“At this hour?”
“I’m sure our custom will be welcome. The hotel at Edeowie has closed and I’ve heard more closures are likely. The publicans here won’t want to follow their fate.”
Henry turned back to his shop assistant. “Leave the rest, Mr Hemming. You can retire. I will come early in the morning and we will assess the damage in the daylight.”
“Very good, Mr Wiltshire.” Hemming came to bolt the door as Henry pulled it shut.
There was quite a crowd at the hotel, including the pious clerk who, by the look of him, must have decided to drink himself to inebriation while he awaited the end.
Prosser bought them a draught of whiskey and they found themselves a space in a corner away from the bar. He got straight to the point.
“Donovan’s been to see me about your man at Smith’s Ridge.”
Henry looked around but there was so much noise in the bar there was little chance of them being overheard. “What did he have to say?”
“Very little.” Prosser took a swig from his mug. “Apart from him being arrogant which rankles with Donovan, he says Aldridge mostly works hard, listens to Donovan’s opinion and doesn’t cause much trouble.”
Henry found it hard to believe that a man like Jack Aldridge would settle so easily to life at Smith’s Ridge but part of him was relieved. Jack continued to be out of sight while Henry worked on a way to be rid of the man for good.
“What does he do out there?”
“Works like I said. You implied he might be a bit shy of hard work but Donovan says he does his share. Drinks a bit, beats them at cards regularly and treats Donovan’s wife as if she’s his servant but in all he had nothing to report on Aldridge. You know I can’t usually abide coloured fellows but Aldridge has obviously had a suitable upbringing. If it wasn’t for the colour of his skin you could pass him off in normal society as a solid member of the family.”
Henry took a sip of the whiskey. The strong liquid burned its way down his throat but did little to aid his unease. He’d thought by now Donovan would have been able to supply him with some insight into his half-brother that might help him to be rid of him. So far Jack had given little away and not put a foot wrong, except to come to the Hawker races last May. Henry had seen him in the distance that day but Jack had kept out of his way and there’d been no sign of him in Hawker since.
“Your stock are not faring so well.”
Henry looked up from his mug to meet Prosser’s sharp gaze.
“Donovan tells me you suffered heavy losses just before Christmas.”
“They will only get worse.” Henry took a slug of whiskey this time, willing the liquor to ease his concerns. “There’s no sign of rain and none likely any time soon. We’ve had four days in a row here in Hawker with the thermometer over one hundred in the shade.”
“It’s been the same at Prosser’s Run.”
“How are you faring?”
“No better than anyone else in the district. My son has packed up and gone after this gold they say is easy picking at Teetulpa. I told him he was a fool but he wouldn’t listen. We just have to wait it out. Rain will come again. I sold a lot of cattle over a year ago. We are managing to keep the breeding herd alive.” Prosser leaned in. “You should think about changing to cattle. They’d be better on Smith’s Ridge than sheep.”
“At the moment there’s no feed for any kind of stock. Brand has taken the last of my sheep into those rugged hills behind. There’s still water there and some feed.”
“Cattle are easier to find in country like that.”
Henry pursed his lips. It had been Prosser’s idea he buy the horse he’d named Charlie Boy to race, and all that had come of that were more costs. He’d had to find a property down south to agist the blasted animal.
Prosser downed the rest of his drink and looked at Henry expectantly. Henry took the last few gulps from his mug, picked up Prosser’s and made his way through the crowd to the bar.
They bought another drink each so by the time Henry made his way home he was feeling pleasantly warm inside if a little unsteady on his feet.
As he approached his front gate he looked past it towards Flora Nixon’s cottage. He was in the mood for a woman’s body and Flora knew just how he liked to be treated. They had more regular visits again now that he’d gathered from Catherine that their housekeeper was unable to bear children. But there was no longer a light in the window and without prior arrangement he couldn’t just turn up there. Her children were older and quite knowing and her husband did return on the odd occasion.
Reluctantly he turned his gaze homeward. Catherine would be sleepy by now from her tonic, he could surely coerce her into fulfilling his needs. He’d made some enquiries the last time he’d been in Adelaide buying supplies for his shop. The man he purchased his tonics and oils from told him the tonic contained laudanum and assured him it was simply a relaxant. It explained why sometimes Catherine was more amenable after taking the draught and showed more interest in coupling, like she had in the days before Charles.
Just as he reached the gate he stubbed his boot against something solid and went sprawling to the path. His hand landed in something soft and squishy and a malodorous smell wafted with it as he brought his hand up closer to his face. No doubt some dog muck. The streets were scattered with it. He got to his feet, holding the offending hand away from his clothes, and looked back to see what had tripped him.
The three-quarter moon had drifted free of the clouds and showed him what he had not noticed before. One of the urn-shaped structures which had sat atop each of the gate pillars had broken off and lay at his feet.
“How?” His question remained unanswered as he bent to pick up the lump of superbly fashioned plaster. Too late he remembered the muck on his hand. He lifted the ornament and carried it inside the gate where he propped it against its pillar. It must have been dislodged by the quake.
With the awful smell reminding him of his need to clean up before he climbed into bed with his wife, Henry stumbled his way around the side of the house in search of something he could use to wipe his hand. Then he would go inside, wash and seek out his wife to do her duty.
Thirty-seven
It was only Millie who joined Joseph at the cart in the crisp predawn gloom of late March. He’d said goodbye to everyone else last night and he didn’t want the children here making a fuss and getting upset to see him go. If the truth be known it only made it much harder for him to see them so distressed but the hardest part was yet to come, saying goodbye to his wife.
Joseph faced a long, lonely journey to the goldfields but he had no choice. No rain had fallen. Wildu Creek was the same as most of the other properties in the area, struggling to support the families who relied on it. Better he go now and have some chance at finding gold before half the state ended up there.
He checked once again that his load was secure. He was taking one of their carts and two horses: one of the old draught horses to pull the load and his own horse tethered behind. The cart was loaded with everything he thought he would need for six months. Some of it had come from Wildu Creek, including the picks and shovels, food supplies and firewood. He’d been advised the latter was in short supply at Teetulpa. The rest he had bought at Mr Garrat’s shop in Hawker. Garrat was doing a good trade in tents and panning dishes and the like. Joseph hadn’t darkened Wiltshire’s door but word had it his business was struggling. Farmers had no money and no use for his fine goods in the current climate.
Joseph came round the cart and face-to-face with Millie. She had a shawl around her shoulders and her long hair was still tousled from a restless night. They’d woken very early, neither of them able to sleep well, and said their goodbyes with their tender lovemaking. Now he reached for her hand and she wrapped herself around him, holding him tight one last time. He did the same and felt the lump of his lucky rock in his shirt pocket. She slipped her hand over it.
“You have your rock?”
“Safe in the ne
w pouch you made for it.”
“And the water?”
“Yes.” He eased her from his arms and looked into her deep brown eyes. Ever since they’d heard the news that Rufus Prosser had died of typhus at the goldfields, his family had each in their own way asked him not to go, except for Millie. “I will keep well.”
“I know your mind is made up, Joseph, so I won’t say anything more than I love you and safe travels.”
He bent down and kissed her. He didn’t want to leave without once more having the taste of her on his lips.
“Goodbye, my love.” He drew away and climbed up onto the cart where he gave the horse soft encouragement to move. The old boy ambled forward immediately as if sensing there was no need for long goodbyes. Joseph didn’t look back. No matter how hard it was to leave he knew Millie and the children would be safe with his parents and her brother. Joseph’s job was to find gold.
He hadn’t gone far when a familiar figure emerged from the bush. Joseph halted his horse.
“Binda. What are you doing out here?”
“I’m going to keep you company.”
“You’re needed here, my friend.”
“I’m not going with you.” Binda led his horse behind the cart, tethered it beside Joseph’s then climbed up on the bench beside him. “I’m coming as far as tonight takes us, then I will return to Wildu Creek.”
Joseph nodded at his friend and set the horse off in its steady forward motion again. He looked at Binda who was grinning back at him and a sense of relief flooded though Joseph. It certainly would be good to have company, even if only for one day.
William lay in bed listening to the soft sounds of Millie’s tears. He had heard his father pull on his boots and try to leave quietly but the door squeaked and his boots creaked on the wooden verandah. William had wanted to go out and plead once more to be taken with him but he knew he wouldn’t wear his father down on this. The goldfields were no place for children. William had baulked at that. He was twelve and in his mind a man but his father had insisted William’s job was to stay behind with Millie and the children and help his grandfather as much as he could.
Robert snuffled and groaned in his sleep. William rolled over and stared at the wall. He felt it a terrible injustice that he should stay at home. Uncle Timothy and Uncle Binda were both here, they could help Grandpa and look after the family. Joseph had said he would be home again before Christmas. That was so far away, nearly nine months; it seemed a lifetime to William. He tossed and turned some more before finally getting up. All was quiet from Millie’s room. Like him she would no doubt be thinking of the long time ahead of them without Joseph. William hoped perhaps she had gone back to sleep.
He pulled on his clothes and picked up his boots, letting himself out into the golden light of dawn. The air smelled fresh and was cool against his skin but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the sun would be beating down on them again as it had relentlessly for months.
William moved away from the hut and then stopped. He put his hands to his hips and looked around. The shearers’ quarters where they lived was a distance from the main house down by the creek. Except for the chatter of birds and the crow of Grandma’s rooster there was little sound. He wondered how far away his father was already. He moved a few steps across the open ground to a group of gums and stopped again. He should go and see to the cows but his gaze drifted to the partly constructed building. His father had hardly done anything more to it since the earth tremor had weakened one of the shorter internal walls.
William crossed the space between the trees and the construction. He knew his father’s vision for the house wasn’t shared by everyone else in the family but William liked the idea. He stood in what would be the front door space and turned. From here you had a grand view down the gentle slope of the hill to the meandering creek and the plains. In the distance were the mountains, a pink haze in the morning light. This was only the first floor. Joseph had planned it so that one day there would be a second floor. Imagine the view from there, he’d said. William remembered the excitement in his father’s voice.
He perched on the low front wall and poked at the dirt with his boot. Now his father wasn’t here to build the walls higher and, even if he was, there was no money to pay for the doors and windows and someone to help them put them in. He ran his fingers along the rough stone. He had helped find the stones, mix the mortar and build the walls. Perhaps he could keep doing that. He stood up and turned around. The back walls against the hill needed building higher to hold back the dirt. The planks supporting the reinforced wall his father had fixed after the quake were still in place. He could use them to shore up the dirt.
He made up his mind then and there that this would be his job. When his father came home with enough gold to finish the house William would have kept it going up in the meantime. Warmth spread through him, not from the sun that was still low in the sky but from the thought of doing something useful and something that would make his father proud.
William’s attention was drawn to the chicken yard beyond the new house. The rooster was carrying on as if something was amiss. William picked up a stick and hurried in that the direction.
He stopped in surprise when he saw Mary locking the gate on the chickens. She held a wire basket full of eggs. The rooster was on the other side of the gate, still making an awful racket.
Mary kicked the wooden gate. “Damn rooster. Millie says you might lose your head one day soon.”
William smiled. The rooster was particularly feisty and gave the women a hard time when they collected the eggs.
Mary turned. Her eyes widened as she noticed William watching her.
He cleared his throat. “You’re up early.” Suddenly he felt as if he was spying.
“Need plenty of butter and eggs today.” She bent to pick up the metal milk bucket at her feet.
“Here, let me carry that for you.” He closed the distance between them in quick strides.
Mary’s eyes widened a moment. She nodded, handed over the bucket and looked away.
“What are you going to make?”
“Millie’s going to teach me how to make soft pastry like she does.” Mary glanced at him. “I want to be a good cook like her. One day I want to get a job, maybe a housekeeper.”
William saw the gleam in her eyes before she looked away again. He couldn’t imagine Mary not being there to boss him around, although when he thought about it there’d been little of that for some time.
“Are you planning to leave?”
“Maybe … one day.”
They reached the little stone hut where she would separate the cream and make her butter. He put the bucket down.
“Thank you, William.” Mary gave him a quick smile.
“You’re welcome, Mary.”
William turned to walk away then stopped and looked back. Mary had already disappeared inside the little shed. He realised she no longer annoyed him and he no longer resented her. Mary had been with them for as long as he could remember. It would be strange if she left and was no longer a part of their lives. Still, things were changing a lot.
The soft sound of singing came from the shed. William grinned and made his way back in the direction of the cow yard. There was a paling there that needed fixing. Like Mary he had plenty of work to do.
It had been a week since Joseph left home and his sixth day of travel alone. Binda had been a welcome companion at the start of his journey. When Joseph had declared he wanted to marry Millie the bond between the two men had been tested but Binda’s reservations had long since disappeared and travelling together they had talked and joked like old times which had raised Joseph’s spirits. He’d told Binda once more about the gold he hoped he’d find and what he’d do with it. Binda had put a hand to his forehead and declared he had a bad case of gold fever. Teasing aside, when they had parted company the next morning Joseph had been more in control of his feelings and full of anticipation for the job ahead.
Now, seve
ral days later, he’d reached the small settlement of Yunta, which was a hive of activity. Not only was it on the stock route but it was also a stop-off point for the gold fields as well as becoming a service town for the new railway. There were camel trains, wagons, horses and people moving along the rough road between the scattered buildings that made up the flat, dusty settlement.
Joseph found a place to leave his horses and cart not too far from the hotel. He decided he would buy himself a good feed. After today any meals would entail whatever he prepared from his supplies.
Inside, the small establishment was busy in spite of the early hour. Joseph ordered a big plate of bacon, eggs and potatoes and a pot of tea. He found a spot on the end of a bench at a long table. He nodded to the man opposite who returned the acknowledgment but didn’t stop eating. The fellow’s hair was long and lank, his clothes thin and tatty, and by the smell of him he hadn’t bathed in a long while. He was mopping up his plate with such exuberance Joseph suspected it might also have been the first meal he’d had in a while.
Finally the man finished, his plate so clean it would hardly need a wash. He sat back, belched and smiled.
“That was the best tucker I’ve had in a long time.”
“Have you been on the road?”
“No mate. I’m just back from the mine.”
“Teetulpa?”
The fellow’s eyes narrowed and he gave a sharp nod. “Where are you headed?”
“Teetulpa.”
The man eyed him closely again then got to his feet. “Good luck, mate.” He nodded, plucked a ragged hat from the seat beside him and hurried out the door.
“Miners, they don’t like to talk much and Mad Mick even less than most.”
Joseph glanced at the man who was seated next to the place Mad Mick had vacated. He was of much tidier appearance, with a neatly clipped beard and dressed in working clothes but clean ones. Joseph offered his hand. “Joseph Baker.”
Dust on the Horizon Page 34