“Clara is not up to the travel.” Baker began to pack his samples into his calico bag. “She’s been a little poorly of late. Suffers from headaches in this heat.”
Henry glanced at the cupboard beside his desk. This was his chance to ingratiate himself further with this welcome customer. “Perhaps I can offer some assistance.” He pulled a key on a chain from his pocket, unlocked the cabinet and withdrew a small glass bottle. “I have a remedy that I keep for special customers. This tonic is a certain cure for headache, loss of appetite and low spirits. It’s quite safe to take.”
Baker looked at the bottle Henry offered with interest.
Henry jiggled the brown vial. “Please take it, Joseph. My gift for your wife.”
Joseph accepted the bottle. “There’s not a lot of female company in our part of the world. Perhaps my wife will accompany me one day.”
“I’m sure Catherine would make her most welcome and be glad of the company. As you say, there are not a lot of … suitable companions here.”
Baker gave him an appraising look then pushed the small bottle into his pocket.
Henry studied Baker as he packed away the last of his samples. Joseph was obviously a hard worker with good prospects; a fine fellow to have on-side. He was tall like Henry and despite his work clothes he had a fine air about him, belying an inner strength. A small battered leather pouch that had been in the wool bag still sat to one side of the table. As Joseph picked it up, it fell apart in his hand and a rock landed on the table. The stone had many sides and looked rough and dirty but where the sunlight reached it from the window it sparkled.
“That looks unusual.” Henry reached for the stone but Joseph snatched it up.
“It needs a new bag.”
“Maybe we have something suitable in the shop.”
Henry turned to lead the way out. What he saw when he pulled back the curtain made him forget his manners completely, along with any thought of the fine leather pouches he’d recently stocked. He let the heavy fabric drop behind him to shield Baker as he hurried forward.
“What are you doing, Catherine?” he snapped. The scene before him was scandalous and his wife appeared happy to be a part of it. Henry clenched his fists as he strode around the counter.
Catherine lowered the little girl she’d been holding to the floor. The child looked ridiculous in a straw hat that was too big and had been tied down with a length of ribbon. There were more children scattered around the room and he thought they looked a lot like the collection he’d seen pour out of the wagon earlier today. They all wore a hat from his shop except for the oldest native girl who was holding a roll of ribbon and they all had something in their mouths. Sweets, he presumed. There were several jars on the counter with their lids off.
“What are these vagabonds doing here?” Henry’s voice was a low growl and he whipped the ribbon from the black girl’s hands and the hat from the head of the black boy beside her.
Catherine crossed quickly to his side. “Their father wants them to have hats, dearest, and a few other items.”
A movement across the room drew Henry’s look from his wife’s worried smile. He gasped. There by the door stood the native, surrounded by neatly stacked items from the shop. So he was the father. What would Harriet say, or even Catherine’s parents, if they knew he was allowing her to mix with natives?
Henry could feel throbbing in his temple. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. Outside the late-afternoon sun beat down on a clear still day, but inside the heat was oppressive. “Who’s paying for all this?” he growled.
“I am.”
They all turned to look at Joseph Baker. He had come from the other room and was now standing tall behind the counter as if he owned the place.
“I believe the business we’ve done today will more than cover any items my family needs, Mr Wiltshire.”
Henry noted the formal use of his name. When he’d shaken hands with Joseph Baker ten minutes ago they’d been on first name terms.
“Your family?” Henry looked from the other man’s unreadable expression to the children scattered around the shop then back at the tall man he’d just done business with. “I don’t understand …” He couldn’t equate the tidy-looking man with the dusty ruffian he’d seen by the wagon earlier today but now that he thought about it they were both extremely tall and, if he looked closely, Joseph Baker’s clothes did have a well-worn appearance.
“There’s nothing for you to understand, Mr Wiltshire … other than you have customers.” Joseph looked past Henry. “Did you pick a hat for me, son?”
“Yes, father.” The young fair-haired boy stepped carefully past Henry and offered up a hat he’d been holding behind his back.
Joseph pressed one of Henry’s best broad-brimmed felt hats onto his head.
“Perfect,” he said and moved around the counter to the shop side which was suddenly getting very full.
Henry cleared his throat to speak but Joseph cut him off.
“I am sure your wife has made a note of our purchases.” He lifted his hat and smiled widely at Catherine.
Henry felt the throb again in his temple as he saw the return smile and flush of his wife’s cheeks.
“I have, Mr Baker,” she said.
Once again Baker turned to Henry. His lips were curved up in a smile but his blue eyes showed no amusement. “Then you can deduct them from what you owe me.” He turned his back on Henry. “Come on everyone, we have to get this loaded. There’s a long journey ahead of us.”
Henry stepped forward then stepped back. He wasn’t sure whether to offer his assistance or not. In the end he took up a position by the door so he could be sure of what they took from his shop. He had thought the mild-mannered Joseph Baker to be someone he could perhaps include one day as a friend. During their business discussions he’d learned only a little about the man who didn’t have as much front and swagger as the previous two pastoralists he’d dealt with. They’d been only too happy to tell Henry how well they were doing. Baker, on the other hand, had been much more circumspect. He and his father ran sheep properties two days’ wagon ride from Hawker and sounded as if they had adapted their methods to survive the harsh conditions of the Flinders Ranges.
Now, as Henry watched the disparate group of men and children load their wagon with food and goods, he realised that he must have mistaken Baker’s aloofness for shame. After all, no decent man would include the natives and bring them in to town as if they were his family. Henry was appalled to think he’d entertained the notion of having Catherine befriend Baker’s wife. Now he was thankful that Mrs Baker had remained on the property with their youngest child. Was it black or white he wondered?
The last of the items were loaded and Baker called from the wagon.
“I’ll be back in a few months for the rest of my money.”
Henry scowled as the man gave him barely a nod then urged his horses forward. A lot could happen in a few months. Henry watched the wagon rumble away, loaded with the ragtag rabble of humanity perched amongst his goods. He doubted Baker was the astute businessman Henry had first thought him to be. And there was no way Henry would allow him to bring those black people into his shop again. Deduct it from what he was owed indeed. By the time Joseph Baker came back he would find dealings would be very different.
The bell gave a harsh jingle over his head as Henry shut the door. He turned to find no sign of Catherine. The curtain to the parlour remained perfectly still.
Three
William Baker creased his young face into a frown and peered back along the street from under the brim of his new hat. He was perched on the back of the load as the wagon rolled and lurched away from the shop with the strange man. It was a warm day and he was thankful for his new hat. He only wished he could have had the new leather belt to replace the rope that held up his trousers. He’d seen it hanging in the shop, a deep rich brown with a fine buckle, but his father had been in such a rush to get away William hadn’t
been able to show him.
Gradually the buildings grew smaller and were finally lost from his sight amongst the trees. This was only the third time William could remember coming to town and the excitement he had felt was replaced by a niggling disquiet. That man at the shop had been angry about something. He’d treated them as if they were thieves but William knew his father had money to pay for what they’d taken.
William didn’t know what to make of it but he had the distinct impression it was something to do with Mary. It couldn’t be her brother, Joe. He was so quiet and never did a thing wrong but William had seen the dislike on the man’s face when he’d snatched the roll of ribbon from Mary’s hands. Not that it bothered William that much. He wasn’t fond of Mary either. She was six years his senior and often given the task of looking after the children. William was the oldest of his family and didn’t like being bossed by Mary, but what could she have done to make the man at the Hawker shop dislike her and then spread his disdain to all of them?
William turned to look at her, tucked in behind the seat with his little sisters, Violet and Esther, one under each of her arms. She cared for them as if they were her own children which he knew was a big help to his mother who had his baby brother to look after as well as all the cooking and cleaning and sewing and sometimes even helping his father with the sheep. At that moment Mary lifted her eyes from the children to him. She held his gaze for an instant then lowered her head as Violet babbled something. William continued to watch her. Something had happened in Hawker that he didn’t understand but he was determined to work it out.
Joseph raised his head from the bag he’d folded into a pillow as the smell of smoke wafted over him. Binda was at the fire and something was cooking. The sun was a golden glow along the edge of the ranges and the early morning sky a soft blue. Not a breath of wind to ruffle the leaves of the tall gums or the smaller blue bush they’d camped amongst. Joseph climbed out of his swag and stretched. He’d obviously fallen into a deep sleep and remained in the same position. He felt stiff and sore as if he’d been a week on a horse. There was no movement from the wagon where the children were sleeping under canvas, the girls amongst the supplies on the tray and the boys on the ground below. He joined Binda at the campfire.
“You getting old.” Binda passed him a mug of black tea. “Sleeping in.”
“I was tired.”
“That’s what you get, sitting up late, thinking too much.”
Joseph glanced at the man beside him. Binda poked at the fire. He rarely stared anyone in the face but there was little the native didn’t see. Joseph took a sip of the warm tea and wrapped his fingers around the tin cup. He’d sat up well after the children had been tucked under their blankets and he’d heard Binda’s snores from beyond the wagon. Yesterday’s events had given him much to think about.
After they’d left Hawker they’d made good time to the first creek. Their second wagon, the one with the bullocks they’d used to cart the wool to the railway station, waited where they’d left it the day before. Then the two men had taken a wagon each like they had on the way in to town. Binda drove the smaller wagon loaded with goods and children, pulled by the horses. He didn’t like horses but he liked bullocks even less. They’d made it to the next creek just before dark and had set up their makeshift camp. The two little girls had been full of excitement at all they’d seen on their first trip to town but the rest of them, children and men, had gone about their jobs with little conversation, so different from their excitement on the night before they got to Hawker.
“Maybe my family should stay home next time you go to town.”
Binda’s words echoed the sadness Joseph was feeling. His friend was wearing trousers but his scarred chest was bare. Joseph knew he would have only just pulled the pants on. Binda would have been as good as naked when he hunted the small animal that was cooking over the fire.
Joseph stared into his cup hoping some wisdom would suddenly emerge from the murky liquid. “I’m sorry for what happened yesterday.”
“It was not your doing.”
Joseph looked up. “You should be able to go where you like without fear of persecution.”
“Some people are like that. I keep away from them. I think it is best we don’t come with you to town anymore.”
“It’s preposterous.” Joseph tossed the remains of his tea at the fire sending out a short hiss and a small billow of smoke.
“Hey you silly whitefella. Don’t go messing with my fire. Didn’t I teach you that lesson long ago?”
Joseph gave Binda a playful slap on the arm. “Yes, right after I scared your shiny black backside. You thought a white monster was going to eat you for dinner.”
“Some monster. You collapsed at my feet, weak as newborn joey. It took this hunter a lot of work to save your sorry life.”
“Hunter! The way you crashed through the trees you were never going to catch anything.”
“Except one crazy white boy.”
A small branch rolled from the fire sending up a crackle of sparks. Joseph leaned forward to push it back and his small leather pouch slipped from his pocket.
Binda nodded towards the tattered pouch. “You still carry the rock.”
Joseph picked it up and pushed it deep down into his trouser pocket. “My lucky charm. First I found this funny rock, then I found water, then I found you.”
Binda gave a soft snort. “Your memory’s not so good nowadays either.”
They both smiled at the recollection of their first meeting. Joseph had been only fifteen and almost lifeless by the waterhole he’d discovered in the gorge above Smith’s Ridge. Binda had thought he was dead and had come to claim him as some kind of trophy. He’d made so much noise it had roused Joseph who had managed to hide himself in the bushes.
Joseph laughed. “That was one terrified face you had when I came out of the bush.”
“Yes, you were so scary you fell at my feet.” Binda’s warm chuckle joined his.
Joseph stood and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was a good head taller than Binda, the sun-browned skin of his hand a stark contrast to the native’s glossy black skin.
“I’m sorry our friendship has caused you pain.”
“It is not only the white fellow who can’t see change. My father would have killed you that day, finished you off.”
Joseph remembered Yardu’s simmering anger like it was yesterday. Binda had carried him over his shoulders back to their camp and Yardu had waved a spear at Joseph’s half-alive form. Binda had defied his father, nursed Joseph back to life and taken him home to his grateful family at Wildu Creek a week later. Binda had been made so welcome he’d been a regular visitor until he’d eventually joined Joseph when he’d taken over neighbouring Smith’s Ridge.
“After meeting that bigot of a man, Wiltshire, I can see why your father might have wanted to kill me.” Joseph tapped the hard shell of the damper on the edge of the coals.
“You should make peace with that man.”
“Wiltshire? You are jesting, aren’t you? I’ll be back to collect my money. After that he can rot in hell before I darken his door again.”
“He is not a man to make an enemy of.”
Joseph was going to ask Binda what he meant but they were interrupted by a piercing wail. Esther was awake. She sat up from her bed on the wagon rubbing at her eyes, her short tufts of hair sticking out every which way.
Joseph strode over to her and plucked her up into the air. “Good morning, sunshine.”
Not to be deterred by her father’s bright mood, she scrunched her little face up tight and let out another wail. Groans came from the boys underneath the wagon.
“Hush, little one.” Joseph tried to soothe the child. He wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of urine.
Mary appeared at his side and reached for the little girl.
“Thank you, Mary.” He was happy to relinquish his daughter to Mary’s capable care. Esther was never a happy riser.
&nbs
p; Violet stirred and sat up. Although similar in looks she was the exact opposite in temperament to her little sister. Immediately her face, pink from sleep, lit up at the sight of her father. He lifted her from the covers and she reached her arms around his neck. He kissed her cheek. Esther’s wails could still be heard from the direction of the creek. While she was often full of complaints, Violet was the opposite: always smiling, happy with everyone and everything. The little girl cuddled her warm body against him.
At least her mother would be getting a break at home with only baby Robert to look after. He frowned at the thought of Clara. She hadn’t appeared to be very well the last few weeks. She’d reassured him she was in perfect health but she looked tired. More so than usual. He thought of the bottle of tonic Wiltshire had pushed on him. Joseph would happily have tossed it away but maybe it was just what Clara needed.
“Food’s ready.”
At Binda’s call the two young boys crawled out from under the wagon, jostling each other for first place. Mary came back with a cleaner, calmer Esther.
“Ladies first,” Joseph said, ruffling each boy’s head of hair as he passed. He noticed a scowl on William’s face as he watched Mary take enough meat and damper for herself and the two little girls.
Joseph sat Violet beside her on the ground and turned in time to see William push young Joe aside to reach for some food. The boys were a similar height even though Joe was two years older than William.
“I should go before you,” William growled.
“William.” The boy looked up at his father’s call. “Where are your manners? No need for pushing and shoving. There’s enough for everyone. Now you can wait until we’ve all taken some before you help yourself.”
William glared at his father but stepped back. Joe grinned and took a helping of the food. Joseph followed and insisted Binda do the same before William could take a share.
Joseph sat next to Binda. “Good food, thank you. We’re all grateful for your cooking skills.”
“Mary made the damper.” Binda nodded to his daughter who kept her head down, encouraging Esther and Violet to eat.
Dust on the Horizon Page 3