“William.” Joseph turned back. “Can you let Timothy know that I’m back? I should talk to him about the state of the property once I’ve spoken with my father. I expect you will be there too, son.”
A sense of pride swept through William. “Yes, Father.”
Forty-three
Thomas sat perfectly still. He didn’t see the contrasting colours of the vivid green bush sprouting from the red and brown of the rocks that spread down the ridge and onto the plain. The tall gums that followed the meandering trail of Wildu Creek were a stark contrast to the faded colours of dry grass and dirt on the plain, but his gaze was on the freshly turned earth with its covering of rocks.
With the sun now higher in the sky the birds were not so noisy although two young magpies hopped back and forth, their beaks spearing the ground for some delicious morsel. One hopped close, tipped its head and looked his way with one bright eye. Thomas smiled. The black-and-white birds had been amongst his first friends all those years ago when he’d come to the country alone after arriving in Adelaide as a green young Englishman.
There was a soft rustle of movement in a bush nearby and the chirrups of the grasshoppers that were in plague proportions on the plains, but apart from that it was only him on the hill with his girls. In his hand he held a bunch of wattle sprigs. Lizzie had always favoured the small, round yellow flowers. She rarely had them in the house, their perfume was so strong, but they reminded her of their wedding. Each year she picked some and asked Thomas to dance with her to mark their anniversary.
He shook his head. That had been almost forty years ago.
“Where did the time go Lizzie?” he murmured. “So much has happened since you made me the happiest man alive by becoming my wife and now you’ve left me.”
He glanced at the rough pine cross he’d made years ago, now painted white with his firstborn’s name, Annie, carved into it. Then there was another little grave for the baby girl who had come too early and they hadn’t named. They’d lost two little girls and now, lying in the earth beside them, was their mother.
The ache that burned constantly inside his chest since his wife had become gravely ill gnawed deeper as his gaze swept over the fresh grave and came to rest on the cross. Lizzie Baker had been painted neatly in black letters by Violet who was so clever with fine jobs like that.
Thomas reached out and laid the brightly coloured twigs of wattle at the base of the cross.
“I wasn’t ready for you to leave me, my love.”
A rock skittered nearby accompanied by a footfall. Thomas looked around to see Joseph climbing the hill towards him. It warmed Thomas’s heart to see his son and also that he carried some sprigs of wattle he would have collected on his way up the hill. Thomas smiled at the cross. “Your boy has come home, Lizzie.” He stood and waited for their son to arrive.
Joseph came to a stop at the base of the grave. He removed his hat and gripped it tightly in his hands with the wattle, staring at the mound of dirt and rocks as if he could see right through it. He lifted his gaze to his father. Thomas could see the raw grief on his face.
“It’s good to see you, son.”
“I am so sorry, Father.”
Thomas nodded and watched Joseph’s mouth twist and his jaw harden as he struggled with his emotions. He waited a moment then took the few short steps between them and opened his arms. The two of them hugged, drawing on each other for strength. Thomas clapped his son’s back firmly then stepped back, his hands resting on Joseph’s shoulders.
Joseph wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I wish I was here before … to see her.”
“She knew you were coming but she had grown so weak. It was too hard for her to wait.”
Joseph bent and placed the wattle next to the branches already lying there.
“Was there nothing that could be done?”
Thomas returned to the rock beside the graves he used as a seat. “Everyone tried. Millie was wonderful. She hardly left your mother’s side and she brewed some native remedies but the disease had already taken a hold. Dr Bruehl said your mother’s chest was weak and there was nothing else that could have been done.”
“How do you go on, Father?”
Thomas looked at the sorrow etched in his son’s face and blocked his own feelings. “That’s something I’m grateful to your mother for. When your older sister Annie died I sunk into despair. I wanted Lizzie to go back to her parents while I built up Wildu Creek but she would have none of it. She said we had to keep going or we were dishonouring Annie. We had to work for the children and grandchildren we hadn’t had yet. Now look at our family.” Thomas turned his eyes to the vista in front of him. “When we buried Annie your mother made me look at this.” He swept his arm out in a wide arc. “Look up, Thomas, she said. And I cast my gaze across the land. You must look up too, Joseph. Wildu Creek is our home. Where else would we go, what else would we do?”
Thomas watched his son take in the view that was partly obscured by trees but allowed glimpses of the valley and plains below, the tree-lined creek and the distant mountains. Then Joseph’s lips turned up in a grin.
“Remember when I thought Wildu Creek was the name you’d made up –‘will do’? I thought you’d meant this will do.”
“Wildu is eagle in Gulda’s language but ‘this will do’ is correct as well. Where else would we live, Joseph? This is our home.”
Joseph sucked in a deep breath and found himself a place to sit on the other side of Lizzie’s grave. He pushed his hat back on his head, if you could still call it a hat. It was dark with grime and had several holes in the crown.
“You’ve lost weight, Joseph. How has it been at the goldfields?”
“I am managing.”
“You’ve been away a long time.”
“I had planned to come home earlier.”
“It must have been worth staying.” Thomas was careful with his words. He could tell Joseph was burdened by guilt at not being home with his family.
Joseph glanced at Lizzie’s cross again.
Thomas gave him an encouraging smile. “Your mother would want to hear all about it. You know what she was like.” He could see her in his mind’s eye. Sitting Joseph down to a big meal and firing several questions at a time, barely waiting for the answers before she asked more.
Joseph rested his hands on his knees. “It’s been hell.”
Thomas frowned. “But your letters? Millie read them to us. They were full of hope.”
“If I’d written the truth Millie and mother would have come and demanded I return home.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows and nodded. “So why didn’t you come back? You know we would have welcomed you with open arms.”
“I know but I have actually been finding gold. It’s the conditions and the life I don’t enjoy.”
“You’re used to hardship. We don’t exactly live a high life here.”
Joseph dug the heel of his boot into the dry ground. “Wildu Creek is a kingdom in comparison to life at Teetulpa.”
“So you’re not going back? Millie and the children will be—”
“I have to go back.”
Once more Thomas raised his eyebrows.
“I did something stupid, Father.” Joseph kept worrying at the hole with his heel. “I had some gold and I lost it.”
Thomas didn’t speak. Instead he allowed his son time. It was never easy to admit your mistakes.
Joseph looked up. “There are men from all walks of life on the goldfields. I found a group that were like me, all from the land, good men but desperate for gold to save their properties. We would meet up most nights and have a few drinks around one of the campfires.” Joseph shook his head slowly. “There’s little else to do. I had found some gold before last Christmas and had planned to come home with gifts and money lining my pockets. One night I was feeling sorry for myself. I missed you all, I longed for Millie and I drank too much. Someone knocked me out and stole my gold.”
Thomas kept his eyes on the
bright gold balls of wattle. Do you hear that Lizzie? You were always worried about Joseph’s drinking.
“I had to stay then.” Joseph went on, relief in his voice as if he’d wanted to tell someone. “I had to find more gold. I couldn’t come home empty-handed.”
Strong-willed like you too, Lizzie. Thomas maintained the conversation with his dead wife in his head but remained outwardly silent.
“A man I met when I first travelled to Teetulpa has come back and staked his claim beside mine. He’s found gold before and he thinks we have a good vein running through our claims. It was just starting to show some promise when I got the telegram about …” Joseph glanced at the grave. “About Mother.”
Thomas waited until the silence had stretched out between them before he spoke. “You must do what you think is best, Joseph. Your family are safe here and I appreciate their looking after me.” Thomas leaned forward and waited until Joseph lifted his gaze to meet his. “I was deceived by Henry Wiltshire’s father when I first came to South Australia and I let it eat away at me but your mother was so wise. We mustn’t look back, she said. She was so brave.”
A frown crossed Joseph’s brow. “You’re the bravest man I know, Father. Look at all that’s happened and all that you’ve achieved.”
Once more the pain deepened in Thomas’s chest and tears that he’d thought had all been shed brimmed in his eyes. His gaze swept Lizzie’s grave. “She made me brave.” Thomas gasped as the sadness threatened to engulf him again like it had on the first days after Lizzie’s death. He had to be strong, for his family, for Lizzie’s memory.
Hands gripped his shoulders. Joseph had come to stand behind him. His son understood the pain of losing the person you loved more than life itself.
“She will always be with us, Father, making us laugh, making us behave and making us brave.”
Thomas reached up a hand and gripped that of his son. He nodded, a quick stiff movement of his head and focused on the wattle. He’s a good man our son, dear Lizzie, a good man.
Joseph made his way back down the hill alone. His father said he would be back later. Joseph allowed him his time. He knew how it felt to lose the love of his life. The pain of Clara’s loss had faded. He was so lucky to have Millie but he also had the beautiful children Clara had borne. She would always live on in them and the happy memories they’d shared.
William and Timothy were waiting for him when he got back to the house.
Timothy shook his hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“She was special to all of us.”
Timothy nodded. “That she was.”
They went inside, where Millie had set out fresh mugs of tea. Joseph’s eyes widened at the sight of a cake adorning the middle of the table. In spite of the big breakfast he’d not long finished, his mouth watered. He kissed the top of Millie’s head and squeezed her hand as she passed him ushering the younger children out. How he longed to be alone with her but there were other priorities that needed his attention.
Joseph sat himself at the table and cut a slice of the cake. The delicious lemon flavour was enough to make him want to shovel the whole piece into his mouth at once but he returned the rest of it to his plate and looked from William to Timothy.
“How are things here?”
“Not good. Binda has less than three hundred sheep in the hills.”
Joseph swallowed his mouthful of cake. “Any of them my breeding stock?”
“A few but it makes no difference now, we’ve had to let them wander. Jundala and Joe are with Binda and I spend as much time as I can there but it’s hard to keep the wild dogs from taking what they will. There’s little left for the sheep to eat, they’re competing with rabbits now.”
“I should have come back sooner.”
“Only if you had the power to bring rain with you. We’ve enough bodies to maintain the property. William is a hard worker along with my boy but hard work doesn’t change the weather.” Timothy clasped his hands around his mug and looked steadily at Joseph. “I’m sorry to say it when we’ve had such sadness but I can’t see how the last of the stock will survive the summer.”
Joseph sat back in his chair, the cake forgotten. He had hoped things wouldn’t be so bad here even though he’d seen for himself the devastation on the plains as he’d returned home.
“We’ve still got sheep agisted.” William’s serious voice cut through his thoughts.
“Yes, of course.” Joseph couldn’t believe he’d forgotten them. “We sent a thousand head south before I went to Teetulpa.”
“We’ve no money to pay for that agistment.” Timothy’s expression was grim.
“Yes we do.” Joseph reached into his pocket and showed Timothy his bottle of gold.
Timothy nodded. “If that means money it would be most welcome.”
“When was the last time you were paid?”
“I’m not worried about that. We are surviving here and I’m grateful to have a place to live and something to do.”
Joseph stood and walked to the window. Outside the August sky was clear except for some high wispy cloud. “The rain has to come eventually.”
“Always the optimist, just like your mother.”
They all looked around at the sound of Thomas’s voice.
He studied them all a moment then gave a short nod. “All we have to do is hang on.” He came to the table and sat.
William poured another mug of tea and Millie appeared with some damper and cheese.
Joseph felt a lump rise in his throat. He was so grateful to his family for their care of his father. He owed it to them to find more gold and make their life easier while they waited for the rain. He had to go back to Teetulpa.
Forty-four
Jack slammed the door of the hotel hard against the wall. Several pairs of eyes watched him but he had enough drink in him not to care. The devil of a publican had refused him any more drink, said he was upsetting patrons. Curse the man, he’d pay for asking Jack to leave.
Outside the early evening light and the dust that hung in the air gave Hawker an ethereal look. It was late November and the sprinkle of rain they’d had earlier that month had had little effect on the dry conditions.
Jack spat into the dirt and hung onto a verandah post willing his eyes to focus. He’d drunk far more than he’d intended, all because of a whore. The lusty young woman who’d been a willing companion on his visits to town had left. He’d arrived mid-morning ready to spend the day in bed with her. The frustration and disappointment had gone with him to the hotel where he’d found himself a corner and drunk the day away.
He let go of the post and stood on the edge of wooden verandah. He wobbled forward, stepped carefully off into the dirt of the road and turned left. He would have to find himself a place for the night. Several people gave him a wide berth. Jack glared at them. Light shone from a shop window where a group of people were saying goodnight. The next shop was in darkness, a thin young man standing on its verandah looked up and down the street. Jack recognised Henry’s assistant and then realised it was Henry’s shop he was approaching.
Henry lived a fine life in town while Jack slaved out in the hills. He could find Jack a comfortable bed for the night. Councillor Wiltshire was a man of the town these days, perhaps he even had a woman tucked away who’d be an obliging bed companion.
Jack straightened his jacket, pressed his hat low on his head and approached the assistant who was turning back to the door.
“I’ve come to see, Mr Wiltshire.”
The young man turned his quick gaze on Jack who planted his feet slightly apart to stop the swaying.
“Did you have an appointment, Mr …?”
“I don’t need an appointment to see my … Mr Wiltshire and I are very close.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The man’s look seemed genuinely concerned. “Mr Wiltshire is out of town. We don’t expect him back for several days.”
Jack clenched his fingers into his palms. Damn, he was to be thwar
ted at every turn.
“Perhaps Mrs Wiltshire can help. She’s just left for the day but she will be back in the shop tomorrow.”
A vision of Catherine’s sweet smile sent the blood pounding through Jack. Henry’s wife was a pretty thing with plump breasts. He’d always been able to charm women to do his bidding, maybe with Henry away … He shook his head, a bad move. He reached out for the horse rail as everything spun.
“Are you all right, sir?”
The assistant took a step towards him. Jack pushed out one palm to stop the man.
“I have been unwell. Thank you for your concern. I shall visit Mr Wiltshire when next I am in Hawker.”
Jack turned and walked back past the shop that still had lights on and the sound of someone whistling from within. He kept going until there was a gap between buildings then he turned into it. He paused a moment then followed the alley to the lane at the back of the shops. The early evening light was failing fast and the air behind the shops particularly foul. He strode along the lane, watching where he put his feet, and turned up the road that led to Henry’s house. On the corner, hanging over a fence, was the scrawny bough of a young lemon tree. He pulled off a leaf and chewed until the bitter taste filled his mouth then he spat it out.
He hurried on, only slowing when he saw a figure walking ahead of him, a woman. From her outline he guessed it was Catherine and she was carrying what appeared to be a heavy bag. He crossed to the middle of the road and hastened his footsteps to appear as if he had come from another direction.
“Mrs Wiltshire?”
She gasped and almost dropped her bag.
“Please don’t be alarmed. It is I, Jack Aldridge.” He reached for the bag. “Let me help you with that.”
“Oh, Mr Aldridge.” There was relief in her voice and she allowed him to take it. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’ve got yourself into trouble with cards again.”
Jack swallowed the words he had been going to say. He was surprised by Catherine’s almost cheeky response. He responded with his charming smile. “Ahh Mrs Wiltshire, you know what a fool I was. I have been far more careful since.” He gave her a small bow and pushed open the creaking front gate. “Tonight I was simply taking in some air.”
Dust on the Horizon Page 40