Dust on the Horizon (25 page)

“Has everything been all right while I have been away?”

“Yes,” William said. “Uncle Binda stayed in the hut with Millie the first night. I went with him to check the close waterholes the next day. We've only made short trips so we are not far from home, in case …”

He stopped talking as soon as Millie appeared with the food. She placed a generous serving of pie in front of Joseph.

“Thank you, Millie,” he said and was rewarded by her brilliant smile.

William waited until she was gone before he continued speaking

“We've cleaned out the shearing shed and checked the yards. Today Uncle Binda left early. He wanted to inspect the fences between us and Prosser's Run ready to move sheep closer to the home paddock.”

“We'll have to start that tomorrow.” Joseph took a mouthful of pie. William was right, it was every bit as delicious as Clara's. Jundala always had trouble with the pastry and the consistency of the pie but Millie had it just right. “Very good pie,” he murmured once he'd swallowed two mouthfuls.

“Jundala and Joe haven't come back yet. Uncle Binda thinks they might stay away for a while.” William rested his hands together on the table. “Millie has been very busy in the house. I don't think Uncle Binda is very pleased with her. I've heard them arguing a few times.”

“What about?”

William shrugged his shoulders. “They spoke in their language. It was too fast for me to understand.”

Joseph paused before pushing the next forkful into his mouth and pondered on that while he ate. Binda had intimated there was something he wanted to tell Joseph before he'd left for Hawker. No doubt his friend would share with him what was going on in good time.

William leaned closer. “Millie is different.”

Joseph eyed his son. He wanted to smile at the boy's earnest expression but he sensed that would be the wrong thing to do.

“In what way?”

“She's native but she wears dresses.”

“Jundala and Mary wear dresses.”

“Jundala only does when she's working in the house and Mary's are always …” William paused. “She never looks right in them.”

Joseph thought about that. Millie was of medium height, almost as tall as her brother. The dress she wore fitted her perfectly and she moved around the house with ease in it. “I think that's because Mary's don't fit her properly.” Joseph also thought that both Jundala and Mary were more comfortable in their traditional clothing which didn't entail very much at all, especially in the warmer months.

“She speaks good English and she can read and write. She's been reading to Robert and me each night you've been gone. Just like Mother used …”

Joseph reached out a hand and was shamed when he saw William flinch. What had he become that his son was frightened of him? “It's all right son.” He placed a hand on William's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You don't have to avoid mentioning your mother.”

William stared down at the floor.

Joseph felt as if the food he'd swallowed had turned to rock in his throat. “She will always be in your heart. In all of our hearts.”

“Robert doesn't miss her.” William looked up, his eyes darkened. “He thinks Mary is his mother.”

A stab of pain knifed through Joseph. “I'm sorry, William. There is nothing I can do about that.”

“He should have gone to Grandma's with the girls.”

“Robert is a baby. It would be too much for Grandma to have him as well.”

“Mary's not his mother.” William banged his hands on the table. “She's … she's … black and Robert is white.” He turned worried eyes to his father. “Do you think he will end up brindle like Mr Prosser said?”

Joseph might have laughed had he not felt anger surge through him once more. He removed his hand from William's shoulder, closed his eyes and gripped his head with one hand. Damn Ellis Prosser and his evil tongue. Why couldn't people see beyond the colour of another's skin before they judged?

“I'm sorry, Father.”

Joseph's eyes flew open. Once more William had fear on his face.

“It's not your fault, William, and you have nothing to be sorry for. Men like Ellis Prosser don't deserve our attention.”

“He's our neighbour.”

“He might be but he's not a good one. Your Uncle Binda is a much better man than Mr Prosser will ever be. He doesn't judge a person by the way they look and neither should we.”

William studied his hands for a moment. “It's not so much what she looks like I suppose,” he said. “She bosses me and I'm old enough to make my own decisions.”

Joseph raised his eyebrows.

“And.” William leaned closer and lowered his voice. “She often smells. We have to have a bath every week and change our clothes but Mary wears the same dress without washing it for a long time.”

Joseph felt the rage ebb away. His son was growing up early. Circumstances had made him part man already and Joseph could understand not wanting to be told what to do by Mary who was little more than a child herself. As to the clothes, the same happened with Binda and Jundala. Clara had always made sure they had clothes to wear but they often wore the same apparel without washing it for long periods of time. Joseph had a fair idea it was the clothes that smelled rather than his friends.

“You've been raised differently, William. Mary's not like you nor you like her yet we try to get along. Her father is my closest friend.”

“I thought Uncle Timothy was your friend.”

“Yes, he is also a good friend but he works for Grandpa and I don't see him as often.”

“His skin is the same as ours.”

Joseph sighed and shook his head. “William, you are too much bothered by the colour of a person's skin rather than what's inside.”

They both turned at the sound of raised voices from the kitchen then Binda came into the room.

“I am glad you are back, my friend.” He crossed the room and stood beside Joseph. “Prosser has been at it again. Some fence is knocked down.”

Joseph thumped the table making the fork clatter on the plate. “Damn the man, why can't he leave us in peace?”

“It's in a difficult place to see. A lot of thick bush around. There are tufts of wool on the wire and the hoof prints have been disturbed. Maybe the sheep knocked the fence down, maybe kangaroo, maybe a man.” Binda shrugged his shoulders. “It is difficult to tell.”

“But what do you feel in here?” Joseph stood and put a hand to his own chest.

“It looks deliberate to me. I found horse prints further down the fence line. They were on our side of the fence and not our horses.”

“We must bring in our stock. We've already delayed shearing by a month.”

“There are only the two of us.”

“And me.”

Joseph felt a swell of pride as his son leapt to his feet. He gave a nod. “Timothy will be here any day. That will make four of us.”

Binda, who was usually the one full of confidence, shook his head. “Still not enough.”

“Mary and I can help.”

They turned as Millie came into the room, her hands on Mary's shoulders.

Binda's eyes bulged so much Joseph was fearful they would pop out.

“I can ride.”

Binda made a strange strangled sound.

“Thank you for the offer, Millie.” Joseph smiled at the young woman whose eyes were alight. “If it's all right with you, I will put you in charge of food. It's a big job but it appears you are most capable.”

“Thank you, Joseph. I would like to help in whatever way I can.”

She smiled sweetly at him then at Binda. Joseph had never seen his friend so agitated.

“Binda and I should ride out. Check the lay of the land and plan our next moves.” He guided his friend through the kitchen, past the outside verandahs and along the path out of the yard. They came to a stop under a straggly group of eucalypt trees near the horse yard.

“Now, Binda.” Joseph turned to face his friend. “Perhaps you'd better tell me the story of your sister.”

Binda glared back at him. It was rare to see his body stiff with anger.

“I only brought her here because my father was ready to kill her.”

Joseph frowned. “Literally?”

Binda continued to glare. “Millaki is attracted to the ways of white men.”

“You say that as if it's a bad thing.”

“You know my father.”

Joseph nodded. He remembered Yardu as a terrifying man, ready to kill the white invaders who threatened his country.

“The more he tried to keep his people away from your people the more interested Millaki became. Eight years ago she was supposed to marry the man she had been promised to. A hawker came close to where my family were camped. Millaki hid in his wagon. It was a long time before my people discovered she was gone. By then Millaki was a long way off. She got herself a place working at one of the big properties in the south. She learned to speak your language, wear your clothes, clean your house, cook your food. When my father finally found out where she was he sent me to find her.” Binda's hand, which had been raising higher in the air with each sentence, suddenly dropped. He frowned. “Something had happened. She won't say what. She moved to another place but she wasn't happy there. I think they treated her badly. She came home but our father didn't want to see her and she was very unsettled. She no longer fitted into her old life. I suggested she come here for a while.”

Joseph thought about his tidy house and his full stomach. “That's acceptable to me.”

“She caused problems with my family. I don't want her bringing trouble here.”

“I don't see how Millie managing my household will cause me trouble.”

Binda looked back in the direction of the house, his usually straight stance slightly bowed. “I don't know what will become of her. She can't go home. Doesn't want to. She's stuck between your people and mine.”

Joseph's heart ached for his friend. It suddenly hit him that in reality Binda's fate was the same as Millie's. Unwilling or unable to return fully to their traditional lives and yet rejected by European society.

“Millie will be welcome here for as long as she wants to stay. I need someone to keep house and help Mary with the children. Jundala prefers the outdoor work so when she returns she will be free to do more of that if she wishes. I will pay Millie for her services, of course.”

“White man's money.” Binda gave him a sceptical look.

“We will come to an arrangement like I have with you. Money as well as food and clothing.” Joseph offered his hand. “My friend.”

Binda held his gaze a moment then accepted his hand. They shook and Joseph pulled his friend close in a hug.

“Now that we've settled that I think there are other urgent matters to deal with.” Joseph pushed his hat firmly on his head.

“Sheep.”

“Yes, sheep. It's time to bring them in for shearing.” In spite of the work he knew lay ahead and the dull ache in his head Joseph felt a lightness of heart. Physical labour was a good way to forget about everything else.

Twenty-one

Joseph put his hands to his hips and stretched backwards. Every muscle ached. The smell of wool and the astringent odour of sheep urine saturated the shed. All around him the bleating of sheep filled the air but the blades that had clipped and snipped for nearly two weeks were silent. Shearing was finished. He looked about him. The ringer gave him a nod then scrutinised the six shearers, some cleaning their blades and the rest stretched out on the floor. They'd worked hard.

The men were quiet now, reflective even; quite different to the jovial conversation they'd kept up during their weeks of work. The two shed hands plus William and Joe were still busy sweeping the boards and collecting the dirty wool that had been tossed to the floor. It had been a gruelling few weeks but everyone from the tar boy to the boss had kept their good humour and that had been the prevailing feeling in the shed. Joseph was pleased. Some teams they'd had in the past had been rough and ready but these men had taken pride in their work.

Thomas was checking the fleece spread on the table before him. He looked up, caught Joseph's look and smiled. “This wool is better than last year's. You should do well from your wool cheque this season.”

Joseph felt a sense of pride swell. He had been experimenting with different breeding practices and perhaps they were showing some promise. Then just as quickly as it rose the happiness fell, dampened by the thought that there was no Clara to share the success of all their hard work, and also that his sheep numbers were significantly lower than he had expected. Even so, his attempt at breeding sheep better suited to the conditions looked like it had paid off.

“You're finished in good time too.” Thomas moved around the table plucking at the fleece.

Joseph narrowed his eyes. “Our count is down a few hundred more than it should be.”

“You don't think the natives …”

“Not at all.” Joseph cut his father off. “I think Prosser has helped himself to some of my sheep but I've no way to prove it. He's too shrewd.”

“But the fence …”

“You know how easy it is to destroy a fence, Father. And Prosser does it where we're least likely to find it for a while.”

“Well you've certainly still got enough sheep to make a grand amount from. I thought I'd be able to give you a couple of days work but I've barely arrived in time to help at all.”

“You sent Timothy. With Millie and Mary in the kitchen, Jundala has been free to help Binda in the yards. Besides someone had to look after Wildu Creek.”

“Father!”

Joseph spun at the squeals of delight coming from his two daughters as they flew across the wooden boards together, their arms outstretched, skirts and ribbons flying. He bent down and wrapped them in his arms, kissing first Violet and then Esther, holding them tight as he swept them to his chest. Their hair shone and they both smelled so sweet he suddenly remembered his own filthy clothes and set them both back on their feet.