“I do.” Binda’s lips turned up in a small grin. “I am my father’s disappointment, living in two worlds.” He lifted his hand and gripped Joseph’s shoulder. “You are a good man but you are only one person. Many others do not treat our people well. It is these people who will make life bad for you and Millie if you marry. You will not belong to them or to her family. No-one will want you.”
“I can’t turn off my love for Millie and I won’t let what others think dictate my life.”
Binda gripped his shoulder tighter. “I am proud to call you my brother.”
“So we will continue to be friends?” Joseph was still shocked by Binda’s outburst.
“We will. I want you to be sure you understand.” Once more Binda squeezed his shoulder. His dark eyes, barely a foot away from Joseph, stared steadily. “You will be treated like a black man if you marry my sister. You might not like it.”
Joseph and Millie had already had this conversation on several occasions. “We are not children, Binda.”
Binda’s hand fell away. “Your mind is made up and so is Millie’s.”
“You’ve spoken to her about our marriage?”
“Before she left.”
Joseph felt panic constrict his chest. Perhaps Binda had said something to make Millie stay with her family. “What did you say?”
“That I would talk to you. Try to make you see sense.”
“And what did she say?”
“She laughed. Said she would see me when she came back.”
Immediately Joseph’s gaze went to the top of the ridge. It was the direction Millie would return from.
“Why don’t you go home that way? She should be coming any time now. You might meet up with her. Unless our father has tied her to a tree and beaten her with a stick.”
Joseph looked back at his friend. There was a sparkle in Binda’s eyes.
“I am hoping that’s unlikely.”
“He is a determined man. I think that’s where Millie gets her strength from. For all his anger he would not hurt her but I think he will no longer want to see her again.”
Joseph felt bad about that.
Binda gave him a little push. “Go on. Millie was destined for a different life. It might as well be with a good man like you.”
Joseph gripped his friend’s hand. “Thank you. I will come back tomorrow with some supplies.”
“Tell Jundala where I am. She will want to come up here too.”
Joseph gave a nod and mounted his horse. He gave Binda a wave and moved down the gully away from the sheep that had been joined by two more. He circled through the bush and then followed the slate-covered ground that led to the top of the ridge. He took a deep breath. The heat of the day released the scents of the leaves and flowers. Above him the azure-blue sky was studded with small strips of wispy cloud and an eagle drifted on the currents.
He loved this country, and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else which made him think again of Binda’s words. Was Smith’s Ridge really stolen land? If that was the case every pastoral lease and farm was stolen. Even Hawker itself was standing on land that did not belong to those who built there. He shook his head. Not every inch could belong to the natives.
Joseph turned his horse’s nose east and followed the ridge top pondering the dilemma of it all. He stopped to wipe the sweat that trickled down his face and took another drink. Down in the small curve of the rocks below him a shadow moved. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, focusing on the spot, wondering if he might come across the wild dog.
The shape moved out from behind an arm of rock and strode to a large gum beside the creek. Joseph gaped. The shape was female and looked a lot like Millie but the thing that surprised him most was that even from his distance he could see she was naked. Her back was to him. He watched her pause on the edge of the creek and slip into the water.
Once more heat from within swept up Joseph’s chest and to his cheeks as he forced himself to look away. When he had kissed her goodbye a week ago she had been wearing her favourite green patterned skirt and light brown blouse. He slipped from his horse and led it quietly back along the ridge until he could find a place where he could get down to the flatter country. What was he to do? He had never seen Millie naked. Jundala and Gulda’s wife Daisy often wore little clothing when they worked outside but they were at least partially covered. From what he could see Millie was wearing not a stitch. Thank goodness her back had been to him.
Millie climbed out of the creek into a patch of sunshine and squeezed the water from her hair. It had only been a quick dip to wash away the smell of campfire and the layers of dust that coated her skin. She had enjoyed the temporary freedom of camp life with her family but it came with other restrictions. Her journey to see her family had not been an entirely happy one. When she’d first arrived she’d seen the hope in her father’s eyes that she had returned for good, hope that had turned to anger and then to sadness when she’d explained she was going to marry Joseph Baker. Yardu had ignored her from that moment.
Thankfully the rest of her family had not been so intolerant, especially the women. Her mother had been sad at first but when Millie had joined her aunties and cousins to gather berries and yams, they became immersed in the pleasure of their task and each other’s company. That was the only thing Millie missed, she thought, as she dragged her fingers through her wet hair then twisted it up onto her head; the company of the women. She had spent most of her time with them, listening to their stories, laughing at their jokes and sharing the burden of any sadness. At Smith’s Ridge, Jundala mostly worked outside. Mary was good company but so much younger. Millie missed the camaraderie of women.
She took her neatly folded clothes from the hole in a large gum tree where she’d left them, shook them out carefully and laid them out on a fallen trunk. Slowly she slipped each item on and turned her thoughts to Joseph Baker, the man she loved and would marry. She didn’t need other company. Joseph and his children were her family now and maybe there would be another baby one day. Millie did up the last of the buttons on her blouse, tucked the ends into her skirt and set off for the house that would soon be hers. Happiness made the journey short.
Joseph stopped his horse. It snorted and tossed its head. He decided to follow the track through the trees to the lower hill country and walk the horse in the hope Millie would catch him up. He couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the vision of her dark skin shining as the sun caught it before she slipped into the water. He enjoyed the memory of her long hair, loosely flowing in glossy waves over her shoulders, the nip of her waist, her slight hips.
He rubbed at his eyes trying to erase the image but he couldn’t and his body responded, out of his control, making it difficult to sit in the saddle.
“Hello.”
The sound of her voice so close startled him. He turned his head slowly, terrified she would still be naked and yet part of him hoping she was.
There stepping out of the bush was Millie, dressed again with her hair coiled up on her head, even darker now that it was wet. He got down carefully from the saddle.
“Hello to you.”
She flung herself into his arms. Joseph gave her a quick squeeze and let her go. His wayward body was already far too responsive to the sight of her.
“How are your family?” He chose his words carefully not wanting her to know he had spied on her.
“Well, except for father who must have an upset stomach. He rumbled and glared and groaned the whole time I was there.”
“Because of us?” Joseph smiled and took her hand as they fell into step together.
“Yes. I am a bad daughter.” Her dark brown eyes were liquid like a deep pool.
“I am sorry, Millie.”
She grimaced. “I wish he could be happy.”
“You didn’t expect him to be?”
“No but a small part of me hoped.” She put her other hand to her breast.
Joseph’s heart ached for her. He had to trust he would be enough
to keep her happy. After seeing the ease with which she shed her clothes and blended with the bush he wondered how comfortable it was for her to live with him.
“Are you sure you want to marry me, Millie?”
She stopped walking, making him stop behind her. The horse he was leading dutifully did the same.
“Yes.”
Once more Joseph felt as if he could fall into the depth of her dark brown eyes. Binda’s words came back to him. Millie was destined for a different life. “But you are giving up so much.”
“The land will always be in my heart but I like these clothes, a high roof over my head, cooking and sewing. They make me happy. I love my family but I also love yours. Robert’s hugs are so special, and Esther’s determination and Violet’s eagerness to please. William is so like you.” She reached a hand up and gently traced the curve of his cheek, over the rough stubble of his unshaven face to the tip of his chin. “And I love you.”
Joseph couldn’t help himself. He took her in his arms and kissed her, savouring the softness of her lips, the slightly salty taste of her mouth. He groaned and with two hands on her shoulders gently moved her away from him. He would not take advantage now.
“We should marry soon.” Millie’s eyes were wide, her breathing quick.
“Yes.” He nodded. Once more he took her hand, snatched up the reins of the ever-patient horse, and they set off again following the rough track through the low bush. “Binda is in agreement.”
“How did you make that happen?”
“We talked.”
“I am glad. He is my brother but also your friend. I don’t want to spoil that.”
“There is only my family to tell now,” Joseph said. “The children will be happy.”
“Except perhaps William?”
“William likes you very much.”
“I know but as a friend, not as your wife.”
“William will have to accept our marriage the same as everyone else.” Joseph looked at the bush ahead but he could feel Millie’s gaze upon him.
“I hope your parents understand better than mine.”
“They will be happy for us.” Joseph spoke with a conviction he wasn’t certain of. His parents got on well with the local natives and called them friends. He hoped they would be accepting of his planned marriage. He squeezed Millie’s hand and brought it to his lips.
“The children have missed you.”
She smiled back at him. “It will be good to get home.”
Twenty-eight
Harriet had asked Mrs Simpson to pack the seamstresses up thirty minutes early and usher them home. The first week of March had been excessively hot. It was stifling in their workroom and the lingering smell of their sweat had pervaded her house. They were on time with current orders and she thought the bonus of an early finish would be most welcome.
She closed the door on dusty O’Connell Street and made her way to the haberdashery counter where Miss Wicksteed was overseeing a junior who was serving a lady’s maid in need of items for her mistress. Thankfully the shop smelled sweet as ever. Harriet always kept it stocked with perfumed soaps and the scent lingered and disguised other less pleasant odours.
“All well here, Miss Wicksteed?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs Baker. Annie is doing a fine job.”
The maid nodded her agreement and Annie’s face broke into a proud smile. Harriet waited a moment, listening to their discussion over the merits of one cotton over another. The maid had black hair and her skin was dark but her features were not native, perhaps oriental. Harriet had made it very clear to her staff they were not to allow coloured people of any description in her shop but this woman appeared exotic and had been newly appointed to her position as lady’s maid to the mayor’s wife.
Harriet still felt prickles on the back of her neck when she thought of the evening nearly four years ago when a dark hand had slipped around her door and Jack Aldridge had paid her a visit. For a long time after she’d hardly ventured outside her premises alone. Then whole days and in more recent times whole weeks would go by and she wouldn’t think of him and yet the sight of the dark-haired woman had sent her recollecting again.
At the next counter another of her senior assistants was helping a well-dressed lady to adjust a new lace collar she was trying and along from them another assistant was showing a customer a range of hosiery.
Harriet’s silk day dress rustled softly as she walked. She glimpsed an image of the pale green fabric as she passed one of the small mirrors installed on the side wall. She was more than happy with the colour and the design was perfect for her petite figure. It had been quite some time since she’d allowed herself a new dress after being fleeced of so much of her hard-earned money by the vile Jack Aldridge.
She had lived life watching over her shoulder ever since but he’d never returned. It had taken a lot of hard work and careful money management to keep her business on track but she’d succeeded. She had a nice amount of money in the bank again and her nest egg which she wouldn’t touch unless there was absolutely no other way.
Harriet moved to the side counter and straightened some bolts of fabric. When she had first begun her dressmaking business in Port Augusta she had got into the habit of putting a small amount away as a safeguard. By then Septimus was a rare visitor to their home and while he usually made sure they were taken care of she couldn’t trust that he would always provide for her and Henry. The money had been useful setting them up in Adelaide after Septimus had died. Since then Harriet had stashed little bits away again as she could spare it. Slipped into a silk purse and tucked up in the springs of the sitting-room chair, it was her assurance of a comfortable future should something happen to her business.
She thought of Henry and the letter he had sent which awaited her in the kitchen. He didn’t write often but when he did he regaled her with stories of Hawker life, his business and the latest achievements of Charles Henry.
“Time to close up, Mrs Wiltshire?”
Harriet turned at Miss Wicksteed’s question. The customers had gone and the girls were gathering their bags and hats.
“Yes, Miss Wicksteed, thank you. I will lock the door behind you.”
She stood beside the door saying goodnight to each one. Annie was the last before Miss Wicksteed who brought up the rear.
“Well done today, Annie.” Harriet smiled and nodded. “You have the makings of a fine sales assistant.”
“Thank you, Mrs Wiltshire. I do enjoy working in your beautiful shop. Good night.”
Miss Wicksteed said her goodnights and Harriet was quick to shut the door behind her and push the bolts across. She felt uneasy tonight. She didn’t know why but it made her hurry through her tasks, tallying the day’s takings against the dockets and making sure all was ready for business the next day. Finally she went through the door into the workroom. Her leg was giving her pain today which didn’t help her mood. She shut the door behind her and cast a quick glance over the silent machines and cutting table. All was tidy but still odorous and warm. She hoped for a breeze overnight and she would rise early and open the windows to air the room before the girls arrived to start work. She stepped into her sitting room and shut the door on the stuffy workroom.
Her house was warm and airless. She decided to open her sitting-room window. It faced a narrow path at the side of the building and although there was no cool air yet it might be fresher at least. The kitchen was even warmer with the fire and she resented having to add a little more wood to boil her kettle. She picked up Henry’s letter and crossed to the back door. It was early evening and her kitchen only had a small window. It was hard to read in the gloom and she was not prepared to light a lantern yet. Keeping a fire going was bad enough.
She slid the letter from the envelope and opened the door. She stood just inside the frame where there was more light for reading while she waited for the kettle to boil. She fanned herself with the envelope and glanced over his opening words and his detailed description of Ch
arles’s new teeth. She stopped at the next paragraph. Catherine had miscarried again. She re-read his words. It was obvious he was sorely disappointed Charles was still to be an only child. Catherine was slow to recover this time and because the heat was still excessive she was going to take Charles and stay with her parents at Glenelg for a short holiday. She hoped to call on Harriet when she was feeling better.
Harriet looked at the date at the top of the letter then put it aside while she made a pot of tea. Poor Catherine, this was her second miscarriage. As a mother Harriet felt for her but she had warned Henry she didn’t think Catherine was a strong person. Harriet didn’t particularly want to see Catherine, they had so little in common, but she would be pleased to see her grandson again.
She set everything out on a small tray, added the letter and carried it out to the back of her house, into the tiny walled yard with a plum tree and a locked gate that led to the lane behind. There was some small movement of air at least. With the window and door open Harriet hoped some fresh air might be drawn through the house.
She set her tea tray down on the small table beside the chair she kept outside and settled herself. Her leg felt instantly better once she sat. Harriet poured a cup of tea and took up the letter again.
Henry wrote of the booming trade he was doing and urged her to send more of her fine linens as soon as she was able and any shawls and hats she could source. Harriet flicked her eyes over his details about the town. He was very effusive in his description of the opening of one of the two new flour mills in Hawker and also of the new stone railway station to replace the wooden building that had burned down. He attended every official function in Hawker and was full of praise for the town. Harriet held little hope that he might sell his business any time soon and return to Adelaide.
The last page was in the way of a request. The light was fading fast now and Harriet had to peer closely to make out his words. He needed capital to be able to take up a lease in the hill country near Hawker. All of the pastoral leases ran out this year and he was keen to take one up. Harriet shook her head. He was yet to repay her for her previous loans. He had built Catherine a fine house and was furnishing it lavishly by all accounts. He already had a smattering of smaller properties. Harriet worried he was overstretching himself but he seemed to think diversification was the way. His letter was most insistent. He wanted her help with money again.
Dust on the Horizon Page 26