Dust on the Horizon (31 page)

Henry followed Prosser's gaze to the area in front of the finish line. People milled about and on the edge of them stood Joseph Baker, with his son and— Ellis was right. A young native woman dressed in a blue-and-brown patterned skirt and jacket, with a deeper blue hat set at a jaunty angle on her head, stood beside him. They were talking to some farmers Henry recognised from Wilson.

“But there are other native people here.” The doctor nodded to where a group had set up camp with a small fire.

“They keep to their kind and all is well,” Prosser said.

“I hear she's his housekeeper,” Sydney said.

“That's the story he puts about,” Prosser growled.

Henry felt the colour rise in his own face. “It's scandalous behaviour.”

“It certainly is.” Prosser stomped his foot on the ground causing a puff of dust to rise around them.

“Perhaps they are married?”

They all looked at the doctor with varying degrees of shock.

“Taking a black woman discreetly has been known to happen,” Prosser huffed. “But any white man with a sense of decency wouldn't marry one of them.”

“The horses are being led to the start,” Marchant said.

Immediately the focus was on the horses and Prosser led the way to the edge of the track. Henry followed the others. The gall of Joseph Baker, bringing his woman to this auspicious event. Henry's indignation simmered just below the surface.

William pushed his way to the front of the crowd. This horseracing business had caused the biggest commotion he'd known in Hawker. It had been a big surprise to him that his father had decided to make the journey to attend and that he'd also agreed William should go too. The only problem had been Millie. Joseph had asked her to come with them and it had caused a heated discussion between him and Uncle Binda who had thought she should stay home. William had not been able to hear why.

The shouting of the crowd pressed around him and William strained to look along the track as the horses thundered towards him. It was a warm day and the smell of leather and horse sweat enveloped him as the horses swept past, cloaking the cheering spectators in a cloud of dust.

There were cheers and groans, shouts of joy and mutters. A jubilant farmer next to William picked up his wife and kissed her. “You clever woman,” he exclaimed. “My Lady won by a good head.”

Around him others muttered and dropped their tickets in the dust. People drifted away, back to the booths and the shade of the trees. William decided not to find his father. He'd noticed some of the stares and whispers Joseph had attracted with Millie at his side. William quite liked Millie. She was good fun and didn't treat him like a baby and boss him about like Mary tried to, but he was very aware that here amongst the people of the district the colour of her skin made her a cause for gossip. Perhaps that was why Uncle Binda hadn't wanted her to come although William had noticed several groups of native people here.

He picked up a stick and drew a trail in the dirt then found a small patch of grass and sat in the shade of a wagon. He gathered other bits of stick and before long he had a small construction growing on the ground in front of him.

Another race was about to run, this time with hurdles. William stayed where he was. The view would probably be better from this distance and he was on higher ground than those that ranged the edge of the track. There were only three horses in the race. Once it was all over he went back to his building.

A frilly pink skirt appeared next to him. “What's that?”

William looked up at the girl who belonged to the dress. The pale green eyes in her pert little face were studying his work. Georgina Prosser had grown taller since he saw her last.

“A stable for horses.”

“They'd have to be very small horses.” She was matter of fact. “Luckily I have some.”

William gaped at her as she opened a little drawstring purse and took out two tiny horse figurines. “I wanted to bring them to the races.” She smiled and her face shone. “They were supposed to bring good luck but I'm afraid Father's horse didn't win. He's not happy. He paid a lot of money for it. He's gone back to the refreshment booth so now Mother's not happy because he's drinking liquor. I have escaped for a while.”

William continued to stare up at her. He wasn't sure if he was expected to respond.

“Can I stable my horses in your building?”

Georgina crouched down as if she was going to sit. William leapt up.

“Here.” He slipped his vest from his shoulders and spread it on the ground. The grass was only patchy around them. “You'll get your dress dirty.”

“Thank you.” She settled on the vest next to him. “Pale pink is a silly colour to wear to a day at the races. I told my mother I wanted to wear my dark green dress or the ruby-red one but she wouldn't listen.”

William concentrated on his construction. His sisters had three dresses. Two that they alternated at home and one for best. If they had come to the races they wouldn't have had a choice about what they wore.

“You don't talk much do you?”

William's cheeks felt warm. Georgina was studying him closely, her hair fluffed out around her face under her straw hat with a ribbon that matched her dress exactly. “I don't have anything to say.”

“We are neighbours but we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Georgina Prosser.” She held out one hand.

“I know.” William looked down at his own hands. They were dirty from his building work. He brushed one on his trousers and gave her hand a quick shake. “I'm William Baker.”

“Yes, I remember you.” She looked at the small stable and yards and slid her horses into the bays he had built. They fitted perfectly. “Do you like horses?”

“They're just horses. I've never thought about it.”

“Then why are you building a stable for them?”

“I like making things, buildings and yards, working out how they fit together and what kind of roof works best.” William was usually busy with work and if he wasn't working Millie had him practising his letters and reading. The rare times he had idle hands he loved to imagine constructions and then try to recreate them with whatever he had at hand, usually sticks and bush and rocks that he bound together with mud if he had water. Today he'd stuck to sticks.

“I like to sketch horses,” Georgina said. “When I'm older father is going to buy me a fine Arab.”

William didn't know what to say to that so he remained silent.

“Do you ride?” she asked.

“Of course.” William pulled his shoulders back. “I'm eight years old.”

“So am I.”

“I am nearly nine.” His birthday was less than two months away.

“I just had my birthday. That's when I got this dress. Mother thought I needed it.” Georgina tugged at the sleeves disdainfully. “I wish father had bought me the Arab instead.”

William peeked at the girl from under his hat. She was far too small to manage such a strong horse. “Do you ride often?”

“Every day, and Father lets me take care of several of our horses even though my mother says I should stay in the house. I much prefer to be out with the horses.”

“Georgina!”

“Oh crumbs.” Georgina jumped up and brushed at her skirts. “That's my mother. I'd better go before she gets herself in a stew. ”

“Don't forget your horses.” William picked the two figures from the stick construction and handed them to her.

“Thank you.” She slid them into her purse. “And thank you for letting me join in your game.”

William watched as she hurried away. She didn't speak like a child and she seemed much nicer than her father. He smirked. For all her bravado she certainly jumped when her mother called.

He cast his gaze to the track. Another race was about to run. This one was called the Farmer's Purse and he knew his father had wagered some money on one of the runners. He stood and watched the race unfold before him. There were six horses this time, and once more he watched the milling crowd cheer and then disperse, some jubilant and some with long faces.

Movement a little further away caught his eye. Standing apart from the people and horses were two men. William recognised his father and the other was hard to distinguish from the distance but perhaps he was the man from the shop they no longer visited. The two men were standing opposite each other and William's normally level-headed father was moving from foot to foot.

He looked around for Millie but he couldn't see her. Then the other man pushed Joseph hard in the chest making him stumble. William ran in their direction.

“I've had enough of your accusations.” Henry watched as Baker steadied himself from the push. Henry hadn't shoved him that hard but the man had been off balance already. He'd imbibed some liquor by the look of him but then so had Henry. He knew his own movements were slightly impaired. “My tonics are the finest that can be bought.”

“They might be the finest but they were poison for my wife.”

“You don't seem too worried about her now. I see you have a black woman to keep you warm in her place.”

Henry took a small step back as anger clouded Baker's face and he raised his fist.

“How dare you discredit both my wife and my housekeeper in that way!”

“I am only repeating what other well-bred folk have said and I dare in the same way that you dare to spread untruths about my tonics.”

“You are a wretched, vile man.” Joseph spat the words at him.

“And you are not fit to be with decent people, you and your whore.”

Henry got ready to fend off the blow he knew was coming when suddenly Baker was attacked from behind.

“No, Father.”

The boy latched on to his father's arm.

Henry took the opportunity to swing a punch that connected with Baker's jaw and sent the man reeling. Henry felt instant pain across his knuckles. He'd never hit a man before and it hurt.

“What's going on here?” Sydney Taylor looked from Henry to Joseph, who was being helped up by his son.

“This fool attacked me.” Henry clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, trying not to show the pain he was in.

Sydney shook his head at Joseph who was trying to push his son away. “You'd better come quickly, Henry, your wife is unwell.”

Henry turned to Sydney immediately. “What is the matter?”

“I don't know.” Sydney lowered his voice. “Ladies' business. They've taken her to your cart. The doctor is with her.”

Henry clapped a hand on Sydney's shoulder. “Thank you.”

He left Baker to his son and hurried along the track which was scattered with people leaving now that the last race had run. When he reached the cart, Catherine was propped up in the back, her face pale and her eyes closed. The doctor and Johanna sat with her. He felt a sudden pang of guilt that he hadn't listened to her protests that she hadn't felt well.

“What is it, doctor? What's the matter with her?”

The doctor stepped down from the cart. He moved away a few steps and Henry followed.

“I believe your wife may be with child, Mr Wiltshire.”

Henry glanced towards the cart. A wave of relief swept over him. Another baby, of course. Catherine had been unwell in the early stages of her confinement with Charles.

“I think she has overtaxed herself,” Dr Bruehl said. “I want her to rest and I will come and see her tomorrow.”

“Of course, doctor.” Henry shook his hand. “Thank you. I will make sure she is well taken care of.” Henry strode back to the cart. He thanked Johanna and helped her down before adjusting the blanket around Catherine and setting the cart for home.

There was not a breath of wind. All the movement on the track leading back to town was stirring up the dust which hung in the air. Behind him Catherine moaned and clutched at her stomach. He looked back at her propped in the small tray and slowed the horse.

“My poor dear,” he murmured. It would be a long and uncomfortable ride home but he couldn't help the stab of excitement he felt at the prospect of a brother or sister for Charles. He grinned. And he had backed two winners today. Quite a good day all round it seemed.

Twenty-six

“Now let me look at your jaw.”

Joseph lifted his chin towards the lantern Millie held aloft.

“Not much of a bruise there,” she said.

“I told you it was nothing. Wiltshire landed a lucky punch. If William hadn't grabbed my arm—”

“William was very worried about you. Brawling in public like a …” Her eyes flashed in the lamplight. Her knowledge of English was good but there were some gaps.

“Ruffian?” he offered.

“Like a man who has lost his good sense.” She put the lantern down and sat on the log they'd pulled close to the fire.

Joseph watched her poke at the fire with a stick then pour herself another mug of tea. His eyes were drawn to the flames. The drink he'd consumed had worn off during the cart ride to their first creek camp site. He'd been left with a dry mouth, a headache and, even though he wouldn't admit it, a throbbing jaw courtesy of Wiltshire's knuckles. In spite of all that, he felt extraordinarily cheerful. It was rare for him to enjoy Millie's company alone. Well, almost alone. William had often been so quiet on their ride to and from the races one could forget he was there sometimes.

No doubt, like Wiltshire, the gossips didn't think an eight-year-old boy a suitable chaperone but when they were at Smith's Ridge there were so many of them he rarely got the chance to talk with Millie for any length of time without interruptions. At least on this journey they'd done plenty of talking and that's when he'd understood.

He had felt different towards her for some time now and as they'd journeyed to the races he'd recognised what that difference was. He'd grown to love Millie and all her ways. The realisation had come as a shock to him. It was quite different to the way he'd loved Clara. With her there had been a strong physical attraction right from the start. William had been conceived on their wedding night or soon after. Joseph had loved Clara for the strong wonderful woman she was, not just for her body but their physical desire had been an important part of their marriage.