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Foxton
1893–1895
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Daniel whistled as he rode home that summer’s day in early February 1893, happier about life than he had been for a while. His little Clara had been born last June, giving him a second daughter and, whilst he often remembered Tom’s words about kids being a handful, he wouldn’t be without any of them. Easing his left arm, still in a sling from the fall that broke it a few weeks back, he considered the recent changes brought about since the election of the Liberal government a couple of years before. He wasn’t so sure about the land reforms and taxes since he didn’t own any land, but the income tax changes would make a difference.
At least they’re fair, and the new laws about working conditions have to be good.
“I’m home, Emma,” he announced.
“As if I didn’t know that already, what with you galloping up the driveway like a lunatic and yelling at Chas. Happy are we?”
“Yes. I am actually,” he admitted, surprising her by landing a loud kiss to her cheek as he walked past. A faint blush spread across her face, and she put her hand on her cheek to hold the feeling until she saw him struggling to remove his coat, hampered as he was by the sling.
“Here, let me help you.” Emma took the jacket from him, hanging it on the peg behind the door. “So, what’s got into you today in particular to make you so happy?”
“Nothing much. A small flutter on the nags came in, so we’ve a few more shillings, the sun is shining ...”
“And you’ve been in the hotel again,” Emma accused him.
“Aw, Emma, don’t spoil it. I enjoyed myself. There’s nothing wrong with that, and I’m home like I said I would be.” Daniel wrapped his good arm around her waist, lifted her up and swung her around.
“Get away with you, you silly old fool.” Swept up with his mood, she laughed. She nodded to where Lizzie sat doing some mending, her look promising more. Much more. Later.
Daniel’s homecoming was always a magnet for the boys. Henry wrapped his arms around his father’s leg, chatting away in baby talk Daniel never understood. The two older boys soon came crashing through the door in their hurry to be the first one in.
“I’ve put the horse away as you asked, Pa,” Chas said.
“An’ I helped brush him down,” chipped in little William.
“Nah, you didn’t,” argued his brother.
“Yes, I did.”
“Calm down, boys,” their mother intercepted, taking a hand of each boy to inspect. “Go wash your hands. Then you can come up to the table for supper. Charlie, take them out to the wash basin and make sure they are clean before I see ’em again.”
Loosening Henry’s grip on his father’s leg, Emma handed him to Daniel’s good arm. Daniel grimaced but did as he was bid.
“Come on, boys, do as Ma tells you now. It’s Henry’s birthday today, so I’m sure there’s cake for afters.” He looked at Emma for confirmation.
“Yes. There is. A large one with three candles just for Henry.”
Daniel beamed at his son, pressing his nose against Henry’s as he’d seen the Maori do to exchange a hongi.
“Fwee,” gurgled Henry.
Everyone laughed as he pushed his stubby fingers in his father’s face.
* * *
A few days after his own birthday celebrations in the April, which, at the age of fifty-one, he had tried to avoid, Daniel sat reading an article in the newspaper.
“Golly. Listen, Emma. Premier Ballance has died. Not unexpected but a sad day. A sad day indeed. I wonder what effect it will have on government policy now. I suppose Seddon will take his place, since he’s acting leader.”
“Probably,” she agreed, “but I hope it won’t sidetrack the issue about women being allowed to vote. I heard he doesn’t agree with it, despite all the arguments.”
“I think he’s worried the troublemakers from the temperance movement will also bring about changes to the liquor laws. I won’t agree with that. Women voting is one thing but stopping men having a drink when they want to is quite another.” Daniel raised his head challenging Emma to disagree. They’d had many a fight about his drinking habits.
Emma ignored his censure. “The ladies from the suffrage movement have collected thousands of signatures, and when they present the petition to parliament the government will have to agree. They nearly won last time, if it hadn’t been for the Legislative Council voting it down.”
“How do you know all this?” Daniel folded the paper and put it down beside him, tapping his fingers on the table.
“I listen to what the women have to say when I go to town. Mary and Mrs Proctor go to all the meetings, you know.”
“Is that where you’re getting these ideas? From those suffragette women? Dry harridans that they are!”
“They’re not all like that,” Emma protested. “Mary isn’t. But I hear what is going on. You’re not the only one who has opinions on things.” Stubborn as ever, Emma tilted her chin, daring him to contradict her.
“I’m not ag’in it, Emma, you know that, but just the other day that Reverend Barnett fella was having a go at the blokes in Whytes. Reckoned they were more in love with Mrs Stansell than their own wives.”
“Where’d he get that idea from?” Emma was puzzled by this accusation. “What did he mean?”
“Apparently, he says, by putting money into Stansell’s pocket so his missus could be better dressed, we have eyes on her.” Daniel was spluttering with laughter. “Imagine! We buy our ale fair and square and get accused of cheating. There’ll be trouble, mark my words. He can’t go around insulting people like that.”
Emma wasn’t laughing. “He has a point, Charlie. The amount of money you spend down there alone is enough to buy her the most expensive of bonnets. But let me tell you, there’ll be trouble in this house if I catch you with eyes on anyone else.”
“Aw, Em, as if I would?” Daniel looked the all-innocent but they both knew he liked to flirt with women almost as much as he liked his beer. Emma’s defiance appealed to Daniel, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. “I were just telling you what he said, that’s all. I’ve only got eyes for you, my Em.”
“You keep ’em that way, too.”
“I tell you summat else. The men are saying they’re not happy about their wives going into the polling booths where there could be strangers and rough men. You could get jostled and pushed by those who don’t agree with it. Or worse. Feelings are riding high, I tell ya.”
“That might be so, but I’m prepared to take my chances. Nothing is going to stop me having my say.”
Deciding not to argue with her, Daniel changed the subject. “Right now, you should be more worried about this report in the paper. It says the river is running high in Woodville and high floods are expected. That’ll mean the road’ll be under water again. Better get yourself prepared and put some things up high. Could be here by tomorrow.”
They set about readying the property. The routine had become almost second nature. Most winters were spent ensuring their possessions were not lost or damaged through flooding. Although the water had, up until now, lapped at the door and not swept through the house, neither was prepared to take the risk, knowing how strong the river currents could be. Daniel avowed the floods were getting worse. He wished he could do something about getting another place, but they would have to weather it out for a few more years yet, until there was more money.
“Come along, Lizzie, help me here.” Emma bustled about lifting clothing, bedding and furniture. After checking William and Henry were asleep and in their beds not under them, as Henry was wont to do, they began stacking and hanging items from pegs on the walls, or pushing them into the cubbyholes in the roof space, on top of wardrobes and into cupboards for safekeeping.
“Young Chas, go move the horses and cow to the higher paddock,” said his father, lighting the Tilley lamp. “And when you’ve done that you can help me stack the firewood and take more inside.”
Putting on their hats and coats, Daniel and young Charlie stepped out into the dark, wet night.
The floods came and went without any noticeable damage but the ground was soggier than normal. It took days before it drained away completely. This time the coach had been delayed by two days, unable to travel the road south until the water receded. Flooding meant Daniel’s work was harder. Clearing the drains took longer – filled as they were with heavy, tangled debris and torn branches – before the roads were passable again.
The winter weather finally ended and a fresh spring dawned bringing a new bounce to Emma’s step, as it did every year. The months leading up to Christmas were Emma’s busy time. She scrubbed and cleaned and aired the whole house, planted out her garden and planned for the upcoming festivities. Her enthusiasm was so infectious the Christmas season became Daniel’s favourite time of the year too.
September brought the results of the massive third petition the suffrage women had presented.
“Votes for women approved by narrow margin,” he read out. “What do you think about that, our Emma? You can vote in the November elections. They passed it twenty to eighteen. Just needs the governor to sign it now to make it legal.”
“Can I vote, Pa?” piped up Lizzie.
“No, my sweet. Not yet. You are only eleven. You have to be over twenty-one.”
‘What’s voting?”
“Enough, Lizzie,” said Emma. “Don’t interrupt when adults are talking. I’m glad to hear that, Charlie, at last. They fought hard to get women recognised as sensible and intelligent human beings. And I’ll be one of the first in the queue.”
Daniel grinned. “Figured you might be.”
“Well, this new Liberal government of ours is looking after people like you and me. Better work conditions, providing people the financial support they need when they get old or sick. By voting I can tell the government whether I agree or disagree with them. Tell them what I want them to do for me and mine and what I think is right.”
“Sounds to me like you been listening to some propaganda.”
“It’s all right for you, Charlie. You’ve always had the right to vote, even if you don’t always bother. I’ve had to learn.” She paused, noticing he rubbed his bad arm. It still ached badly in the damp and cold weather, but he would never admit he’d been too drunk to ride; he got angry when anyone mentioned it.
“How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine. Stop fussing.”
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The upcoming elections were of particular significance to Emma and the other women of the town, and created a hive of activity, as new clothes were made and new hats purchased.
Now the time had come, the day would be one of great celebration.
“Allow me, madam.” Doffing his hat and extending his arm to Emma, Daniel escorted her down the path towards the dray for the important outing to the polling booth. They smiled broadly at the silly formality they were playing out.
Matching his tone, Emma rested her hand on his arm. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
Once seated on the dray, she straightened her skirts and opened her parasol. The children clambered onto the back as Daniel took his place beside her, picking up the reins. “Walk on,” he said, and with a gentle flick, the trip began.
As they got closer to the town, the streets filled up with carriages of all kinds, people on foot and riders on horseback. Instead of the boorish behaviour many had expected, most people had turned the day into a festival. Foxton had an air of gaiety about it that was normally lacking. Men escorted their wives, while groups of women gathered outside shops and walked together to the polling booths.
Emma and Daniel watched people coming and going. After a few minutes inside the hall all the women emerged with large smiles and in animated conversation. The occasion was momentous in more ways than one and far bigger than anyone ever imagined.
The line moved forward until their turn came.
“Name?” asked the polling clerk.
“Emma Adin,” she said with pride.
“Is your address Wirokino?” the clerk checked, ruling a line through her name on the sheet.
“Yes.” Emma took the piece of paper she was handed and went behind the screen as directed. The process was repeated for Daniel, and together they placed their papers in the box provided. They emerged from the hall arm in arm to where Lizzie waited with the youngest children. The boys, she could see, were playing on the nearby field.
“Did you enjoy that, my Emma?”
“Oh, yes. I did,” she said, taking baby Clara from Lizzie but leaving Henry with her to mind. “I feel I’m a real person now. Let’s celebrate. I’d like some tea, please.” Tugging at Daniel’s arm they crossed over to the tearooms.
Once the votes had been collected, the papers reported 84 per cent of eligible women voters had registered to vote – a massive 110,000 – and on polling day over 90,000 had turned out to vote – a greater number than the percentage of their menfolk. The day had been a great success and the Liberal Party was re-elected with a sweeping majority. The womenfolk of Foxton talked about it all through the lead-up to Christmas.
With five children, Christmas was a noisy and active time, with much laughter and singing, and an overabundance of food. Emma blossomed. Unaware of looming tragedy, she revelled in the endless visiting to be done and delighted in the numerous games the children played with friends and neighbours. It was a time for worship, a time for celebration and a time for reflection, when Daniel and his mates could meet down the pub, discuss the old year and speculate on what the New Year might bring.
1894
Telegrams were still a rare occurrence, but a few days into the new year of 1894 Daniel stood with the latest one in his hands, wondering what dread news this one was bringing. He could see by the look on Emma’s face that she feared the message in the small, folded piece of paper.
“Who now?” she whispered, her face drained of all colour.
“Your father.” Daniel’s heart was beating in his throat.
Her sharp intake of breath had Daniel at her side in two strides but she was rigid and unbending, holding herself as stiff as ice. “Tell me.”
“He died on Christmas Day. They buried him in the Terrace End cemetery.” Daniel put his arm around her shoulder.
“When?” Her eyes were bright, and Daniel could see anger simmering beneath.
“Doesn’t say. I would guess just a few days later.”
“And she took this long to tell me? I hate her. Hate her.” Emma shook his arm off and started pacing the kitchen floor, repeating the mantra with every turn.
Daniel waited for the tears, for the expressions of regret, guilt and remorse but none came. Her anger was directed at her stepmother for not informing her. Her brother, Henry, had sent the news and better late than not at all, in his opinion, but now wasn’t the time to tell her that.
He put the kettle on to boil and set the teapot to warm. “Sit down, my love, and let’s talk about this.”
“Not now. I need to think.” The kitchen was barely big enough to contain her anger and grief.
“About what?”
“How I feel.” Emma continued her pacing, her eyes focused on some distant, unseen spot.
“So, how do you think you feel?” Daniel urged her to talk.
“Empty. I don’t know. I feel the death of my father should have a great impact on me. I’ve lost someone, haven’t I? So why don’t I feel it?” Her eyes blazed as she beat her fists against her thighs in frustration.
“Perhaps because you said your goodbyes to him many years ago,” Daniel offered as a suggestion he hoped might cool her anger.
The kettle whistled in the background. He lifted it off the flame and poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the brown earthenware pot. Slipping Emma’s crocheted tea cosy over the pot, he took two mugs from the dresser and poured the tea, haphazardly adding milk and sugar, spilling as much as he used. He took Emma by the shoulders and led her to the chair, coaxing her to sit down before he placed the mug in her hand.
“Ja. I think you are right, ja.” In times of stress Emma’s accent reverted and she spoke without thinking. “I did say my goodbyes to him many years ago. He ceased being a father to me then. He is like another person, someone I once knew. He has died. I feel sad for him – for those who might still love him, as I would for any other friend – but I feel no loss for myself.”
Watching her sip her tea, Daniel sighed in relief. He didn’t know what he would have done had she lost her way as she had when her mother died or if she had cried and ranted as she did when Maisy had passed away a couple of years ago. Called for the faithful Annie again, even though she was now getting too old to be the regular visitor she had been. These days, Emma visited her.
Seeing the glazed expression in her eyes, he nudged her back to reality. “How old would your father have been?”
“What? Did you ask something?” Emma looked at him.
“How old was your father?”
“I don’t know for certain.” Emma thought back for a moment or two. “I think forty he say on the ship’s papers when we come here.”
“When was that again?”
“1875, I think.” Emma did some quick calculations. “My goodness. Eighteen years ago.”
“So that would make him fifty-eight. That’s rather young. The wet winter must have taken its toll on him.”
“Ja. Ja. True. What will happen to them now with just her to care for them?” Emma had never forgiven her father for marrying again and often spoke scathingly of her stepmother.
“Who are you talking about?”
“My little brother and sister, of course. Who else?”
“But they are not little any more,” corrected Daniel. “They are adults. Even Clara must be nearly twenty.”
“Oh. Ja. But Clara still living at home. She still is under her influence, and Fred, my little Fritz; he was always so gentle, so easily led. Did he ever grow up to be a strong man? I don’t think so.”
The clatter of boots on the gravel outside, and the high-pitched voices of children as the young ones arrived home from whatever adventure they had been on, relieved Daniel of the need to answer her question. Thankful, knowing what he did about Fred, he opened the door for the children and left Emma to see to them.
1895
“Charlie. Thank goodness you’re back,” said Emma.
With some difficulty, Daniel had managed to get the dray, heavily loaded with provisions, through the flooded tracks. “Hurry with those sandbags. The water is rising fast. Lizzie, unload the supplies quick as you can and put them up high. Hurry, girl, hurry.”
Emma swept the damp hair off her forehead with her arm and tucked her skirts up so she could move more easily. The April floods were always the worst, and this year was proving no exception. At least they took her mind off her worries about Clara and Fred for a while, especially Fred, who troubled her the most. He’d changed, and though she didn’t see him much, she was sure he was getting in with the wrong crowd since their father had died last year. Sometimes, seeing him was worse than not seeing him. He reminded her how much she missed her brothers and sisters, even after all these years.
The floodwater spread, moving closer to the house. It would soon reach the back-door stoop, but with the ground sloping away on that side, the two front steps would keep them safe for a while.
“The men will be here as soon as they can to help out,” Daniel grunted as he hefted a couple of bags in place behind the back door. “Charlie, unhitch the horse and put him in the high paddock. Then get back here, fast.”
“Yes, Pa,” Young Charlie whooped, sloshing through the water with glee. This was an adventure to him, but at least he could rely on the boy to make sure the animals were safe and the dray put away.
“Lizzie, grab those towels and help me jam them around this door.” Emma rolled and placed the towels as Daniel stacked more sandbags against the door.
The water continued to rise and despite their efforts, leaked through the barriers, slowly at first, but soon the kitchen floor was awash. With ankle-deep water running through the house, the family was forced to wait on the front steps until the rescue boat arrived.
“I can take you two at a time across to the other side,” said George as he feathered the oar to hold the canoe steady.
“Can you manage Emma and the two little ones first?” asked Daniel.
“Should be all right, as long as they sit still.” George edged the boat closer.
“Do you hear that, Henry? Clara? You must sit still. It’s important.” Daniel knelt to his two youngest, giving them encouragement. “Ready, Emma?” Taking her hand he guided her into the boat.
“Careful as you go,” said George. “Step into the middle here and sit down there, missus. That’s right, balance your weight for me. Now, Charlie, can you pass the little ones. Put them on either side. Hold on tight.”
“Righto, George, all settled. Off you go. Come back for Lizzie and William next. Young Charlie and I will make sure the place is as secure as it can be. We’ll be your last load.”
George tipped his hat and took up the oars. With strong, even strokes he soon had them across the river and setting up camp in an old house near the flax mill, where they could stay until the flood receded.
To their surprise they were able to return to the house the next morning. Daniel had taken the boys away to check the paddocks and stock while Emma set about the clean-up. The furniture was taken outside for cleaning, while she, with mop and bucket, tackled the mud that lay on the floors. She’d long since decided getting Lizzie to look after the little ones while she did the work herself was easier than anything else. In her frame of mind, she was better left to get on with things anyway.
* * *
The year had not been a good one, one way or another. Daniel worried every time he picked up the paper. First, there was that nasty business about that woman, Minnie Dean, who’d killed those children. Made his skin creep thinking about what she’d done.
Emma often spoke of it. “I can’t understand it, Charlie, I really can’t. How a woman can do that to children is beyond me.”
“But they weren’t hers, Emma. They were waifs and strays that other women had wanted to get rid of, so you could blame their real mothers as much,” said Daniel.
“I know that, but she offered to take them in ...”
“For payment,” Daniel reminded her.
“Yes, but she was supposed to put them out for adoption. To some loving family who wanted them.”
Daniel considered she was being rather naive in her assessment of any man wanting someone else’s child, but held his peace.
“I’m glad they’ve caught her. What will happen to her, do you think?”
“The papers are talking about hanging,” he said, folding the paper and putting it out of sight. “Whether they will or not, what with her being a woman ... we’ll see.”
“I don’t hold with killing, as you know, but she deserves it for what she did.”
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Keen to read up about Minnie Dean, who had been hanged in August, Emma had started to read the paper over his shoulder. Daniel was glad he was on his own the day her brother Fred’s name appeared in the papers. Daniel had managed to hide the first report back in May, but he didn’t like his chances of hiding it a second time. He’d said nothing to her about Fred so far, but as the months went by reporters updated the situation.
Why is the news about the Fohrmann family always bad news? Hasn’t she had enough?
Emma had been right with her prediction that her brother Fred would get into trouble after their father died. It had taken two years but here he was, along with the two Lukaschewski brothers, up before the Supreme Court in New Plymouth on several counts of sheep stealing.
This time when Daniel opened the paper, the verdict had been given. “Silly bugger,” he muttered. With a sigh he folded the paper and put it away. He would have to talk to Emma now.
Looking out the window he could see her hanging out the washing, her stomach big with child, their sixth one, due in January. Lizzie, now thirteen, was helping, trying to ease her mother’s burden.
She’s a good girl, our Lizzie. Maybe I should do something nice for Emma. Won’t soften the news, but at least it’s something I could do.
“Emma,” he called, making up his mind. “How about we take the train into Palmerston North today? I think it’s time you had those new boots you were talking about.”
“Why, Charlie! That would be wonderful. But I could get them from the general store.”
“No,” he replied. “We’ll make a trip of it and have some time to ourselves.”
“How thoughtful of you. Are you sure we can afford it?”
“Of course we can. I have said so, haven’t I? Now get your hat and shawl, and let’s be going.” He checked his pocket watch. “There’s just enough time if you hurry.”
“What about the chores? And the children?” asked Emma, taking her apron off as she came into the house.
“Stop making excuses and come along or I’ll change my mind.”
Standing on the stoop, Daniel shouted across the paddock. “Charlie. You come here now.”
The boy came bounding across the long grass.
“I wish he’d come that quick when I call him,” Emma commented.
Daniel ignored her and addressed the children. “Your mother and I are going into Palmerston North for the day. Lizzie, you are old enough now to take responsibility, so look after Clara, watch Henry doesn’t get into trouble and see to some of your mother’s work. We’ll be home for our supper. Charlie! Don’t get up to mischief, and don’t do anything silly. Watch William and help Lizzie look after the younger ones, and remember to do your chores. I want the horse and house cow moved to the lower paddock, remember?”
“Aw. Why can’t we come too?” whined Young Charlie.
“Because I said so. Now get away with you.”
The train arrived in Palmerston North shortly before noon. Daniel managed to avoid the subject uppermost in his mind during the journey – he considered the noise and proximity of other people unsuitable for that discussion.
“Let’s go get ourselves a cup of tea and some sandwiches at those new tearooms before we go to the boot shop.”
“That would be nice, Charlie. If that’s what you want to do.” Daniel could see Emma looking at him quizzically. I can’t fool her. She knows me too well. She’ll be wondering why?
“Righto, then. Come along,” he said as he proffered his arm and led her down the street. He was determined to make Emma’s day a good one and using his best manners would help. He hoped there would be a quiet table where they could talk.
Daniel could see he was in luck as soon as they entered the tearooms and he steered Emma to a quiet booth in the far corner. He rested his hat on the seat beside him and ordered high tea for two from the waitress. While they waited, he tried making small talk about the place.
“What’s wrong, Charlie?” asked Emma. “I know there’s something. You’ve been acting strangely all morning.”
The arrival of the three-tiered stand of tiny sandwiches, delicate cakes and fresh scones momentarily prevented Daniel answering. Emma poured the tea and handed him a cup that looked so delicate he thought it would break merely by him picking it up. He watched Emma as she selected items from the stand and put them on a plate in front of him. His large, rough hands were not built to handle things so small.
“This is not like you, Charlie,” persisted Emma. “You are looking very much out of place. Won’t you please tell me what is going on?”
Daniel’s eyes followed Emma, who was enjoying the moment. She ate one sandwich and then another before taking a cake.
With a deep sigh, Daniel resigned himself to his task. “You are right, my Emma. I do feel out of place, but I wanted to give you a nice day out.”
“And I appreciate it. But why?”
“Because I have some news and I don’t think you’ll be happy about it.”
Emma lowered her cup to the saucer. “Eat first, then tell me.” Her expression said she was expecting bad news.
He swallowed the tiny sandwiches and cakes in one bite, wrapped his hand around the teacup ignoring the handle and drained it. “It’s about Fred,” he began, as she sat silent and passive, eyes lowered. “He’s been caught sheep stealing.”
Emma’s eyes flashed, bright, wide. She stared at Daniel with shock. “What? Stupid boy!”
“The papers say him and the two Lukaschewski brothers ...”
“I knew they’d have something to do with it.” Emma was still vehemently opposed to her stepfamily.
“Fred’s been charged with the stealing of over 300 sheep from the Wilson property at Mt Stewart.”
“That’s near Bulls,” Emma said. “I remember. But I thought he was in Taranaki.” She paused, thinking. “Oh, never mind. Go on.”
“He weren’t being too clever about it, either. The papers say the sheep were shipped by train to Kakaramea and offered for sale by a man giving the name of Fohrmann. Now, that is stupid. Rudolph Lukaschewski was also charged with horse stealing and his brother Frank with sheep stealing.”
“I don’t care about them. Serves them right. What’s to happen to Fred?”
Preparing himself for her reaction, he took a deep breath before looking her in the face. “Three years hard labour.”
Emma sat silent as she digested this shocking piece of information. Daniel watched the expressions fleeting across her face, waiting for her to say something.
“Is this my fault? Is this because I left him?” Her voice was plaintive and remorseful.
“What are you talking about, woman?” Daniel exploded but lowered his voice to a whisper when he remembered where they were. “Are you suggesting this wouldn’t have happened if you had not had Lizzie, Charlie and all the others, not been thrown out by your father, not been married to me? That’s all nonsense and you know it.”
“No, not exactly. But I could have done more to help if I had not been so far away.”
“It happened, and nothing you could have done would have changed anything. Could you have prevented your mother dying or your father remarrying? Or his death, for that matter? Could you?” demanded Daniel.
“No,” she answered in a whisper.
“It was those things that made the difference to Fred, not you.”
“But ...”
“No buts. You have that next one in your belly to think about. Fred is the master of his own destiny. Think of yourself for once.”
“Yes, Charlie. All right.” Pausing, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “We aren’t legally wed, you know.”
The waitress arrived at that moment to clear the table. Daniel sat stunned by this obvious statement while Emma chatted to the waitress. She was right. They had never got married, not properly. They had simply become a married couple by sharing everything: the hard work, the sorrows, the hardships, the fun, the laughter – the love.
“Will that be all, sir?” asked the waitress, interrupting Daniel’s thoughts.
“Yes. Thank you,” he said, reaching into his pocket to hand her some coins.
“Let’s walk, Emma. It’s time to get you those boots.”
