Free A Second Chance by Shayne Parkinson Page A

statement that his father
used to… thump you, I think was the expression he used. Amy, it’s
not right for you to wear mourning for a man like that.’
    Amy looked away from Sarah’s dark frown and
gazed around the room; at the toy soldiers, and at the desk where a
man had made space for a little girl’s dolls. No wonder that Sarah
could find no room in her heart to pity Charlie. ‘That was all a
long, long time ago, Sarah. I don’t even think about it. It does no
good, dragging up those old things.’
    ‘You can’t just forget something like that,’
Sarah protested. ‘It’s not possible.’
    ‘No, I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t think
about it. Charlie was sorry for it in the end,’ she added
softly.
    That seemed to bring Sarah up sharply. ‘Was
he? It’s difficult to believe of the man.’
    ‘Yes, he was.’ Amy was surprised to find
tears pricking at her eyes. ‘He was very sorry. He told me he was,
the night he died.’ In his own awkward way he had told her;
clumsily, and not making an overt apology of it, but it had been an
expression of remorse none the less clear for that.
    ‘And so he jolly well should have been
sorry,’ Sarah said, but the force had gone out of her censure.
‘Perhaps he wouldn’t even have wanted you to wear mourning,’ she
tried half-heartedly.
    ‘Oh, I think he would have.’ Amy watched
Sarah, noting the firm set of her mouth and the slight movement of
her fingers on the arm of her chair. That meant Sarah was carefully
thinking the matter through, Amy knew; “mustering the facts”, as
Sarah put it.
    ‘You don’t wear mourning on the farm,’ Sarah
said after a few moments of this reflection. ‘Only when you go out.
Why is that?’
    ‘Well, I can’t wear my good black dress for
working, and I haven’t got any plain ones warm enough for winter. I
made a cotton one, and I wore that the first few months—I suppose I
could make one out of wool, but it seems a waste. Mourning’s to
show respect, and there’s no one around to see what I wear when I’m
on the farm—well, except Dave, and he knows how I feel about
respect.’
    ‘Exactly,’ Sarah pounced. ‘And in Auckland
there’s no one in the entire city who even knew the wretched man,
so no one to notice whether you’re in mourning or not. Except me,
and I, too, know only too well how obstinate you are about this
respect nonsense. So it’s just like being on the farm, isn’t it?
There’s absolutely no need for you to wear mourning. You do see
that, don’t you?
    Amy smiled at Sarah’s expression, a mix of
settled conviction and anxiousness. Pleasing her seemed more
important than a gesture to a dead husband. ‘I expect you’re right,
Sarah. It doesn’t really matter what I wear up here, with not
knowing anyone. Except for church—I’ll still wear mourning to
church. I wouldn’t feel right otherwise.’
    ‘Thank Heaven for that,’ Sarah said with
exaggerated relief. ‘You really can be very stubborn. And I’ll let
you have your way regarding church.’ She smiled. ‘I do know how to
recognise an unwinnable argument.
    ‘But not out to the play,’ she added
firmly. ‘Your first outing definitely demands something more
cheerful than black wool. So what do you think you’ll wear?’
    Amy’s heart sank; cold reality made a
nonsense of the whole discussion. ‘The trouble is, that black dress
is the only good one I’ve got. Well, except my blue silk, but I
think that’s a bit old, really.’
    Sarah nodded thoughtfully, and stood up. ‘I
think we had better check your wardrobe.’
    Amy followed her up the stairs. Sarah set a
pace Amy could not match, and when Amy went into the bedroom she
found Sarah standing before the open wardrobe, staring at its
scanty contents.
    ‘This is all?’ Sarah asked. ‘This is
everything you brought with you?’
    ‘Except for the underwear and things, that’s
in one of the drawers. Yes, that’s everything.’
    Sarah shook her head, and turned to