking buckets ready.

The cows made more work, but the children helped. It was Bill who wasn’t good with cows. And, of course, he resented the fact that she and Peter could milk them more quickly.

A week after that he went out one evening ‘to see a man’ and came back drunk, vomiting just outside the door. Maggie was furious with him, not only for getting into that disgusting condition, but for wasting money on booze.

He was unrepentant. ‘I work hard. I deserve some relaxation.’

But she’d had to clean up after him. He’d ignored his mess, staying in bed late and then complaining about a headache. Served him right.

When she went for her Sunday walk, it was on her own, because the children were playing at the neighbours’. She sat on a log and couldn’t help crying, just a little.

Someone thrust a handkerchief into her hand and she turned to see Daniel.

‘Anything I can do to help?’

She shook her head. It’d be disloyal to discuss Bill with him.

Daniel sat beside her and chatted about the book of poems he’d brought to lend her. His voice was deep and soothing, as attractive as the rest of him. Shame swept through her. She shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like. She hoped Daniel didn’t know how attracted she was to him.

She stole a glance sideways and found him looking at her with concern.

He laid his hand briefly on her arm. ‘If you ever need to talk …’

She shook her head, but the offer was comforting, as was the warmth of his hand and the big, strong body beside her on the log.

He said nothing else personal, but even the silences weren’t awkward with this man. His wife was a very fortunate woman.

‘Thank you,’ she said as they both stood up. She wasn’t talking about the poems and she knew he understood that.

She watched him till he was out of sight. He turned to wave at the corner as always and she pinned a smile to her face as she waved back. Then she squared her shoulders and turned for home.

As the first year passed Maggie worried about the children missing their schooling and insisted they read regularly, swapping books with other families. She even bought a few more books second-hand, something which infuriated Bill, who wasn’t a reader.

A one-teacher school was planned for only two miles down the road for this group and the next. The sooner it was built the better, as far as she was concerned.

A highlight of the year was moving into their own home. The wooden house felt huge after the shack, with four rooms, and verandahs front and back. They didn’t have much furniture, but she was making more herself. The big, square kerosene cans came in wooden crates which could be used for storage. She had one crate on its side in the kitchen as a cupboard for her cooking equipment, and as they became available she put other crates in the bedrooms to store their clothes. She sanded down the wood herself and made little curtains to hide the contents. They looked very nice, too.

At eleven, Peter didn’t want to go back to school again, though he’d have to wait till fourteen to be free of it, like everyone else. He loved it in Australia and was wild to be a farmer, handling the cows better than his father. Even after the building was ready and they started attending school, like all groupie children, Peter and Jenny would still have to help milk the cows morning and evening.

Relations between Maggie and her husband grew steadily worse. She was earning a little extra now and then, sewing for other women, or doing washing and mending for men who came into the area to help clear more trees for new groups of settlers, or to make the roads that connected the new settlements to the town.

One day Bill came home at midday looking smug and triumphant. ‘I got your money from Mrs Tennerson.’ He patted his pocket.

‘What do you mean,
you
got my money?’

‘I said she could give it to me to pass on to you.’

She held out her hand. ‘Pass it on, then.’

‘I look after the money in this house.’

Maggie glared at him. ‘You mean, you’re stealing it.’

‘I’m the head of the house.’

And they were off into another row. No hiding their quarrels from the children these days. No hiding his drinking
either. He always knew someone who had booze of some sort to sell.

He was getting slovenly and didn’t wash himself properly half the time now. What was the use? he said when she complained. He’d only get filthy and sweaty the next day.

He worked hard, whether he was hung-over or not, but it was with the grim endurance of a man who loathed what he was doing, both clearing land and milking cows. What had he expected of their new life?

Like other groupies, they tried raising pigs on the skim milk that was left after milking, but Bill took a huge dislike to the creatures and couldn’t face killing them, so had to ask their neighbour Mick to do it for him.

One day the new pair of piglets escaped and weren’t seen again. Maggie guessed Bill had let them out deliberately, or perhaps sold them to get money for drink. He refused to buy more pigs.

After that Bill’s only concession to not wasting the skim milk was to give it to a man in the next group, in return for some bacon when a pig was killed. He left the milk in old kerosene tins near the gate to be picked up once a day and the man left clean tins for the next lot.

The first time she realised it was Daniel Marr, Maggie worried he’d say something about how often they met,
but he couldn’t have done or Bill would have tried to stop her walks.

Such a waste to give all that milk away for so little! Bill said women didn’t understand these things. But she did understand money, because she had to make every penny he doled out do the work of four. Nothing went to waste, not even the sacks the flour and other groceries came in, which she used for towels and rough work clothes for the children.

She resented the money Bill spent on booze. He wouldn’t even tell her how much was left in the family savings now, and that terrified her.

What if he brought them to ruin?

One day Daniel didn’t come to pick up the milk. Bill grumbled that it wasn’t worth bothering for a bit of bacon and they should just pour it away. But Maggie knew something must have happened to keep Daniel away.