Dust on the Horizon (24 page)

“No, Henry.” Catherine pushed him away. “We can't. Not now. Don't you want to see your son? Mrs Phillips will be back any moment. She's taken him out for some air. He had such a restless night.”

The hunger she saw in Henry's eyes made her panic. She wasn't ready for this. She bent to retrieve the shawl that had slipped from her shoulders and pulled it tight around her.

“How long are you staying, Henry?”

“We must leave by midday.”

“We?”

“Yes, I've booked us passage on the coastal steamer. It departs the port on the late-afternoon tide.” Henry clasped both of her hands in his. “I thought it would be a more comfortable journey for you, my dear, and for our son of course.”

“But I'm not ready.” Catherine's heart raced.

“We have time.” Henry smiled benevolently. “I can help you, my dearest, and you don't need to pack everything. I am sure your mother would be happy to send on anything you leave behind.”

“Our little house will be so crowded.”

“That is something I was going to surprise you with but allay your fears, my dearest.” He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. “Our new home is finished. I have been living there this last week. All is ready for your return.”

Catherine glanced wildly around the room. She couldn't go, not yet. Her gaze came to rest on the baby's cradle. “Henry, I'm not sure you understand how much it takes to prepare and look after a baby.” She went to pull her hands from his but he gripped them tightly.

“And I'm not sure you understand, Catherine.” His eyes darkened and the smile left his lips. “I want my wife and son by my side at home in Hawker where they belong. I am leaving here at midday and you will be at my side.”

The command in his final words sent another shiver down her spine. Her heart continued to beat against her chest like a trapped bird. The sound of a baby's cries broke the silence between them. They both turned at a tap on the door.

“Come in.” Henry's voice carried the tone of the owner of the house rather than a guest.

Mrs Phillips came in carrying a wailing Charles in her arms. Henry was at her side in an instant. He reached out his hands for the baby.

“My son,” he said.

Mrs Phillips looked past him to Catherine. Catherine gave a small nod. Henry would soon see there was little to be done when Charles was screaming for the breast like he was now.

Henry carried the baby to the bed where he laid him on the cover and unwrapped the blankets. Catherine could see Charles's little hands waving angrily in the air. Once more she felt the milk gush in her breasts. Nothing would calm him now until he was fed.

Henry slid his hands beneath his son. “Well, what a fine set of lungs you have young man.” He raised the baby up, studied his scrunched red face then gently put him to his shoulder, supporting the tiny head with one fine-fingered hand and patting the baby's back firmly with the other.

“Hello, Charles Henry,” he murmured into the baby's tiny ear. “I am your father.”

The wailing ceased almost instantly. Catherine's eyes widened. Mrs Phillips gave a small cough.

Henry turned his head slightly in her direction. “Thank you, Mrs Phillips. Can you tell Florence I will be down soon to take some tea with her? Then I'd be most grateful if you could return to begin packing while Catherine is taking care of our son's needs.”

Mrs Phillip's eyes flashed but she simply gave a small nod and left the room, the only sound the crisp rustle of her skirt.

Henry looked at Catherine, the benevolent smile firmly back on his face. “Make yourself comfortable, my dear. I am assuming the reason for all that bellowing and the snuffling now at my neck is because our son is hungry.”

Catherine sat. “He is often so of late.”

Henry watched while she undid the ribbons of her nightgown then he handed Charles to her as if the baby was made of delicate eggshells. Immediately Charles began to wail again. Catherine placed him on her breast. Henry put a gentle hand on the baby's head then on hers. “He's a feisty little fellow, isn't he?”

“He keeps me very busy,” Catherine said as forcefully as she could muster.

“I will leave you in peace.” Henry kissed the top of her head then strolled to the door. He paused and turned back. “I will ask your mother to pack some food for the journey. I've ordered a carriage.” He pulled out his watch, looked at it then slipped it back in his pocket. “We will leave here, the three of us, at midday precisely.” He stepped out the door and closed it softly behind him.

Catherine looked down at the baby tugging on her breast and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. The time she'd spent in her family's care was over.

Henry accepted the teacup perched on the delicate saucer from his mother-in-law. “Thank you, Florence.”

She gave him a small nod, her own cup remaining on the intricate table that held the tea tray. They were seated in the front room that faced the sea and Henry could hear the distant sound of the waves through the partly open arched windows.

“I hope you don't mind me speaking out, Henry, but I must on my daughter's behalf.”

He looked over the rim of his cup at her powdered face and waited.

“This is a delicate matter.” Florence perched awkwardly on the edge of her seat. “Bringing a child into the world is not always easy for a woman. Catherine was in pain for several days.”

Henry returned the cup to the saucer. “She had the baby here so she could be attended by a physician.”

“And she was. Catherine had the best of care but some women experience more complications. First babies can be especially difficult.”

“What are you saying, Florence?” The woman was most perplexing. Perhaps the birthing of his son had caused some internal problem for his wife. “Is Catherine … unwell … or hurt in some way?”

“No, no.” Florence's cheeks turned pink and her chin lifted a little higher. “It is taking her some time to recover, that is all. And to adjust to the challenges of being a mother.”

“I will be able to assist her with that.”

“But surely you are at work all day providing for your family.”

“I have employed a housekeeper.” Henry gave a smug smile as Florence sat back. “Our new home is not as grand as yours of course but I think you will find it most suitable for people of our standing in the community.” He puffed out his chest. “My shop is patronised by those people who are held in high regard in Hawker.”

“There don't seem to be many women in Hawker who are … appropriate companions. Women need other women to talk to so that they don't burden their husbands with day-to-day trivialities.”

Henry put a finger inside his collar and adjusted it more comfortably on his neck. “On the contrary, we have several acquaintances who are looking forward to Catherine's return.” He agreed with Florence to some degree but wouldn't admit it. Mrs Taylor had asked after his wife just prior to his departure and Johanna Prosser had sent a gift of a small wooden rattle. They might be older than Catherine but were fitting friends given Henry's position and future standing in the community.

“Hawker is so far away.”

“You must come and visit us. There is a regular train service now.” Henry put his cup and saucer back on the table and stood. He would have no more delaying tactics. The sooner he got his wife and son home the better. “Thank you for the tea, Florence. Would you have your cook prepare some food for us to take on our journey? I am going down to inspect the new lighthouse at the end of the jetty. I expect my wife and son to be ready to depart as soon as I return.”

Florence's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. She glared at him a moment then gave a slight inclination of her head. “As you wish.”

“I'll see myself out.”

Henry's footsteps rang on the tiled floor of the entrance hall. He retrieved his hat and scarf from the intricately carved hall-stand and eyed himself in its mirror. He was pleased with what he saw. There was still a long way to go to match his father-in-law's wealth but he would do it. One day perhaps they would take regular summer holidays in a house like this of their own near the beach but for now Catherine's place was at his side. There would be no more meddling from Florence. Henry spun on his heel, swept his hair back from his forehead and pushed his new hat onto his crown, then he stepped out into the spring day.

Twenty

Joseph swung his legs over the side of his bed and groaned. Light poured in around the edges of Clara's heavy blue curtains. He put his head in his hands and pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples, glaring through one eye at the empty flask lying on the floor at his feet. He should have camped one more night to break his journey but last night the moon was bright and he was close enough to know each rut in the track and let them guide his horse and cart home.

Binda had heard him return and had come to help with the horse and cart but they'd said little to each other. It was late, Joseph was tired and had no news worthy of sharing. He crept into his bed but sleep had eluded him. That's when he'd thought of the flask. A nip would help him, but one mouthful wasn't enough and he must have eventually drained the rest of the contents judging by the way his head felt.

There was noise beyond his door, chatting and laughter. He strained to listen. It was William who was laughing, a sound Joseph hadn't heard since … well, it seemed a long time since there'd been any laughter in this house. Without the little girls here it was only Robert who had quickly adapted to the loss of his mother and chortled often at whatever took his fancy.

Joseph had had no word from his parents since Esther and Violet had gone to stay with them over six weeks ago. He had a sudden desire to see his little girls but quickly pushed it away. The shearers would be here in a week and there was much to do. In the past his father's overseer, Timothy, had come to help at Smith's Ridge for shearing and then Joseph had always headed to Wildu Creek to help there. No doubt that would still be the plan but without Clara to cook and look after the children he wasn't sure how it would all work.

Once more William's laughter reached him. Joseph stood, dragged his fingers through his hair and pulled on his clothes. He opened the door and paused at the sight before him. Their big living room was empty of people but now he took in what his eyes hadn't seen in the semi-dark last night.

Sunshine streamed in the dust-free windows showing the floor swept neat as a pin and bare of clothing, shoes and food scraps. The big long table was clear of everything except a jar of the wildflowers that sprouted from the plains and the hill country at this time of year. The fireplace was clean and set ready to be lit. Once more the sound of laughter drew Joseph's attention. He followed it to the kitchen. William stood at the table. Opposite him was Mary, beside her Robert perched on a chair and at the head of the table was the other native woman, Millie. Joseph had forgotten she'd arrived as he'd left for Hawker. All of them were focused on the table as puffs of white hovered in the air between them.

“What's this?”

“Father!” William spun, his eyes bright and his hands covered in flour.

Robert gurgled something that sounded a lot like ‘papa'.

“We're making pies, Father.” William beckoned him over. “Come and see.”

Joseph moved closer and put an arm around Robert who was wavering precariously on the chair. He looked from Mary, whose lips were turned up in a shy smile, to Millie, whose white teeth shone from her laughing mouth.

“Welcome home, Joseph,” she said.

“See, Father.” William tugged on his arm. “Millie had dough left over so we are each making our own little pie.”

Joseph looked down at the table where several oddly shaped creations sat on a baking tray.

“Mine is an elephant shape.” William pointed proudly to a round blob with several pieces sticking out of it. “Mary's helping Robert make a kangaroo. It's very good isn't it?”

Joseph looked at the shape in front of Mary which did indeed closely resemble a kangaroo.

“My brother said to tell you he's gone to check the fence at the top of Prosser's Run.” Millie glanced at him. “I hope it was all right to make use of the supplies you brought back?”

Joseph took in the happy group. Clara was always so careful with every last jot of provisions but if this small wastage was what it took to bring some light into his children's lives then he was not going to complain.

“Of course.” Joseph stuck a finger in a small pool of flour. “As long as we have enough to feed shearers in a week's time.” He put a dab of flour on William's nose and then Robert's.

William rubbed at his nose and Robert sneezed.

“Time to put these pies in the oven and clean up now.” Millie turned away to test the oven. A delicious smell wafted from whatever was inside before she closed the door again and reached for another piece of wood.

“Are you responsible for the cleanliness of my house?” Joseph put a hand to his stomach as it rumbled. He'd hardly eaten since he left Hawker two days ago.

“Mary helped me.” Millie grinned. “I have some egg-and-bacon pie ready to eat. Would you like some?”

Joseph looked in astonishment at the pie she indicated on the bench. He could see the chunks of bacon and whole eggs inside the already-cut pastry.

“We had some,” William said. “Millie cooks like Mother … it was very nice.” William shuffled his feet.

Joseph's heart ached for his son. “Sounds like I had better try some then.”

“You go and sit at the table.” Millie flapped her hands at him. “I will bring it to you.”

Mary took Robert off to clean him up and William followed Joseph to the front room.

Joseph sat in his usual seat, grateful that the pounding in his head had eased. William took a seat on the long stool beside him.