Binda put a hand on his shoulder. “There is more. Some others went to help but they were trampled and pushed about by the men on horses. Another cousin, Muta, threw his spear. It hit one of the men on the horse. Someone fired at Muta just as the rest of us got there. Muta fell and there was much shouting and confusion. Jundala got pinned between a horse and a tree. The horse trod on her foot. Prosser left with his man pierced by the spear and the rest driving his sheep.” Binda shook his head slowly, his deep brown eyes full of sorrow. “It has come to this, a death and injuries. Very bad.”
“We should go to the constable.” Joseph’s father put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
Joseph shook it off. “They will take Prosser’s side.”
“But a man is dead.” Thomas’s face was creased in concern.
“A black man.” Binda’s voice was low.
Joseph turned to his friend. “I will have it out with Prosser.”
“No, my friend.” Binda shook his head, just once.
“We can’t let him get away with this.” Joseph felt the rage surge in him again. It was good to feel something other than the wretched sorrow that had enveloped him for months. He felt alive again, with purpose.
“Jundala’s family must move away.” Binda’s voice was deep with sorrow.
“This is my land.” Joseph slapped his hand against his leg.
Jundala’s crying ceased. In the silence she lifted her head. It was rare for her to make eye contact but her look was defiant and bored right through him.
“You know your family is welcome to stay.” Joseph stumbled over his words. Jundala’s people had lived here long before any white man had laid claim to the land. “They are not all responsible for one man’s foolishness.”
“You and I both know Prosser won’t see it that way,” Binda said.
Joseph glared at his friend. “They can stay. I will protect them.”
“No.” Once more Binda gave only one shake of his head. “It’s nearly time for them to move on to their summer camp. They will set off after the burial ceremony. Jundala will go with them. She will return with the next moon.”
“Binda’s right, son.” This time Thomas’s hand on his shoulder was supportive. “You can’t be here all the time. Best the natives move away for a while until everything calms down.”
The fight went out of Joseph as quickly as it had come. His father’s reasoning made sense. He couldn’t even look after his own family, how did he think he could safeguard Jundala’s?
Binda nodded, took Jundala by the elbow and together they moved on in silence. Joseph and Thomas returned to a terrified Joe who was still minding their horses. They all went back to the native camp where there was plenty to do patching wounds. Joseph walked amongst the injured. Some looked up at him with sadness, others with anger. The sad wailing of the women continued in the background.
Muta had been lucky. The bullet had travelled between his arm and his chest, ripping away flesh but missing anything vital and no broken bones. Jundala would have a sore foot for a while and several other family members nursed injuries.
Binda reassured Joseph there was nothing more he could do now but to leave the family to their sorry business.
It was dark by the time they reached the Smith’s Ridge homestead. After all they’d been through Thomas longed for a cup of tea and his bed but all was not quiet. Light poured from the front windows, the curtains still open. Robert’s crying was interspersed by squeals from Esther and loud banging.
“What the devil?” Joseph muttered as he strode in the back door and crossed the kitchen to the living-room door.
Thomas followed his son and they both stopped at the sight before them. William was pacing the floor with Robert, Violet was sitting by the fire sobbing and Esther was on the table clutching a pot and a wooden spoon. Mary was desperately trying to get hold of her arm.
“Father.” William was the first to notice them.
Distracted, Esther stopped her dance along the tabletop long enough for Mary to catch her. The little girl let out a piercing scream.
“Enough.” Joseph’s command brought silence. “You should all be in bed. Girls, go with Mary.”
Esther made a sound of protest.
“Now!” Joseph’s bellow even made Thomas flinch.
Violet’s lip wobbled at the tone of her father’s voice; the same tone miraculously silenced Esther. Robert began to whimper. Joseph crossed to William and took the little boy from him as Mary ushered the girls out to their bedroom.
“What happened, Father?” William stood his ground.
“I said get to bed.”
William held his father’s look for a few seconds then turned and left the room. Thomas saw the defiant look on his young face. Joseph paced up and back in front of the fire, jiggling Robert in his arms. Once again Thomas’s heart ached for his son and his family.
“You need help with the children, Joseph.”
“I have help.”
“It’s too much to expect of Mary. She’s little more than a child herself.”
Joseph stopped his pacing. “What else can I do? My wife is dead.” His words came out in a bitter rush. Robert started crying again. Joseph spun on his heel and went back to his pacing.
Thomas sighed. He went to the kitchen, added wood to the fire and looked around for something to eat. By the looks of the plates and scattered food, Mary had done her best to feed the children. The girl could be no more than thirteen and now that Jundala would be away it was too much to expect her to manage the house and the children.
By the time the kettle had boiled, Thomas had stacked up the plates and put some cheese between rough slices of bread. He poured two mugs of tea and carried them in to the front room with the food. Joseph sat in front of the fire, a sleeping Robert curled in a blanket at his feet.
Joseph took the offered sustenance with a grateful nod. Thomas sat beside him. They chewed the dry bread in silence and washed it down with the tea.
Finally Thomas spoke. “I’ve been thinking.”
Joseph continued to stare at the fire.
“Why don’t I take the girls home with me for a while?”
Joseph turned his weary gaze to Thomas. “You and mother have enough to do.”
“I’ll admit your mother has been very sick but she’s recovered now and Eliza would help. Her children are older and would entertain the girls.”
They both looked down at a murmur from Robert. He stretched one small arm into the air then rolled over and snuggled back into the blanket.
“I am sure Mary could manage Robert,” Thomas continued. “And William is capable of helping and looking after himself.”
Joseph gripped his hands together. “Clara wouldn’t want me to give up the children.”
“You’re not giving them up, son. You could all do with some respite. Once things have settled down and Jundala’s back we can decide what to do for the future.”
“The children are all I have now.”
“You’re wrong. You’ve still got your mother and me. We’re your family and we can help. I see out in the kitchen you’ve had a letter from Ellen. You know your sister loves you. It breaks our hearts to see you all hurting so much.”
Joseph leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
Once more Thomas felt so useless in the face of his son’s despair. He reached over and placed a gentle hand on Joseph’s back. “Let us help you.”
Mary came into the room. “Little ones all asleep now, Mr Joe.”
Joseph lifted his head to look at her.
“Want me to put little Robbie in his bed now?”
Joseph drew in a deep breath then unfolded himself from his chair and stood to one side. He sighed. “Yes, thank you, Mary. Then you go to bed. I’ll watch the children tonight.”
Once Mary had left with Robert cuddled in her arms Joseph crossed to the dresser in the corner and opened the door. He lifted out a small silver flask and ra
ised it towards his father. “Fancy a nip?”
Thomas was shocked. He had no idea Joseph drank. He shook his head. “Not for me.”
“Don’t look so worried.” Joseph flipped open the top and took a small sip. “Someone left it here after the funeral. I find it helps.” He took one more sip, replaced the lid and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Thomas didn’t like drink. He’d never enjoyed the few times he’d tried it and it had been the downfall of Lizzie’s brother, Isaac. Smith’s Ridge had been the place he’d learned to drink and it had all but consumed him. Thomas felt a prickle creep down his spine. He’d never been fond of the place since his past nemesis, Septimus Wiltshire, had taken it from the Smith family through treachery. Even though the Bakers had it back again Thomas always felt uneasy here.
“It’s still half full.” Joseph shook the flask then replaced it. “Sometimes I feel so cold inside. A nip of drink warms me.” He came back to the fire and sat beside Thomas. He stretched his hands towards the flames then turned to Thomas. “I agree you should take the girls for a while.”
“I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Just until I can work out what to do.”
“Of course.”
The sun was still a soft glow on the horizon when they loaded the cart the next morning. Little puffs of steam blew from their mouths in the crisp morning air. There was little talking, Esther the only one whose raised voice interrupted their activity. Thomas wanted to get his granddaughters back to Wildu Creek during daylight. He hoped he was doing the right thing. The girls had been excited at the prospect of a holiday with their grandparents but the forlorn sight of the remaining family was hard to bear.
Thomas shook his son’s hand then pulled him into a firm hug. Without a word he climbed onto the seat of the cart. Mary stood on the verandah holding Robert and William stood at the bottom of the steps. Joseph remained by the cart after making sure both girls were firmly tucked in. He gave them a wave. William was stiff, his arms at his sides, his young face serious.
Thomas wished he could stay or come back soon with Lizzie but that wasn’t an option. They were both needed at Wildu Creek. They would be shearing soon. He cast another look at Joseph. He still looked weary but his shoulders were back and he’d shaved. Seeing him with the flask of liquor last night still worried Thomas. It didn’t bother Thomas that people chose to drink the fiery liquid but he’d seen firsthand the damage too much of it could cause. Somehow one of them had to come back again soon, pay Joseph a visit and reassure him he was not alone.
“Father.” Violet let out a desperate call and reached out her arms.
Joseph leaned in and gave her a hug. “You look after Grandma for me.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her head. Thomas could see the water in his eyes.
“I will, Father.”
Violet’s little voice was so earnest it melted Thomas’s heart. He told himself once more he was doing the right thing.
“Be good Esther.” Joseph ruffled the little one’s flyaway hair.
Thomas lifted his hand in a wave then flicked the reins. Behind him, tucked into a blanket, Esther and Violet kept calling out farewells from the cart. The horse picked up speed and they were soon out of sight of the house. The sound of the horse’s hooves echoed back to them through the still morning air.
“Will we be there soon?” Esther called.
“It will take us most of the day, my darling girl,” Thomas said over his shoulder.
Esther complained.
“Let’s sing a song,” Violet’s sweet voice called. “‘Georgie Porgie’”
Thomas joined in and so did Esther. He shook his head. It would take a lot of singing to get them home.
Fifteen
Henry stomped his boots on the wooden verandah at the front of his shop. Dust rose around him. He had just had a most unsatisfactory discussion with his builder, Mr Sanders. The house had not progressed as quickly as Henry had hoped. Catherine and Charles Henry would be coming back to Hawker soon.
Henry said the name out loud. “Charles Henry.”
They had agreed on Henry as their son’s middle name but Henry would have preferred George as the first name; after George Charles Hawker for whom the town was named. Catherine’s grandfather had been Charles and she preferred it. Henry had acquiesced. It was a worthy name for his son.
Now all he wanted was a house that was also worthy. When his wife and child came home Henry wanted them to be able to move straight in to the new house. There was no longer any room at the shop with the telegraph in the room he used as an office and Malachi Hemming now occupying their old bedroom.
Henry took out his watch. He had been away from the shop longer than he’d anticipated. It was nearly closing time. He hoped Malachi had been busy and yet not so rushed that he couldn’t attend diligently to each customer.
Henry pushed open the door. At the sound of the bell Malachi looked up from the box of gloves he was packing. All else was quiet.
“I hope you’ve managed well without me, Malachi. I’ve been held up at the house. Mr Sanders is full of excuses at the lack of progress.”
“You have a visitor, Mr Wiltshire.”
Henry turned from closing the door to see Malachi nod in the direction of the tall seat they kept for customers by the counter. A woman slid from it and stood. Her clothes were plain and patched, her brown hair pulled into an untidy bun but she had an air of determination about her.
“Mrs Nixon, isn’t it?” Henry gave a small nod in her direction. She and her husband were another of the pathetic farmers he’d given credit to. No doubt she was here to ask for more.
“It is, Mr Wiltshire.” She drew herself up. In spite of her ragged appearance she had a shapely figure from what he could see, and hard work had not robbed her of her beauty yet. Henry judged her to be a few years his senior. “I had hoped to be able to speak with you …” She glanced in Malachi’s direction. “In private.”
“Of course, Mrs Nixon. Come through to the telegraph office.”
Henry stepped across the shop and behind the counter where he held the curtain open to allow Mrs Nixon to pass through. The fresh scent of lavender floated with her. At least she smelled clean, unlike some of the other poor folk who still sought credit from him.
The already crowded room was even more so now that they had a desk for the telegraph. Henry pulled out a chair from the table which took up the middle of his old living area. “Please sit, Mrs Nixon.”
He squeezed around to the chair opposite.
“Forgive our cramped conditions. I will soon be moving most of this furniture into my new house.” If it is ever finished, he thought to himself. “How can I assist you?”
Mrs Nixon lifted her head and fixed her chocolate-brown eyes on him. “It’s your new house I’ve come to see you about.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My husband has … we’ve walked off our land.”
Henry gripped the lapels of his jacket and prepared for another desperate tale. He wasn’t sure he needed any more land at the moment, given the lack of cropping prospects.
“Our neighbour has taken it over. My husband has found work further south trapping rabbits. Our neighbour is allowing me and the children to stay on in our house for a little longer but he wants it for his son who’s being married soon.”
Henry was tiring of the woman’s talk. She was no different to the many others who were leaving their land.
“I can’t see what this has to do with me, Mrs Nixon.”
“We owe you money, Mr Wiltshire. You’ve been very kind letting us have credit but we will have difficulty paying it back with the meagre amount my husband is earning now. I will have to move the children to Hawker, camp under canvas if we have to.”
Henry moved in his seat. The woman was becoming boring. “Come to the point, Mrs Nixon.”
“The point is, Mr Wiltshire, I hear your wife has had a baby and you are building her a fine new house
. I am offering my services as a domestic.”
Henry felt his jaw go slack. His budget had stretched to hire Mr Hemming and the house was costing more than he had bargained for. “I am not taking on a domestic. My wife manages our home.”
“She has a grand new house and a new baby now. And I’m sure a fine lady like Mrs Wiltshire will be wanting to entertain guests in the future. She will no doubt be busy with many things and would appreciate some help.” She pulled back her shoulders and jutted out her chin. “I could be that help. Before I married my husband I was a domestic for a lady in Adelaide. In spite of our current circumstances I managed to make our home most comfortable. I can sew and have always had favourable remarks of my cooking.”
Henry sat back in his chair. What the woman said was true. Catherine would be much busier. He still expected her to help with the shop on occasion and he had hopes they would entertain once the house was finished. He tapped his fingers together.
“What would you expect from this arrangement?”
“All I would ask in return is a small amount of money to feed my children. The rest of my wage would go to paying off the debt.”
Henry tried to think how much the Nixons owed. “That could take some time.”
“It could be a trial period. If once I’ve repaid the debt and you or Mrs Wiltshire decide you no longer require my services, I will leave without a fuss.” Once more she lifted her head high. “You have my word on that, Mr Wiltshire.”
Henry studied the woman. With her hair washed and brushed and a new dress she would look quite presentable. He stood up. “Let me think on it.”
For the first time since she’d begun speaking the confident look on her face faltered. “I have to find work, Mr Wiltshire. I have to feed my children.”
“I understand, Mrs Nixon.”
“Please call me Flora.”
Henry extended his arm towards the door. “Come and see me once you move to Hawker.”
“I will, Mr Wiltshire.”
Henry followed her beyond the curtain and watched as she left his shop. At the door she turned and gave him one more resolute glance and then she was gone. He crossed to the window and watched as she climbed up onto a small cart pulled by a draught horse.
Dust on the Horizon Page 14