Dust on the Horizon (29 page)

“No. Perhaps a little concerned. It's a big task raising four children alone and managing Smith's Ridge. Lizzie and I do what we can but it's a day's ride between us. And we have our hands full with Wildu Creek.”

“But Mother Baker said he had some help.”

“Yes. He has a good friend, a native called Binda and his family.”

“Ellen has spoken of them.”

“Binda also has a sister who I think is proving very helpful with the house.”

“Do you think it would be wiser for him to employ a … someone of his own kind?”

There was a pause before Thomas spoke. “I think it's working out all right.”

“The children seem happy and cared for.”

“They are but children find it easier to move on, become absorbed in the day to day.”

“You still worry for Joseph?”

“Lizzie is concerned … we both are. He never was a drinker but since Clara died we've notice he imbibes more regularly.”

“Oh, I hope you didn't mind me bringing the mead?”

“Not at all.”

“Last night was just meant to be for some Christmas cheer.”

“It was and even Lizzie and I enjoyed a few sips but Joseph doesn't stop at that.”

William frowned. Worry wormed in his stomach. His grandfather hadn't seen the small flask his father kept in the dresser at home. Joseph filled it from a bigger container he kept hidden in the shearing shed. William had followed him one day and seen him. Some nights after he thought they were all in bed his father sat alone drinking until the flask was empty.

“No doubt last night he felt able to relax. Here with his family.”

“Yes. I told Lizzie there's no harm in the occasional tipple.”

Squeals of laughter echoed along the creek.

Frederick stood up and walked to the bank. “That sounds like my mischievous wife.”

Thomas went to stand beside him. “The children adore her, as do I.”

“You are not alone there.”

William edged backwards until he was beside one of the large trees then he turned and hurried back to the house. His father was drinking liquor regularly, a lot more than his grandparents realised. What did that mean? Did it put his father in danger? Could it kill him like it had Great-uncle Isaac? William didn't know what he could do about it but he had already lost one parent, and he wasn't prepared to lose another.

And niggling away at the back of his mind was his grandfather's warning about drought. William hoped his words were the concerns of an old man but his grandpa was very sensible and not one for idle speculation. He didn't usually say something unless he felt there was truth in his words.

“There you are, William.”

William stopped at the steps leading up to the verandah and looked up at his father who was carrying a tray loaded with mugs and a large jug.

“Your grandmother needs help carrying food. We're going to eat again. She wants us to be outdoors while the weather is pleasant.”

“Yes, Father.” William bounded up the steps. He hoped his face looked happy. His grandmother had a funny way of extracting things out of him and he wasn't prepared to share his concerns with her, especially those about his father's drinking.

Twenty-four

The dining room of Henry and Catherine's home was tastefully decorated with red velvet bows at each window. A swathe of pine which had been studded with smaller bows and little gold balls decorated the mantel. Merry voices filled the air and drew Henry's gaze back to his guests.

Seated around his table were Ellis Prosser and his wife, Johanna; Sydney Taylor the stationmaster and his wife, Agnes; and Reverend Mason, the visiting Church of England priest; a small but worthy gathering for their first official dining event in their new home.

Henry looked down the length of his new dining table. Covered in one of his mother's beautiful white damask tablecloths, set with their fine dinner plates and groaning with Christmas fare, one would never know it was made of pine instead of the cedar or mahogany he couldn't afford.

From the other end of the table Catherine caught his eye and gave him a sweet smile. She looked delightfully pretty in a pink dress she had brought back with her from Adelaide. The heat had left the day, something they were both grateful for. Even though the thick walls and wide verandahs helped keep the house cool there had been a week of excessively hot weather leading up to Christmas. Yesterday the wind had come from the south, allowing them some respite and a chance for the house to cool.

Catherine and Flora had been cleaning and cooking for days in preparation. There had been a big discussion about whether to serve hot or cold food. In the end they had decided on cold. Catherine and Henry had greeted their guests with a refreshing punch and Henry had welcomed Ellis Prosser's gift of a bottle of red wine which they would drink with their meal.

Once they were all seated Flora had passed around ham-and-tongue mould, Aberdeen rabbit sausage and beetroot-and-mint terrine, all of which looked bright and festive and tasted delicious. That had been followed up with platters of turkey and ham and cold potatoes. Rather than pudding Catherine had decided they should have mince pies, dainty cakes and fruit to follow.

Now they were all replete, relaxed and sipping an after-dinner madeira, sherry or in the Reverend's case, a lemonade, made fresh this morning by Flora. Agnes Taylor was admiring the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“Wherever did you find such a fine specimen on this treeless plain?” she asked.

“I have Ellis to thank for that.” Catherine inclined her head to him.

Prosser, who was seated on her right, placed his hand over hers. “We have an abundance of pines on our property. It was no trouble to get you one.”

Henry noticed the way the man leaned in a little closer to Catherine and how she slid her hand away from his.

Flora appeared in the doorway with Charles which set Agnes and Johanna into raptures of delight. Catherine rose and the men stood.

“I think we ladies will retire to the sitting room.”

“Splendid.” Ellis Prosser tapped his pocket. “I have some fine cigars, gentlemen, if you'd care to imbibe. We'll need an ashtray and perhaps another glass of sherry, Henry?”

Henry went to give his son a kiss before the ladies departed and then he made his way to the sherry decanter. He was prepared to be amenable to Prosser's officious manner but he made sure he didn't snap to it like a servant. He had benefited several times already from his business dealings with Prosser and he hoped to do so again. Prosser needed to remember they were more in the way of partners than master and servant.

“How are your cattle settling in?” Henry poured sherry into three glasses. The Reverend continued to sip his lemonade and declined a cigar.

“More about how my men are settling to them. Not the same to move about as sheep. They have horns.” Prosser gave a derisive chuckle. “Something a few of my men have found out the hard way.”

Sydney Taylor took a puff of the cigar Prosser had lit for him and spoke to Henry. “And you've turned some of your cropping properties over to sheep, I've heard.”

“Just the one south of Cradock. It worked in both our favours. Ellis was looking to destock and I was looking for sheep.” What no-one knew was that Prosser had sent most of his stock to markets in the south and made good money on them. Many of the stock on Henry's southern property were from Smith's Ridge and he had bought them from Prosser for half the money they were worth to Joseph Baker, a deal that had given satisfaction to both Henry and Prosser. “Finding feed for them has proved difficult of course. The land is quite bare but we are managing with a relatively small number of stock for now.”

“Are you sure it was wise to convert cropping country to grazing?” Sydney blew a puff of smoke into the air. “The farmers I've spoken to have had a fairly good harvest.”

“They're close to Hawker perhaps.” Henry stroked his chin. “Even Wilson had some average results but around Cradock the crops were very poor.”

“There are most certainly some very desperate families there in need of our prayers,” the Reverend said.

“Fools, all of them,” Prosser barked.

“That is surely harsh, Mr Prosser. These families have taken up their land and put everything they have into it in good faith.”

Prosser blew a cloud of smoke towards the Reverend. “Encouraged by a misguided government who has no understanding of the conditions.”

“Your property borders that Baker fellows who lost his wife recently, doesn't it?” Sydney changed the subject. “How is he getting on?”

“Grief affects us all differently.” Prosser's face darkened.

“I'm sorry, Ellis.” Sydney put a hand on the other man's arm. “I didn't mean to stir up sad memories.”

“I don't believe Johanna and I will ever get over the loss of our son.”

“The police have not been able to bring his killer to justice?” Henry asked.

“Constable Cooper has done little to track down the culprit.” Prosser puffed himself up, his face nearly as red as his hair. “We grieve for our son every day but Baker appears to be managing fine without his wife.”

Sydney shook his head. “My wife spoke to him in your shop a while back, Henry. She said he was quite delusional with grief.”

Henry held his breath. Malachi had informed him of Baker's claims that the tonic had killed Baker's wife. Nothing more had come of it and sales were as brisk as usual for the variety of lotions and tonics he stocked.

“He may well be delusional but I am confident he has made up for the loss of his wife.” Prosser's lips turned up in a lurid sneer.

“How so?” Sydney asked.

Prosser looked from Henry to the Reverend then back to Sydney. “He's got a woman living there.”

“Be damned.” Sydney slapped his leg.

“He has young children.” The Reverend looked sternly at each of them. “No doubt he would need a housekeeper.”

Prosser stabbed a finger in the air. “She's more than a housekeeper. And not only that but she's black.” Prosser spat the last word as if it was poison.

Henry wasn't surprised. He had always thought Joseph Baker was mixing his favours and he'd been right.

“One should be sure of one's facts before speaking ill of others, Mr Prosser.” The Reverend had gone quite pale.

“Oh I'm sure,” Prosser growled. “I had reason to call in at his house only last week. Baker wasn't there but his black woman was. Full of airs and graces and acting like the lady of the house with the youngest Baker child on her hip.”

Henry shook his head. “Shameful.”

Catherine appeared in the doorway, Charles in her arms. She hesitated, looking from one man to the other.

“Hello, my dear.” Henry hoped she hadn't heard their discussion.

Catherine smiled sweetly. “I am putting the baby to bed, gentleman. Then we ladies hoped you might join us in the sitting room to sing some carols. Our shop assistant, Mr Hemming, has been dining in the kitchen with Mrs Nixon and her children. I've asked him and Flora to join us.”

Henry opened his mouth to speak but Catherine caught his eye.

“I think that's very humble of you, to invite your workers to join us, Mrs Wiltshire.” The Reverend's pale face was stretched in a wide smile.

Henry didn't think so but he could hardly contradict the priest.

“You'll lead us in the singing won't you, Reverend?” Catherine asked.

“I'd be delighted.” The Reverend shot across the room as if eager to escape.

“Please don't hurry. It will take me a few minutes to put Charles down but in the meantime Flora is about to bring out some of her delicious mead.”

Prosser clapped his hands. “Well that should lubricate our throats. What do you say, Sydney? Are you up to some singing?”

“I think so. It is Christmas after all.”

Catherine disappeared from the door and Prosser and Sydney made their way out towards the sitting room. Henry paused a moment, thinking of Baker. The man may have been feeling desperate enough to take a black woman to his bed or maybe they'd been cohabitating for some time. He remembered the first time he'd met Joseph. He had been brazen about his connection with the natives then.

If the truth be told Henry was almost envious of Baker. Since Catherine had returned from Adelaide he could count on one hand the number of times they'd coupled. He was a married man for goodness sake but he felt constantly frustrated by Catherine's lack of interest in that part of their marital life.

“Oh, I'm sorry Mr Wiltshire, I didn't realise you were still in here.”

Henry looked around at the comely Mrs Nixon hovering in the doorway.

“Is it all right if I start clearing the table?”

“Of course.”

Henry watched her cross the room and begin stacking the plates. She kept her back to him but he could tell by her movements she was aware he was watching her.

“Catherine says you have some mead for us.”

Flora stopped her work and turned. He stared at her. She met his gaze with a look that suggested she could see right into him. He enjoyed her boldness. In fact, to his surprise, it aroused him.

“I have served it in the sitting room. I would like to clear up in here before the singing starts.” She turned back to her work.

Henry watched her a moment longer then left her to join his guests. He hoped some boisterous carol singing would burn up some of his restless energy.

It was nearly midnight by the time he stood beside Catherine on their front verandah farewelling their guests. Feeling jubilant at the success of their first official dinner and mellow from several glasses of mead he slid his arm around Catherine's waist and nuzzled her neck as they stepped back inside. He felt his wife stiffen.

“Henry, please,” she whispered and slipped from beneath his arm.