“I hear Wiltshire is back at the Ridge.”
Thomas swung the hammer hard. “What that man does is of no concern to me.”
Jacob flicked a look at Thomas then set to his own work.
Thomas pounded the post with his hammer. In this vast country, of all the people to have as a neighbour, he had the one man who tested his patience beyond endurance. No matter what the bible said about turning the other cheek, Thomas found each time he did, Wiltshire was there, slapping him again.
Thomas knew he had difficulty seeing reason when Wiltshire was mentioned. Perhaps living out here all these years had made him a little crazy: the hard work, the isolation, the heat, the loss of two babies. He paused the relentless pounding. Even though Ellen was now well past two years, Thomas still watched over her and, according to Lizzie, indulged her far too much. He couldn’t help himself. If he lost another little girl he truly thought he would take leave of his senses.
“Father!”
Thomas fought to keep the panic from rising. Why would Lizzie allow Joseph to come all this way alone? He looked up and was relieved to see there were two horses approaching, the pony carrying Joseph and the larger horse with an older man, a stranger. Even though Joseph had turned eight and rode well, he wasn’t allowed to head out alone.
“Who’s that?” Jacob asked.
“I don’t know.”
Thomas ignored the stranger. He was intent on his son, who was smiling broadly. At least it couldn’t be bad news.
“Father,” Joseph said as he got closer. “I’ve brought Mr Browne to visit you.”
Thomas shifted his gaze to the solidly built man now dismounting his horse. The brown jacket and the leather leggings were familiar. The man wearing them had become more portly and the hair visible under his broad hat had greyed but the quickness of his eyes and the smile on his face was the same.
Thomas strode forward, his hand outstretched. “AJ! What are you doing all the way out here?”
His old employer shook his hand firmly and gripped his shoulder. “I’ve grown a little soft, sitting around in town. I came to spend some time with Wick at Penakie and then I felt the urge to visit you. I wanted to see for myself this country of yours and what my investment has produced.”
“It’s good to see you,” Thomas said. He’d paid back his original debt to AJ, and they corresponded, but he hadn’t seen him in a long time.
AJ shook Jacob’s hand, then gave the wire fence a look. “This is an interesting idea,” he said. “Wick and I have spoken about fences at Penakie.”
“It won’t stop the wild dogs.” Thomas tested the strain on the top wire.
“Or the natives,” Jacob added.
“But it will make it easier to manage our stock,” Thomas said.
“Look at me,” Joseph called.
They all turned to see the boy balancing on the fence further up the hill. His arms were flung wide and his feet were either side of the wire on the steps Thomas had built. They were a kind of stile, a concession to Daisy. Their friendship had never been the same since the first fence was built. He hoped she would approve of a place for her people to cross the new one.
Joseph swung his leg and jumped to the ground on the Smith’s Ridge side. He spun around in a circle, and the breeze he made flipped his hat from his head.
Thomas stiffened. Dread coursed through him. “Get back over here.”
Joseph froze and stared at his father.
“Now, Joseph.”
Thomas wanted nothing to do with Smith’s Ridge. In his mind that land had tainted any of his family who had touched it. The fence was a symbol of the safety to be found on the Wildu Creek side.
“Well, we know your crazy contraption works at least.” Jacob chuckled, breaking the tension as he walked along the fence towards the steps.
Joseph bent to retrieve his hat, the smile wiped from his face. As he dropped to the ground on Wildu Creek side, Jacob ruffled his hair and pushed his hat firmly on his head.
“Problems?” AJ asked.
“Smith’s Ridge has always caused us grief,” Thomas said, turning his back on the fence.
“Smith’s Ridge?” AJ murmured.
“But you don’t want to hear about our troubles,” Thomas said. “How are things at Penakie? And Wick, how is he?”
“You’ll be able to see for yourself.”
Thomas gave AJ a sideways look.
“He came with me. He’s back at the house with Lizzie.”
“Truly?” Thomas smiled. He had only seen Wick a couple of times since he’d left Penakie. “I will enjoy meeting up with him again.”
“And Mother’s made cake and wild peach pie.” Joseph’s natural good humour had returned.
Thomas put a hand on his son’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He rarely raised his voice to the boy. “In that case I think we should call it a day. Time to go home,” he said.
*
Later that evening, after they’d all eaten too much of Lizzie’s wonderful roasted mutton and pie, Thomas, AJ and Wick remained in the outside room after everyone else had retired for the night. Thomas kept a small fire going – the days were warm but the last few nights the temperature had dropped quickly after sunset.
“This stone house you’re building is a fine construction, Thomas.” AJ was settled back in his chair, his hands resting on his rounded stomach. “We should do the same at Penakie, Wick.”
“I don’t know nothing about building with stone, Mr Browne.”
“You’re a damn good overseer,” AJ said. “You deserve some better lodgings.”
Thomas studied Wick. The firelight flickered off his rugged features. His fair hair was thick and nearly to his shoulders and his arms bulged inside his shirt. The terrified shearer’s boy had grown into a fine man.
“We had builders help us with the walls and windows,” Thomas said. “Part of the supplies Zac will bring from Port Augusta is a load of tin for the roof. We’ll finish that ourselves.”
“I’ve seen tin being used. Cheaper and quicker than wood,” AJ said. “I think we need to look into a building you a better home, Wick. Then perhaps you can ask that young lady to marry you.” He gave a low chuckle that made his stomach wobble.
Wick stretched his hands out to the fire but kept his head lowered. Lizzie had teased him earlier about his good looks and being chased by the girls. His face had coloured then. Evidently there was a local shepherd’s daughter he was smitten with. Thomas remembered his own awkwardness when it came to women.
“A new house will make life a little easier for all of us,” he said quietly. “Wooden floors, ceilings and good strong windows and a kitchen and wash house. We’ve got a wide verandah front and back and high walls and roof to help keep it cool. We’ve even put a new roof and door on the toilet.” Thomas could feel the pride inflate his chest as he went on. “The best part will be the tank dug into the hill to store rainwater from the roof. Lizzie won’t have to struggle with the barrels any more; and we’ve dug a small cellar to store food.” He lowered his voice again. “But a roof and tank will be little use if it doesn’t rain.”
“This country looks good even though it’s autumn,” Wick said.
“We’ve had some good years.” Thomas threw another branch on the fire. Sparks crackled up into the air in a short display of glittery light. “But if we get another long dry like we did in ’54, I won’t be able to feed the stock I’ve got.”
“Do you think that’s likely?” AJ asked.
“Likely? Yes,” Thomas said. “When, I don’t know. The country’s different up here, not like Penakie. We haven’t had rain since late last year and there’s no sign we’re getting any shortly. I’ll have too many sheep to maintain if it doesn’t come down soon.”
“How many sheep do you have now?” AJ asked.
“Six thousand.”
“The Gwynns back home are looking to buy more stock,” Wick said. “I was talking to their new shepherd just before we came up here.”
“How’s Duffy?” Thomas asked. “Is he still working for the Gwynns?”
“No,” Wick said. “Turned up his toes. Overseer found him dead in his swag a few weeks back. Not sure what killed him but more’n likely the grog, they reckon.”
Thomas stared into the fire. He’d never been a good friend of Duffy’s but the man had certainly livened up his days at Penakie. It was sad to hear of his passing.
“Anyway,” Wick went on, “the new bloke reckons they’re down on stock and looking to buy.”
“Might be worth thinking about, Thomas,” AJ said.
“Yes.” Thomas had been pondering what to do as a dry March had dragged into a dry April. He still had feed, but if he kept so much stock, it wouldn’t last until next summer without rain.
“I’ve still got property south of Adelaide. If you ever need to, you could shift a mob down there.”
“That’s very generous, AJ, though I hope it won’t come to that.”
“Sounds like this neighbour of yours is causing you some trouble as well,” AJ said.
“Irritating. He’s overstocked and brings his sheep onto Wildu. We’ve got better water supplies and more grass country than he has. I’m sure he takes sheep from time to time too.”
“Surely they’re marked?” AJ leaned closer.
“They’re adept at finding ways to disguise markings. I’m hopeful the new fence will slow him down.”
“What’s his name?”
“Rix is the overseer but Wiltshire is the owner.”
“Septimus Wiltshire?” Wick sat straight in his chair.
“Do you know him?”
“He used to travel around our area hawking,” Wick said. “Rarely comes Penakie way any more but I’ve heard he’s still plying his trade in other parts.”
“He wouldn’t go near George Smith and his sons,” Thomas said. “It was George he swindled to get his hands on Smith’s Ridge.”
“Ah. I wondered at the reason for the property name.” AJ nodded. “How did he get away with it? I wouldn’t have thought George easily duped.”
“Neither he is,” Thomas said. “But Wiltshire is a cunning devil. I’ve discovered he’s the same man who swindled me when I first began working for you.”
“Really?” AJ cast a sharp look at Thomas.
“It’s a long story.”
“He’s the man I told you about, Mr Browne,” Wick said. “Remember when I discovered those unmarked wool bales after Fowler’s team had been through several years back?”
“We had unmarked bales when Fowler was here,” Thomas said.
“I noticed the Penakie bales before they made it onto the wagon and branded them myself,” Wick said. “I thought it had been a mistake.”
“We lost bales twice while we were using Fowler,” Thomas said. “The first time we didn’t know until it was too late but the second time we marked them with thread and let them go to the port. The police in Port Augusta tracked them but the man who was found with them escaped custody. From his description I’m sure he wasn’t Wiltshire.”
“Wiltshire happened to turn up at Penakie before Fowler left,” Wick said. “They appeared not to know each other but later I overhead them arguing. It wouldn’t surprise me if Fowler supplied Wiltshire somehow.”
“He’s slippery,” Thomas said. “I’ve never been able to catch him out, but I’ve suspected him of many things.”
“He’ll get caught one day, Thomas,” AJ said. “It must be difficult having such a neighbour but your hard work has paid off for you here. Don’t lose sleep over him. You have enough to battle with the elements.”
“You’re right about that.” Thomas stared out across the creek into the darkness. His mind saw the view even though his eyes couldn’t. “If I’ve learned one thing about living here it’s that it’s not predictable. Several good years could just as easily lead to several bad.”
“Do you want me to speak to Gwynn about buying some of your sheep?” AJ gave him a steady look.
Thomas nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Sixty-two
1864
Septimus pushed open the door of his inn. The hot wind at his back propelled him inside.
“Shut the door!”
He looked up at Ethel’s bellow.
“Oh, for gawd’s sake, it’s you, Mr Wiltshire.”
He heaved the door shut behind him. The dust that had blown in settled around the room, but the flies took a little longer. He flung his hand in the air to disperse them. It was barely cooler inside than out.
Ethel bustled around the bar, lifting her apron to fan herself as she moved. “What on earth brings you here in the middle of summer?” She pulled out a chair for him.
“Checking my investment. I’ve had little income from this inn for months.” Septimus cast his eyes about the empty bar. “Where is your husband, madam?”
“Down in the cellar. We’re down to our last bag of flour.”
Septimus disliked Ethel. She was much too forward and he didn’t trust her … but he did like her food. “I’ve just made the journey from Adelaide.”
“In this weather?”
“I would appreciate some food and a cool drink.”
“We’ve no beer.”
Septimus squinted through the dusty air at the woman. He didn’t care for beer but his customers expected it. “What do you mean you’ve no beer?”
“We haven’t had a wagon through here for over a month.”
Septimus rested his elbows on the table and gripped his head in his hands. This damned country was beginning to get the better of him. Everyone was suffering from lack of water. No one wanted to buy the goods he was peddling. He hadn’t seen Rix for several months but his most recent trip to Smith’s Ridge hadn’t been a good one. Feed had been low and stock struggled to make it to what water they had. Baker’s wire fence had put paid to grazing his land. Rix had complained he would have few sheep left to shear if things didn’t improve. It was now well after shearing time and Septimus hadn’t heard from him.
There was a bang from the back of the inn and slow footsteps crossed the wooden floor.
Septimus looked up as Ned entered the room.
“Look who’s here, Ned,” Ethel said as she put a jug of cordial and a mug on the table. She put her hands to her hips and studied Septimus. “I’ve some mutton and pickles and bread I can bring you.”
Septimus had lived on little else for weeks. “That’ll do,” he snapped.
Ethel retreated to the kitchen, flapping as she went. Ned watched him with brooding eyes from the other side of the bar.
“Ethel tells me you’ve had no custom,” Septimus said.
“Times are tough.” Ned shrugged his shoulders. He picked up a cloth and began wiping the bar. Dust rose around him and settled where he’d been. “There’s no feed for bullock or horse for miles and little water. Few are venturing this way unless they’ve room to cart the feed for their animals with them.”
“Damn!” Septimus thumped the table with both fists. The dust rose around him again and he began to cough. He poured himself some of the cordial. It was cool at least.
“Times are tough,” Ned said again and continued his wiping.
Septimus glowered at him. Tough times or no, this inn should have done much better that it had. He didn’t trust the man or his bumptious wife.
“I’ll see the ledger while I’m here,” Septimus said.
Ned stopped his wiping as Ethel bustled back into the room.
“Are you planning on staying here long?” she asked as she placed a plate of food next to the cordial.
Septimus shovelled some mutton and pickle into his mouth. At least the meat wasn’t dried. “No,” he said once he’d swallowed the mouthful. “I’ve got more business to attend to.”
“In this heat.” Ethel flapped her apron again.
Septimus ignored her until she left him to his meal.
He was planning to go to the hut
before dusk. It was difficult enough managing the rough track on a horse, let alone one pulling a wagon. He hoped Dulcie would be there. She hadn’t been several months earlier, when he’d stopped on his way back from Smith’s Ridge. He had tried to govern his rage: it was, after all, only the second time that had happened. His wagon was loaded with supplies he couldn’t sell. He planned to settle in the hut with Dulcie and wait out this terrible weather. Surely rain had to fall eventually.
“Won’t be much of a Christmas for people this year,” Ethel said.
“Christmas?” Septimus looked up. She leaned against the front of the bar. Ned was watching from his side.
“It’s only a few weeks away,” Ethel said. “We were hoping you’d let us stay on here.”
Septimus frowned. “Where else would you be going?”
“We thought perhaps you’d close the place up since times were so bad.”
Septimus looked around the gloomy interior. Usually Ethel had the place spick and span but after weeks of dust storms and on a day like today, it was a losing battle. If the place were left empty he knew it would soon go to ruin. Good times must surely return and with them would come the teamsters and the business, even if it hadn’t previously met his expectations. He needed someone prepared to look after the place, but not cost him money.
“I had planned to,” he said.
“Such a shame,” Ethel said.
“Yes.” Septimus took another sip of the cordial, watching them over the top of the mug. “But if there’s no trade I can’t afford to pay wages.”
“We’ve nowhere else to go,” Ned said.
“That’s right, Mr Wiltshire.” Ethel flapped again. “If you could see your way clear to letting us stay on, we’d fend for ourselves, wouldn’t we, Ned?”
Her husband nodded. “We could keep the place in good repair until it opened for business again.”
Septimus leaned back in his chair. His stomach was full and he felt somewhat refreshed now that he was out of the ferocious wind. “It could be a long time,” he said. “How will you manage?”
“People are giving away sheep,” Ned said. “And there’s plenty of animals come to the permanent water down in the creek. I’m having no trouble getting meat.”
Heart of the Country Page 39