Free Sentence of Marriage by Shayne Parkinson Page B

must be wonderful.’
    ‘Yes, it is—it was , I should say.’ Susannah looked downcast. She carried a bucket or two, wandering along morosely, while Amy scurried back and forth with the bulk of the water.
    Running water! Amy tried to imagine what it would be like never to have to haul water again, but gave up the attempt. She mused on what other wonders Auckland might hold. It did not seem worth asking Susannah about the city; it would probably only annoy her, anyway. And she had somehow never had the chance to talk with her father about the things he had seen in Auckland; they hardly ever seemed to be alone together long enough to talk any more.
    Susannah might be an extra pair of hands, but she did contribute an awful lot of washing, too. She laundered her own things, but took so long over each one that she did very little of the rest.
    She looked with distaste at the state of the men’s work clothes. ‘Those are disgusting,’ she said, wrinkling her nose at a pair of trousers liberally spattered with mud and cow dung.
    ‘Men get dirty on farms,’ Amy said, picking up the offending trousers. ‘The clothes come clean, you just have to scrub them really well.’
    ‘Don’t take that superior attitude with me, child,’ Susannah said sharply.
    ‘I’m not—I was just trying to explain…’ Now I’m contradicting again, aren’t I?
    But Susannah was distracted when she noticed Amy washing the pink dress. ‘I suppose I’d better organise a new dress for you, I can’t have you going about as though no one cares how you look.’
    ‘I’ll go in on Thursday and get some material—I can make one quite quickly.’
    ‘There is a dressmaker in this place, isn’t there?’
    ‘Yes, I think Mrs Nichol does dressmaking—she keeps the millinery shop and drapery. But I always make my own things.’
    ‘I was thinking of my own clothes,’ Susannah said. ‘I hope some country dressmaker is capable of making wearable gowns. I’m sure you can run something up for yourself.’
    ‘Do you think…’ Amy said hesitantly, then plucked up her courage. ‘I’d love to have a silk dress.’
    ‘Nonsense, child, you’re far too young for silk. You can have mousseline de laine or something like that. You’ll grow out of a dress in a year, anyway.’
    Amy lowered her eyes to avoid looking at Susannah with what she knew must be a rebellious expression.
    Tuesday’s ironing at least caused no complaints; Susannah was used to the drudgery of that task, and it seemed the city had no magic way to improve on it. On Wednesday morning Amy was cleaning the range while Susannah did some dusting, when Lizzie arrived with her mother and little Ernie.
    ‘Thought we should pop over and say hello,’ Edie said, beaming all over her good-natured face. She was puffing slightly from the exertion of the last hill. ‘I’ve brought you a sponge cake.’
    ‘How kind,’ Susannah said. ‘And you’ve brought the dear little boy with you, too.’ She patted Ernie on the head. ‘You will take tea with me, won’t you?’
    ‘I wouldn’t say no.’
    ‘Amy, make some tea and bring it through to the parlour.’ Susannah swept Edie out of the room, Ernie clutching his mother’s hand.
    Lizzie looked after Susannah in disapproval. ‘I don’t think much of the way she talks to you. No “please” or “thank you”, just “Make some tea”. Talks as if you were a servant.’
    ‘I told you, Lizzie, I don’t think she likes me.’ Amy scrubbed her hands clean, then started making the tea.
    ‘Humph! She must be pretty silly, then—everyone likes you.’
    ‘How are you getting on with Frank?’ Amy asked, to change to a more pleasant subject.
    Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Well, I haven’t seen him for a while, except at church, and I don’t get much chance to talk to him there.’
    ‘You haven’t taken any more pies down to him?’ Amy asked with an exaggerated expression of innocence.
    ‘I can’t get away with doing that too often, or even