Dust on the Horizon (39 page)

Their first meeting in Harriet's backyard in Adelaide had been difficult. Henry had imagined some ignorant native he could easily bluff but Jack had been smarter than he'd imagined, a quick thinker, always on the alert. Henry had thought his plan may have been foiled before it had a chance to begin but he hadn't reckoned with Jack's obvious desire for family. Jack kept it hidden under his tough exterior but once Henry had found his weakness the fellow was putty in his hands.

After that it had been easy to convince Jack of his own excitement at the discovery of a brother and explain away Harriet's abhorrence as natural for a woman who'd been hurt and wronged by her husband. She wasn't prepared to accept Jack for now but Henry had told Jack he was hopeful she'd come around.

In the meantime he had this proposition: instead of working as a doorman for Harriet, Jack could be his own boss on a property. Henry could see straight away the idea appealed to the man who had been treated as second class most of his life. With some more money from Harriet, Jack had been happy to keep out of the way. Once Henry had secured the lease of Smith's Ridge it had been easy then to get Jack to Hawker and then on to Smith's Ridge.

Ellis Prosser was the only major sticking point. Henry had needed his help. Knowing Prosser's extreme hatred of natives it had taken some thinking to come up with an idea to explain Jack's presence and then even more work to sell it to Prosser. Henry had finally come up with the story that Jack's mother had been Indian and Jack the result of a liaison with Catherine's uncle who lived in India. Jack had an almost oriental look, after all.

Henry had explained the family felt they owed him something but didn't want him close so they'd sent him to Australia. Jack was the pretend manager of Smith's Ridge until such time as the family felt their debt was repaid and then he would be given a good reference and encouraged to move on. While Prosser was a bull-headed man he could also be charitable when the mood took him and since it was Henry who was asking, he was prepared to accept a coloured neighbour as long as it was only temporary. Henry had assured Prosser it was and that Henry would eventually take over Smith's Ridge once Jack left.

Taking on the lease, paying Jack a handsome wage and employing a shepherd had cleaned out Henry and Harriet's current resources so Prosser had loaned him his overseer, Donovan. It had been Prosser's suggestion so that there would be someone at Smith's Ridge to report back to him and thus to Henry.

Fatigue swept over him and he felt sleep closing in. All Henry had to do was hold together this web of deceit until such time as he could be free of Jack. He didn't know how yet but it would happen. It had to.

Henry was up early the next morning, still tired after a restless night but eager to be on his way. He shared a mug of tea with Jack but declined the rabbit his half-brother had sizzling in the pan over the fire.

“I hope Brand and Donovan can cook.” Jack wasn't in such fine humour this morning.

“Didn't I tell you? Donovan has a wife.” Henry dragged on his thick outer coat. “She's with them while they drove the sheep. She will see to the cooking once she arrives.”

“So that's why Donovan wanted the hut up the back.” Jack's face lit up with a lecherous look.

“You'll do well to keep your thoughts to yourself. Donovan and his wife must be close to fifty.”

Jack wasn't deterred. “Maybe they'll have a daughter.”

Henry made for the door. He hoped Jack wouldn't go causing trouble out here but there was no going back now. The plan was well and truly in motion.

The air was bitter outside the hut. Henry worked as quickly as his stiff fingers would allow to hook up his horse and cart. He drove the cart down to the front of the house. Jack came out to the verandah and leaned on the rail, two hands clasped casually in front of him, jacketless, oblivious to the cold.

Henry gave him a wave. “I'll be back in a month with provisions and to see how things are going.”

“Stay the night again.” Jack called after him. “I enjoyed it.”

Henry gave the reins a flick and his cart lurched forward as the horse set off at a trot, with Jack's laugh echoing behind him. He huddled in and gripped the reins tightly. Until he came up with a way to be rid of Aldridge, the foul man was close but out of sight.

Thirty-three

1886

Catherine closed the shop door and drew the bolt. She leaned against it a moment and gained her breath. The close heat of the interior made her feel light-headed.

When she turned, Malachi Hemming was coming from the room behind the curtain.

“I see no point in staying open a moment longer, Mr Hemming. It's such a terrible day out there. There's not a soul about and it's nearly four o'clock.” She looked down at the dirt that had blown in as their last customer had departed a good hour before. Dirt was everywhere in Hawker. There had been no rain to speak of since the previous September and it was already May. Only yesterday two of her older customers had been talking of the Great Drought of the 1860s and saying the conditions were the same. Every time the wind blew, which was quite a regular occurrence over the last few months, it brought billowing clouds of dust with it, fine particles that seeped in everywhere. Rain was needed badly.

“If you're sure, Mrs Wiltshire. I am happy to keep the shop open if you wish to go home early.”

“No.” Catherine crossed the floor to pick up the broom they kept permanently propped behind the counter. “You can have an early finish too.”

Malachi moved from one foot to the other.

Catherine knew he was worried about what Henry would think of closing over an hour early. Henry never closed early no matter what. “Mr Wiltshire won't be home until tomorrow night at the earliest. In fact he could be away a few days. He's gone to inspect Smith's Ridge and take them some supplies.” She smiled at the young assistant. “I won't tell him if you don't.”

“But he will be back for the race meeting?”

“Oh yes. That's still several days away.” Catherine began to push the broom across the floor. “Henry wouldn't miss the annual Hawker races for anything.”

“I should very much like to see it one day.”

“Perhaps I will stay at the shop and you can go in my place, Mr Hemming. I find the whole affair noisy, dusty and very tedious.”

“Oh … well …” Once more Malachi shifted from foot to foot.

Catherine felt badly. She hadn't meant to raise his hopes. “Perhaps not this year, Mr Hemming,” she said quickly, “but we must think on it for next.” Henry had already insisted on her having a new dress made at his mother's shop in Adelaide. It should arrive any day on the train. “Now come, let's finish up.”

“Very well, Mrs Wiltshire.” Malachi reached for the broom. “But please let me do the tidying up. You go home to Master Charles.”

“Thank you, Mr Hemming. I'm most grateful.” She handed over the broom. “I will see you in the morning.”

“I can open up in the morning.” He gave her a tiny smile. “No rush for you to be here.”

Catherine let out a sigh. Her back ached from being on her feet all day. “Thank you again, Mr Hemming.” She went through to the back of the shop, tied on her bonnet and let herself out the kitchen door.

Immediately the heat and the dust enveloped her and then the flies found her. It really was a wretched day, she thought as she made her way along the path. She clasped her hand to her mouth as the stench from the privies that lined the back lane combined to overwhelm her. She hurried away towards the road that led to her house, careful where she put her feet. Several pigs roamed nearby and had left a foul trail of dung behind them.

At least the new stone wall Henry had had built around their yard kept unwanted animals from her garden, what there was left of it. The wrought-iron gate that had been inserted between two stone pillars was hot to her touch as she pushed it open. When Catherine finally reached the sanctuary of her home she was relieved that the temperature was quite a bit cooler inside and the air much cleaner. She removed her bonnet, undid the top buttons of her shirt and leaned against the wall, absorbing its coolness. The house was silent. No doubt Flora had taken Charles to her house once her children came home from school.

Catherine went to the kitchen, poured herself a mug of water and sat at the kitchen table. Even with the fire flickering in the grate it was still cooler in the kitchen than outside.

There was a thud at the door, laughter and footsteps. Flora's children, Hugh and Martha, came into the room swinging Charles by the hand between them. They stopped abruptly at the sight of her.

Flora appeared behind them. “Oh, we weren't expecting you home for another hour, Mrs Wiltshire.”

“Mama.” Charles squirmed from between the children and rushed to her open arms.

“Hello, my darling boy.” She planted a kiss on his chubby cheek. “I hope you've been good for Flora.”

“He's an angel.” Flora put a hand each on her children and patted their shoulders. “You go home again now.”

“Oh, no.” Catherine knew Flora thought her children shouldn't be in the house if the Wiltshires were at home. “Charles was having such fun with the children and I'm sure this house is cooler than yours, Flora. Let them stay.” She smiled at Flora's son and daughter who were only a year apart in age and nearly the same height. Then she set Charles back on his sturdy legs. “Take Martha and Hugh to your bedroom, Charles. I am sure they could help you build a fine tower with the new building blocks Papa bought you.”

“Come on.” Charles skipped back to the children, squeezed between them again and led them away.

“Thank you, Catherine.” Flora smiled. She only used her mistress's first name at Catherine's insistence when it was just the two of them. “It has warmed up a lot in our little house. The children are usually so good but they get irritable in the heat.”

Catherine was pleased to repay some of the kindness that Flora extended to her. “You're lucky your two have each other. I dislike being pregnant but I am sorry I haven't been able to give Charles a brother or sister. He will be four in September. And Henry badly wants another child.”

Since the failure of yet another pregnancy last year Henry had been much more demanding in bed. He no longer trailed kisses down her neck, nibbled at her breasts or caressed her body, all things she'd enjoyed before Charles. These days he used her simply for his own gratification and so she often lay still beneath him, willing him to finish quickly. In spite of her discomfort and disinterest she knew she would fall pregnant again eventually. In fact, the way this heat made her feel it wouldn't surprise her if she was with child again already.

“I would have liked more children but now I'm glad I've just got the two. They're enough to feed and clothe.” Flora put the kettle on the fire and went to the pantry where she took out food for Charles's supper.

“Why didn't you have more?” The question was out before Catherine had time to think. “I mean your husband is away a lot now but before … when you were in the same house all the time …” Catherine put a hand to her cheek. “Oh dear, I'm being very rude asking you such personal questions but I seem to be with child quite regularly even though they don't last and yet I see people with only one or two children and wonder if they have the same trouble.”

Flora made a pot of tea and put a cup in front of Catherine. “I don't mind telling you,” she said.

“Please, sit down for a while and have a cup with me. Henry is away. We are not in a rush.”

Flora got herself a cup and sat next to Catherine. “I had my first two babies in less than two years and was soon pregnant with a third. My husband …” She poured herself some tea. “He was more attentive then. Later, with the poor seasons, the way it was on the farm, he lost hope, it changed him.” She stared into her cup a moment. “Anyway, something went wrong with the third baby. I carried the poor sweet thing nearly to my confinement but it died inside me.”

“Oh, Flora.” Catherine reached out her hand and put it over Flora's. “A fully grown baby, how terrible.” Catherine hardly mourned the babies she'd lost. In her mind they were not yet real. She simply wished one of them would grow into a proper baby. Perhaps another child would be enough and Henry would no longer desire her body.

“Made a terrible mess of my insides. I was in a bad way. I nearly died. Think I would have if it hadn't been for the potions of an old native woman.”

“A native?”

“There was no-one else to help me. A family of natives used to pass through our place once or twice a year. Lucky for me they were nearby when I needed help. The old woman looked after me. If not for her, my children would be motherless.”

Catherine's eyes widened at the thought of being taken care of by a native. Henry wouldn't have allowed it.

“Anyway, there were no more children for me. Whatever happened I never fell again no matter how much we … well it just wasn't meant to be, and I've got my two, I'm thankful.” Flora took a sip of her tea.

“Yes, that's right. We must be grateful for what we have and I am so glad my husband found you, Flora. I don't know how I'd manage without you.”

Flora gripped her teacup tightly with two hands and placed it back on the saucer. “You're too kind, Catherine. I'm not … well I'm sure you'd manage or find someone else.”

“Perhaps but they wouldn't be as nice as you. You are happy here, aren't you?”

“Yes, very happy.”

“You are so much more a friend to me than a housekeeper. I don't know what I'd do if you left.”

Flora went to speak but Charles's excited cry cut her off.

“Mama, mama, come and see.” He ran to Catherine and began tugging on her hand.

“Just a moment, Charles.” Catherine looked back at Flora. “Were you going to say something?”