Dust on the Horizon

by Tricia Stringer

  He picked up the bottle in one hand and thumped the table with the other. The anger still simmered close to the surface no matter how hard he worked or how tired he felt.

  “Here, Mr Joe.” Mary put a plate on the table.

  He looked down at the cold mutton and pickles. He was no longer hungry. His eyes strayed to the cupboard where he kept the flask of liquor. Mary stood beside him, watching him.

  “Thank you Mary.” Joseph glanced up. “Where is yours?”

  “I’ll eat later, share with Robbie.” She stayed where she was.

  “Is there something else?”

  “We getting low on flour and sugar supplies, even tea. We went through a lot when Missum …” Mary’s voice trailed away and her eyes widened.

  Joseph nodded. “It’s all right Mary. I will have to make a trip to Hawker soon. Not long now till shearing.”

  “Okay Mr Joe.” She nodded and hurried from the room.

  The sound of horses brought Joseph quickly to his feet. Then he relaxed as he recognised William’s voice. They were back early. Joseph gripped the bottle tighter. That was a good thing. He would go to Hawker today, alone. Binda could stay at Smith’s Ridge with the children. There was plenty to be done in the shearing shed to keep them busy while Joseph was gone. He could pick up supplies and finally have it out with Henry Wiltshire. Tell him what his tonic did and stop him giving his evil potion to anyone else.

  Joseph strode through the house, purpose giving him strength. Mary had gone ahead of him. She was already outside greeting her father and William was walking the horses towards their yard but there was someone else with Binda. Joseph came to a stop at the gate. A young native woman wearing a white shirt neatly tucked in to her full skirt took her turn to hug Mary.

  Binda turned to meet Joseph, a look of uncertainty on his face. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve brought my sister Millaki to stay for a while. There’s been some … trouble.”

  Joseph studied the young woman. She gave him a wide smile and looked back at him with sparkling eyes. She wasn’t at all shy in his presence like Mary and Jundala.

  “You were a toddler the last time I saw you, Millie.”

  “Yes, I remember you, Joseph.” Her grin widened. “You could never say my name properly.”

  “Mr Joe.” Binda gave his sister a gruff look.

  “That’s all right, Binda. Mr Joe is for children. I am happy for your sister to call me Joseph. I’m glad you’re here. Mary says we’re low on supplies and with shearing not far away I am going to make a trip to town.” Joseph jerked his arm in the general direction of Hawker. The movement dislodged the tonic bottle from his jacket pocket and it fell at their feet. Joseph reached for it and shoved it back into his pocket. Binda watched him, a solemn look on his face.

  “Perhaps Millie can help Mary look after the boys while I’m gone,” Joseph said.

  “I don’t need anyone to look after me.” William had arrived back and made to push past his father.

  “Steady up, young man.” Joseph put a restraining arm on his shoulder. “I am sure you’re grateful for the food Mary prepares for you after a long day at work.”

  William scowled at Mary then gave his father a sharp nod.

  “Good. I’ll be gone a few days so you will continue to do your share.”

  “I could come with you.”

  “That could be a good idea.” Binda’s gaze locked with Joseph’s. “You haven’t been to town since … for a while. You should have company.”

  “No.” Joseph knew the bottle had made Binda suspicious of his sudden trip to Hawker. “I’ll be quicker on my own and William will be better use to you here preparing for shearing. As soon as I get back we will need to start bringing in the outer mobs of sheep to the home paddock. I’ll go and get the small cart ready. Mary can tell William what supplies we need and he can write them down.”

  “I can do it.” Millie gave Mary’s shoulders a squeeze and made for the gate. “I can read and write white man’s words very well.”

  Joseph stepped aside as they passed.

  Binda moved closer, his gaze following his sister and his daughter as they went into the house. “That’s part of the problem.”

  Joseph frowned at his friend.

  Binda shook his head. “It can wait until you come home. I will come and help you get ready.”

  They set off towards the little shed that housed the horse tack.

  “There’s something else.” Joseph kept his voice low. William was not far behind them. “Prosser was here. His son has died from the spear.”

  Binda paused mid stride. His eyes widened.

  “It’s all right for now. Although Prosser is irrational with grief.”

  Binda locked his gaze on Joseph. For a moment it felt as if his friend could see right into his soul. Joseph turned and kept walking. Binda stayed with him.

  “Jundala’s family are a long way away now.”

  Joseph nodded. “I’m glad. However I am concerned that in Prosser’s current state, any person with dark skin could be in danger. Part of the reason I’m going to Hawker is to speak to the constable. I want him to hear our side of what happened.”

  “Are you going to tell him it was Muta who threw the spear?”

  Joseph paused in front of the shed. “I can only tell him the circumstances and what I saw. Put our side of the story. If it hadn’t been for Prosser’s rough tactics Muta wouldn’t have thrown the spear.”

  “If Jundala’s cousin hadn’t stolen the sheep none of it would have happened.”

  “Maybe not, but I think Prosser is the kind of man who would always be looking to shift your people on.” Joseph put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Stay close to the women while I’m gone.”

  Binda gripped Joseph’s shoulder in return. “I will.”

  Before long Joseph was on the cart, Mary’s list of supplies tucked safely in his pocket as he waved his little family farewell. Millie held a fresh-faced Robert, bouncing him on her hip with Mary beside her. Binda and William stood further away, each watching him closely but not saying a word. He raised his arm in a final farewell, relieved he was on his way to confront Henry Wiltshire at last. The back of his neck prickled. He felt as if the eyes of those he’d left behind followed him even though the track soon wound him out of their sight.

  Seventeen

  The demanding cries of her baby forced Catherine’s eyelids open. She sat up from the chaise longue and looked around her. The book she’d started to read slid from her lap to the patterned fabric of the chair. The late October sun was streaming through the tall windows of the morning room. Her mother would not be pleased to see it had reached the intricate pattern of her Persian rug.

  Catherine rose and drew the dark velvet curtain enough to protect the rug from the sun but not enough to block the puffs of sea breeze from the open window. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air. How she missed living near the sea.

  Her father had purchased this land at Glenelg, separated from the beach by sand hills and bush, little more than ten years ago. Catherine had been just thirteen when the family had moved in to the beautiful two-storey home with its arched windows protected by grand verandahs and lacework balconies. Her mother had decorated it with all manner of fine furniture, rugs and artworks. The thing Catherine loved about it most was the five-minute stroll to Mosely Square with its kiosk and the jetty that stretched out into the ocean.

  The distant wails of her baby reached her ears. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the mantel clock just as the door swung open.

  “There you are my darling.” Her mother, Florence, stepped inside, the fabric of her silk taffeta day dress rustling as she moved. “I thought perhaps you’d be in the garden taking some fresh air. It’s such a beautiful day. Have you been reading?”

  Florence carried Charles Henry to her. Catherine could see one little fist had escaped his blanket and it waved angrily in the air. She put her hands to her breasts as she felt her milk flow at t
he sound of his cries.

  “Is he hungry again already?”

  Her mother jiggled the baby while Catherine untied the ribbons of her soft voile day gown. “He’s slept for two hours and then talked to his hands for at least one more.” Her mother kissed the baby’s forehead then handed him over. “You’re so lucky, Catherine. He’s a good feeder and a good sleeper and content in between.”

  Catherine offered Charles her breast. His cries ceased instantly, replaced by the funny little sounds he made as he sucked and swallowed. She gazed at him, taking in the tufts of dark hair peeping out from his bonnet and the soft pink skin of his little cheeks working hard to drain the milk. She bent to kiss the tiny fingers that gripped the flesh at her neck. He was perfect in every way and yet she felt so tired.

  “I thought you were going to wash and dress while he slept.” Her mother sat beside her gazing adoringly at her grandson.

  “All this feeding and changing and waking in the night makes me so tired, Mother.”

  “You’re lucky you have me and Mrs Phillips to help with him. It will be different once you go home.”

  Catherine looked up at her mother in alarm. “Henry won’t expect me until I can manage on my own. The new house will be so much bigger and Charles is so demanding.”

  “Surely Henry will hire someone to help you with the house?”

  “I don’t think so.” Catherine looked down at her baby again. She had no idea of their financial arrangements. Henry was usually very careful with what they spent. “He’s already had to take on Mr Hemming to help with the shop while I’ve been confined.”

  “You must ask Henry, my dear. You have your son to think of now.” Florence stroked her daughter’s hair. “Henry will have to see that you will need help at home.”

  “There are few people suitable …” Catherine’s voice trailed off as she thought of the tiny, dusty collection of rough buildings that made up the town where her husband waited for her return. She closed her eyes. Living in the comfort of her parents’ home by the sea at Glenelg it seemed a world away.

  There was a tap on the door and Mrs Phillips entered.

  “Excuse me, Mrs Hallet. A note has been delivered.”

  She crossed the room and handed Florence the note. Her sharp gaze swept over Catherine who had the baby over her shoulder patting his back. “Shall I take the dear little mite while you … to give you time to wash and dress for the day.”

  “Thank you Mrs Phillips.” Catherine handed Charles over and tugged her clothes back into place.

  “I’ll change the dear babe and keep him with me a while.”

  “You’d best get changed quickly, my dear.” Florence put down the note she’d just read. “Your mother-in-law intends to call on you at midday. She apologises for the short notice but she has some business at Glenelg.”

  “Oh bother.” Catherine fanned her face with her hand. “I’m not feeling like a visit from Harriet.”

  “She wants to fit in one more visit before you leave for Hawker.”

  Terror coursed through Catherine. “Leave?”

  “Tomorrow, my darling. You are supposed to catch the train tomorrow. Had you forgotten the date? You’ve already delayed your return home by a month.”

  Catherine’s mind was fudge. She had no idea what day it was let alone what date. Her days were filled with feeding Charles, spending time with her mother, enjoying the attention and the visits from her sisters and their children and delightful strolls to take tea at the kiosk. She had little need to know what day it was.

  “But I’m not ready, Mother. How will I manage?” Tears brimmed in Catherine’s eyes. “I can’t go back yet.”

  “There, there, my darling.” Florence pulled her into her arms. “Don’t get upset, you’ll turn your milk. Perhaps we could send Henry a telegraph. Say you need a little longer to recuperate.”

  “I can’t keep delaying … can I?”

  “You had a long, difficult birth. It takes time to get over that.”

  Catherine closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about the two days of agony she went through to deliver her precious baby. Charles was the most beautiful gift but she never wanted to endure that agony again. Her cheeks felt warm at the thought of her times in the marital bed with Henry. That would have to cease. There would be no more babies. She would put off her return to Hawker a little longer. Henry would have to understand.

  By midday Catherine had bathed and dressed. Her mother had brushed her long dark hair until it shone and then had helped her put it up in an elegant roll, leaving one curl to hang down over her shoulder. She wore her new pale pink linen dress, mercifully cooler than the fabrics of most of her other dresses. It was a princess line, the new fashion Harriet had told her about on her last visit. Catherine had chosen it because it was made without a waist. In spite of that, the skirt was fitted and required her to wear an all-in-one long-lined corset, something she had not missed during her confinement and the two months since. She twisted her head over her shoulder to take in the fabric frills that cascaded down the back of the dress; after so long in loose-fitting clothes she felt more shapely and pretty again. It gave her the confidence to face Harriet who always managed to make her feel anxious.

  The mantel clock had only just chimed twelve when Mrs Phillips knocked on the door and showed Harriet into the room.

  “My dear.” Harriet moved towards her, arms outstretched. “You are positively the picture of health. Motherhood most certainly suits you.” Harriet pulled Catherine into a loose hug then let her go and took her by the hand. “And I see you took my advice and had a dress made in the new princess style. It certainly suits you and makes the most of your womanly assets.”

  Catherine blushed. Henry’s mother was talking about her breasts. The new dress certainly showed off her shape although it had been such an imposition to wear a corset again.

  “Please have a seat, Mrs Wiltshire.” Catherine indicated the high-backed velvet chair but Harriet crossed to the chaise longue.

  “Would you care for some tea, Mrs Wiltshire?”

  Catherine and Harriet both turned to Mrs Phillips who was still standing just inside the door.

  “Not for me, thank you.” Harriet sat and patted the seat next to her.

  “Nor me, Mrs Phillips, thank you.” Catherine sat next to Harriet.

  “I can’t stay long but as I was in these parts I thought it too good an opportunity to see my grandson. Where is he?”

  “Mother will bring him down soon.”

  “I have left some parcels for you and Charles with Mrs Phillips.”

  “You spoil us, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  Harriet patted her hand. “Just some items of clothing I hope you’ll find useful in the warmer weather at Hawker.”

  Catherine didn’t want to think about the heat. It had been enough to endure the end of the summer when she’d first moved with Henry to Hawker. A full summer season was ahead of her, and how would she keep Charles cool? It was so much nicer in her parents’ home at Glenelg with its thick stone walls and high ceilings and windows that allowed the sea breeze to flow through. If the house was too hot some evenings they packed a blanket and a picnic and sat on the beach to eat.

  “Thank you.” Catherine resisted the urge to fan her face. Suddenly she felt very hot. There were no cooling breezes at Hawker.

  “I have one more thing for you.” Harriet reached into her purse and withdrew a small red velvet drawstring bag. “I think it’s time you wore this.”

  Catherine accepted the bag and opened it. She tipped it and a gold chain with a locket slipped into her hand. She recognised it as the one Harriet usually wore.

  “But this is yours, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  “It belonged to my husband’s mother. Now that you are Henry’s wife and have borne him a son I would like you to have it.”

  Catherine had always admired the delicate gold locket with its fine filigree and an intricate ‘H’ etched in its centre. “That’s so kind.” She lifte
d it to her neck.

  “Here, let me.”

  Catherine turned her back and lifted the long lock of hair from her neck so that Harriet could do up the clasp.

  “There.” Harriet reached forward and gently tapped the heart with her finger. “I never met my mother-in-law. Her name was Hester. I always felt happy to share her initial. Your maiden name was Hallet and of course you are married to Henry so the letter ‘H’ is still relevant.” Harriet’s finger lingered on the locket. “Keep it safe.”

  Catherine wondered at Harriet’s strange, almost fearful, look. “But of course I will.” She looked down. The heart sat just above the rise of her breasts. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. She’d always found Harriet rather prickly but it was a very kind thing to give something that was obviously so special to her.

  The door opened and Florence came in carrying Charles.

  “And here is my grandson.” Harriet stood up. “Hello, Florence.”

  “Good afternoon, Harriet. Would you like to hold him?”

  “Of course.”

  Harriet accepted the bundle of soft white fabric that enveloped the baby.

  “He’s grown so much since the christening.”

  “They do change so quickly.” Both grandmothers smiled down at Charles.

  Catherine felt the milk surge in her breasts. Oh Lord, she thought, she would have to undress to feed him. Why hadn’t she thought of that before she’d chosen to wear her new dress?

  Harriet crossed to the window where the partly drawn curtains allowed more light.

  “He is looking more and more like Henry. He has the same pointy nose.” She looked up and beamed at Catherine. “I’m so glad I got another opportunity to see you both before you go back to Hawker.”

  Catherine sent a worried look to her mother.

  “Their return may be delayed,” Florence said.

  “Really?” Harriet’s smile became a frown. “But Charles is over two months old. Henry will be desperate to meet his son.”

  “Of course, Harriet, but you are a woman and a mother, you understand how difficult bearing a child can be and how tiring. Catherine needs our care right now. She needs to be strong to return to her duties at Hawker.”