Dust on the Horizon (21 page)

The distant wails of her baby reached her ears. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the mantel clock just as the door swung open.

“There you are my darling.” Her mother, Florence, stepped inside, the fabric of her silk taffeta day dress rustling as she moved. “I thought perhaps you'd be in the garden taking some fresh air. It's such a beautiful day. Have you been reading?”

Florence carried Charles Henry to her. Catherine could see one little fist had escaped his blanket and it waved angrily in the air. She put her hands to her breasts as she felt her milk flow at the sound of his cries.

“Is he hungry again already?”

Her mother jiggled the baby while Catherine untied the ribbons of her soft voile day gown. “He's slept for two hours and then talked to his hands for at least one more.” Her mother kissed the baby's forehead then handed him over. “You're so lucky, Catherine. He's a good feeder and a good sleeper and content in between.”

Catherine offered Charles her breast. His cries ceased instantly, replaced by the funny little sounds he made as he sucked and swallowed. She gazed at him, taking in the tufts of dark hair peeping out from his bonnet and the soft pink skin of his little cheeks working hard to drain the milk. She bent to kiss the tiny fingers that gripped the flesh at her neck. He was perfect in every way and yet she felt so tired.

“I thought you were going to wash and dress while he slept.” Her mother sat beside her gazing adoringly at her grandson.

“All this feeding and changing and waking in the night makes me so tired, Mother.”

“You're lucky you have me and Mrs Phillips to help with him. It will be different once you go home.”

Catherine looked up at her mother in alarm. “Henry won't expect me until I can manage on my own. The new house will be so much bigger and Charles is so demanding.”

“Surely Henry will hire someone to help you with the house?”

“I don't think so.” Catherine looked down at her baby again. She had no idea of their financial arrangements. Henry was usually very careful with what they spent. “He's already had to take on Mr Hemming to help with the shop while I've been confined.”

“You must ask Henry, my dear. You have your son to think of now.” Florence stroked her daughter's hair. “Henry will have to see that you will need help at home.”

“There are few people suitable …” Catherine's voice trailed off as she thought of the tiny, dusty collection of rough buildings that made up the town where her husband waited for her return. She closed her eyes. Living in the comfort of her parents' home by the sea at Glenelg it seemed a world away.

There was a tap on the door and Mrs Phillips entered.

“Excuse me, Mrs Hallet. A note has been delivered.”

She crossed the room and handed Florence the note. Her sharp gaze swept over Catherine who had the baby over her shoulder patting his back. “Shall I take the dear little mite while you … to give you time to wash and dress for the day.”

“Thank you Mrs Phillips.” Catherine handed Charles over and tugged her clothes back into place.

“I'll change the dear babe and keep him with me a while.”

“You'd best get changed quickly, my dear.” Florence put down the note she'd just read. “Your mother-in-law intends to call on you at midday. She apologises for the short notice but she has some business at Glenelg.”

“Oh bother.” Catherine fanned her face with her hand. “I'm not feeling like a visit from Harriet.”

“She wants to fit in one more visit before you leave for Hawker.”

Terror coursed through Catherine. “Leave?”

“Tomorrow, my darling. You are supposed to catch the train tomorrow. Had you forgotten the date? You've already delayed your return home by a month.”

Catherine's mind was fudge. She had no idea what day it was let alone what date. Her days were filled with feeding Charles, spending time with her mother, enjoying the attention and the visits from her sisters and their children and delightful strolls to take tea at the kiosk. She had little need to know what day it was.

“But I'm not ready, Mother. How will I manage?” Tears brimmed in Catherine's eyes. “I can't go back yet.”

“There, there, my darling.” Florence pulled her into her arms. “Don't get upset, you'll turn your milk. Perhaps we could send Henry a telegraph. Say you need a little longer to recuperate.”

“I can't keep delaying … can I?”

“You had a long, difficult birth. It takes time to get over that.”

Catherine closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about the two days of agony she went through to deliver her precious baby. Charles was the most beautiful gift but she never wanted to endure that agony again. Her cheeks felt warm at the thought of her times in the marital bed with Henry. That would have to cease. There would be no more babies. She would put off her return to Hawker a little longer. Henry would have to understand.

By midday Catherine had bathed and dressed. Her mother had brushed her long dark hair until it shone and then had helped her put it up in an elegant roll, leaving one curl to hang down over her shoulder. She wore her new pale pink linen dress, mercifully cooler than the fabrics of most of her other dresses. It was a princess line, the new fashion Harriet had told her about on her last visit. Catherine had chosen it because it was made without a waist. In spite of that, the skirt was fitted and required her to wear an all-in-one long-lined corset, something she had not missed during her confinement and the two months since. She twisted her head over her shoulder to take in the fabric frills that cascaded down the back of the dress; after so long in loose-fitting clothes she felt more shapely and pretty again. It gave her the confidence to face Harriet who always managed to make her feel anxious.

The mantel clock had only just chimed twelve when Mrs Phillips knocked on the door and showed Harriet into the room.

“My dear.” Harriet moved towards her, arms outstretched. “You are positively the picture of health. Motherhood most certainly suits you.” Harriet pulled Catherine into a loose hug then let her go and took her by the hand. “And I see you took my advice and had a dress made in the new princess style. It certainly suits you and makes the most of your womanly assets.”

Catherine blushed. Henry's mother was talking about her breasts. The new dress certainly showed off her shape although it had been such an imposition to wear a corset again.

“Please have a seat, Mrs Wiltshire.” Catherine indicated the high-backed velvet chair but Harriet crossed to the chaise longue.

“Would you care for some tea, Mrs Wiltshire?”

Catherine and Harriet both turned to Mrs Phillips who was still standing just inside the door.

“Not for me, thank you.” Harriet sat and patted the seat next to her.

“Nor me, Mrs Phillips, thank you.” Catherine sat next to Harriet.

“I can't stay long but as I was in these parts I thought it too good an opportunity to see my grandson. Where is he?”

“Mother will bring him down soon.”

“I have left some parcels for you and Charles with Mrs Phillips.”

“You spoil us, Mrs Wiltshire.”

Harriet patted her hand. “Just some items of clothing I hope you'll find useful in the warmer weather at Hawker.”

Catherine didn't want to think about the heat. It had been enough to endure the end of the summer when she'd first moved with Henry to Hawker. A full summer season was ahead of her, and how would she keep Charles cool? It was so much nicer in her parents' home at Glenelg with its thick stone walls and high ceilings and windows that allowed the sea breeze to flow through. If the house was too hot some evenings they packed a blanket and a picnic and sat on the beach to eat.

“Thank you.” Catherine resisted the urge to fan her face. Suddenly she felt very hot. There were no cooling breezes at Hawker.

“I have one more thing for you.” Harriet reached into her purse and withdrew a small red velvet drawstring bag. “I think it's time you wore this.”

Catherine accepted the bag and opened it. She tipped it and a gold chain with a locket slipped into her hand. She recognised it as the one Harriet usually wore.

“But this is yours, Mrs Wiltshire.”

“It belonged to my husband's mother. Now that you are Henry's wife and have borne him a son I would like you to have it.”

Catherine had always admired the delicate gold locket with its fine filigree and an intricate ‘H' etched in its centre. “That's so kind.” She lifted it to her neck.

“Here, let me.”

Catherine turned her back and lifted the long lock of hair from her neck so that Harriet could do up the clasp.

“There.” Harriet reached forward and gently tapped the heart with her finger. “I never met my mother-in-law. Her name was Hester. I always felt happy to share her initial. Your maiden name was Hallet and of course you are married to Henry so the letter ‘H' is still relevant.” Harriet's finger lingered on the locket. “Keep it safe.”

Catherine wondered at Harriet's strange, almost fearful, look. “But of course I will.” She looked down. The heart sat just above the rise of her breasts. “It's beautiful. Thank you.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. She'd always found Harriet rather prickly but it was a very kind thing to give something that was obviously so special to her.

The door opened and Florence came in carrying Charles.

“And here is my grandson.” Harriet stood up. “Hello, Florence.”

“Good afternoon, Harriet. Would you like to hold him?”

“Of course.”

Harriet accepted the bundle of soft white fabric that enveloped the baby.

“He's grown so much since the christening.”

“They do change so quickly.” Both grandmothers smiled down at Charles.

Catherine felt the milk surge in her breasts. Oh Lord, she thought, she would have to undress to feed him. Why hadn't she thought of that before she'd chosen to wear her new dress?

Harriet crossed to the window where the partly drawn curtains allowed more light.

“He is looking more and more like Henry. He has the same pointy nose.” She looked up and beamed at Catherine. “I'm so glad I got another opportunity to see you both before you go back to Hawker.”

Catherine sent a worried look to her mother.

“Their return may be delayed,” Florence said.

“Really?” Harriet's smile became a frown. “But Charles is over two months old. Henry will be desperate to meet his son.”

“Of course, Harriet, but you are a woman and a mother, you understand how difficult bearing a child can be and how tiring. Catherine needs our care right now. She needs to be strong to return to her duties at Hawker.”

“Her duty is to be with her husband.”

Catherine felt sick. Her clothes were too tight and the room felt stuffy. “I'm only delaying a little longer. Charles is very demanding.”

Harriet looked from the sleeping baby to Florence and then to Catherine. Her eyes glittered. “I can see that.” She crossed the room to Catherine. “You are a capable young woman. That's one of the reasons Henry married you.” Harriet fixed her with a steely look. “I am sure you know where your duty lies.” Harriet bent down and kissed her grandson's forehead then handed him to Catherine. “I must go to my appointment. I can see myself out.” At the door Harriet stopped. “I look forward to visiting you next time in Hawker. I am most interested to see the grand house Henry has built for you.” Then she was gone.

Catherine felt a rush of guilt. Charles began to squirm in her arms and then let out a sharp cry. Catherine looked at her mother and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Florence was quickly at her side, holding her close. “There, there, my darling, don't upset yourself. All will be well. We've already sent the telegraph to Henry. He will understand you need a little more time.”

Catherine's lip wobbled. She wasn't so sure that her mother was right.

The stonework of the house reflected the late-afternoon sun, giving it a golden glow. Henry swept his gaze along the newly painted verandah rails gleaming with deep green paint, to the shining glass of the large front windows with their brass latches and then to the grand front door. Solid wood, polished to the same tone as the golden stone, and with a large wrought-iron knocker above a central door handle. It had stretched his purse and he'd had to bully and cajole the builders to finish but it was done at last. All ready for his wife to return home with their son, Charles Henry.

Henry spun on his heel and walked back down the new stone path. The trouble was, it appeared his wife was not returning home any time soon. This morning he had received a telegraph saying Catherine was delaying her return once more and in the afternoon he had received a telegraph from his mother saying he should come and visit his wife and son. Whatever was going on, it was time Catherine came home.

He blamed her mother Florence for encouraging her to stay away. Florence had never wanted her daughter to live in the wild bush country, as she'd called Hawker. Henry had worked hard to prove to Catherine's family that he could provide for her very well in Hawker.

He stepped through the new gate and latched it then stopped to look up at his new house. A surge of pride puffed out his chest. All was in readiness. Flora had done a fine job of selecting the fabric for the curtains and had even been the one to sew them. There were rugs on the floor in the two main rooms. He had moved in what furniture they had and their personal effects. He was sure Catherine would want to add her own touches but at least the house was ready to live in. She could change things later if she wished.

Henry turned away and made the short journey next door to what had been his rental accommodation. Flora Nixon and her two children were now installed there and he was going to enjoy one of her home-cooked meals before retiring to his new house for the night. Tomorrow, instead of meeting the train, he would be travelling on it. Catherine could delay no longer. Her place was at his side and he wanted to get to know his son. If she wouldn't come home Henry would go and fetch her home.