Joseph paused at the sound of another boot besides his connecting with a rock. He stood still and tried to listen but his liquor-fired brain wouldn’t oblige. He took one more step and then crumpled as something hard hit his head.
The sound of liquid splashing penetrated Joseph’s throbbing head. The stringent smell of urine brought bile to his throat. He squinted and groaned as the rays of the early sun pained his eyes.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” a deep Irish voice exclaimed. “What are you doing sleeping there?”
Once more Joseph groaned. He could only see from his right eye. The left refused to open and that side of his face ached. He felt like he’d been trampled by a team of bullocks. Why wasn’t he in his swag bed inside his tent?
A hand gently shook his shoulder. “What’s happened to you? You’ve got a lump on the side of your head, so you have.”
Joseph squinted at the kindly face leaning over him. What had happened? He’d been walking home and then … Once more he groaned and rolled over. He dragged himself to a sitting position with the help of the Irishman, then twisted sideways and spat foul-tasting liquid from his mouth.
He winced as the movement made his head throb. His one good eye focused on a dark object a few feet in front of him. Joseph frowned and tried to concentrate through the dull pain in his head. The object was familiar. He put one hand to his top pocket, then patted his jacket and his trousers. They were empty.
“My gold,” he croaked and reached for the leather pouch.
“Is it robbed you’ve been?” The Irishmen retrieved the pouch. “Not a thing in there,” he said as he handed it over.
Joseph took the empty pouch, anger surging through him mingled with sadness. His gold was gone but so was his lucky charm. A part of him didn’t believe in such things and yet he’d found it in the place where Binda had saved his life.
“Lucky it was only your gold they took. To be sure it could have been your life.”
The Irishman held out his hand to assist but Joseph brushed it away. “I’m all right.” He glared at the man who backed away. Joseph felt a pang of guilt. The Irishman had been trying to help but Joseph felt he was beyond help. He’d lost the small amount of gold he’d managed to find and his lucky rock.
He glanced down then blinked as the rising sun sparkled off something on the ground near his feet. He bent to pick up the smooth, shiny rock that had been with him for so long and a small wave of hope glimmered as he rolled it in his hand, and rubbed his fingers over its familiar ridges and fissures. It was worthless but had been with him so long.
By the time Joseph staggered back to his camp he knew there was nothing for it but to get back to work. He’d found some gold and lost it. He’d survived to be given a second chance. There was no way he could return home with nothing to show for his absence. There’d be no more drinking for him. He’d keep digging and sifting until he found enough gold to take home.
Without even stopping to boil his billy or eat anything he set to work. By mid-morning the sun was beating down on his pounding head. The side of his jaw throbbed from whatever had hit him. His stomach roiled and his head pounded. He gripped the hilt of his knife tight and closed his eyes.
“Are you praying the gold to the surface?”
Joseph’s eyes opened and he released a breath of relief. There, coming along the cutaway towards him, was Hegarty, with a grin on his big wide face. He was leading a horse loaded up to the hilt and behind him came another man also leading a loaded horse.
They came to a stop in the middle of Joseph’s claim. He stood up and went to the edge of the drop. The only time he’d be taller than Hegarty.
They gripped hands.
Joseph pumped Hegarty’s hand enthusiastically. “It’s good to see you.”
Hegarty twisted his face into a wry grin. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear.”
“Fell over last night.” Joseph pushed his hat tighter on his head. “What brought you back?”
“Put some money in the bank, bought myself a good horse and provisions and decided to have another go. Brought my friend Peterson with me.”
Where Hegarty was big like a bullock, his friend Peterson was more the build of a draught horse, still built well but not as round and beefy and with a face that looked like it might have seen a fight or two.
Joseph held out his hand to Peterson. “Welcome.”
“This is the right kind of country you’ve picked.” Hegarty cast a look around. He paused briefly in Jones’s direction then looked back at Peterson. “I like the look of it.” He waved his hand towards Joseph’s table. “What’s this you were praying over?”
“It’s a long way to cart water from the dam to here. I have trouble enough keeping fresh water for drinking and cooking.” Joseph pointed to the barrel he kept by his tent. “A lot of men were using a table to spread out the dirt and sift through it so that’s what I’ve taken to doing. It works well enough.” Joseph gave a snort. “Providing there’s gold in the dirt.”
“Any likelihood of that?” Hegarty studied him closely.
“Some.”
Hegarty pressed his lips together and held Joseph’s gaze a moment longer, then he slapped his leg and turned back to Peterson. “Reckon we’ll set up next to Baker here.” He smiled at Joseph. “We can all help each other out if need be.”
Joseph’s spirits rose. He hadn’t realised how lonely he’d been until the face of a man he’d only met briefly had made his day so much better.
“You get back to your prayers.” Hegarty grinned and gave him a gentle poke in the chest. “It’ll take Peterson and me the rest of the day to check this claim and stake it. Once we’re set up we’ll have a meal together. Peterson here’s a dab hand with food.”
“Reckon that’s the only reason he brought me.” Peterson’s craggy face lit up in a smile.
“Wasn’t for your good looks, that’s for certain.”
Hegarty’s big body shuddered as he laughed. Peterson just shook his head.
Joseph went back to his table but he couldn’t concentrate on his work with the two of them busy next door to him. He regularly stood, stretched and went to the edge of his claim to see what they were doing.
Hegarty said he was happy with the look of the soil and staked his claim while Peterson put up tents and set up their camp. He’d brought some bricks which he set down and before long he had used some precious water to make mud and had built a good semblance of a decent fire. By evening the delicious smell coming from that fire had Joseph’s stomach rumbling.
“Have you finished for the day?”
Joseph sat back at Hegarty’s call, lifted his hat from his head and dragged his fingers though his filthy hair. “I reckon I’ve found enough of nothing to call it quits.”
“Come and join us.” Hegarty waved at the fire.
Joseph went to the small bowl he used for washing and did his best to clean the dirt from his hands. The sun was low in an orange sky and without its heat the air chilled his damp body. He dragged the drying cloth from his hands to his neck and shoulders then shrugged on his coat. He took the last jar of his mother’s preserved peaches from his provisions box and his one chair and crossed the several feet of his claim to Hegarty’s where he offered the jar to Peterson. “These taste good with cream but even without it I can recommend them.”
Peterson nodded, accepted the jar and went back to his cooking. Hegarty perched on a bench seat he’d put together with a plank and rocks on the other side of the fire. He lifted a mug towards Joseph. “Care for a drop?”
Joseph reached out his hand then hesitated. Only this morning he’d sworn off liquor.
“It’s good whiskey. Not the belly-burning liquid they make here.”
Joseph accepted the mug and placed his battered chair next to Hegarty. He’d just have one drink to be sociable.
They both took a gulp from their mugs. Joseph enjoyed the smooth warmth of the spirit as it slipped down his throat. “You’re right.” He wiped th
e back of his hand across his mouth. “This is good stuff.” He glanced at Peterson who was busy stirring whatever the delicious-smelling concoction was he had in the pot over the fire.
“Peterson doesn’t drink.” Hegarty took another sip. “Made him silly in his younger days. Doesn’t touch a drop now.”
Even though Peterson was barely two feet away from them he ignored Hegarty and kept stirring. He was obviously a quiet one.
“Good at keeping his own counsel too,” Hegarty said. “Which is one of the things I like about him. That and his cooking.”
Hegarty laughed and Joseph found himself joining in.
“So.” Hegarty leaned in closer, his large bulk testing the strength of the plank. “How have you done here, Baker? Not struck it rich yet I’m assuming?”
Joseph looked around for listening ears, which was quite useless. The sun had well and truly left the sky and there was no moon. Apart from the flicker of campfires and lanterns there was nothing to be seen. Closer to his tent he could see the glow of Jones’s candle.
He kept his voice low. “I’ve had slim pickings but enough to keep me interested.” He paused. Drained the last of the whiskey and set the mug firmly on the ground at his feet. “I’d found a small amount but …” He clenched his fists. “I was robbed last night. It’s all gone.”
“Full of liquor?”
Joseph could feel Hegarty’s gaze on him. He lifted his head to meet the man’s look and gave a sharp nod.
Hegarty emptied his mug and put it down like Joseph had. “I stick to my own good stuff and only once a week. The rest of the time is for working. You’re not the first man to lose his gold to the drink and you won’t be the last.”
Joseph was grateful Hegarty had offered neither sympathy nor a lecture.
“I like your table idea. There’s plenty of water with the dam but like you say it’s a distance from here.” Hegarty looked away to where the fire threw some light over the cutaway. “These channels are more likely to have gold than anywhere else.”
Joseph nodded. He hoped his friend was right. “It’s filthy work but if you’re careful it’s easy enough to see the gold if it’s there.”
Hegarty cracked his knuckles and stared off into the darkness. “It’s there.”
Once more Joseph’s spirits rose at the confident tone.
Peterson reached over their shoulders handing them each a tin plate covered with a brown stew. Joseph was quick to rest the hot plate on the thick moleskin of his trousers. He could see chunks of carrot, turnip and potato in the gravy as well as hunks of meat. Saliva filled his mouth. It had been days since he’d eaten a decent meal and longer since he’d had something as good as this stew looked.
Peterson joined Hegarty on the bench which sunk lower to the ground.
“Nice bit of beef stew even if I do say so myself,” he said.
“Beef?” Joseph looked from one man to the other.
Hegarty’s eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Don’t ask any questions.” His hearty laugh made the seat bounce and they all tucked in to the delicious food, Joseph feeling better than he had in weeks.
Forty
1888
Pain shot up Millie’s arms as her hoe once more jarred against the hard earth. She had set herself some hard physical work as a distraction. This morning she’d felt melancholy, missing Joseph and thinking about the babies they hadn’t had. Joseph’s sister Ellen was with child again and Millie was envious. She had not wished for children of her own until Joseph was gone. They had made love so often and yet no child grew within her. She thought there must be something wrong with her but Jundala had reassured her that babies arrive when the time is right. All the same Millie was sad she had not yet given Joseph another child.
At the sound of a horse, Millie looked up from where she was attempting to dig the vegetable garden. Each time she heard hoof beats she hoped it would be Joseph. He’d been gone over a year and all she had was his letters and his assurance of his love. She pursed her lips. The horse was black and although she couldn’t see the rider clearly she could tell by his seat it was Jack Aldridge.
She leaned the hoe against the paling fence and brushed her hands down her dress. Only a month ago they’d had a week of unbearable weather that had ended with the worst dust-storm anyone could remember. It was already April and they’d had no rain since last year. The only reason she was bothering to try to prepare a vegetable patch in the baked soil was to keep herself busy and her mind away from thoughts of the husband she missed so badly.
In spite of her loneliness the approaching rider was not a welcome sight. Jack had come to visit several times in Joseph’s absence. Lizzie had invited him for Christmas and he’d come by each month since then. At first Millie had enjoyed his company. Jack was charming and funny, equally comfortable playing with the children or chatting with Thomas.
Millie hadn’t said anything but last time he’d visited she felt as if he’d been making advances to her. When she looked back on it there was nothing in it and yet she’d felt uncomfortable. They were silly things, only minor, like the brush of his hand over hers as they’d both reached for a dish, squeezing close to her as he left the table, insisting she come and see him off. He was no doubt lonely and just being friendly but she had been glad when he’d left last time. That had been less than three weeks ago and now he was back and she was alone.
Thomas had taken Lizzie and the three younger children to Port Augusta to visit Ellen and her two children. They weren’t due back for a few more days. Binda had left this morning to take Mary to Hawker. She was taking on a job there, looking after the growing family of one of the publicans. Timothy, Eliza and their children were taking a turn in the hill country tending the few remaining sheep.
She looked up towards the shearing shed. She knew William was there somewhere working on something, but he was only a boy in spite of the way he tried to take Joseph’s place as the head of the family in his absence. Besides, when he got started on one of his projects, hours could go by before she would see him.
She turned back as Jack rode closer. She could see his dark eyes surveying the yard. He rode up to the fence, his lips turned up in a smile. She’d once thought it charming but now it seemed more of a leer.
“Good morning, Millie.” He swept the hat from his head and bowed low on his horse. Millie shuddered internally at the sing-song sound of his voice.
“Mr Aldridge.”
He slid from his saddle, tethered his horse to the fence and rested his forearms on the paling, staring at her with his deep brown eyes. “No need to be formal. We’re close neighbours after all.”
“It’s still a long ride.” Millie lifted her chin. “Is there something you need?”
His grin widened. “I thought perhaps you might be lonely with the senior Bakers away. I recall they said they’d be gone for a couple of weeks when I was here last.”
“I expect them any day now.”
“Is that so?” He walked around the fence to the gate and let himself in. “I met Binda and his family down at the creek boundary this morning. They were on their way to Hawker. He seemed to think the Bakers would be away for quite a while and he tells me your husband hasn’t yet returned from the goldfields.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Although I see your new house continues to grow.”
“William has been working on it in his father’s absence.” Millie couldn’t help the pride in her voice. William had become a man overnight when his father had left. He was only thirteen but he took his responsibilities to his family seriously.
“He must miss his father.”
Jack crossed the rough ground where she’d been trying to make some impressions with her hoe and stopped just in front of her. She felt trapped by his gaze, unable to speak or move.
“No doubt you are very lonely without your husband.”
He reached for her hand but she snatched it away and side-stepped him back to the path.
Her heart skipped as she saw the bri
ef flicker of anger cross his face. She needed to play for time and think about how she was going to handle this.
“Would you like a seat in the shade in our outdoor room?” Millie gave Jack the slightest of smiles. She didn’t want to encourage him but neither did she want to alienate him. “I was thinking it was time for a pot of tea.”
He took two strides and was right beside her, towering over her. Fear flowed through Millie but she stood her ground, trying not to show it.
“I’d prefer to sit inside.” His smile frightened her as much as his anger. “Your house keeps so cool.” He reached a hand towards her face.
They both flinched as a shot rang out. Jack’s horse whinnied and pulled at his lead. Jack spun and Millie peered around him. William was walking towards them from the direction of the new house, a rifle slung over the crook of his elbow.
“Hello, Mr Aldridge.” William’s usually serious face was split in a grin.
“What are you firing at?” Jack’s voice held a note of anger.
William frowned. “I didn’t fire in this direction, Mr Aldridge. My father taught me how to use guns safely. We’ve had a wild dog hanging around our chickens. I thought I saw him that’s all.”
Relief flooded through Millie. There’d been no talk of wild dogs close to the house recently. She suspected William had been firing at nothing.
“Did you get him?” Jack folded his arms and glanced in the direction of the chicken house.
Millie took the opportunity to take a step towards the back door.
“No.” William stayed where he was, his feet firmly planted, the gun lowered but still pointing in Jack’s direction. “He’s wily but if I’m patient I’ll get him. We can’t afford to lose any more chickens, can we Millie?”
“No.” Millie smiled at the boy who was more like a brother than a son to her. “We’ve only got six left.”
“Do you have any trouble with the wild dogs, Mr Aldridge?” William asked.
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