Mud and Gold Read Free Page B

all Amy standing with tears streaming unchecked
down her face.
    ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t find—’Amy’s words
were cut off when Charlie lashed her face with the back of his
hand. She fingered her tender cheek in shock while he stood over
her, glowering.
    ‘I thought you’d be competent in women’s
work, not a useless, whining child! Is it too much for a man to ask
a bit of breakfast when he’s been up labouring since dawn? Are you
capable of boiling a kettle? Is there a pot of tea ready?’
    Amy shook her head helplessly. ‘I… I didn’t
know where to get the water from.’
    ‘And it was too much trouble to look outside
the door, was it? Did you think I’d fetch it for you?’ He took her
by the shoulders and shook her roughly. ‘Stop that bawling, or I’ll
give you something to cry about. You’ve ruined my breakfast, let’s
see you be of some use.’ He half-led, half-dragged her out to the
back doorstep, where he picked up a large kerosene tin and thrust
it into her hand. ‘The well is over there,’ he said, pointing out a
direction and giving her a shove.
    Nearly blinded by tears, her face burning
from the slap, Amy stumbled down the slight slope to the well. She
pumped water until her container was full, then struggled back up
to the house with the heavy load, the tin bumping painfully against
her leg as she went.
    Charlie had gone inside again. When Amy
entered the kitchen he was sitting at the table, a half-eaten slice
of bread and jam in one hand. She managed to lift the tin onto the
bench, then wiped the back of her hand across her tear-streaked
face, belatedly realising she must have left a black smear on one
cheek to go with the red mark on the other. Her hands shook as she
filled the kettle and placed it on the hob, aware of Charlie’s
baleful glare.
    The kettle seemed to take hours to boil, but
at last she was able to fill the teapot. She carried it to the
table and placed it in front of Charlie with a cup and saucer and a
sugar bowl. She filled a cracked jug with milk and put some into
the cup, poured the tea when she judged it had drawn, then stood
waiting, hoping for some sign of approval, as Charlie stirred sugar
into the tea and drank it. She did not dare sit down at the table
and pour herself a cup.
    Charlie drank his tea in silence, then
pushed the cup away and stood up from the table.
    ‘I’ll be back at lunch-time. There’d best be
something fit to eat.’ He pulled a box of matches from his pocket
and flung it down on the table, then left the room.
    When she was alone Amy sank into a chair
with her arms on the table, laid her head on them and for a few
minutes gave way to weeping.
    But tears were no use, and they brought no
lasting relief. Amy roused herself and began putting the room in
order, first opening the windows to let the smoke escape. She
boiled water on the range and used it to wash all the dishes on the
dresser as well as the cutlery from the drawer and the pots and
pans, then scrubbed the bench and table. The floor could have done
with being washed, but Amy instead decided to give herself plenty
of time to prepare lunch.
    After she had composed her face into decency
with plenty of cold water, Amy went exploring once more. She found
a sack of potatoes in a shed near the house, along with some
turnips and onions in an untidy pile on the dirt floor of the same
shed. There was a neglected vegetable patch with a few weed-choked
carrots. Amy scrabbled around with her fingers and found enough to
take back to the house. A few clumps of spinach had survived the
weeds; that would do for greens with their meat. She set the bacon
bone left over from breakfast to simmer in a pot of water while she
chopped the vegetables; she wished she had some barley to make the
soup more substantial, but Charlie’s kitchen did not run to such
delicacies. Amy added plenty of salt and hoped it would be
flavoursome enough. She looked with distaste at the loaf of bread
on one shelf; it was