“We’ve been gone a long time.” Thomas looked to the sky. “Those clouds are getting heavier and darker. I think we should turn back.”
He could see the reluctance on Jacob’s face. “If the pastoral leases are announced you can have this area,” Thomas said. “You’re more likely to get the finance than me. If AJ wants a run I’m sure the country’s big enough to find another.”
The low rumble of thunder reverberated off the hills. Jacob looked from Thomas to the sky and nodded his head.
“Gulda,” Thomas called, “time to go home.”
Gulda was already at the horses. He was muttering something Thomas couldn’t understand.
They had no sooner mounted their horses than heavy drops of rain began to fall. Neither Thomas nor Jacob had brought their thick coats and Gulda wore only a shirt and pants. Within minutes they were wet through. The creek they were following, which had been flowing steadily, was now rushing and tumbling with the extra water. They climbed the steep banks when their way south was blocked by the widening torrent of water. The rolling hills behind them were providing a giant catchment, funnelling the flow their way.
Lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled. Gulda turned back and pointed. They all watched through the sheets of rain as giant forks of light split the sky over the hills.
“What’s he saying?” Jacob yelled into Thomas’s ear.
“I don’t know. Sounds like ‘garragadoo’.”
“What do you suppose it means?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said again, “but we’re going the wrong way. Gulda,” he shouted through the rain at the native, who had turned his horse west. “That way is home.”
Gulda shook his head, pointed in the direction he was going and urged his horse on. Thomas knew the way home was across the creek but he had lost all his bearings in the deluge and the afternoon sky was as dark as early evening. They had no choice but to follow. Perhaps Gulda had a safer place to cross.
It was a nightmare journey. The thunder and lightning moved on but the rain continued and above its steady thrum they could hear the sound of water rushing in torrents. Land that had been parched for a long time was soon in flood. Thomas was shivering with cold and had given up taking any notice of his surroundings. They were travelling single file now. He simply directed his horse to follow Jacob’s, which followed Gulda’s.
Thomas knew by the way he sat in the saddle that the ground was gradually climbing beneath them. He guessed it must be early evening by the time Gulda stopped and tethered his horse. He waved at Jacob and Thomas to do the same and to take their bedrolls and supplies. The bush that Thomas could see was low and straggly. He couldn’t imagine why Gulda would pick this place to camp but he followed wordlessly. His legs were like blocks of wood and his fingers were icy and cramped from gripping the reins, making it difficult to carry his belongings.
Gulda led them over sloping ground covered in slippery shale rock. The sound of a raging creek grew louder. Thomas sensed it was somewhere below them but it was too dark to see. Just ahead a darker patch appeared in the gloom. Gulda disappeared into it. Following him, Thomas lowered his head and stooped into a cave. The instant relief of being out of the rain was overwhelming. He sank to the rocky dirt floor.
Jacob tumbled down beside him. “That was wild,” he said and rubbed his hands together. “All that rain – it’s a miracle. Let’s hope we’re getting some at home. The storm looked as if it was travelling south.”
Thomas was shuddering with cold. He could barely hold his head up. He registered the excitement in Jacob’s voice and somewhere behind him, Gulda was rustling something but he was beyond speech. The air in the cave had a rank animal smell, but at least it was dry.
Jacob leaned closer. “Are you all right?”
Thomas tried to nod his head but only managed a stiff jerk. Pain shot down his neck.
Suddenly there was a little flicker of light in the cave. It quickly became a glow.
“Well, would you look at that!”
Thomas spun himself around. Gulda had a small fire going.
“I’d heard blackfellows could make a fire out of nothing and now I’ve seen it. How did you do that?” Jacob shuffled past Thomas as Gulda stripped himself of his wet clothes. “Good idea,” he said. “We should do the same, Thomas. The bedrolls should be dry inside the oilskins. We can wrap ourselves in a blanket.”
Thomas watched as Jacob began to pull the wet clothes from his body then he turned his head to the fire. The warmth had penetrated his cheeks. He stretched his hands towards it. There was no way he would strip right down like a native. The fire would surely dry his clothes soon enough. Gulda tended the fire totally naked; Jacob sat beside him in his underwear then, with a grin on his face, stripped off the last of his clothes. Thomas shook his head. Life in this land was beyond anything he could ever have imagined back in England.
Birdcalls woke him, and the strong smell of smoke. He forced his eyes open. It was early but there was enough light for him to make out the lump that was Jacob still wrapped in his bedroll. Beyond their feet the little fire was burning. Perhaps Gulda had just brought it to life again.
Thomas flicked a look around the cave. In the morning light he could see it wasn’t very big, but it had served them well. Through the mouth, the soft glow of dawn brushed the rocks and bush with pink hues. Thomas stretched out his legs. Immediately the air was cold on his damp underwear. He was naked from the waist up but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to strip totally like Gulda and Jacob. Jacob had no doubt been right. Now Thomas lay in a half-sodden bedroll.
He dragged himself out, pulled on his wet boots, wrapped the dry part of the blanket around his shoulders against the cold and stepped outside. He sucked in a breath of glorious fresh air and lifted his gaze. The dark clouds had gone. The sun was rising on the other side of the hill so that it lit up the valley opposite but left him still in the shade. Further away, their wet clothes were draped over exposed rocks and branches where the first rays of the sun were already reaching them. Gulda had been busy.
The cave was high up on one side of a deep valley. The rushing of water below was a constant background sound as Thomas made his way up and behind the cave. There were no horses but Thomas could see where they’d been tethered overnight. He hoped their absence meant that Gulda had taken them to find food and water. The ground was even rockier beneath his feet and the vegetation low as he made his way to the top. What he saw when he reached it made him pause.
He wished he were an artist who could capture the beauty before him with a paintbrush. This side of the hill dropped away, part of a rocky ridge that jutted out from a higher rise. That in turn fell away more gently to lower slopes, which finally gave way to a wide flat valley. Rocky ridges poked out into the valley like bony fingers. Across the valley, forming a backdrop to the vista before him, was a huge mountain range stretching along the horizon. Even from this distance it looked impassable, a formidable barrier to whatever lay beyond it.
The creek that roared below the cave widened out and met other watercourses. He couldn’t see the flow but he discerned where each creek wound its way between the hills and wriggled across the plains: the trees were always much taller wherever there was water. Just along from Thomas was a scattering of rocks, most of them bigger than him. He climbed onto one and sat, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders. The sun warmed his back as he watched its rays change the colours of the landscape before him.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Even though he knew Jacob and Gulda were somewhere nearby, he felt as if he were the only man on earth. He lifted his head to see a large bird high in the sky. It appeared to hang in the air, a silent sentinel watching over the land.
The hairs on the back of Thomas’s neck prickled. A shiver rippled down his spine. He reached down to gather the blanket back and took a closer look at the rocks around him. He’d been so busy looking at the vista before him he’d not taken much notice.
; They were toppled together as if by some giant hand and closer inspection showed a protected space like a small cave. It was there, on a section sheltered by the rest of the formation, that he saw the markings. They were dark against the deep browns of the rock and were mostly a series of small straight lines. Some ran parallel to each other and some fanned in circles while others were longer with an angular line topping them so that they looked like an arrow pointing.
“Wildu.”
Thomas jumped at the sound of Gulda’s voice. He turned to see the native standing some distance away near the point where Thomas had stepped to the top of the ridge.
“Wildu,” Gulda said again then pointed to the sky.
Thomas turned his head in the direction Gulda indicated and saw the large bird had come closer; its wingspan must have been several feet. Beyond it two more large birds circled slowly.
“This is magnificent, Gulda.” Thomas was reluctant to leave the vision before him. He knew it was the best country they’d seen on their travels.
“Come, Mr Tom.” Gulda came no closer but beckoned him urgently. “We go.”
Thomas sighed. He wished he could communicate with Gulda more than a few shared words and gestures. He felt there was much he could learn from the native if they could only understand each other better.
“Wildu.” He said the word out loud to the valley. He liked the sound of it although he knew it wasn’t exactly what Gulda had said. With land like this a man could make some money. Thomas smiled. “One day I’ll come back here,” he murmured.
He turned to follow Gulda but the native had already gone.
Thirty-two
“I’m glad you didn’t camp too close to the creek, Mrs Wiltshire.”
Harriet smiled at the two women seated on her chairs under the canvas awning. The morning sun was warm and the rays slanted through the trees, sparkling off the wet leaves. After the overnight rain the earth smelled fresh and the scent of eucalyptus filled the air. It was a beautiful day.
“Please call me, Harriet, Mrs Smith.”
“Oh we’re all so stiff and starchy, aren’t we?” Lizzie Smith put down her cup and smiled at Harriet. “Let’s all use our first names, Mother.”
“Very well, Lizzie,” the older woman said. “Anyway, Harriet, the creek rose the highest we’ve ever seen it in the night. There must have been a lot more rain in the hills than we had here. I’m glad you weren’t washed away.”
“We might come from Adelaide but we spend so much time travelling,” Harriet said. “Septimus is astute when it comes to surviving in the bush.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, your husband is a very fine-looking man,” Lizzie said.
Harriet smiled. “I am indeed blessed that he is also a very clever man.”
“Perhaps charismatic.” Mrs Smith had a questioning look on her face.
“An astute businessman.” Harriet cast her hand over the goods she had displayed. “He’s always on the lookout for new items that people so far from town might require.”
“It’s amazing how much you can fit into your wagon,” Lizzie said.
“We are well practised now,” Harriet said.
“And you seem to have everything you need.” Lizzie picked up the tea cup again. “This is the most beautiful tea set, isn’t it, Mother.”
“Quite delightful.” Mrs Smith took another sip.
“I see you’ve been reading,” Lizzie said and nodded at the small pile of books on the little shelf beside the wagon. “We have the bible and four other books. Mother and I are the only keen readers here.”
Harriet smiled. The tea set constantly impressed and she always put the little pile of books out to add to the homely touch of her outdoor parlour. “They belonged to my husband’s mother. Would you like to look at them?”
Lizzie leaned forward eagerly as Harriet put the pile of books on the table. “Oh,” she exclaimed as she opened the first book, “is this his mother’s name? Hester Baker?”
“Yes.”
“Our neighbour is Thomas Baker,” Lizzie said. “Wouldn’t it be funny if they were related?”
Harriet paused. Where had she heard that name before? “I never met Septimus’s parents,” she said and began to restack the bolts of cloth she’d piled on top of the trunk. She had hoped to make a substantial sale here but the women had been very frugal in their purchases. A broom and a tablecloth to be put away for Lizzie had been the extent of their shopping. From the way they spoke, Harriet assumed the younger woman was soon to be married.
“Keep the book for now, Lizzie,” she said. “You can return it before we leave.”
“How kind,” Lizzie said and began turning the pages.
“What about your own parents, Harriet? Where are they?” Mrs Smith’s question was one Harriet had been asked many times before by the ladies she met. It was a natural curiosity when so many of them had links to England, but Harriet didn’t like to speak of her parents.
“They died when I was young.”
“I’m so sorry. You can’t be that old now. How sad for you not to have your mother.”
Harriet ran her hands over the bolts of cloth as if she were daydreaming. “I do miss her. My parents hadn’t long been in Australia so they left me very little other than happy memories.” Harriet allowed a soft sigh to escape her lips, then she put a hand to her bosom. “Luckily I met my Septimus and together we have been making a new start. We very much enjoy travelling and bringing supplies to people like yourselves, who are so far from Adelaide.”
Harriet lowered her lashes but not before she saw a shared look of concern pass between mother and daughter.
“Lizzie, I think you will need a new dress before long.” Mrs Smith stood up and inspected the bolts of fabric she’d only given a cursory look before.
“You were saying as much just the other day.” Lizzie joined her mother to look at the fabric.
“What about this blue?” Harriet unrolled a few yards of a deep sapphire-blue cloth and held it towards Lizzie. “Oh, and what a beautiful locket.” She admired the tiny gold heart that hung around Lizzie’s neck. “Did someone special give you that?”
Lizzie’s eyes danced. “The neighbour I mentioned before, Thomas Baker.”
“Are you to be married?”
“You have a most beautiful pendant yourself.” Lizzie changed the topic and looked wistfully at the locket.
Harriet put her hand to the delicate gold heart. “Yes. My husband gave it to me.” Harriet had been touched that Septimus would give her such a beautiful gift with her initial engraved on the front. “I am very lucky to have such a special piece of jewellery of my own. I have nothing of my mother’s.” She tucked it back inside her bodice and lifted the fabric in her hands close around Lizzie’s neck. Harriet knew her pendant was twice the size and quality of the little one around the other woman’s neck and she didn’t want anything to detract from the sale she hoped she was about to make. If only she could work out what was going on. Was Lizzie to be married or not? “This colour makes your eyes sparkle.”
“She’s right, Lizzie,” Mrs Smith said. “It’s perfect for you. Not really the right fabric for working in but … perhaps for a special dress.”
“Mother.” Lizzie’s voice had a warning tone.
“Well, you’re not getting any younger, my girl.”
“Just ignore my mother, Harriet. Our neighbour is a very good friend but …”
Mrs Smith gave a gentle snort. “He’s the only decent man in the district. I think it’s time your father pressed him for his intentions.”
Harriet saw the faint blush spread across Lizzie’s cheeks.
“Mother,” Lizzie said again, but much firmer this time. “This is not the place.”
“Please don’t worry, Lizzie,” Harriet said. “I hear lots of stories when I’m travelling around. So many women are without female company. Just think of me as a sister. I never repeat anything I hear in confidence.” She swallowed her curiosity and smile re
assuringly in the hope she would still make a sale. “Now your mother seems to think this fabric would be lovely for a special dress, even if it’s just for dancing, and I have to agree with her. The colour matches your eyes and makes your skin glow.”
“We’ll make it up together, Lizzie.” Mrs Smith patted her daughter’s hand. “You can wear it for Edmund’s wedding.”
“I wouldn’t want to outshine the bride.”
“Elizabeth.” This time Mrs Smith’s voice had taken on the warning tone.
Lizzie lowered her voice. “I know one shouldn’t blow one’s own trumpet, Harriet, but my brother Edmund’s bride is the most dour-faced person I’ve ever met.”
“She is a rather serious young woman,” Mrs Smith conceded, “but she does enjoy a little joke sometimes.”
“And then she has that silly snort.”
Lizzie pulled a face and Harriet relaxed as mother and daughter both began to laugh.
Mrs Smith picked up the soft cloth again. “I am sure your father would be happy to allow you a new dress, Lizzie. You do your share of work.”
Harriet smiled, assured of a good sale at last.
Septimus nodded his head. He had resigned himself to the fact that he would do no business with George Smith but the man was happy to speak about life so far from civilisation. He had four sons, providing enough manpower to manage the property and release one of them to make trips to Adelaide to sell their wool and buy supplies when necessary.
George had been happy to show him around the improvements they’d made. One new hut just finished in readiness for his oldest son’s marriage and another being built next door for the second son, who was also to take a wife. There was a large shearing shed and stockyards, and George’s own hut was a good size. It had an enclosed backyard, where his wife and daughter clearly did their best to maintain a small vegetable and fruit garden.
What Septimus was most interested in was George’s talk of the land to the north. He hinted that the country could be suitable to expand into. When Septimus had last been in Adelaide there was talk that the government was going to grant longer-term pastoral leases and at each stop he’d made since then the landholders had only added to the speculation. He had quite a bit of money put away and investing in land seemed a good opportunity, but he knew little about farming so he asked questions and listened.
Heart of the Country Page 20