Dust on the Horizon (3 page)

A large dresser filled one wall. It contained all the beautiful china and glass they had been given for wedding presents. A chiming clock, all the way from Germany, sat on top. It had belonged to his mother. Beside it was a small picture of Harriet. She glared out at Catherine. Harriet was not an easy woman to like. Catherine was sure she didn't live up to her mother-in-law's expectations of a suitable wife for Henry. She turned away from the prying eyes.

On the wall opposite the window was Henry's desk where he did his paperwork and conducted his forwarding business and next to it was a small cabinet where he kept an assortment of ointments and pills in little bottles and jars. His mother hadn't wanted him to sell them. Catherine had overhead the conversation between mother and son. It had surprised Catherine to learn her mother-in-law had once travelled the land in a wagon selling goods. There was nothing about Harriet's manner that suggested she'd ever lived such a basic existence. Evidently Henry's father had run into a bit of trouble with some of the pills he'd sold and Harriet hadn't wanted her son to jeopardise his new business. Henry thought people in the isolated town would welcome some basic medicinal assistance. They had compromised by keeping the pills and ointments in the living room and not having them on show in the shop. Henry sold them discreetly.

Above his desk hung a beautifully framed portrait of them on their wedding day. Henry was not usually extravagant but he had thought it fitting they should have the photograph to mark the occasion.

Beside that was the door into their bedroom. Catherine felt the heat rise in her cheeks. They had been married for five months now but she still could not get used to having to share her bed with Henry. Her mother had explained to her the relations he would expect of his wife but Catherine had still found his attentions vulgar.

Some nights once the lamp was out Henry would cover her mouth with a long sloppy kiss until she thought she would not be able to breathe. At the same time he would squeeze her breasts tightly and press his body hard against her. Then he would pull up her nightgown and plunge into her recklessly for a few minutes, moaning loudly. Just as suddenly as he had begun, he would stop, flop onto his back and go to sleep. It was the only time Catherine ever saw him look untidy. The heat and dust of their new home only added to her distaste. Thankfully Henry did not approach her in this way very often.

On the back wall was the door through to the tiny kitchen and washroom. Catherine could not tolerate going out there until she had to. The wood stove raised the temperature unbearably during the day. She rarely felt like eating at midday but Henry always wanted his meals on time. He was happy with cold meat and pickles for his lunch but liked a hot meal at night. Catherine dreaded the thought of cooking the fatty meat hanging in the kitchen safe. Just lately even the smell of it made her nauseous. The sudden tune from the clock made her jump. Henry would be expecting his luncheon in fifteen minutes.

A loaded wagon rolled past outside, drawing Henry's gaze to the window. He was about to put out his
Closed for Midday Meal
sign but he would remain open if he had customers. He crossed to the window and peered out at the wagon, which had pulled up further along the road in front of the railway station. A man jumped down and brushed at his clothes sending up a cloud of dust. Probably making a delivery.

Henry dismissed the man as of no consequence then remained fixed to the spot as he saw bundles moving in the back of the wagon, taking the shape of children. Suddenly a black man appeared from the other side of the wagon. He was wearing a battered hat like the other man but the clothes on the Aborigine were much too loose and hung from his lean frame. Henry watched in astonishment as together the two men lifted down five children, three white and two black. The oldest Aboriginal child was a girl by the look of her clothes and she hefted the smallest white child to her hip.

“Well I never,” Henry muttered.

The group huddled together listening to something the white man was saying. Henry scanned the wagon again expecting a woman to appear from the load as the children had but there was no sign of an adult female. Just as well, the kind of woman who would produce these children should be kept out of sight of polite society.

He glanced behind him in case Catherine should suddenly appear. He had hoped there would be a few more women in the town by now but after another dry season, trade was slow and the town hadn't boomed quite as quickly as he had expected.

The tall man in charge of the group outside bent and brushed a hand over the fair curls of the young boy beside him. Maybe this man was one of the farmers still clinging to the land. When Henry had made his first trip to Hawker, he'd crossed the Willochra Plains where he'd heard about farmers raising bumper wheat crops in magnificent chocolate soil. All he'd seen were downcast men with ragtag families barely hanging onto land that was dust as far as the eye could see. That was over a year ago and things had only got worse for the farmers since then. He read the defeat in their eyes when they came to his shop and he'd been astute enough to acquire any goods and chattels they'd wanted to sell that were still worth anything. Just last week he'd acquired a piece of land at what he believed was a mere pittance of what it would be worth again in the future. Times would improve again, he was sure of it.

The group in the street split up. The tall white man strode towards the railway station and the Aborigine was leading the children towards Henry's shop.

Henry let out a low growl. “Oh no you don't.”

He opened the door a crack, slid his arm out to attach the
Closed
sign then firmly shut the door and drew the bolt. He wasn't fussed about whose money he took but from the look of this lot they had little and he wasn't giving credit to a black man. Mr Garrat could serve them in his little general store. There was some custom Henry wasn't prepared to accept.

The clock in the parlour chimed and he took out his watch again, twelve midday exactly. He replaced the watch, brushed his hand down his lapels and made his way to the parlour. All thoughts of the rabble outside were dismissed as he anticipated the meal ahead and the appointments with pastoralists he had booked for later in the afternoon.

Catherine had run out of jobs to do in the shop and had welcomed the tinkle of the bell signalling customers. Now, from her position behind the counter, she tried to keep the smile from her lips as she watched the young native girl stick out her hip and heft the small child higher. The little girl in her arms was obviously heavy but she wouldn't put the child down and, to add to her load, on her other side she clasped the hand of another little girl. The neatly clothed dark man had removed his hat and stood just inside the door. He didn't make eye contact with Catherine but murmured the occasional instruction to the two older boys who were also part of the group but only looked to be about five or six.

What a collection they were. The two boys were about the same height but one was fair and the other as black as the night. The native girl was the tallest and obviously the oldest of all the children. She kept her eyes lowered but Catherine couldn't help but stare at her glossy black hair that fell in tight curls to her shoulders. Her skin was also very dark; a striking contrast to the two little girls in her charge.

Catherine glanced behind her where she could hear the murmur of voices coming from the parlour. Thank goodness Henry hadn't long started his meeting with his last appointment for the day. She knew he wouldn't approve of the customers that had just filed into their shop but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt.

Unsure if the natives would understand her, Catherine addressed the white boy. “Can I help you?” she said.

He snapped his clear blue eyes towards her and opened his mouth then closed it again.

“They need hats.”

The native girl spoke so softly Catherine barely heard her.

“What kind?” Catherine turned to the girl.

“Father said I could choose my own, Mary.” The white boy finally found his voice.

“They all need hats.” Mary's English was stilted, a little louder this time. “And William has to pick something broad and sturdy.” She sent a hard look in the young boy's direction then looked back at the floor.

William opened his mouth. There was a shuffle of feet from the man at the door and once again the boy closed his mouth without speaking.

Catherine really didn't know what to make of this strange little family. She wondered if the man at the door could be father to them all and if so, did he have two wives? She felt heat flush her cheeks at the thought.

“We can pay.” Mary lifted her dark gaze to Catherine as if daring her to say otherwise.

Catherine clasped her hands together tightly, then released them. It was none of her business how this family came to be, but the shop was hers to run. Henry had made it quite clear he wanted her to take charge when he was not available and she was very keen to do so. It was pleasing to have something to do other than manage their tiny house and good to have people in here after a very quiet week. And one thing she did have was an assortment of hats. Certainly some for the older children although she wasn't sure about the youngest. Maybe they could improvise.

“They're over here.” Catherine stepped purposefully around the counter and made for the wooden shelves that lined the side wall.

Henry had been aware of the sound of chattering voices as he'd finalised his business with the man sitting opposite him. He was pleased there were customers in his shop and hoped they were spending up big, although the commissions he'd made this afternoon more than made up for lack of sales in his shop.

He stood and shook the hand of the tall pastoralist who'd just sold a large consignment of wool. Henry had inspected the samples Joseph Baker had brought in and if the rest was as good they both stood to make a lot of money. Wool prices were on the rise again and while wheat farmers were doing it hard, those pastoralists who'd managed to survive the droughts, wild dogs and grasshopper plagues of the last few years could look forward to some better times.

“Your wife hasn't travelled with you today, Mr Baker?”

“It's a long journey. She stayed at home with our youngest child.”

“You are most fortunate. I hope that my wife and I will be so blessed in the near future.”

“Clara is not up to the travel.” Baker began to pack his samples into his calico bag. “She's been a little poorly of late. Suffers from headaches in this heat.”

Henry glanced at the cupboard beside his desk. This was his chance to ingratiate himself further with this welcome customer. “Perhaps I can offer some assistance.” He pulled a key on a chain from his pocket, unlocked the cabinet and withdrew a small glass bottle. “I have a remedy that I keep for special customers. This tonic is a certain cure for headache, loss of appetite and low spirits. It's quite safe to take.”

Baker looked at the bottle Henry offered with interest.

Henry jiggled the brown vial. “Please take it, Joseph. My gift for your wife.”

Joseph accepted the bottle. “There's not a lot of female company in our part of the world. Perhaps my wife will accompany me one day.”

“I'm sure Catherine would make her most welcome and be glad of the company. As you say, there are not a lot of … suitable companions here.”

Baker gave him an appraising look then pushed the small bottle into his pocket.

Henry studied Baker as he packed away the last of his samples. Joseph was obviously a hard worker with good prospects; a fine fellow to have on-side. He was tall like Henry and despite his work clothes he had a fine air about him, belying an inner strength. A small battered leather pouch that had been in the wool bag still sat to one side of the table. As Joseph picked it up, it fell apart in his hand and a rock landed on the table. The stone had many sides and looked rough and dirty but where the sunlight reached it from the window it sparkled.

“That looks unusual.” Henry reached for the stone but Joseph snatched it up.

“It needs a new bag.”

“Maybe we have something suitable in the shop.”

Henry turned to lead the way out. What he saw when he pulled back the curtain made him forget his manners completely, along with any thought of the fine leather pouches he'd recently stocked. He let the heavy fabric drop behind him to shield Baker as he hurried forward.

“What are you doing, Catherine?” he snapped. The scene before him was scandalous and his wife appeared happy to be a part of it. Henry clenched his fists as he strode around the counter.

Catherine lowered the little girl she'd been holding to the floor. The child looked ridiculous in a straw hat that was too big and had been tied down with a length of ribbon. There were more children scattered around the room and he thought they looked a lot like the collection he'd seen pour out of the wagon earlier today. They all wore a hat from his shop except for the oldest native girl who was holding a roll of ribbon and they all had something in their mouths. Sweets, he presumed. There were several jars on the counter with their lids off.

“What are these vagabonds doing here?” Henry's voice was a low growl and he whipped the ribbon from the black girl's hands and the hat from the head of the black boy beside her.

Catherine crossed quickly to his side. “Their father wants them to have hats, dearest, and a few other items.”

A movement across the room drew Henry's look from his wife's worried smile. He gasped. There by the door stood the native, surrounded by neatly stacked items from the shop. So he was the father. What would Harriet say, or even Catherine's parents, if they knew he was allowing her to mix with natives?

Henry could feel throbbing in his temple. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. Outside the late-afternoon sun beat down on a clear still day, but inside the heat was oppressive. “Who's paying for all this?” he growled.